The crowds were thick at the riverside market. No wonder it was one of the wealthiest ones Charville had to offer on this side of the river. Between the usual drinking establishments and food stalls, were also rich clothes and fine jewelry. Foreign spices, teas, and other delicacies that Liam had never heard of.

These things didn’t interest him much though. He was here for one reason, and one reason only.

To test and challenge his new powers again. If he would manage to pull off a few moves here, that would mean his powers could truly change things for him.

First off, Liam strolled close to one of the drinking booths that had aligned themselves along the edges of the luxurious market. It was always a good idea to listen to the daily gossip first.

“Derek hasn’t paid his tab for almost two weeks now. You tell him I won’t serve him no more if he keeps it for a month Ernie,” the bartender said.

Ernie shrugged. “I’ll let him know, but the poor man has been out of work lately. Would be surprised if he’ll be able to pay.”

“Even the coal miners aren’t safe from getting replaced by those refugees.” The other one grumbled. Liam could see his hands were a mess of scars. So he likely would be a coal miner as well.

“Ah come on, it can’t be that bad.” The bartender said, continuing to go through his ledgers.

“Not that bad?” Ernie said. “Just look over there, that’s already the second refugee wave this week.”

“Yeah, the monsters out of town really get out of control.” Scar hands said. “I wish they would send another round of adventurers here.”

“Pah my cousin lives on the outskirts, and he told me what adventurers are like.” The bartender snorted. “Says he would rather have a whole battalion of kings taxmen coming there rather than a group of adventurers.”

“Those guys are the pest.” Ernie nodded. “Taking your food, your money, and if they feel adventurous enough, even your wife. And who's to stop them? Local city guards can’t do shit and town sheriff's either. Those bastards are just too strong. Mages at least all of them.”

“I don’t think they’re all that bad,” Scar hands guy said. “My ma used to live in Eldezemar once. Says the adventurers there are actually proper. Is only the drags that they send here as a punishment that has a chip on their shoulder.”

Ernie shrugged. “Might be as it is. Some folks are bad. But still, every farmer would rather lose his crop to some monsters than lose his wife to even worse ones.”

“If it would only be their crops though…” Scar hands said and trailed off as he looked at the mass of refugees.

The man was silent for a moment before the bartender continued. “We can only hope a caravan comes through from the north.”

“You just want another pot of the whiskey they brew up there don’t you,” Scar-hands said, teasing the bartender.

The man raised his eyebrow. “Don’t you too?”

“Can’t say I don’t,” Scar hands laughed. “A mug of that stuff would be way proper just now.”

“Pah nobody is going to the north anymore,” Ernie said. “All deadlands. Those towns can wait long. Besides, most caravans have their own problems on their hands. They can’t clean out the bandits.”

“I never really understood these caravans myself. They seem a little unnecessary.”

“That’s cause you lived in the city all your life boy. Out there people don’t have that real access to food. Nor entertainment or news. Caravans are important for the country's infrastructure.”

“Besides they bring good whiskey.” The bartender chimed in.

“That they do,” Ernie nodded. “You’ve been in a caravan haven’t you Carli?”

The group of men turned towards a figure sitting slouched over at the back of the bar. He had a hat pulled deeply down his face, and had the air of a man who was planning to spend the rest of the day here.

“Ai,” he said, his voice rough. “Worst time of my life.”

“When money was tight for me and my missus, I thought about it as well. But my brother talked me out of it. Said it only brings misery.” Scar hands mused.

“Some people look at me like I know everything, just cause I’ve seen a few things outside of those walls,” Carli said, his raspy voice drawing them in. “You know, most of the people like you will never go beyond these walls. Maybe you visit some of the close hamlets, maybe you have a cousin or father there. But you will never leave the walls properly. And believe me, that’s a good thing. If my time in the caravan has brought me one thing only, it’s misery.”

The man paused and took another long swallow.

“Can’t say I would ever go out there again. At this age, nothing is worth that risk for me anymore.”

“Well what isn’t dangerous these days…” Ernie said.

The group grunted affirmative and stared at their drinks. They fell into silence after that. The long practiced silence of drinking buddies. When there isn’t anything to say and also no need for that. They were here for company, not conversation.

Eventually, Liam continued on his way, ready to pick a target.

—--------------

It was while he was making his rounds at the edge of the market, that Liam saw the refugees Bird had talked about for the first time. They were raggedly bunched together at one end of the market, probably over two dozen of them. They were dressed in tatters and some of them looked like a heavy gust of wind could knock them over.

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Liam was used to seeing refugees. It wasn’t unheard of for small groups from the outer villages to sometimes seek refuge in Charville when a particularly nasty monster attack happened. But Liam had never seen as many at once as now.

Liam watched them for a while. People living in the towns weren’t much different than the ones living in Charville. Nine times out of ten, they were even somewhat better off than their counterparts in the city. Food was a little more accessible to them since they grew it themselves. They never had to contend with the smell that a city brought. And, most importantly, they never had to fear the wrath of a noble strolling past them.

When the tenth time happened though, shit was really hitting the fan for them.

There was one little boy in particular who stood out, he could be no older than two. He wore a shirt that suited him like an empty potato bag would’ve suited Liam. There were soot stains on it and ripped edges, he looked utterly lost in it. Frail and frightened. His pale hand tightly gripped a little stuffed something. It was hard to recognize. Some stuffing was hanging out of its charred bottom, and only after looking at it for a few moments could Liam vaguely guess that it probably once used to be a stuffed bear.

