Strongest Scammer: Scamming The World, One Death At A Time
Chapter 91: A Month Passes

Chapter 91: A Month Passes

After returning from the mission to save the sacred pool of the Rat Council and getting blessed by them, Han Yu simply crumpled in the bed.

Even Fatty Kui was tired, having had to walk so far. They were done and didn’t want to move a single bit.

Cock-a-doodle-do!

Unfortunately for them, the sunrise was just around the corner.

"UGH!" Han Yu groaned as he tried to cover his ears with the pillow.

"I knew we shouldn’t have stayed out this long." Fatty Kui regretted it all.

Unfortunately for them, there was no choice and the two had to get up for their daily duties. It didn’t matter how sleepy a servant was, duties always came first, sleep later. And if one complained, they might just be sent to sleep six feet deep.

Han Yu and Fatty Kui barely managed to finish their daily tasks before returning to their room and falling asleep before it was even time for dinner.

Thankfully for them, that seemed to be the last of their bad days for the time being as fortune seemed to turn in their favor... as for how long, that was yet to be seen.

The new few days of Han Yu went relatively peacefully, at least as peaceful it could be for a servant in the sect. Sure there was screaming by disciples, random errands in the middle of night by because some female disciple had a craving for pickles, and a few minor conflicts among servants.

But it was nothing Han Yu couldn’t handle by this point.

Weeks passed and Han Yu had now been a servant in the sect for over a month.

The sun had barely peeked over the peaks of Twin Leaf Mountain, but chaos was already brewing in the outer court.

A gong rang out—twice.

Fatty Kui shot up from his mat, tangled in his blanket like a dumpling wrapper gone wrong. "Wha—are we under attack? Are the toilets revolting?"

Han Yu was already awake, seated calmly with a piece of stale mantou in hand. "Nope. Today’s the monthly Servant Skills Assessment. Didn’t you read the sign on the latrine door?"

Kui groaned. "No, because someone smeared it with duck paste and bad handwriting."

"Oh. That was me."

...

While Servants were not subject to the standards of disciples, they were still tested on thier combat skills. After all this was still a sect, and in case a war broke out they needed everyone to be ready.

Of course the servants were mere cannonfodder.

Hundreds of servants, new and old, stood in rows before several outer court disciples, who clearly did not want to be here.

One of them—Senior Disciple Hu, a perpetually sleepy-looking man with eyebrows like angry caterpillars—raised a hand lazily. "Listen up. Sparring matches. You win, you go up in rank. You lose, you keep scrubbing chamber pots."

There was a collective gulp from the crowd.

A roster was unfurled and names were shouted. When "Han Yu vs. Ren Dong" was announced, a few older servants flinched.

Fatty Kui whispered, "Ren Dong? You mean the guy who built a mop pole into a spear?"

Han Yu blinked. "That’s just a really sharp janitor."

Han Yu stood on one side, nervously spinning a broken broomstick. On the other side, Ren Dong—the muscular senior servant from yesterday. He had poured vinegar in Han Yu’s rice and tried to trip him into a goat trough.

Of course, that was just a minor conflict and Han Yu had gotten used to it. Several such incidents had happened before, while servants tried to bring each other down a notch to gain an advantage themselves.

Ren Dong twirled a polished metal mop pole with way too much flair.

"Oh, great," Han Yu muttered. "It’s the Rat-Kicker General."

Ren Dong smirked. "Heard you’ve been sniffing around with the rat folk. Filthy little spies."

Han Yu’s eyes narrowed. "Don’t talk about Chitterfang like that."

"Oh? What’s he gonna do? Bite my ankles?"

"No. But he might chew off your good sock and frame you for stealing spirit stones."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Begin the fight!" Disciple Hu ordered.

Ren Dong lunged with surprising speed, the pole swinging down with enough force to part hair and dignity. Han Yu barely dodged, instinct kicking in.

But something felt different.

His feet landed just right.

His broomstick moved exactly where it needed to.

He parried, stumbled, twisted—and used Ren Dong’s momentum to spin him sideways.

The crowd gasped as Ren Dong landed flat on his back with a thud, looking up at Han Yu in disbelief.

"...What?" Han Yu blinked.

Then it hit him.

The rat blessing.

Not brute strength. Not sharp senses. But improvised cunning. Rodent-style reflexes. He hadn’t fought well—he’d fought clever.

The crowd erupted in shocked whispers.

Fatty Kui dropped his dumpling in awe. "Bro. Did you just rat-fu that guy?"

Han Yu dusted his robes, shrugged, and turned to leave. "Guess he didn’t expect me to play dirty."

Ren Dong groaned, twitching on the ground. "He threw dirt in my eyes..."

"I didn’t. Not this time." Han Yu shrugged and walked away, feeling pleased by his result.

Later That Day—Outside the Outer Court Alchemy Hall

Having earned a minor rank bump and slightly less horrible chores, Han Yu was feeling good. Too good. Which, in the world of cultivation sects, was a sign of impending doom.

He rounded a corner and slammed straight into someone.

A very small someone.

Specifically, a young girl with an oversized alchemist’s robe, hair in a lopsided bun, and a scowl too powerful for her height.

"You!" she barked. "You stepped on my incense root!"

Han Yu looked down at the crushed twig beneath his foot. "...This?"

"That was infused with three drops of Blue Spirit Rabbit drool!"

"...Why?" Han Yu couldn’t help but question the need for such a material.

"It was an experiment!"

Han Yu coughed. "Well, uh. Sorry about the—wait, what’s that smell?"

The girl blinked. Then her eyebrows shot up. "Did you... recently come into contact with ancient formation residue?"