All the Dust that Falls: A Roomba Isekai Adventure

I didn't have anything to clean.

I had faced this issue repeatedly over the last few nights, but now the realization was hitting me in full. It was a difficult idea to process. It wasn't just that I had other, non-cleaning activities to get to, such as interpreting the humans written language. The floors were immaculate, the furniture was straightened, and even the lower sections of the wall were freshly dusted. No, there really was no productive cleaning that needed to be done.

It was a rough change to get used to. It was bittersweet at best. On the one hand, I was proud to be so efficient, but on the other, it left me without purpose. When I had humans directing me, I knew when I needed to clean and when I needed to charge. They would just tell me, and I would do it. It was a simple life and one that I could enjoy without much thought.

Now that I was making these decisions for myself, it was much harder. Starting with the fact that I no longer needed to charge, the solution should be obvious, just clean constantly. Well, there was not enough around here for me to clean constantly. Even sanitizing the castle no longer took very long.

I had sought to improve and improve I had. I was so efficient that I was able to run solely by converting the dust I picked up to energy, and that was with all of my new fancy functions operating as needed. I didn't have to touch any of the mess-makers inside of me for power. Truthfully, I wasn't sure what to do with them, but I didn't see much of an issue with just leaving them in my dustbin indefinitely.

My predicament came from the simple fact that I had improved too much. So much so that I was losing my purpose. I didn't know what to think about that. I brought up the prompt that I received when we had finished cleaning up all the guano. I had transmuted the horrid stuff and a few other forms of waste that had accumulated in my dustbin since I saw no reason to keep those around.

LEVEL UP. LEVEL 40 REACHED. CHOOSE A MUTATION: AIR PURIFIER, MYRIAD TONGUES, GRANT SAPIENCE

As I read it carefully again, I knew this was what used to be shouted at me when I became stronger. Now that I could read, it seemed that the mysterious voice no longer felt the need to talk to me.

Did I even want to choose a skill? The last few that I acquired were decent and made me so much more effective. But at this point, did I still seek improvement? I blamed Air Manipulation for my current predicament. It had so drastically increased my effective range that it made me not even have to take obstacles into account. It only got worse as I practiced with the skill and continually leveled up.

I considered what I needed to do. My role was changing, and it was becoming more apparent that fighting that change was not going to be very effective. If I did nothing, though, I would still be left as I was with less and less to do.

However, if I embraced my changing responsibilities, I might have some control. I would just need to figure out what I would like to do going forward. Resigned to having even fewer active tasks that required my direct attention, I picked Air Purifier. It was the only one that I could really justify. Sure, it would help with my cleaning abilities and allow me access to a whole other field to clean. A small expansion of my duties, but I couldn't get my hopes up about this being the solution to my problems. Especially since it didn't seem very active.

Having made my selection, I felt my internals change. Sure enough, I had one new function. I could take air in and remove its impurities. I could already do this to some extent with the dust filter in my dustbin, but now I could remove even smaller impurities, and I would also be able to identify what I was removing. Useful but not game-changing. As expected.

No, just getting better at cleaning was no longer my purpose here. I had held out hope that once I became an expert janitor, my humans would come and get me. This had seemed like the perfect training ground, after all. And it was. I had become so efficient it would take me less than a minute to finish cleaning their entire house once a day. Maybe five minutes if I didn't move.

Clearly, my humans wanted me to get more out of this place than just being better at cleaning. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do, though. It might have to do with instructing the locals in the lifestyle of cleanliness like I initially imagined. However, I had expected to do that by example, mainly. But perhaps I needed to take a more active role like I had with Beatrice. Teaching Beatrice so far had been exceedingly satisfying and, in my opinion, worth my time. I could only hope my humans would agree. With no guidance from them, it was hard to tell.

My processors whirred, making a note of the conclusion. I had an idea of what I wanted to do. I just needed a more detailed plan. Perhaps all these books might contain something I could learn to give me more to go on.

So I set about the new task I had given myself. I grabbed the first book to the right of the door and began reading.

—-

Harold was both relieved and anxious to have finally made it to Greg. The journey had not been a pleasant one. He had done his best to educate the leaders about the danger waiting for them. He still wasn't going to tell them about the Lieutenant, but rather of archfiends and greater demons. Classifying the demon they had summoned was still beyond him; the Warden had given him open access to the order's library, and he had not found anything even remotely like the description.

They had listened skeptically at best and flat ignored him if he went on for too long. It didn't make any sense to Harold. The commanders knew where they were going and why, for the most part. So why did they refuse to learn more about what they would be facing?

Maybe they didn't believe him? Or did they think to count on him doing all the heavy lifting for them? If that were the case, they would be sorely disappointed. He wouldn't be able to do much to the demon if last time was any indication.

