Hero’s Step was off the main road and surrounded by thick stone walls thirty feet high. Zane guessed it might hold ten to twenty thousand people. In a rare display of common sense, the young man had switched out his red robe and dragon mask. It was fairly simple for a tier three chef to manifest a uniform in the color and pattern of his choosing. He decided on green for now, in deference to the fine spring weather.

It was the middle of the day, so the main gates were wide open. Zane joined the line of merchants and travelers waiting to be admitted. The young man did his best to listen for any important gossip or news, but it wasn't like he had context for any of it. Apparently harvests were bad down in the lowlands and farmers were mad because rents had kept going up despite their situation. That sounded pretty typical to him.

There was also some mention of a bandit attacking caravans, spirit beasts making nuisances of themselves, and cultivators being dicks to just about everyone.

“Not that a fine tradesman like you would ever want to mix with that lot,” said a trader from the seat at the front of their wagon. They sounded like a smoker and every inch of their skin was covered by heavy clothing. The mask that hid their face was engraved with golden coins and wagon wheels.

“Cultivators and adventurers are nothing but trouble for honest folk like us,” they continued.

Zane sighed. “I suspect I won't have much choice in the matter.”

“How so?” the trader asked.

“My class allows me to prepare food rich in essence. Cultivators and adventurers are probably the only ones with access to the raw materials I need,” he explained.

“Ah, that's unfortunate.” The trader seemed to reach a decision. “Tell me, have you already secured employment?”

“No, I figured I would get the lay of the land first.” Zane had money in his pockets, it wasn't like he was in a hurry to get a day job.

“Well, one of my clients asked me to keep an eye out for a replacement chef. Their previous one got eaten by a spirit beast.” the trader sighed, “Most people can't survive this high up the mountain, so it's not like they have a lot of options to choose from.”

“I'll check them out. But I'm not sure if I'll be staying long,” Zane said, deciding to keep his options open but not miss out on a possible opportunity.

“Much obliged.” The trader rubbed their gloved hands together and blew on them. They seemed to have trouble keeping warm despite the pleasant weather. “I'm Pinky, by the way, purveyor of fine foods and luxury goods.”

“I'm Zane,” the young man replied, looking the trader over, “I can't help but notice you seem to be freezing your ass off. Are you sick or something?”

“Ha ha. Very funny,” Pinky said miserably, “It's the fog, smart ass. I'm not high level enough to ignore it.”

Zane frowned. It seemed like a pleasant day to him. The only fog he could see was maybe a tenth of the way up the mountain. “Did you want me to summon a hot water bottle for you or something?”

Now it was the merchant’s turn to frown. “Summon?”

“Yeah, I'm a Chef. My class lets me summon stuff related to my trade.”

Zane concentrated until a teapot appeared. It had the same black and green theme as his robes. He filled it from one of the water bottles that the raiders had “donated” and used energy from his lower core to bring the water to a boil. “I don't have any tea, but at least the water is warm.”

Pinky gratefully accepted the gift with their gloved hands. “That feels divine. Thank you.”

The young man shook his head and looked around at the other people in line. Most of them seemed equally cold and miserable. An idea began to form in Zane's mind.

“Hey. Pinky,” he said, “How would you like to make some money?”

***

It didn't take much for the idea of “Tea To-Go” to take off. Zane could summon cups, there was plenty of water, and Pinky even had a decent selection of different teas to choose from.

Anything Zane summoned disappeared after about an hour unless he kept putting energy into it. That meant his cups were more or less disposable.

Pinky would hold their place while Zane sold hot tea to the half frozen people waiting in line. He still didn't understand why everyone was so cold. The weather was nice, practically balmy. Sure, there was a breeze. But it wasn't enough to justify everyone bundling up like they were ascending Everest.

Eventually they got to the gate. The guards gave off medieval mall-cop vibes with an extra side of corruption. Zane watched in amusement as the bigger one held out his hand for a bribe.

The young man didn't mind paying off public officials, but he wanted to make sure he was at least getting a good deal. Zane handed the guard a cup of hot tea and waited to see what would happen.

