The instant Jiji shouted, "Time to take you all out!" the storage room erupted into chaos. His mop, once an ordinary stick with a bundle of ragged cloth, shimmered with a divine glow that twisted into a long spear of white fire.
The gremlins hissed, their dusty bodies shaking as they surged forward, their giggles echoing like twisted bells in a haunted temple.
"Ha! Sha! Haaaah!" Jiji bellowed, swinging the mop-spear with wild ferocity. Each thrust was both strike and swipe, blade and broom, erasing grime as if slaying an enemy.
Dust exploded into gray clouds when the spear connected, transforming the mundane task into a battlefield of shrieks and shifting shadows.
The two-handed gremlins were weaker—mere pests with jagged teeth and slouched backs, their bodies crumbling with a single direct strike. Jiji cleaved through them first, stabbing forward with blistering speed.
"Sha! Don't laugh at me, you bastards!" His voice roared against the walls, his battle cries blending with the squeals of the vanishing gremlins.
On the surface, he looked like a madman scrubbing the corners of the room with ferocious force, his mop scraping, scrubbing, and hammering against the wood until the sound filled the room like drums of war.
Yet in his vision, it was a war indeed.
The gremlins lunged, claws raking at his armor. Jiji sidestepped, pivoting like a trained knight, his mop sweeping in arcs that sliced through their bellies.
With each swing, he shouted louder, sweatless, tireless, a mad warrior-priest purging corruption with the weapon of a janitor.
The two-handed ones fell quickly, shrieking into puffs of ash.
"That's eight! That's nine!" Jiji counted between his shouts, the voice booming, unrefined, yet full of stubborn drive. He wasn't merely attacking—he was scrubbing the world clean, swiping away shadows, polishing the air itself.
But then, the four-handed gremlins emerged. They were larger, with grotesque grins stretching ear to ear, their four arms flailing in unnatural rhythm. Their laughter was heavier, resonant, like stone grinding against stone. Dust clung thickly around them, resisting every sweep of the mop as though mocking his efforts.
Jiji froze for half a second. "Tch… you're the stubborn stains, aren't you?" He twirled the mop-spear, its white glow blazing brighter. "Fine! Let's see who wins—your filth or my clean sweep!"
He lunged. The first four-handed gremlin raised all its arms, blocking the mop with frightening precision. Sparks of light erupted at the clash, though in reality it was only the mop grinding against an especially filthy corner of the wall. Jiji pressed harder, veins bulging, until with a roar—"Haaaaaah! Shaaaa!"—he forced through. The gremlin screamed as dust scattered like blood from a severed artery, its form crumbling under his relentless scrubbing.
But there were more. Three, four, five of them charged, surrounding him. The timer burned in the corner of his mind: twenty minutes left. He ducked, rolled, shoved the mop against the floor, scrubbing back and forth so furiously that his arms blurred. To his imagination, he was deflecting claws, parrying blows, thrusting between ribs, the spear singing through the air with deadly grace. To reality, he was wiping the floor with animalistic vigor, his loud cries echoing through the storage room.
"Sha! Ha! Haaaah! Don't underestimate me! You think dust can stop me? You think filth can hold me down?!" His voice grew hoarse, but the power behind it only deepened.
Every strike broke resistance. Dust fled like defeated soldiers, the four-handed gremlins falling one by one. Still, they fought fiercely, clawing at his armor, knocking him off balance, leaving streaks of grime on his arms and chest that he quickly wiped away with vengeful swipes.
Ten minutes left.
Eight minutes left.
Then something shifted. Jiji realized his strikes were faster, sharper, smoother. He wasn't even panting.
The mop glided like an extension of his arm, his body moving as though it had known this combat for decades. His Earth self, weak and easily winded, should have collapsed long ago, yet this body didn't falter.
Instead, each swing felt lighter, as if the mop itself wanted to strike, wanted to cleanse.
With thirteen minutes left on the clock, he brought the mop down in a final, devastating strike.
The last gremlin shrieked, all four of its arms snapping apart before its body crumbled into a cloud of dust that vanished into nothingness.
Immediately, there was only silence.
Jiji froze. His chest rose and fell, but not heavily. His body felt… alive. Brimming with strength. He glanced at his hands, then at the mop. "Wait… wait a damn second. Did I just… finish everything… in under thirteen minutes?" His voice cracked in disbelief.
His mind spun. That was impossible. Cleaning seventeen stubborn spots should have taken him ages. He'd expected sweat, exhaustion, the kind of strain that left a man broken. Instead… his body was barely warmed up.
"What the hell is going on here? Is this body really that strong?" He narrowed his eyes, thinking hard. "Could it be… muscle memory? Maybe this brat trained secretly, like his mother said? Or maybe it's his constitution—no, wait, his bloodline?"
He touched his chest, feeling the solid muscle underneath. "Or… maybe this world's young masters are all built like athletes? But then why did he die from just hitting his head? That doesn't add up." His brows furrowed deeper. "Unless… maybe he weakened his soul, not his body? Maybe he overtrained until his spirit cracked, but the body remained strong?"
The more he thought about it, the more absurd it became. He had lived a sedentary life on Earth, working cleaning jobs that tired him daily. Yet here, in this new body, he could swing, scrub, lunge, and roar for nearly fifteen minutes straight without fatigue. His grip was strong, his reflexes sharp, his movements natural.
"Damn… if this is the level of a spoiled young master, then what the hell are the real cultivators like?" A laugh bubbled up his throat, half sarcastic, half exhilarated. "Guess I lucked out. This body isn't trash. Not by a long shot."
Just as he was about to collapse against the mop handle, a sudden flicker of light appeared before his eyes.
Ding!
A screen unfolded in radiant letters, shining with triumph:
Mission Complete!
Host has successfully eradicated all seventeen dust-corruption nodes within thirteen minutes, far exceeding the Extreme Mission requirements!
Performance Rating: Outstanding!
Additional Time Bonus: +5% efficiency to all physical exertion!
Reward: Heaven Defying Spiritual Root acquired!
As the final line lit up, the words "Heaven Defying" gleamed brighter than the rest, as though they were alive, pulsing with some mysterious force.
Jiji's jaw dropped. "No way… no freaking way…"
His hand trembled as he reached for the words, as though touching them would make them vanish. But they remained, bold and undeniable. Heaven Defying. The phrase alone shook his heart. A spiritual root no one could sense, hidden from every prying eye, with unknown imaginable power, granting power while leaving him appearing ordinary.
The perfect weapon for survival in this world.
A laugh burst from his lips—loud, unrestrained, echoing through the storage room. "Hahahaha! I actually pulled it off! Me! A janitor from Earth! Heaven Defying, baby!" He threw his head back, laughter spilling like thunder, his mop raised like a hero's spear.
And as the light from the system's message slowly dimmed, Jiji's grin widened, his voice a whisper dripping with determination.
"This world doesn't even know what's coming."