“Chronicler?” The name took Requiem by surprises.“The guy who beat Orwell? The one Shyme is crushing on?”

“Yes,” Dream bought out a plastic bag and began extracting samples from the dead Fairies. He sealed the pieces of its skin, some hairs, and flowery plant-like parts into the plastic container.

“Orwell couldn’t shut about how awesome he is.” Requiem said. “It’s like he believed this guy is the best thing since sliced bread.”

“Chronicler is a model knight,” Dream said. “If we are the Knight of the Round Table, that guy is either Galahad or Percival.”

“Wait,” Yuri said. “Isn’t those two—“

“The two members of the Round Table who reached the Holy Grail,” Dream answered. “Chronicler may not be the strongest among us, but he is possibly the noblest.”

…

It was early morning in the city of Danghai.

A child navigated the crowded street. He was dressed in shabby clothing of grime and dirt. The thin frail legs brushed through the cobblestone road, searching for an easy target.

Wooden structures, traditional Frisnia’s architecture, flanked the road. The layout created a winding maze, blunting to navigate through. As a major city and trade-center in Frisnia, Danghai was the symbol of mega structure. Enchantment and woods of the magical trees fed the construction of sky-scraping pagodas -- a towering testament of national identity.

Magic-powered trains built the city’s transportation network. Instead of concrete roads, Danghai relied on rails. People deposited from the public transport in droves, providing a vast target-selection for the hungry young boy.

Crime was a regular occurrence in this city. The boy knew from painful experience he needed to find his prey — a visitor who didn’t know better.

It was then he caught sight of a certain man.

The young man wore a wire-frame glasses. He was akin to a dreamy prince from an Arabian. A coat draped from his shoulder and a walking stick nestled comfortably in his hand. His skin was Middle Eastern’s tan, with matching brown hair. The man looked unconcerned with the surrounding busyness, instead drowning in inner peace.

The boy smiled. He found his target.

The thief quickly locked onto the unmoving figure. His target barely reacted to his presence. The child grinned smugly as he sneaked behind the unsuspecting gentleman, reached into the pocket, and escaped with the leather-bound wallet.

The young thief couldn’t believe how easy this job was. This idiot in front of him truly deserved to be robbed, given how he let his guard down. He turned and ran, never realizing that the young gentleman he stole from had vanished.

…

“What is this?”

The boy flinched as the Master slapped the girl beside him to the ground and stomped her for good measure. The friends behind him shuddered, looking in fear, praying the next to be punished wouldn’t be them.

They were in a wood warehouse in the slum. This place was the only home the boy ever knew. All his memory comprised the burly abusive Master hanging above him like a knife.

The boy couldn’t complain. He was fed and clothed. It was a life of living on scrap, but it was the only life he knew. There were no alternatives to run away. No one to help him.

Do well and he would live pain-free. Disappointed the master, and he received the cane or the fist. A street urchin with no parents and connection didn’t have a chance.

The boy knew several who ran away, but the Masters always found them. He had both connections, underlings, and the power; resisting him was futile. The beating the boy had witnessed made the very thought of freedom a taboo.

“This,” the Master threw a bunch of coins to the ground. “This is shit! It isn’t worth the money feeding you miserable runt.” He ignored the coughing girl and turned to the boy. “What about you?”

The boy handed over the gentleman’s wallet. The boy was confident. The bag was fat. He expected the masters would be satisfied with the cash inside it.

The Master took the wallet and opened it.

There was some money, but not much. Instead, the huge portion of the wallet was filled with a bunch of written notes and photographs. The boy froze. He had done it this time. The Master would surely give him a beating for such a measly sum. He winced, realizing he should have checked the bad for its content.

“What?” The Master was confused and enraged. “Photos of old buildings. Who the fuck keeps this in their wallet? And what is this?”

The Master looked at a group photo inside the transparent plastic rectangle. The boy caught the glimpse of an image.

The man he robbed was in the picture. A white-hair man was holding a metal can next to him. Roping her arms around both men was a black-hair Elf, grinning ear-to-ear. A pale, crimson-haired Demon with horns was making a V-sign. Despite her apparent disinterest in the photo-op, that Demon was still the most beautiful lady the boy ever saw. A green-haired man with orange eyes was sitting at the table next to the Demon as they discussed something on a huge paper. Finally, coming to the five with a tray of beverages, was a homely blond-hair woman.

“That picture is very dear to me,” said the smooth voice, belonging to a man who was kneeling beside the beaten girl. “I will appreciate it, if you treat it with more respect.”

The boy jumped like he saw a ghost.

The gentleman he robbed was in the warehouse with them. He had entered with no one noticing. Now, this enigmatic man was hanging over the suffering girl. His hand hovered above the injured, radiating with the warm-light of healing.

