The others were worried, but Fayette was actually feeling fine. Very fine in fact. She walked in a circle inside one of her many caverns, around a bubbling pot of stew, having a jolly old time.

  “The [Cave Maid], the [Cave Maid],

   The [Cave Maid] I shall be!

   Spiders, spiders, spiiiiders,

   and pretty rocks for me to see!

   Insiiide a mouuuuntain,

   There is a little me!

   La-lala-la-laalaa,

   dabba-dabba-dee!"

She paused, skipped two steps, then switched to a different melody—experimenting.

  "My heart is not alone,

   when down here I roam!

   Can’t find a single sooooul,

   no matter how much I comb!

   The cave is my hearth, the cave is my home,

   down here I hope to find a… gnome?”

Fayette paused. “No, that last bit doesn’t feel right.” She turned to the others. “It just really doesn’t fit like that, does it Mirrie? Gnomes? What the heck.”

Mireille didn’t respond. She didn’t nod or move in any way at all to be more precise. Olivia and Marie also stayed motionless. That was because they were little stones with some paint on them in a vague approximation of a face.

The [Maid] sighed, looking over her gallery. “It just really isn’t the same, is it?”

Yes, she was absolutely fine. She was coping with her loneliness… somehow.

Sighing, Fayette bent down to the cooking pot and dipped a finger in the stew. She tasted it, nodded with satisfaction, then filled a plate for herself. She plopped herself down onto the rock, next to the gallery of rock heads, and began to eat.

It was a small chamber of the ruins she had claimed for herself, far off from any entry points for enemies. The worn walls stood silent around her, and the darkness loomed. The only light came from under the cooking pot, from where a warm glow painted long shadows outwards.

Fayette cheerfully sat on her chair-sized rock, then glanced at the other chair-sized rocks. Three of them. The head approximations were sitting a bit too low for her to make proper eye contact.

“Food just tastes better with company, right Mirrie?” She said, nudging the closest head.

It rolled over, fell onto the ground, and cracked in half.

The old broom bristles which had been fashioned into a sort of hair fluttered about in the air for a bit, then finally fell to the ground.

“Mirrie—Mirrie, you’ve gone and done it again! This is the third time!”

Fayette sighed and set her food down. She bent, picked up the head’s scattered pieces, then threw them into the broken head pile. It cracked open more, falling apart into little pieces of rock, then joined its fallen brethren in the pile.

The [Maid] shook her head, then walked over to her non-broken-rock pile, searching for a good replacement. “Mireille, Mireille, where are you? Ah, there you are!” She found a rock, sort of shaped like a Mireille in her estimations, then carried it over to the painting station. She hummed happily as she painted in the features.

  “On my next levelup, I want to become a [Cavern Maid],

   become a [Cavern Maid], become a [Cavern Maid].

   On my next levelup, I want to become a [Cavern Maid],

   become a [Caaaa—veeeeern Maaaaaaid], hurray!”

She could almost feel the [Singer] subclass option coming. She put in the last spot of paint, finishing the sort of angry-looking Mireille, then brought it back. She continued eating. Lucky that Marie had all these handy paints—I wouldn’t have gotten the makeup done otherwise!

The [Maid] glanced to the side. “Sorry about that, really. And about the furs too. Will you forgive me?”

Mireille did not respond.

Fayette sighed. “Still giving me the silent treatment, are you?”

Mireille did not respond.

Fayette closed her eyes. No—didn’t help. Still no voices appearing in her head. She had been waiting for them to come around about now, but no matter what she did, things just stayed silent. Only the bubbling of the pot. She slumped.

“Bleh—I guess I still haven’t gone crazy yet. Would be nice. About time I think.”

The [Maid] was slowly making a startling revelation about herself. She had always seen herself as one of those silent and lonely types, you know, cool people. But she was starting to suspect she was wrong. Am I perhaps… a socialite? An outgoing person? Someone… sociable?

