The Cursed Extra-Chapter 116: [2.64] My Maid Is Not Happy About This Plan

Sometimes the best distraction is genuine pain."

Keep telling yourself that. Keep pretending this is just another calculation on a ledger sheet.

But even as I rationalized it, I could see Rhys’s face from the assembly hall. That hollow expression of someone staring at their own death sentence while pretending to care about team assignments.

Seventeen years old. Fighting desperately to save a sister he might never see again. Sending every coin he earned back to their village. Sacrificing any small comfort he might have claimed for himself.

And the world was preparing to crush him for the crime of being convenient to someone else’s story.

Stop. He’s a character. A plot device. Nothing more.

The thought rang false even in my own mind.

Lyra was studying me with those unsettling crimson eyes. Reading emotions I thought I’d hidden beneath layers of indifference. Her gaze was too knowing. Too penetrating.

She saw through the mask I wore for the world and glimpsed something of the face beneath.

"You care about him."

The accusation was gentle. Almost tender.

That somehow made it worse.

"I care about the strategic value he represents." The lie tasted bitter on my tongue.

"Of course, Master." Her tone suggested she didn’t believe me. But she let the pretense stand. Granted me the mercy of my own delusion.

I returned to the map. Forced myself to focus on logistics rather than sentiment.

Emotions are liabilities in this world. Attachments are chains that can be used to drag you down.

The original Kaelen had cared about nothing but his own petty grievances. And look where that had gotten him. A footnote in someone else’s story. Crippled and discarded.

You’re not the original Kaelen, a treacherous voice whispered in my mind. You’re something else entirely. And that something else apparently has feelings it can’t quite control.

"The cave-in will happen at 14:30, approximately four hours into the assessment." I kept my voice flat. Professional. The tone of a general reviewing battle plans rather than a young man plotting to save lives.

"My team will be assigned to the Crystal Caverns section, which connects to the Collapsed Mine through a maintenance tunnel that isn’t marked on most maps."

My finger traced the route on the weathered parchment. The ink lines represented tunnels where lives would hang in the balance. Each passageway was a potential death trap. Each intersection a crucial decision point.

The faded markings showed where support beams had been installed decades ago. Now likely rotted and ready to give way at the slightest disturbance. Some enterprising cartographer had added small notations in the margins indicating water seepage points and unstable rock formations.

Details that would mean life or death when the moment came.

"If I can separate from my team at the right moment, I can reach Team 7’s position just as the trap triggers. The timing has to be perfect."

I tapped a specific junction where the tunnels narrowed dangerously. The passage squeezed down to barely three feet wide before opening into a larger chamber.

"Here. This is where Rhys and his team will be when the first tremors start. The main collapse will block their primary escape route. Force them deeper into the unstable section where the secondary cave-in is designed to finish them off."

I traced the killing zone with my finger. Felt the weight of all that stone pressing down through the parchment itself.

"They won’t even know they’re being herded. The natural instinct is to run from danger, and the sabotaged supports are positioned to make deeper retreat seem like the safer option."

I shook my head. Grudgingly impressed by the elegance of the murder.

"Whoever planned this understood human psychology. They’re not just killing Team 7. They’re making them kill themselves."

Lyra absorbed the information with her usual intensity. When she spoke, her voice was carefully neutral.

"Your team. They are loose ends. How will you control them?"

I considered the question. Ran through mental profiles of my assigned teammates. Each presented their own challenges. Their own variables that needed managing.

"Marcus will be consumed with proving his tactical knowledge. He sees the assessment as an opportunity to demonstrate his worth after being assigned to the dreg house. He’ll be so focused on executing textbook strategies that he won’t notice what I’m doing until it’s too late."

I moved to the next piece on my mental board.

"Thomlin wants to redeem himself after his family’s disgrace. He’s desperate for any opportunity to prove he’s not a liability. Point him at a goal and he’ll pursue it with single-minded focus."

I paused. The final name caught in my throat like a bone.

"Seraphina..." I recalled those penetrating grey eyes that seemed to strip away pretense like wind tearing fog from a hillside. The way she’d watched me at the assembly. Not with contempt or dismissal. With something closer to curiosity.

"Seraphina is the variable. She sees too much."

Lyra made a careful note in her leather-bound book. Her pen scratched across the paper with quiet urgency.

"I could arrange a distraction," she offered. "Something to draw her attention at the critical moment. A medical emergency among the support staff. A summons from a professor. Something that would require her immediate attention."

"No." I shook my head. "Too obvious. If she’s as perceptive as I think, she’ll notice any manipulation. She’ll wonder why a convenient crisis appeared just when her teammate disappeared. She’ll start asking questions that I can’t afford to answer."

I lowered myself back into my chair. Unable to hide a grimace as my ribs protested the movement. The bones ground against each other. Sent a spike of pain through my chest that took my breath away for a moment.

"Better to give her something real to focus on," I continued once the agony subsided to manageable levels. "A genuine emergency that requires her healing skills. Something that occupies her attention through necessity rather than contrivance."

Understanding flickered across Lyra’s face. Her expression shifted from curiosity to something approaching alarm.

"You’re going to injure yourself again." Her voice was flat with certainty. Not a question.

"A minor wound." I kept my tone casual. Dismissive. "Something that requires immediate attention but won’t compromise my mobility. A deep cut on my sword arm, perhaps. Or a twisted ankle that needs stabilization. Just enough to make her focus on fixing me rather than watching me."

Lyra’s hands balled into fists at her sides. Her knuckles whitened. The skin stretched taut over bone. A muscle jumped in her jaw.

"Master, you’ve already sacrificed enough." The words came out tight. Controlled. As if she was physically restraining stronger emotions from escaping.

"The broken ribs. The constant pain you’re hiding from everyone. I see you wince when you think no one’s watching. I see how you hold yourself carefully to avoid aggravating the injuries. How much more can your body endure?"