Five years ago, in a small town called Blockton, a young boy would spend his time right as dusk began in front of an auto shop. The compact building was on a small street dense with businesses of similar sizes. At sunset, the store had just closed with no customers in sight. This left him free to admire the wondrous machines just behind the brightly lit windows and draw them into a poorly maintained notebook.

At that moment, the boy was perched atop his usual spot on a newspaper box across the road from the auto shop. That was the typical routine for this strange boy with hardly anyone to call a friend. However, that day was different. As he penciled down a crammed drawing of an expensive motorcycle, he noticed strange men approach the store.

“Things are looking good so far. I snagged a key from one of the employees earlier today and there’s no sign they’ve caught on.” The man closest to the door told the others.

“Are you sure? What about security cameras?” Another man with a scrawnier frame asked worriedly.

“We’ll just make sure to smash those before we go. Now, let’s hurry and get in!” The leader urged and brought out the stolen key.

“Yeah, this place is scarce now but that’ll change once night falls,” The last man to speak up eyed his surroundings carefully. He had a full beard that accented his fierce visage.

The boy's eyes widened in fear. No matter how much he cared about the auto shop, he could do nothing against grown adults. If he stayed in plain sight, he couldn’t expect them to just let him off scott-free. He slowly and awkwardly slid off the newspaper box. The boy was close to getting away when he knocked an empty drink can with his feet. The damning rattle alerted all three men and they found the source in seconds.

“Hey, what’re you doing over there?! What did you see?!” The leader interrogated from afar but the boy was already running away as fast as his short legs would carry him. The would-be thieves immediately ran after him.

The fledgling artist had spent little time playing games like tag and hide-and-seek with others his age. His breath grew ragged exceptionally fast and invisible chains quickly weighed down his legs. He turned a corner down a narrow alleyway when he felt the crooks would close in on him.

The boy reached the end of the alley only to find a five-meter fence blocking his path. He tried to climb it only to find he could barely pull himself up off from the ground. As the boy gritted his teeth and struggled to ascend the fence, the back of his hoodie was yanked forcibly. The boy was slammed into the hard pavement below.

“Agh!” He groaned in pain. “...Please, let me go!”

The thugs were breathing heavily as well and covered in sweat. The frustration from the sudden chase was clear on their faces.

“...Sorry, but we can’t do that! Not when you could rat us out!” The leader of the thugs yelled and slammed his foot on Allen’s stomach. The blow was worse than anything that the boy had ever experienced. He wondered if he was going to die there.

“This is what you get for messing with us, you brat!” The scrawny man joined in and began kicking the boy from the side. The young teen managed to get up but was knocked against the wall easily. In a frenzied yell, he bit one of their arms which caused that thug to yelp in pain. However, that only made the beating inflicted on the unfortunate child all the worse.

By the time they were finished pummeling him, the boy was covered in bruises with black eyes and a bloody nose. They left him lying there on the ground motionless and headed back down the alley. He could not move anyway, every attempt made his limbs scream in pain and a heavy fog was settling over his mind. Before long, he slipped into unconsciousness.

When he woke up, he found the auto shop had been ransacked with the security cameras wrecked, the register busted open on the ground, and the motorcycle, the one he never got to finish drawing, stolen.

Despite telling anyone who could listen about what happened, they didn't take him seriously and he was scolded for staying out late. When they did realize that a crime had taken place, it was already too late for them to find the culprits. Instead, the incident was swept under the rug as a small disturbance in an otherwise peaceful town while the auto shop owner had to close down their store due to the losses.

The young boy hated that unfair reality he could do nothing to change.

In that small town, nothing ever happened because no one saw anything happen. Even if that boy saw injustice with his own eyes, he was no one as well.

***

Allen woke up groggily and tried to walk out of bed only to fall to his knees. His arm was engulfed in searing pain. It was a familiar sensation akin to what he experienced when he first used magic. This was the lingering pain left behind by the miasma that had coursed throughout his entire body that fateful day. As told to him in The Layman’s Necronomicon, this was the first sign of the spectral corruption that would turn Allen into a mindless monster eventually.

Amidst that grueling torture as his nerves screamed in anguish, Allen wondered if there was any point in continuing with the deal between him and Porthos. He doubted he could manage to be in one piece by the time of their match, much less be able to defeat the Bludgeoner Crafter.

“Has anything changed? I am still just a wimp who can’t even run away from a beating?”

Ever since that day, Allen had dedicated time to training his physique through climbing and running to never end up in a situation like that again. He even joined the track and field club in high school with decent results but it was not as if that stopped him from being a human punching bag for every wannabee gangster that he got on the bad side of. With the outcasts he surrounded himself with, he was never short of enemies. It did not matter if they were bullies trying to steal pocket change or deranged magical warriors.

