It had been three hours since he woke up. He was in an unfamiliar place, an unfamiliar room, with an unfamiliar body.

Kal Sorvenn tried to search for the young man’s memories, only to find nothing. But he did recognize the architecture and this horrid winter. He was within the Farstan Empire, perhaps somewhere far north. Hopefully, not in the infamous prison he’d heard as the Fangmouth.

However, his robes looked well off, and his room was spacious.

There was a knock on the door. Kal schooled his expression. He walked over, slid it slightly open, and found a young woman bowed deeply on the ground.

She looked up, eyes widened, and seemed unable to speak.

Eventually, “Have you had tea, young master?”

He glanced at the empty cup of tea. “I have,” he said, cautiously.

“Shall I refill the teapot?”

“You may.”

He would need this vessel’s name, her name, and this position he was currently in. He wondered on how he could fish for information without making it suspicious.

“Humor me,” he told her. She stopped to look at him. “How long have you been in my service?”

She stared at her sandals. “For two weeks, young master.”

“And in these two weeks, how would you evaluate my character?”

It was pleasing to know that there was a silver lining to all this. He was a patrician then, and some lord’s young master now. And the servant seemed frightened of him, which he guiltily welcomed.

She lowered her head, her lips trembling. “This lowly servant finds young master Lahrs Sarnasia benevolent in his wisdom and character. He is as fierce as the great tigers, infinite in his strength. He is powerful, forge in—“

“Stop.” He scratched his neck. “There is scarce time for flatteries, and I haven’t got the stomach for it now.”

He wanted to ask her if he was quiet. Does he talk too much? Was he cruel, or was he kind?

“What sort of person do you think I am?” He asked with a smile.

That seemed to terrify her, with the way she held her hands. “I am only a servant, young master. I dot have purview to host opinions.”

“You do now. I grant you that.” She didn’t answer. “State your name again for me.”

“I am Pria Summerborn, young master.”

“Lady Pria—“

“I’m no lady.”

Damn it, woman. “Lady Pria, I won’t punish you for honesty. Feel free to speak your mind.” He paused, and considered his options. “Tell me what you know about me.”

She didn’t know much. He was a Sarnasia, but the name didn’t light a fire. She did tell him that he was sent here under the orders of his father. He presumed that he came here with her.

“Master Sarnasia deemed your cultivation… would be best sharpened under harrowing conditions,” she said.

He asked her about his progress on this cultivation, and she told him he was at the 1st Realm, which he imagined wasn’t very good. To begin with, he didn’t have a good grasp on these cultivators other than to stick them with a pointy end.

“I’m famished,” he said.

She seemed to find that as a good excuse to skitter off. “I shall prepare a meal at once.”

When she left, he looked around the hallway. It was open, with a garden at the center. He could see the doors to the other rooms, though the kitchen was blocked and cornered off in stone.

He walked around and surveyed the manor. Aside from the kitchen, there was what was presumably a dining room, a study room with a small bookshelf, the servant’s room, a parlor, and a guest room. Near his room was an armory of old, rusting swords, spears, a halberd, several bows, and a set of arrowheads, sticks, and feathers. The place looked dilapidated. Old, ancient, and creaking under its weight. Vines and moss seeped through the floorboards. And there were slivers of light passing through the tiled roofs.

He walked over to the kitchen. And when he turned the corner, the platter hit him. The plate and soup slid off and crashed on the ground.

She stood there—shocked. Then she knelt on the ground and bowed deeply. Her robe was slowly being stained.

He stared at her, then he knelt down and began putting the shattered pieces back on the platter.

“Young Master, I—“

“If you want to apologize, leave the mess and provide me a bucket of water and a rag.” She wasn’t at fault to begin with.

When she returned, Kal was sitting on the floor, having set aside the platter.

“The rag,” he said.

“Let me do it—“

He snatched it from her and began wiping the mess himself. “I take it I haven’t been a pleasant host, given how you act like a mouse around me.”

He took her silence as confirmation.

