Strongest Scammer: Scamming The World, One Death At A Time
Chapter 93: Water Duty

Chapter 93: Water Duty

After what was basically Han Yu’s initiation into the Rat Society, he left the tunnel and stumbled back to the dormitory like a soldier returning from the front lines—with significantly less honor and a lot more dirt.

He was tired from the day’s events, especially the narrow escape from the disciples who had come to clear out the rats.

"That small girl was also crazy," Han Yu muttered to himself, still mildly traumatized.

He didn’t know who she was, but judging from her size, she looked like she hadn’t even hit her growth spurt yet.

"She was wearing the Outer Court Disciple robes, so she should be one of them," Han Yu reasoned. "I’d better stay as far away from her as humanly—and rodently—possible."

He didn’t want to end up as someone’s alchemy test subject. He’d heard plenty of horror stories from the older servants—tales of unfortunates who’d grown scales, lost hair, or developed explosive sneezes after being volunteered for ’testing.’

They were all warned: Stay far, far away from the enthusiastic alchemists. If they smile too much, run. The elders wouldn’t care. At most, they’d offer compensation, which usually amounted to a pat on the back and maybe some spiritual ointment—if the victim still had a back left to pat.

SIGH

"I never expected being in the sect to be this troublesome," Han Yu groaned as he flopped onto the creaky bed. "And I’m nowhere closer to getting stronger." He frowned at the ceiling, which offered no comfort or advice.

At most, he’d gotten a minor boost from the blessing that General Chitterfang had given him. It slightly improved his instincts—great for dodging shoes, less so for leveling up.

His cultivation base was still as stagnant as a puddle in winter.

"I’m also not getting any beast meat, so it’s hard to improve my Body Tempering Realm," Han Yu thought bitterly.

Beast meat had been his secret weapon, the only reason he’d made it this far. But now? The sect didn’t exactly hand out steak dinners to servants. Sure, the disciples got some—seasoned, roasted, spiritual grade even. Meanwhile, servants got... vibes.

And it wasn’t like he could go hunt for meat himself. Leaving the sect grounds without permission was a surefire way to earn a beating or worse.

"Hmm... what else can I do?" Han Yu scratched his head.

He considered stealing from the kitchen. A classic move, but risky. If caught, the punishment was a flogging so severe it came with musical accompaniment.

Plus, he was already on thin ice. One more slip-up and his enemies would pounce like hungry dogs at a buffet.

"Can the SHH do anything?" Han Yu wondered.

The Servants Hustle Hideout certainly had a decent network. They could acquire all sorts of things: ingredients, medicine, gossip. Especially gossip.

"Perhaps they’ll be my best choice," Han Yu thought, nodding like a man with a very shaky plan.

Motivated by desperation and mild hunger, he got up and crept out of the dormitory. Fatty Kui Number Two was asleep, snoring so loudly it sounded like a walrus stuck in a tuba. Earthquake-proof buildings would’ve shuddered.

Nothing could wake him now. Not even divine tribulation.

Han Yu made his way to one of the servant kitchens and looked behind the stove.

There, he placed a humble offering: a handful of peanuts. Then, he knocked on the wall three times.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"Now to wait," Han Yu whispered, the way one might summon an ancient spirit.

A minute passed before a tiny squeak broke the silence.

Squeak!

A small rat appeared from behind the stove, eyeing the peanuts like a jeweler inspecting rubies.

After a moment of scrutiny, it gave an approving nod and turned to Han Yu.

"Tell the SHH I want to talk to them," Han Yu said, trying to look serious despite talking to a rodent.

The rat gave a tiny thumbs-up—an actual thumbs-up—before grabbing the peanuts and scampering off like a tiny courier of espionage.

"Hopefully they reply soon," Han Yu murmured as he trudged back to his room.

He lay on his bed, trying to fall asleep to the soundtrack of Fatty Kui’s snoring, which now sounded like an ogre gargling gravel. It took nearly an hour before Han Yu finally passed out.

The night flew by, and morning struck like a mallet.

GONG! GONG!

"Wake up! Wake up, you lazy slobs!" the Overseer bellowed like a rooster with anger issues.

"Ugh..." Han Yu groaned as he sat up, then gave Fatty Kui a solid kick.

"Huh! What? Food? Breakfast!?" Fatty Kui jolted upright, eyes wide in hope.

"Of course the first thing on his mind is food," Han Yu muttered, face-palming.

"Oh... it’s just you." Fatty Kui blinked blearily.

"Yeah, and it’s time to work." Han Yu opened the door with the ominous creak of doom.

Outside, servants spilled out of their rooms like zombies who hadn’t had their morning tea. They gathered in the courtyard as the Overseer unfurled a scroll with theatrical flair.

"Alright, time to give out duties," he said. "Group A, you’re cleaning the latrines."

"Awww, man! Not again!" came the united cries of despair.

"Go on, scamper! There’s a mountain of crap waiting for you," the Overseer shooed them away with exaggerated enthusiasm.

"Group B, C, and D—you’re cleaning the streets of the Residential Peaks," he continued.

Breaths of relief filled the air.

"We’re safe!"

"I’ll sweep streets all day if it means avoiding the latrines!"

Then came the dreaded final announcement.

"Group E," the Overseer turned to them. "Water duty."

"Fuck..." Fatty Kui moaned. "My knees are gonna be like tofu by the end of the day."

Water duty meant hauling buckets from the river to various tanks across the sect. The wells were slower, and the river was far... and wet. Very wet.

"At least we’ll get some exercise," Han Yu offered, trying to find a silver lining the size of a mosquito.

"See? At least this guy has some motivation," the Overseer said, trying to be encouraging.