Damn The Author Chapter 67: Cleaning Duty [I]

The bell rang, and class finally ended.

Iron Fang’s voice still echoed in my skull about "discipline" and "strength." Personally, I thought survival deserved a dal, but apparently wheezing like a broken fireplace didn’t count. My muscles scread, my lungs wheezed, and my pride was six feet under, buried without ceremony.

All I wanted was to crawl into bed, pull the blanket over my face, and play dead until morning.

But when I opened the dorm door—

She was waiting.

Old Nanny. Keeper of keys. Scourge of lazy students. A woman so ancient that I half-believed she predated the academy itself.

She sat in her creaky wooden chair like a general guarding a fortress, her shawl wrapped around her shoulders like battle armor. The wooden cane resting across her lap wasn’t just furniture — it was a weapon forged in the fires of suffering, tested on countless unlucky students before .

And her eyes... sharper than Iron Fang’s sword, and twice as cruel.

The mont she saw , her lips curled into a smile that carried no rcy.

"Ah. Loki."

My stomach dropped straight to my boots. "Ah. Nanny."

Her cane tapped once on the stone floor, echoing through the hallway like a death knell.

"Perfect timing, lad. Your duty begins today."

I blinked. "Duty?"

"Yes. Cleaning duty." She stood with alarming speed for soone who looked like she should’ve been in a rocking chair by the fire. Before I could blink again, she shoved a wooden bucket into my arms. It sloshed violently, and I swear the water inside was... gray. Not cloudy-gray. Sinister gray.

Then ca the mop, ramd against my chest like a knight gifting a sacred sword. Except this was the kind of sword you used to battle mold, not monsters.

"Hallways, stairs, and common room. Windows too. Start now."

I stared down at my new arsenal of soap and misery. My mind, of course, tried to escape reality. Maybe this was a test. Maybe if I gripped the mop just right, it would transform into a glowing staff and shoot lightning.

Spoiler: it didn’t.

"You’re... joking," I said flatly.

Her eyes narrowed into slits. "Do I look like I joke?"

I studied her wrinkled face, the steel in her gaze, the cane quivering in her grip. "A little bit?" I offered, flashing my most innocent smile.

Thwack. The cane cracked against my shin.

"Gah—!" I yelped, hopping on one leg. "Uncalled for! That’s assault!"

She leaned on her cane with all the patience of a warlord addressing a captured enemy. "That’s encouragent. Move your legs before I use the bucket on your head."

I glanced at the bucket. The water rippled like it was alive. I had no doubt it was capable of eating through my skull.

Nyx’s voice purred inside my skull, smooth as poison. "Oh, I like her. Finally, soone who understands how to deal with you."

"Don’t encourage her," I muttered under my breath.

Nanny’s sharp eyes snapped back to . "Who are you muttering to?"

"Uh, myself," I said quickly. "It’s a genius habit. Helps think."

She snorted. "Then your genius will clean these floors until they sparkle." She jabbed her cane toward the hall, the movent so commanding I almost saluted. "Go on. Show your shine."

I stared down at the mop in my hand. My first true weapon at the academy. How noble. How dignified. How utterly tragic.

Nyx chuckled in the shadows of my feet. "Shine, swamp prince. Shine until the floors blind them all."

Defeated, I shuffled forward with mop and bucket, dragging them behind like chains of doom.

So this was it. Day one of my glorious rise.

A hero’s journey always starts with a weapon.

Mine just happened to be made of wood, rag, and despair.

The hallway stretched ahead like a battlefield. My mop squished, the bucket sloshed, and my dignity slowly drowned in gray water.

That’s when the dorm door behind creaked open.

Light footsteps. A faint floral scent. And then—her voice.

"What’s this?"

I froze mid-swipe, mop raised like I’d been caught committing a cri. Slowly, I turned.

Freya.

Of course. Because fate didn’t think mopping floors alone was humiliating enough.

Her golden blonde hair frad her face perfectly, even after training. Her uniform was still crisp, as if dirt itself feared to touch her. And her green glow from earlier still lingered in my mory, taunting like a phantom.

Her eyes darted from ... to the mop... to the bucket. Then her lips curled.

"You."

"," I confird, standing tall—or as tall as one can stand with a dripping mop in hand. "Surprised? I’ve been promoted. Chief of Sanitation. It’s a very prestigious post."

Before she could retort, Nanny’s voice cut in like a blade.

"Ah, Freya! You’re just in ti."

Freya stiffened. "In ti for what?"

Nanny hobbled closer, grinning like a wolf. With practiced ease, she shoved a second bucket and mop into Freya’s arms. The bucket water sloshed nacingly, a darker gray than mine—as if it had been specially brewed.

Freya’s eyes went wide. "No."

"Yes," Nanny said firmly. "Both of you. Cleaning duty. Together. Hallways, stairs, common room, windows. Until they shine so bright I can see my wrinkles in them."

I nearly dropped my mop laughing. "Oh, this is beautiful. Freya, welco to the team. We’ll make history as the Academy’s greatest janitorial duo."

She glared at like she was weighing the mop in her hands to see if it could double as a murder weapon. "Don’t. Talk. To ."

Nyx purred from my shadow, smug as ever. "Oh, this is perfect. The glowing princess was reduced to your level. Now you’re both swamp royalty."

I smirked. "Careful with that mop, Freya. If you swing it too hard, you might glow brown instead of green."

Her jaw tightened. "If I swing it, it’ll be your head glowing."

Nanny rapped her cane against the floor. "Less flirting, more scrubbing."

We both froze. "Flirting?" we said in unison, horrified.