Deeply worrying. But this was really the first time she spent a lot of time alone—there had always been someone. Fayette hadn’t hated all her co-workers, though she wasn’t friends with that many. Like a proper [Maid], she liked a bit of gossip here and there. She didn’t have [Eavesdrop] for nothing’s sake. What was a [Maid] without anyone to [Maid] around to?

Fayette was also getting closer to understanding the essence of [Maid]-craft. Key point one: It really needed a target. What was the point of a [Maid] alone? As a child, she had heard a horror story of the sort. The [Maid] who just kept cleaning an abandoned mansion, never noticing that it now stood empty—endlessly preparing for visitors who never came. Forever.

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She looked at the steaming pot of stew, still very full, and the other prepared amenities, and shivered. Was she on that same path?

“If I stay like this—“ she looked at the haunting and silent crypt she was in, peering for ethereal figures “—will I become a [Ghost Maid]?”

Was that better than a [Cavern Maid]? She really wasn’t sure. Deeply troubled, Fayette finished her food, put the bowl away, and went to check on the stew again. She kept it on constantly, making sure that when her friends finally arrived, they would have hot and delicious food ready right away.

She had even made sure to use [Spicy Cooking] so that it would be perfect to Mireille’s tastes.

Seeing that the stew was doing fine, she took two steps back and fell into her puffy mattress. She lounged on it, stretching like a cat, rolling in the stacks of pillows and sheets. So, so soft. So, so silent. Just the rustling of the sheets.

Need a distraction. She rolled out from under the covers, sat up, and tried to adopt an intellectual pose. See—recently she had also taken up pursuits other than her rock-painting. Of late, Fayette had become something of a [Philosopher].

A [Philosopher] trained in one book exactly to be precise.

She took out her copy of Friend of the People – volume 5, lit her lantern—grimacing at the diminished oil—and began reading the book for the twenty-first time. Not that shocking of a number—it really wasn’t a long book. She skipped the boring opening bits, getting to the juicy stuff. Then she began reading.

Now, after considering the actions of the church in the 5th century, then comparing them with behavior in the 7th, it is clear that some significant change has occurred in the practice.

There are various notable sources (5, 31, 33), which prove that originally, it was not the church’s role to guide class selections and advances. During the [Warlord] period, many rulers arose from humble birth, like the [Peasant] Attilus who conquered much of the continent. In fact, the church of the time venerated him as a prime example of virtuous leveling. (23) Truly, might makes right was the philosophy of the period.

It was only after the emergence of the hereditary [Lord] class as the prominent ruling system that the church started to adhere to its modern principles. Based on (5), I believe…

Fayette leaned back into her pillow, laying off the book for the moment. The thing about books like these was that if you just read them over and over, you really started to believe them. But still, Fayette felt troubled.

Was her whole life a lie? She liked her [Maid] class, but she could also remember the day she had gotten it. The [Priest] had been checking some sort of big book full of numbers, then turned to her, asked for her class options, then she had been told [Maid] was the right option.

She recited the next bit of the book from memory. “The original creed of the church was that It Is Virtue To Find One’s Own Class And Trod Your Own Path In The System.”

Was she making a misstep, going off from her true virtuous path? Was she meant to be something else? But what?

“Maybe the cave was my true destiny all along, and me ending up here is a correction of fate…”

What cavern-related classes were there? Fayette began making a list in her mind. [Cave Crawler], [Miner], [Dungeoneer], [Cave Ranger], [Caver]… were [Cave Maids] even a thing?

None of them really struck a chord with her, so Fayette figured she was safe. “Maybe it was that time in the sauna with Mireille… When I chose to walk my own [Maid] path…”

Did that mean that her path of cleansing through murder was a virtuous path?

“I knew I should’ve just killed those bandits… That’s when everything started to go wrong… Yes. I went against the sacred principles by not killing them…”

She was starting to get sleepy. Fayette blinked herself awake, then rose up and focused back on the book, skipping to the next interesting bit.