‘Maybe it’s time to stop running into trouble and just sit this fight out…”

His fist slammed onto his nightstand and he used the piece of furniture to hoist himself off the floor. His breathing was shaky but his legs were firm.

“I might’ve wanted to run away from fights before but now I never want to get caught by hopelessness again. …That’s something that’s changed for sure.”

***

He got dressed and headed back to Knight Arms for the penultimate day of sparring with Portho’s crew before they had their rematch. He was going to go up against one of the sword users among them. Swords were obnoxiously common among this group and fighters in general here. Despite how used he had gotten to the weapons, he was still challenged by their balance of range and maneuverability.

The pain in Allen’s right arm had subsided but he was still sore and fatigued from the days of grueling sparring matches beforehand while his opponent looked none the worse for wear. The Crafter had a smug smile on his face as he prepared for an easy victory.

However, before the match could begin, the front doors of the gym were suddenly thrown open. In walked a man wearing a brown shirt and pants along with a black scarf and boater hat. The man possessed curly black hair and dark eyes that wandered the building.

“Hello everyone! I would like to request a duel if any of you are up for the challenge.” The stranger announced carefreely. “I just procured a new Stylus and would like to give it a test run.”

Everyone at Knight Arms either voiced their chagrin or completely ignored the newcomer. They figured he was some arrogant grifter trying to advertise his merchandise. This included Allen who eyed the interloper with apathy.

Nevertheless, the man in the hat ignored their scathing gazes as his own eyes landed on the ring where Allen and the sword user were going to fight. He walked up to the small arena and tipped his hat to them. “How about I go a round with you? It seems like we’d have an interesting duel.”

The sword user was going to refuse until he saw the man in the hat pull out a dense wad of cash. “I’ll be sure to compensate for the interruption.”

The thug grinned. He eagerly snatched the money and stuffed it in his pockets. “Fine, let’s have a good match.”

The stranger shook his head. “No, you aren’t the one I want to fight. He is.” The man pointed at Allen who was surprised from being called out so forwardly.

“Me? Why do you want to fight me?” Allen asked with suspicion.

“Why else? You’re a Craftless, so I should be able to take it easy in this fight and focus on testing out my Stylus. Are you up for the fight?”

Allen’s brow furrowed as he took stock of his potential opponent. He was a lanky man with a carefree attitude that was probably a sign of confidence. Maybe that came from his strength or maybe he was just sure he could end the match before getting hurt himself. Regardless, Allen was still eager to see another type of Craft in action and possibly get even more from it.

“Alright then, I’ll take you up on that fight. However, I’m going to need some compensation as well.” Allen responded wryly.

The stranger smiled. “Of course, I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He handed Allen a roll of dollars of a similar size to the one he had given out earlier. Actually, it might have been the exact same amount. Allen noted this in itself odd while the man in the brown outfit walked into the ring.

“Allow me to introduce myself. I am a simple Wayfinder Crafter who wanders the country looking for the best compasses to restore, reproduce, and sell.” He then took a compass out of a pocket on his chest. The man gripped the instrument like he was planning to fight with it.

“I’m Allen Lee. A novice artist.” Allen said frankly. “So, you’re going to fight me with your hat? What about your new Styuls?”

“This is my Stylus.” The Wayfinder Crafter revealed. “The rules of the mock Knight Duel will be the same as usual, right? Five clean hits will decide the winner.”

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Allen nodded and the fight immediately began with the Hatmaker rushing in to attack.

“Wayfinder Craft, Page 1 - Compass’s Maw.” The Crafter’s chant transformed his compass into a wide metal disc that covered his wrist. He swung it around like a blunt knife and countered with strikes of his own with his mock handaxe.

“That compass is both your Medium and your Stylus?!” Allen asked incredulously at the bizarre weapon choice.

“Exactly, what other tool would a Wayfinder use?” The Crafter remarked like it was a matter of fact.

In a few moves, Allen had gotten the hang of the Crafter’s irregular movements. That reminded him a lot of how Renzo fought with his small shield. From the extensive amount of time he had spent at Knight Arms over the last four days, he had even been able to come up with some weak points to exploit.

“How about this?!” Allen slammed his handaxe down on the wide surface area of the metal disc and knocked the Wayfinder to the ground with it. The Craftless then aimed directly at the older man but he backpedaled away. Even off-balance, he was still able to move fluidly.

“Wayfinder Craft, Page 3 - Warped Course.” The Crafter chanted and an amber Sigil in the shape of a compass overlaid the one on his wrist.

Allen tried to attack before the Crafter was steady on his feet again but found his swings veering away from his intended target.

‘A Skill that changes the direction of attacks? I should lay off until it fades then.’

Allen retracted his weapon and took a stance while the Wayfinder stopped at the edge of the ring. The Sigil gradually broke apart into ethereal particles.