“Cook me a meal, please,” he smiled. “And this isn’t your fault.”

Once he was done, he disposed of the water in the central garden and dropped the bucket in the kitchen, where she continued to heat the firewood and roast meat. She stiffened the moment she heard him, so he stepped out to give her some space.

He had an idea of the kind of person this Lahrs Sarnasia was, and he disliked his imagination for it.

There was a loud knock on the door. It banged several times, and Kal, being the nearest, hesitated. He would rather have the servant open the door, or inform her to reject any visitors.

He found himself at the door instead, and two men revealed themselves. One was tall, yet lanky, with young but hard features. He looked like a laborer, him and his friend, now that he’d seen them. The other man was short, but stocky, and they both wore heavy winter clothes. They each have a sword strapped to their waist.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

“Wonderful weather,” the tall man said. His voice was soft. “I must say traveling here on foot was a delightful exercise. We’re here for Lahrs Sarnasia.”

“You’re looking at him.”

The man smiled. “Ah. Perfect. The directions our dear merchant gave us were accurate. I am Lim Fortson and my companion here is Kraun Fortson. You’ve seen us before, though we haven’t had the chance to meet.”

He paused, and waited for a reply that Kal never gave him.

“The White Jade Merchant Company. Remember?”

“Ah,” he said. “Yes, yes, of course. What seems to be the problem?”

“Ease your heart, master Sarnasia, we’ve encountered no issues. The heavens favored us instead with a gift. We have your merchandise.”

He gave a nod, as though he was considering the matter with all his heart.

When he didn’t answer, the man continued, “May we. Um. Discuss it inside? While my companion can weather the cold with his naked arse, and I’ll joyfully watch him do it, I’d no doubt freeze mine own fingers. And I quite value mine heavily.”

“By all means, warm yourself by the hearth,” he said, and guided them to the parlor. They didn’t take off their boots, and proceeded to take up dirt and snow and wetness on the floorboards. “Have you two eaten yet? I’ve little to offer you, but you are guests, and I don’t wish to be an unpleasant host.”

The man requested for tea as they all sat down on the couch. The stocky man raised a leg on the coffee table and stared at him unblinkingly. Kal gave him a thin smile, then shifted his attention to the tall brother.

The servant arrived shortly after, and she seemed to have seen them come in, as they were already accounted for. She placed the tea set, his meal, then began to start a fire on the hearth.

The man named Lim Fortson looked at her back, then turned to Kal. “This is a rather isolated home, my friend. Do you mind if I call you a friend?”

“Not at all. Isolated, yes. Why do you think that is?” He wondered the hell was up with that too. How far was the nearest human civilization?

Lim Fortson contemplated about it. “Let’s see. The forest provides a natural camouflage, but equally dangerous as beasts are known to roam near settlements,” he paused. “Nevertheless, you’ll be safe from rogues and vagabonds given this isolated, but concerning location, wouldn’t you think?”

He feared the worst. Fangmouth, then. Somewhere isolated, stuck in an eternal freezing land.

“The Sarnasia has its reasons,” Kal said.

“We’re all cultivators here, my good friend, and stories worth telling are scarce in the north. I caught this terrible disease of listening to dull tales about snow witches and demonic cultivators and of a dozen different paths to escaping this prison.”

“My story isn’t any more entertaining,” Kal said. He sipped on his tea. It was very bitter. “You’re not here to talk of tales, are you?”

“Ah, but good stories can make a man’s day. I happen to possess one, if you have the courtesy to listen. And perhaps melt that ice off your face.” He frowned. “Your tea is too bitter.”

Kal gave a nod.

The other brother, who was silent until now, spoke in a course, low voice. “You don’t talk.”

“Astute observation,” Kal said.

The man named Kraun Fortson made an exceptionally ugly smile. “I like that. Makes it simpler. I like simple things.”

He curled his hand to a fist, though his brother was quick to pat him on the back. “Calm yourself,” he said. “Is that in any way to treat a host? And a fellow cultivator at that.”