The man looked at the beverage then back at Zane. “What the fuck is this?”

“That’s tea,” Zane said helpfully, “A fruity little blend from the lowlands.”

“Are you fucking with me?” the guard asked.

“Nope,” Zane lied, “It's cold as hell out here and I thought you might want to warm up.”

For a second the guard seemed like he would throw the cup on the ground. Instead he took a sip, nodded appreciatively, then waved Zane inside. The guard didn't ask where the young man was going or why. He didn't care.

Zane was surprised how well that had worked out for him. Usually people tried to kick his ass. He wondered if the fact that he was half a head taller than everyone was giving them pause. The ten years he spent training in the warren had definitely left him a lot more heavily muscled than when he arrived.

As he walked through the main market, Zane couldn't help but notice that almost everyone inside the city walls was shivering as well. They were bundled up like it was the depth of winter instead of a sunny afternoon.

When he asked Pinky about it the trader had explained it was because of the fog. Zane frowned. He didn't see any fog. There was a greater amount of essence in the air than he was used to, but no fog to speak of.

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“Come on,” Pinky said, “The restaurant is this way.”

As they traveled through the city Zane noticed a strange mish-mash of different architectural styles. The various cultural influences seemed to be fusing together. Medieval gargoyles guarded houses with rice paper windows while Japanese torii gates decorated western gardens. Zane even saw a street vendor selling Mexican tacos.

He wandered over to get a closer look. They were indeed tacos, complete with corn tortillas. It cost him a silver coin to get three of them, which seemed expensive. But Zane had no frame of reference.

His class identified the meat as “rock chicken”, a kind of spirit beast. The tacos were hot and spicy. Zane moaned happily as he ate for the first time in a decade.

Pinky looked at him with envy. “You must really love food.”

“I am a chef,” Zane replied, summoning a towel to wipe his face off. He dismissed it, watching as the sauce and grease it had absorbed floated in the air for a second before gravity took over.

Apparently anything his towels absorbed didn't leave with them when they disappeared. Zane was sure he would find a way to abuse that someday. But he wasn't quite there yet.

The trader had been watching the way Zane seemed to effortlessly summon items and was beginning to get suspicious. “Hey, what level are you anyway?”

“Ten,” Zane replied.

“You're level ten?”

“Yep,” the young man confirmed with a shrug, “Why do you ask?”

Pinky almost said something, but stopped and took a deep breath instead. The trader took a few seconds to compose themselves, then spoke. “How in the seven hells did you level all the way up to ten?”

Zane shrugged again. “The usual way, hard work and elbow grease. It took me a little over a decade.”

The trader gave Zane a look of begrudging respect. “Well, I guess you earned it,” they grumbled.

***

As Zane looked at the sign above the restaurant, he couldn't help but wonder if fate (or some other unknown force) was screwing with him. The Cat, Dragon, and Fox was an establishment that had obviously seen better days. But it was the name that gave him pause.

He looked at Pinky. “How long ago did the chef go missing?”

The trader was almost vibrating with rage. “Fucking magic mountain bullshit,” they swore.

Zane cocked an eyebrow at them, “Say what now?”

Pinky gestured at the dilapidated building helplessly, “When I left, this place was a palace. Now it's a fucking ruin!”

The young man still didn't get it. The building looked like it had been abandoned for a long time. Years, at least. “How long were you gone?”

“Subjectively? Maybe a month. Objectively? Who knows.” Pinky shrugged, “I'm guessing the owner went out of business years ago.”

That was when Zane understood. “Oh shit. The same thing happened to me too.” The young man wasn't sure how similar their situations were, but he was trying to be sympathetic and understanding.

Zane thought about the possibilities of time distortion, and how that might work. “Does time here ever reverse?” he asked.

“No,” Pinky said with a pause, “Why would it do that?”

“Just asking,” Zane replied, “I'm trying to figure out the rules of this place.”

Before Pinky could dig into that particular riddle, three men showed up that looked like trouble. They were wearing black martial arts robes and the casual swagger of someone who thought they were better than everyone else.