“Clever. Instead of wasting your energy and risking getting thrown off balance, you waited until the Skill ran its course,” the Wayfinder complimented.

“It’s like the story of Don Quixote. No point in fighting a windmill that won’t budge at all.” Allen said while keeping his eyes steady on the Crafter’s Stylus. “I don’t understand. If your Medium is your compass like you say it is, how can you control my weapon’s movement?”

The Wayfinder frowned and raised his left hand to his chin. “Perhaps I spoke too soon by calling you clever. As a practitioner of ethereal arts, you should know what technique that skill employs.”

Allen scowled. “Didn’t ask for your opinion of me. Either tell me how that trick works or shut the hell up.”

“Hmph, well, I guess it couldn’t hurt.” The Wayfinder relented. “It’s based on Resonance, the ability to reflect the world with your actions.”

After noticing the young man’s still confused look, the explanation was continued. “Resonance has two forms. One where power is drawn from executing an action based on how effective it would be with an envisioned tool. The more advanced form is a technique where a Crafter provides a replacement for something in a past event and can reproduce the power of that event based on how effective the replacement they provide would be.”

“Huh, what’s the past event you’re drawing on for your Skill then?”

“It’s in the name. You could stand to be more imaginative.” The Wayfinder scoffed. “My compass becomes a reflection of one used when changing the course of a traveling caravan. That allows me to alter the path of objects moving in my vicinity.”

Allen ignored his biting remarks this time and focused on the implications of that power called Resonance. “That means you could make a blade that inflicts cuts from a distance or a spear that flies through the air on its own if you pick the right events.”

“True, but it doesn’t have to be so brutal. Resonance can create music that calms raging hearts and a brush that paints a mural with a single stroke. You just need to provide an adequate replacement for events you desire to reproduce.” The Wayfinder wistfully added before readying the sharp-edged disc on his wrist. “Now, with that little lesson out of the way, are you ready to continue?”

“Yeah, let’s go!” Allen charged again at the Crafter who nimbly evaded his wild swings. His movements were both fluid and elusive. When Allen thought the Wayfinder would slice him with his disc, he instead kicked at his leg to make him almost fall over. In a few more moments, he had scored three clean hits while Allen scored none

Detecting the urgency, Allen used a feint with a handaxe strike to land a punch on the Wayfinders abdomen. He then landed another strike on the Wayfinder’s arm by jumping back and striking out with his handaxe.

“You’re pretty light on your feet for a guy that sells compasses,” Allen commented after moving back to the edge of the ring.

“Well, one never knows what sort of dangers they’ll face on the road. We are in the netherworld right now.” The Wayfinder unconvincingly brushed off.

Allen did not respond and ran toward the Crafter. He planned to use raw speed to overwhelm him. The instant the Wayfinder tried to intercept him, he would use his aura to burst to the opposite side of the Crafter’s attack and land all the hits he needed to win the match.

“Wayfinder Craft, Page 5 - True North.”

When he reached the Wayfinder and attempted this maneuver, his opponent suddenly disappeared from his vision. Allen stopped in his tracks and tried to find him to no avail.

“Huh, did you turn invisible? How would that work with Resonance?!” Allen protested.

“Oh no, I didn’t do something as cheap as become invisible. I’m simply veering the path of your sight to a set direction as if making sure you never lose sight of where you should be going. That’s the power of my Skill.”

Upon hearing this, Allen realized that things were indeed in the wrong place in his vision compared to where he last saw them. That wall lined with gym equipment behind him was now in front of his field of vision. He then heard some footsteps approach.

‘He might have messed with my vision but my hearing’s just fine.’

Allen heard a whoosh of wind rushing at him from his side and precisely used his handaxe to deflect the incoming attack and knock the Wayfinder’s compass from his hands. The Skill dissipated and Allen was face to face with his opponent again. Defenseless, Allen went in for the finishing blows while the Wayfinder looked on in surprise.

“...Wayfinder Craft, Page 8 - Homeward Bound.”

Allen’s eyes widened and he jumped out of the way as the disc he knocked out the Crafter’s came flying back to him. The Wayfinder deftly caught in the disc in his hands and in the same motions struck Allen twice with the flat of the compass.

“Ughh…” Allen fell to his knees after what felt like his chest nearly caving in. “...So much for no cheap tricks.”

“Well, it’s your fault for thinking I couldn’t use my weapon simply because it wasn’t in my hands.” The Wayfinder chastised and with a flick of his wrist, the metal disc transformed into a regular compass. “Thanks for the test run. It seems this new Stylus will do just fine. However, I recommend you brush up on your skills.”

With that, the Wayfinder walked away and outside of Knight Arms as briskly as he had arrived. That left Allen alone to simmer on his loss and wounded pride. He had come so close to victory time and time again only to have it snatched away at the last moment by abilities he could not even anticipate.

‘Is this the difference between a Crafter and a Craftless?’