“Where the hell did you come from?” The Master drew a knife at the gentleman.

The gentleman made sure the girl he healed was okay before turning to face the Master.

“I’m here for some time,” the man said. “Pretty amusing to see a child tried to rob me, but I felt like someone was behind it.” The man squinted. “Guess what, it appeared tailing him is a good decision after all.”

The boy flinched. Did this mean this naïve-looking airy man was aware and played him from the start?

The Master turned to the boy and shouted, “Once we are done with him. You are—“

The tanned man frowned, “Excuse me. Are you threatening a kid? Really? What kind of man are you?” He sighed. “Well, I shouldn’t expect much, given how you just beat a girl senseless. Still, I must say this: don’t you have any shame?”

“Shut the hell up,” The Master pointed the knife at the man. “You are dead—“

The man raised his hand. A mysterious force yanked the wallet out of the Master’s hand and back to its owner.

“You are a mage?” The Master said in terror.

“Maybe,” the gentleman replied. “They technically call me that.”

The Master took the moment to bolt, but he didn’t make it far. A tiny ledge of stone erupted from the ground and tripped the Master. The criminal tumbled to the floor, rolling and scurrying away from the calm gentleman.

“You can’t touch me!” The Master said. “I have men and protection. If you touch me--”

“This threat again?” The gentleman said. “Lately, everyone keeps yelling that at me.” He sighed. “It didn’t help anyone a little.”

A group of men burst into the door.

The boy flinched. They were the enforcer — the scary men with canes who chased after the runaways.

“Boss,” one man absorbed at the bewildering scene. “What is happening?”

“Kill him!” The Masters pointed at the gentleman.

“People,” the glasses man said, tapping the floor with his cane. “I know this is likely to be a waste of my breath, but let’s be--”

“What are you waiting for!” The Master screamed. “Get him!”

The gentleman shook his head, “There goes the civility.”

The group of bandits rushed into the room. It was five against one. But if the criminals knew who they were facing, they won’t dare be in his presence even if they added five more zeroes to their number.

The gentlemen greeted the first two with a ball of lightning. The third man committed the mistake of being distracted by his comrades going down, leaving him at the mercy of the gust of wind, hurling him into the wall in a bone-crushing collision. The fourth didn’t watch where he stepped, and walked directly on the layer of slippery ice covering the floor. The thug predictably slipped and found several hands made of earth, grabbing him, pinning him prone to the ground.

To his credit, despite seeing all his comrades being defeated like chumps, the fifth didn’t run away. His reward was the opportunity to boast he actually had faced one of history's most celebrated heroes in a fight.

The thug didn’t last long, but still looked impressive on his resume.

The gentleman batted the clumsy lunge with his cane, nailing the man between the eyes with the riposte. He swung the cane down on the thug’s knee-cap, sending the criminal falling to his knee. The dreaded cane swung again. Kinetic energy flexed supernaturally. The steel hilt of the mighty stick batted the thug in the face with the force of a power-hammer, knocking several of his teeth out.

The scary man who put fear into a five years old managed a few dizzily steps before hitting the floor out-cold.

The boy gaped. What kind of monster did he mug? The boy realized he was more surprised than afraid. The mage swinging the stick was akin to an umbrella, reassuring him in the rain. His presence washed away terror and revealed there was nothing to fear.

The Master tried to escape by crawling out silently until several magical circles materialized on his body, binding him in place.

The criminal then resorted to begging.

“That kid,” The Master nodded at the boy in fear. “He is the one who robbed you! Look, I can give you anything. Ju--”

The gentleman waved his hand. The air shifted. The Master was still talking, but no more voice was heard. It was like someone pressed the universal mute button.

The gentleman turned to the boy.

Noticing the danger, the children behind the culprit took a safer option and scooted to the back of the room.

The gentleman walked over to the kid who wanted to dig a hole to hide. He gazed at the kid and bent down to talk to him.

“Look,” the gentleman said. “I know you have little of a choice, but stealing is still wrong.” The gentleman thought for a second. “I won’t be here forever, but I promise you I will help the best I can. However, it will be you who need to change for the better.” The man gently looked at the boy. “Promise me. You will never do this again.”

The boy nodded.

“Good,” the man got up. “We have work to do? What is your name, kid?”

“Alec,” the boy squeezed. “What’s yours, sir?”

“I have many names,” said the gentleman named Hikma De Darwin. “But they call me the Chronicler.” The hero walked to the girl had healed and picked her up. “We need somewhere for this girl to rest. Can you show the suitable places?”

…

Fourteen days remained until Danghai Conference