Right next to them were some of the wealthiest merchants in all of Charville. They were selling their luxurious wares. White flour-crusted bread, smoked meats, and fresh vegetables grown and imported from faraway places by caravans.

Between the refugees and the stalls stood a thick line of guards, protecting the righteous merchants of the thieving filth, intervening as soon as one of the refugees got too close to one of the stall owners' businesses and keeping an eye on them.

At the sight of this discrepancy, something hardened inside of Liam.

Luckily Liam had worked underneath the same eye all his life and knew how to avoid it. He turned his back to them and vanished into the busy masses of the market.

—-----------------------------

A bead of sweat dripped down Liam's forehead. He intently observed a small stall to the outside of the market and had been for quite some time. By now he had the guard rotations down roughly.

With at least six pairs of eyes on the goods, Liam couldn’t keep them all distracted, so he opted for a different strategy.

He focused on the small bead of customers waiting in front of the stall until his eyes settled on one man in particular. He was of average height and build, his clothes screamed middle class, and by the way, Liam saw the man's hands clenching and loosening, he could see he wasn’t particularly fond of being in crowds. He was, after all, spectacularly unspectacular. What wasn’t though, was the man in front of him.

Liam had seen such men all his life before. They oozed trouble and went out on Sunday mornings to start a fight with their mothers. Aggression was put to them in the cradle. That was simply a matter of things.

Liam was almost sorry for what he was about to do to the normal man.

With a quick mental command, he activated his Gravity Manipulation Skill. The now familiar burning of mana surged through him and snapped the world into focus around him.

He focused on the rowdy-looking man and pushed some energy into a thread springing up from his hat.

Almost as if pulled down by some trouble-seeking citizen behind him, the hat thumped to the dirt, puffing up a small cloud of dust.

The man turned around, his expression full of hot anger.

A few words were exchanged. Curses thrown around best not repeated, and the inevitable happened. The first shove came. It didn’t take long to escalate a little further, and, as usual for those things, for other people to become involved.

Guards streamed into the place, intending to separate the almost half a dozen people getting at each other.

During that big mess of confusion, Liam quietly slipped forward to the stall and pocketed as much as he could. He was gone in the blink of an eye.

He visited a few more stalls afterward, and while he didn’t repeat his tactic from before, it didn’t take too long for him to collect a small assessment of food from all over the market with his newfound abilities.

He had used the same scheme as last time. Creating a small opportunity with his Gravity Manipulation Skill to strike, and then darting forward with long-practiced quickness to pocket some of the wares.

Only when he had tried out the idea of using his Gravity Jump Skill to dart forward even quicker had things almost resulted in guards being alerted to him.

He had underestimated the feeling of weightlessness that came over him when he activated the skill. A small hop had transformed into a big leap and he had banged against the table, shaking the goods.

With quick thinking and flourish for acting he had made it seem like he had been pushed through, and had quickly vanished between the masses again. He stayed away from that part of the market afterward.

Despite his little setback, Liam had been rather successful overall.

He strolled through one of the streets leading away from the market with a small sack over his shoulder and a whistle on his lips. There was a certain thrill Liam got from stealing. Something about taking from the wealthy merchants, who he knew had even more shady things going on than most people in Liam's situations, and getting away with it.

He had done things like this all his life. Stealing and thieving just to survive another day. But never had it been as easy as today. Never had he felt so efficient and professional.

His good mood vanished when he entered the refugee corner. His swagger was replaced by shock as he took in their states from close for the first time.

He had expected them to be a little down on their luck, but he hadn’t been prepared for how thin and frail they were. Hadn’t been prepared for the hollowed look some of them carried. It was different from the anguish he had seen on the streets. There was a deeper sorrow in these people.

They all glanced at Liam warily, until a man stepped forward.

He was old. Older than most of the people, but where they seemed frail and frightened, he was determined. There was a hardness to his gaze.

“I’m afraid we don’t have much to offer to you young man,” he said regretfully.

“Oh don’t worry,” Liam smiled and opened his mantle. “I’ve got a few things for you.”

He started unloading the goods he had collected in the market around the people. At first, they seemed suspicious, but after he handed out a few loaves of bread and a string of sausages, that turned into disbelief.

“Well then, we accept your generosity young man.” He smiled and offered Liam his head. “I’m Gepard.”

“Liam.” He gripped his hand.

The people behind them were starting to eat.

Afterwards, Liam played some with the children. It was interesting, he mused. Some of them were not much younger than him, only three or four years at times, but they behaved so differently. There was an air of innocence about them.

“Liam, Liam, look at this!” One of the boys screamed as he kicked a ball against a wall with all the force he could muster. The half-pumped ball smashed against it and bounced off weakly. Still, the young boy laughed loudly.

He felt a smile breaking through his face as well, followed by laughter. Today really seemed to be a good day.

Even later, when Liam left the refugees again he still felt good. The lanterns touched the streets in golden orange light and with just enough warmth for comfort. Liam strolled through them with a smile on his lips.

If Liam was honest, he felt more than good. He wasn't sure if it was due to the improvements his body had gotten with his skill levels, or because it was one of the few times he had eaten more than well for more than two days in a row.

A small part of him suspected although he wasn’t aware of it, that he felt good because he had helped people. Because he had used his powers to do good for others who desperately needed it.

He felt powerful. Powerful and in control of his life for the first time in a while. Maybe things could be better now.

If he had only known then already how foolish that thought was. How weak and frightened he would feel the next day. And what kind of shame he would feel for even thinking he could fix the world through small acts of kindness like this.