Strongest Scammer: Scamming The World, One Death At A Time
Chapter 80: Duties Of A Servant

Chapter 80: Duties Of A Servant

Han Yu looked around at the others, dazed. But unlike them, he wasn’t entirely scared.

Because while everyone else feared death, pain, and humiliation...

Han Yu feared boredom more.

And deep down, some chaotic part of him knew—

He wouldn’t be stuck in the background for long.

Not when disaster followed him around like a stray dog.

For now though, Disciple Bian kept on speaking and had been for around ten minutes.

Han Yu, of course, hadn’t listened to a word.

He was too busy imagining himself dramatically collapsing in the middle of the courtyard, tears streaming down his face, a single leaf fluttering across the wind as his dreams were crushed under the metaphorical boot of reality.

"Scrubbing toilets... really?" he whispered, staring into the void. "All that hard work, and now I’m gonna be fighting turds with a bamboo brush?"

The other new recruits gave him a wide berth, afraid they might catch whatever cosmic curse he was clearly carrying.

Disciple Bian, meanwhile, had not stopped talking.

"And now, we move on to servant etiquette," he said. "This is extremely important. If you don’t want to be beaten, stabbed, or accidentally fall into a trash pit, you’ll remember the following rules:

Rule One: Never talk back to a disciple.

Rule Two: Never look at a disciple for longer than three seconds unless you’re told to.

Rule Three: Never touch a disciple’s robes, belongings, or—heaven forbid—their spiritual pet. Especially if it breathes fire.

Rule Four: If a disciple asks you to do something unreasonable, you nod, smile, and say ’Yes, esteemed lord,’ while crying internally.

Rule Five: If two disciples are fighting, do not cheer. Especially if one of them is losing. Especially if you’re cheering for the wrong one."

Han Yu blinked, slowly emerging from his spiral of existential dread. "Wait... did he just say ’fire-breathing pet’?"

He looked up.

He immediately regretted it, because Disciple Bian was now staring directly at him.

"You," Bian pointed. "You’ve got that look."

"What look?" Han Yu asked, panicking.

"That ’main character in a tragic backstory’ look. You better wipe that off, or the senior servants will throw you in the latrines just for looking too poetic."

Han Yu tried to rearrange his face into something less brooding and more servant-like. He ended up looking constipated.

Disciple Bian sighed. "Hopeless."

He turned back to the group. "Now, I’ll assign your quarters. You’ll be in Dormitory Nine. It’s the one with the slightly caved-in roof and the mold problem. Don’t worry, the rats are friendly."

A child raised their hand. "Sir... did you say rats?"

"They only bite if provoked," Bian said, very matter-of-factly. "Also if you smell like bread."

Han Yu sniffed his sleeve. "...I had a bun this morning."

"You’ll be fine," Bian lied.

The group was led down a winding path that seemed to go lower and lower with every step. From the crisp marble of the main sect halls, they descended to dusty wooden walkways, cracked stone paths, and finally to what looked like a large shed held together by resentment and termite droppings.

Dormitory Nine stood proud—well, stood—as a beacon of mediocrity.

The door creaked ominously as Bian pushed it open. Inside, the "beds" were straw mats, the "pillows" were lumpy sacks, and the "windows" were just holes in the wall. The mold had claimed one entire corner and was now its own thriving ecosystem.

"There you go," Bian announced. "Home sweet home."

One of the children burst into tears. Another whispered something about wanting to go back to farming turnips. Han Yu just stared.

He turned to the mold. "You’re the only one who understands me."

The mold remained silent. Comforting.

"Alright, settle in!" Bian clapped his hands. "Training starts tomorrow. You’ll be learning basic servant duties—latrine cleaning, floor scrubbing, tea brewing, groveling, and smiling while internally screaming."

Someone raised a hand again. "Uh... what if we’re bad at all of those?"

"Then congratulations!" Bian said cheerfully. "You’ve found your calling."

As the outer court disciple finally left, the room descended into silence. Everyone picked a mat and sat in a daze. Han Yu dropped his tiny cloth bundle and flopped onto his straw mat with a dramatic sigh.

"So this is the bottom," he muttered.

A kid next to him looked over. "You’re Han Yu, right?"

"Used to be," Han Yu said. "Now I’m just Bucket Boy Number Seven."

The kid laughed nervously. "At least you’re famous..."

"Yeah, infamous for losing in a match of talent after beating up two future elders of the sect that will probably turn me into a pill or use my bones for fertilizer." Han Yu muttered with total despair. "And that’s just in the future. For now all you know, I’ll get assigned to manure detail and find enlightenment in a pile of horse dung."

"You... you might still make it," the kid said hesitantly. "I heard one servant made it to disciple status after five years."

"Oh joy," Han Yu said flatly. "Just five short years of being stepped on, spat at, and probably peed on by a cultivation pet with boundary issues."

But deep inside, something was beginning to stir.

No—not enlightenment.

Rage. And maybe a little indigestion.

He clenched his fists and stared up through the hole in the roof. A single cloud shaped strangely like a middle finger lingered above.

"I will rise again," he whispered. "Even if I have to climb out of a septic tank to do it."

And somewhere, far away in the sect, a pigeon sneezed ominously. It looked around suspiciously, its instincts telling it that there was a certain head that was calling for it to be shat upon.

Feeling its calling, it cooed and flew away, heading straight towards a certain place only known as Dormitory number nine.

Han Yu laid on the straw bed unaware of incoming doom, as he stared at the cloud above with an empty gaze. It seemed to linger there, unmoving, no change in the scenery at all, the smell of mildew and mold lingering in the air.

but after a few minutes, a small dot seemed to fly in, obstructing the view of the cloud that seemed to be heavens flipping the bird to Han Yu.

"Huh... A bird?" Han Yu saw.

SPLAT

"NOT AGAIN!"