I awoke to the sound of a cheap candle from Hell burning out—its final sputter like a dying insect suffocating in wax.
A faint defensive spell etched across the cracked ceiling shimmered once before fading. Proof of a peaceful night. The only luxury included in the rent. Protection from the things that crawl when the lights go out.
Morning.
The beginning of another identical rotation.
Like a scratched record looping the same hopeless melody, my life in this otherworld had spun in place for three years. No sacred titles awaited me. No prophecy. No divine weapon. Words like *Hero* and *Chosen One* belonged to someone else's story.
What belonged to me were overdue rent notices and the universal law of survival:
If I don't work, I don't eat.
So I applied.
**Chaos Atrium.**
Demon King's Castle.
They say finding a job is harder than defeating the Demon King. Turns out that proverb survives even in the Demon Realm.
I could have joined a warrior's party as a porter. Carried supplies. Followed glory. Died screaming inside an orc's stomach.
Instead, I chose stability.
I stood, pulling my uniform coat over my narrow shoulders. The fabric smelled faintly of dust and mothballs. My reflection in the cracked mirror stared back at me—black hair falling over half-lidded eyes, pale face framed by a gray scarf. I looked less like a servant of darkness and more like a ghost who forgot to die.
Today, I turned the page.
Janitor.
Cleaner.
Subordinate of the Demon King.
No grand reason for the choice. Just survival.
---
The corridor outside my room greeted me with sulfur-thick air. Mold. Rust. Old stone breathing decay.
But beneath it lingered something new.
Iron.
And soap.
Like someone had tried to scrub away a sin too large to hide.
Black basalt walls stretched toward the distant lobby. A metallic dragging sound echoed ahead—slow, grating, persistent.
Rattle.
Rattle.
At the end of the hall stood a woman.
Blonde hair plastered to her sweat-soaked face. White, unfocused eyes. A heavy brass tray scraping against the marble floor. Around her neck, a thick magical seal glowed faintly, its chain clinking with every exhausted step.
She held a mop.
And she was scrubbing blood.
Not fresh crimson—this had already seeped into the tiles, staining them a stubborn, dark red. The kind that does not fade. The kind that remembers.
She worked like livestock. Silent. Mechanical.
"Damn it… Why won't these stains come off… If even one remains tomorrow, I'll be starved… Ah—my wrist…"
Her voice trembled.
Then—
An icy voice sliced through the air.
"Erica. It has been 17 minutes and 34 seconds since my shift began. The brass tray is generating unacceptable acoustic interference. Relocate immediately. Dust density across the first floor exceeds tolerance by 0.003%."
Charlotte.
Behind a pristine marble counter stood a woman in a perfectly pressed black suit. From the waist down, the polished marble floor trembled with the subtle shifting of enormous spider legs hidden beneath tailored fabric.
Her red eyes assessed everything.
Measured everything.
Judged everything.
I frowned slightly at the stain.
"What happened here?"
Charlotte's gaze shifted to me.
Sharp. Clinical. Priest-like.
"Oh? The new recruit. Welcome to the first-floor lobby of the Chaos Atrium. And that stain?"
A pause stretched thin as spider silk.
"It is a byproduct of guest service."
Her tone did not waver.
"Blood left behind by guests constitutes waste. Waste must be removed. Erica's primary task is disposal."
Erica flinched.
"That's just blood from warriors who failed the maze. Wrong turn. Wrong step. Painted red." Her eyes flicked to the seal at her neck. "Only the Demon King nags me. You're new."
"A violent guest, then," I said coolly. "Judging by the amount."
The air temperature seemed to drop.
Charlotte leaned forward slightly.
"Rookie. That is not violence. That is carelessness. True violence leaves nothing behind."
A snap of her fingers echoed like shattered glass.
"These were intruders who failed to meet standards. Instead of guessing, gather facts."
Erica resumed scrubbing, shoulders tight.
I knelt.
"To understand carelessness, I need to inspect the evidence."
"Stop."
Charlotte's voice cut like wire.
"That is beyond a cleaner's authority. Demonstrate competence first."
Before I could respond—
"What the hell are you doing?!" Erica hissed. "That's corpse remains! Trying to dig secrets out of the Demon King's castle? I'll smash you into something prettier than that stain!"
"Erica," I said calmly, rising, hands open. "I only meant to show respect."
"Respect?" She laughed bitterly. "Don't dress filth in noble words."
Charlotte ignored the exchange.
"Respect is a reward for performance. Begin cleaning. Northwest sector. Anti-static magic circle fragments remain scattered. Use the Silver Broom for Flash Dust Removal and Nano Fiber Collection Cloth. Seal fragments properly. Improper disposal will trigger a static storm."
The massive double doors opened.
A blue-lit maze waited beyond.
I bowed.
"Understood, Ms. Charlotte."
My scarf brushed lightly against my collar as I turned. My reflection shimmered faintly in polished marble—slender figure, dark coat flowing softly behind me. Not heroic. Not threatening.
Just persistent.
---
Inside the maze, faint blue sparks crackled between stone cracks.
I began sweeping carefully.
The broom hummed as it collected glowing particles.
Then—
Something fell from above.
A translucent girl with short blue hair and red eyes landed lightly two meters away. Her body shimmered like liquid ice.
"Oh my! Momo came from the 66th floor! New paper on the first floor! Momo loves paper!"
She leaned closer, fascinated by the sparks.
"They're fragments of the Ancient Magic Seal Record! Momo broke it by accident! If Momo collects them, Momo can read!"
Charlotte's voice echoed distantly.
"Momo. Return to the 66th floor. Do not interfere."
Momo trembled.
I paused.
"If I collect them all… can I give them to Momo?"
Her body quivered like boiling glass.
"Really? Really giving to Momo?"
Charlotte moved instantly.
"Stop, rookie! That property belongs to the Demon King!"
Red threads burst from beneath her dress, lashing through the maze. They coiled around my ankles, waist, arms—tightening, sending crackling pulses through my nerves.
My body stiffened.
"Momo… scared…" she whispered, frost spreading from her feet.
"Momo," I murmured softly, ignoring the tightening threads. "Close my eyes and wait."
Charlotte's fury sharpened.
"Emotional exchange violates Article 3, Section 4!"
Pressure intensified.
I forced steady breathing.
"Ms. Charlotte. I am performing my assigned duty. Nothing more."
A pause.
The threads loosened slightly.
"Then pick up the broom."
I twisted carefully, dark hair falling over my eyes as I reached. The threads adjusted, guiding rather than crushing.
The spider leg tapped my forearm.
"If you cut the thread, I will remove the limb."
"Understood."
I grasped the broom.
Momo curled inward, whispering apologies.
Charlotte's red gaze lingered.
The maze fell quiet.
And I swept.
Because in this castle—
Survival was cleanliness.