***

Outside the martial arts gym, the Wayfinder was met by a woman in an elegant black pantsuit. That was the least prominent aspect of her since her entire body was made of an illustrious silver and lines ran from her eyes and down past her neck. These were the key features of the mystical androids known as Automatons.

“You should’ve alerted me that you were taking this unexpected outing, Sir.” The Automaton addressed the Wayfarer with an equal measure of respect and exasperation that canceled each other out.

“That wouldn’t make it unexpected then, Roben. The urge suddenly came to me to check on the culprits behind our little songbird’s current condition.” The Wayfinder replied nonchalantly.

“Is that why you took on such an unbecoming visage? You have the countenance of a scheming vagrant, Sir.” Roben stated. “Did you find the criminals?”

“Too many to count, but that ended up not being what caught my interest. Do you remember the Craftless that Evelyn told us about who only learned of magic this month?” The Crafter asked while analyzing his compass passively.

“Yes, but he has no role to speak of in the Council’s system nor was he chosen to participate in the Sword in Stone Festival. There’s nothing of note about him besides his connection to the other three in that faux company of theirs.” Roben relayed honestly and straightforwardly.

“Exactly! His magic control and perception are shoddy and he has no Skills or Extract of his own. He’s not remarkable at all…but who else so unremarkable can say they’ve been on multiple successful Traversals into the Netherworld?” The Wayfinder argued.

“Then, will extend your aid to him?” Roben queried indifferently, already pulling up a holographic screen with her cybernetic hands to examine their tight schedule for any openings.

“No, not yet. I like to be as hands-off as possible when it comes to examining the potential of promising actors.” The Wayfinder began walking away and the Automaton followed. “How else can a bird learn to fly if it’s not knocked out of the nest and into hell?”

***

Back inside Knight Arms, Allen was still on the ground when he heard a yell come from the sword user who was going to spar with him initially.

“What?! Where’s my money!” The thug dug in his pockets fruitlessly. “Which one of you asshats stole my cash!”

His friends denied stealing from him and he badgered anyone with a functioning earlobe about the theft. Allen looked at the time and could not care less as he was ready to leave.

“Hey, if you’re done sparring for today. I’m going to head out. With this, I’ve settled my end of the deal.” Allen said tiredly.

The sword user took a frustrated look at him and then waved him away. “Sure, scram for now and make sure to show up to the fight tomorrow. Maybe a one-way ticket to the Festival can make up for my losses today.”

Allen did not bother staying for the rest of what he said after his first sentence and was already heading out there. The young man did not notice the sickening grin that appeared on that Crafter’s face along with the rest that stood beside him.

A few minutes later, he would find himself ambushed out of nowhere and thrown to the ground. When he looked up, he saw that he was surrounded by the thugs who had left behind at Knight Arms. Not only them, Porthos was there now too.

“What do you guys want?!” Allen hissed with seething rage. “I fulfilled my part of the deal and helped you all farm points for that shitty Loot Tree app that allows you to fake being skilled yourselves!”

“Oh, so you caught on to what we were doing? Looks like Craftless aren’t as dumb as they say.” Porthos derided. “...But, we aren’t going to be fooled either!”

He kicked Allen in the stomach so hard that spit flew from his mouth. The Bludgeoner Crafter then gestured from someone to check their victim’s pockets and he retrieved the roll of cash that Wayfinder had given Allen.

“This it?” Porthos said as he examined the money.

The sword user nodded. “Yeah, that’s exactly the same. Thanks, boss!” He tried reaching out for it but Porthos pulled it back.

“I think I’m going to keep a hold of it for now. Call it a finder’s fee.”

“Hey, but that’s mi-” The thug couldn’t finish his sentence before Porthos slammed the head of a mace into his gut and dropped the weaker Crafter to the ground.

“Sorry…” The man wheezed out but Porthos paid no mind.

“Now, listen here trash. You’re going to show up the arena tomorrow so that I can prove to everyone the difference between charity cases like you and people who actually earn their place in this world. Make sure you invite that mutt with the purple eyes too since it’s her Invite Card that’ll be given away.”

“Earned their place? I know why you’ve been missing the last few days, using your powers to win at baseball games to make money. Is that really worthwhile for such a great Crafter to do?” Allen snidely remarked which earned a dark grimace from the Bludgeoner before it turned into a sardonic smile.

“Hmp, consider this payback for stealing from the Green Manticores. Try not to die.” Porthos announced as he held up his mace to the Netherworld sky, and Allen's eyes vision filled with red at the man finally admitting to his true colors.

“Damn you!!!” That was the last words Allen could say before the weapon came crashing down and he was sent to the ground, unable to move. Porthos and the rest of his crew left Allen there in that alley as he slipped into unconscious.

‘I haven’t changed it all…’ Those were Allen’s last thoughts before everything faded to darkness.