“Hey, country bumpkins!” called out the leader of the cultivators, “I can sense you have some cores. Why don't you give them over before you get hurt?”

Zane sighed, “Pinky, you might want to close your eyes.”

***

Fa-king Maran was feeling pretty good about himself as he approached the trader and their companion. Two people without combat classes would be no match for three cultivators of their level. He had ascended to the second tier just that week and was itching to try out his new skills.

The young man in green hopped off his horse and started walking towards them. He didn't seem to be armed, but the way he walked said otherwise. Something shimmered in the man’s hand, then he disappeared.

The next thing Fa-king knew, there was a sound like thunder, then he was falling. The cultivator felt the ground rise up to smack him in the face, then darkness claimed him.

The two remaining cultivators watched the corpse of their leader topple forward. The young man in green looked at them with vague curiosity. “What year is it?” he asked.

The question caught the men off guard. “Um, it's the year of the dragon… five thousand and fifteen,” one of them managed to stutter out.

The man blurred again, decapitating the two cultivators. “Thank you for clearing that up,” he said.

***

Pinky had watched cultivators fight in tournaments. But none of them could move as fast as Zane. Granted, high level cultivators usually didn't bother with small regional tournaments.

“What the fuck are you doing?” the trader stuttered as they watched the chef cut into the corpses.

Zane continued extracting the cultivators’ essence cores and looting their bodies. “Waste not, want not,” the chef said pleasantly as he wiped his bloody hands off on their robes.

He tossed a peach pit sized core up in the air and caught it. They reminded Zane of marbles, or maybe dice. He didn't know how to extract the essence from cores yet, but he seemed to get experience from harvesting them.

He looked into the dark orb, wondering if they came in different colors or sizes. So far he had only seen shades of black and gray.

“You killed them,” Pinky said as they looked at the carnage spread across the empty street, “I mean, they were asshole cultivators. And they were trying to rob us, but that's still pretty extreme.”

Zane shrugged. "It is what it is," he said.

The trader regained their composure and let out a sigh. “Let's at least hide the bodies before someone shows up.”

The chef liked Pinky, they were practical. Zane pointed at the empty restaurant. “Why don't we stash them in there?”

***

The Cat, Dragon, and Fox restaurant looked better on the inside, but not by much. Zane moved the bodies and cleaned up the street as Pinky stood watch. When he was done, they met up for a little chat.

“I can't believe I just helped you hide three bodies.” The trader said with a shake of their head, “I promised myself I was done with all that crap. It’s been weeks since I saw a dead body. Weeks!”

“Well, the family that slays together, stays together,” Zane joked.

Pinky let out an oddly musical laugh. “Don't you take anything seriously?” they asked.

“No, not really.” Zane looked at the work he had ahead of him. “My first instinct is to cut them up and flush them down the drain. But I don't know if this place has a decent sewer system.”

“It doesn't,” the trader replied.

“Well, shit.” The chef weighed his options. “What about pig farms or dog kennels?”

“There aren't any. The fog kills them,” Pinky said, suddenly realizing why Zane didn't seem to know anything about the mountain. “You're an outsider, aren't you?”

“Yep,” Zane confirmed, “Truck-Kun got my ass good.”

“Oh that explains so much,” Pinky said as they practically collapsed into a chair, “Look, I'm not sure how things work where you come from. But normally, people don't go around killing each other. At least, I try not to.”

Zane sighed. He didn't feel like getting a lecture right now. “Look, they were asshole cultivators. The world is better off without them.”

Pinky took a deep breath then counted to ten before they spoke. “Zane, you're an asshole cultivator. Worse yet, you’re a rogue. That means you’re someone who doesn’t want to follow the rules of the sects, someone who will do anything to advance their cultivation. Sect members will kill you on sight if they find out.”

Zane slapped his forehead as he began to understand. “Oh my god, thank you for clearing that up! That makes so much sense!” He had wondered what the difference was, and now he knew.

The trader sighed as they began to remove their mask. “You really are an idiot.”