“He treats his guests no better.”

“What has he done?” To Kal, “We won’t let ourselves be distracted by such silliness, will we, my friend? You know, the merchandise arrived at port. On the usual occasion, the public will clamor to bid, but I happened to spot them before dusk to trade for summer wine. That was the luckiest day of my life. When I boarded their frigate, I saw your merchandise. The captain was hesitant to part with it, but I snatched it from him with a smile and signed its price in silvers.”

“A very pointy smile,” his brother nodded.

“Where is it now?” Kal asked.

The man gestured dramatically. “Why, it’s sitting lonely in storage at Central, waiting to be used. It’s sharp. Oh, very, very sharp.” He paused, thinking about it fondly. “It’s better than we thought it would be. You’ll see it for yourself. The White Jade Merchant felt that its value exceeded what we originally agreed upon.”

“And its price?”

“We’re raising it. A hundred silvers—which is worth its price, I assure you. I would love to have it for myself if you decline, though I’d most likely dismember myself in debt.”

“Good story, see?” his brother said. “We will wait now for your answer.”

Kal considered it. The original owner of this body must have wanted that merchandise. It wouldn’t hurt to accept this offer, but at the same time he hadn’t the faintest idea of where the stash of silver was.

The tea was left untouched, and silence descended on them like a cloak. Eventually, the man named Lim Fortson spoke up. “I see you, my friend. You’re not here long enough. I love the way we do things here in the north, and I wouldn’t trade it for any summer wine or a feathered bed. Heavens, I’d hang myself. Silver isn’t our only choice of currency.”

“What do you propose?”

He leaned in to a whisper. “If I may be rude to ask, and I don’t wish any ill harm to you nor do I intend to. How much silvers are you willing to burden yourself to part with your servant girl?”

“No,” Kal said. The servant was now standing by the door, though he couldn’t get a good look at her expression. “That is off this table.”

The man laughed. “I beg to differ. Everything has and will always remain on the table. There is nothing under the heavens that which can’t be bought. It’s only a matter of the proper price to match the weight on the scale. Isn’t that right, brother?”

The brother remained smiling. “How will you feel,” he began. “If I help myself to your little home and your silvers? I’ll drink from your cup. The girl will cook for me and bathe me and pleasure me. I’ll feel like a lord. A rich lord in the north.”

You’re yearning to be a toddler, not a lord, Kal thought. He had seen cultivators fight up close. They were frightening martial artists. He had to conclude that if they were to attack him right here, he’d die on the spot. What he did needed proper preparation, and alone, he was as vulnerable as a mouse.

“That’s a jest in poor taste,” he said, eventually. He wanted to de-escalate this situation. The last thing he wanted was a fight.

“More bitter than your tea?”

“Brother,” Lim Fortson said stiffly. “Enough. My friend, when we arrived here, we were expecting a warm welcome. Winter is harsh, and our skin wilts to a drought. I’ve aged here more in a year than I did for the twenty summers I’ve spent down south. You are, and I beseech you not take offense, a poor host. You answered that door like a frightened man expecting horror. You offered us a tasteless tea, and now you’re a mute entertainment.”

“Is that why you’re here?” He asked quietly. “For entertainment?” Or, he thought. Are you looking for an excuse to fight? For what?

The man named Lim Fortson shrugged. He turned to his brother, then back to Kal. “My friend,” he said. “What makes us cultivators?” He clenched his fist. “A mortal is satisfied where they stand, scraping their robes on the floor and apologizing for every mistake. They don’t have the capacity to think for themselves. But we’re cultivators. We are more than pigs who eat the slop from their masters. We possess the desire to be better than what we are.

“I learned from my seniors best whenever they dragged me to the training stage and humiliated me in front of my fellow disciples. When I was elevated to seniority, I made certain that my juniors will learn the way I learned cultivation.” He stood up, clasped his hands, and bowed. “Let us do it in the ways of old. Exchange pointers with me, my friend. Do not make the mistake of dishonoring me in refusal.”