As they rode into the walled city, Harold tried to plan for the next week. He imagined that he wouldn't be able to communicate any useful information to the troops while they were here. Now that they weren't on the road and the commanders had an inn and beds, they would likely be too drunk to understand him in the first place.

Honestly, he didn't blame them. Only a month or two ago, he would have distanced himself from such shows of irresponsibility, but now he wished to join them in their distraction. Knowing what was coming if they failed, it was hard not to want to drink. He got the feeling that he wouldn't be welcome if he tried to join them, though. Colonel Gaston likely knew about his role in creating the current dilemma. If he hadn't shared the story with his staff, they clearly got his attitude.

With nothing better to do, Harlod left the inn the military had taken over for the night and went looking for a quiet establishment that would serve a fine cognac. He didn't have the highest of hopes, but he wasn't ready to give up yet. If he had to, he would settle for a bourbon. These parts were known for that. Even if it wasn't his thing, it might be worth trying.

As he exited the inn after putting away his bags, he crossed in front of a dark alley. A gaunt, huddled figure within made him pause. This city didn't have much in the way of vagrants. Normally beggars were all cleared up and press-ganged into service for the war effort. To see one so out in the open was rare.

On a whim, he stepped into the alley, digging in his purse for a few loose coins. If the person hadn't been picked up yet, they were likely new to the town or the streets. Either way, some coins might help them avoid conscription. As he reached out to proffer the coins to the beggar, a hand reached out to him. Not his coins, but his wrist.

He flinched back, but the hand clamped on with surprising strength. Now that the figure was closer, he realized the hand was not as withered and frail as he had imagined. It was a strong hand stained with herbs and callused like those of an archer. Harold tried to pull away but found himself outmatched. The voice coming from the hood was that of a woman. "It's coming. You don't know what is coming!"

Hardoled wrenched his arm harder, trying to break free of the clearly insane woman. In the struggle, the hood slipped off his attacker's head. His wide eyes gazed into a face that seemed too familiar. He couldn't place exactly where he knew it from. The eyes were gaunt, and he could see cheekbones clearly through taut skin.

Greasy hair fell over half her face. All the while, she didn't stop talking. "It's a disc. It has the demons inside of it. It spews them out, and they are scared. They scream and howl."

Harold froze. There was only one thing that the description brought to mind. A disc was a distinct shape, after all. Peering closer at the raving madwoman, Harold tried to place her face. A meeting he had with captain Wallace, the last time he had come through here, came to mind. He wasn't sure, but this might have been the female adventurer that had been sent to the castle.

"Here, let's get you up." He hoisted the woman to her feet. He needed to take her to captain Wallace to make sure. Because if this was the case, they might have some more warning. Doing his best to ignore her cries, he bundled her along to the nearest guard house.

"Yes. Yes! Let us run. Run, run, run. We need to flee. Keep running. We can't stop. If we hide, it will find us. And consume us. Its servant will track us down, and if we are lucky, we too can be its slave. Hahahahah…" As the woman started laughing, a cough racked her body. Harold felt at her head and could feel a fever burning her up. She would need treatment before he could get anything useful out of her.

***

Captain Wallace didn't appear to be happy to see Harold at his door. His wife glared out at him over his bare shoulder with nothing but a nightgown on. Harold wasn't too surprised. No one appreciated nearly having their door kicked in at a little after 1 in the morning.

Still, he needed to talk to the man. When stopping by the guard's office, Wallace wasn't there. It had taken Harold the better part of an hour to track him down, all while dragging a sick, crazed woman behind him. Neither of them was going to have a good night.

"What do you want?" The voice was quite unfriendly, but as he recognized Harold, Walaces face relaxed slightly. "Harold? What are you doing here? Are you with the troop of soldiers just outside?"

Harold nodded. "Yes, we are coming to deal with the disturbance from a while back. I found something that you might need to see."

With a jerk, he pulled the woman into the light spilling out of the doorway. Wallace looked confused for a second before recognition dawned on him. "Patricia! What are you doing here?"

Harold looked at Patricia, but she just kept muttering. He saw Wallace's wife ask a question, and Wallace answered before the door was flung wide, and they were ushered inside.

"I found her in an alleyway. I think she's sick. I should be able to help her fever, but something is wrong with her head. I'm not sure how much of that is just the fever and how much is something else entirely." Harold explained as they were ushered to a spare room upstairs. "I'll need to use your kitchen."

After they got Patricia in bed, they headed downstairs. "As she didn't come to report to me as Arnold did, I think there is something beyond fever at play here. I'll send for him, and we can see what information we can get out of her."

"I might need to delay the army by a day or two. Maybe catch up with them. I don't think I can overstate how important the information she might have is."

"I'll get messengers. I don't imagine I'll be getting much sleep." Wallace rubbed his forehead with a tired sigh. "Oh, and pour me some brandy from the top shelf in the study, will you?"