The hereditary [Lord] class is excellent at maintaining its position as the dominant ruling class system, which is why it beat out the [Warlords] and [Conquerors], but it ultimately fails as a meritocracy. True, the competent [Lords] will outlevel their competitors, but what of [Kings], and what of inherited wealth? In the scramble to secure a high-level heir, the average noble family’s size has risen to seven children, which has greatly increased the amount of conflict related to inheritances, as graph [6] illustrates…

The book talked a lot about how [Lords] and [Kings] were bad, but it didn’t really mention [Ladies] much at all. Did that mean they were alright, then? Was that why Marie was sort of nice, while all the 3 [Lords] she knew were not? Besides, the Dual Monarchy had no [King], but a [Queen]. Was she alright too?

She wanted to talk to someone about it all. Mireille had never really gotten into reading like her, so she might be a tough one. Marie… weren’t [Ladies] supposed to like books? Could she talk about the book with her?

And the [Lady]… would be leaving. Eventually. That was why she was only reading this book—her court dramas felt a bit sour when the stories echoed so much with reality…

And they always ended with the [Lady] getting married to some no-good fool. She glared at the book in her hand.

“Yeah… I don’t care, book; I think she’s alright. She should stay. Stupid husbands.”

Right now, she would even take that suave [Journalist] fellow as chatting company. He had written the damn book, so he might as well explain it. He seems smart, so why can't he explain things simply?

Fayette shook her head and closed the book. It really wasn’t the most exciting way to spend her time. She turned and looked at her rock heads. Not the best company either. Sighing, she rose up and grabbed her metal-tipped broom.

She shut her lantern off, closed her eyes, and focused on her new [Dustsense] —the handy thing that it was. It was an annoying skill though. In a way, she really hated it.

Because—in order to see things with it, there had to be dust. Which meant that she had to leave dust around. She had to intentionally be aware of the dust and ignore it.

She hurried out of her base, rushing away before her dusty living spaces annoyed her to death. With the more relaxing pursuits done, it was time for chores, then after that, exercise.

First, she would go to a nearby stream, from where she filled buckets with water. Fayette walked past the few barricades she had arranged, and the long silent corridors and caverns. She passed her dead spider pile and grimaced at the smell—Should take those further away—then arrived by the small stream, flowing through a crack in the rock.

She had worried about the water’s purity at first, but then she’d developed a handy system to get any silt and mud out. She held a feather duster near the water’s surface, then as always, she used [Sweep Dust].

The [Maid] swept the tool past the bucket, and along came any loose particles, away from the water. You really can solve so many problems with [Sweep Dust]. Can I get a skill advancement for it, please? Pretty please? I have the skill points full.

No answer.

Then Fayette checked on her makeshift pit by the stream. She was making another bathtub, one closer to the water source than last time. She hoped to directly divert water from the stream into the bath, which would make it very convenient.

The work was a mix of explosive alchemy and usage of the pickaxe she’d looted from the dead boy. But the ground here was stone, so it was slow going. I think if we really squish in, everyone might fit in at once.

The [Maid] carried the buckets back to her base and stared at the silent and dark walls around her, so uniform. She was really starting to miss the ostentatious designs of noble manors, she didn’t know what to focus her eyes on here.

For a long minute, she just stood there. There was always work to do, and she was leveling. A lot. Already past 19—hurray. A lone [Maid] turning an underground ruin habitable seemed to count for a lot.

But she couldn’t look at the walls a minute longer. They were pressing in. Shadows lengthening. Again. Have to leave.

She hefted her broom up, checked the fuel under the cooking pot, then went out. Walking past the barricades, collected resources, and half-finished projects, she arrived at a barred iron door. She took the bar off, stepped inside, and faced true darkness.

This. This was where she felt most relaxed. In the dark, [Eavesdropping] for sound, for noise.

Because this section of the ruins—it was not quiet. She almost flinched when she heard the first tiny noise coming off from far away. The [Maid] smiled. At least here, she didn’t have to be alone.

It was time to delve deeper into the ruins and fight some giant fire spiders.