Chapter 40: Masochistic Sabotage

【Elara PoV】

My knees hurt against cold stone.

Perfect. The chapel wing—my designated prayer room—smelled like incense and failure. Healing staff clutched between trembling hands. Wood grain bit into palms. Pain centered me. Reminded me I still existed even though Master Rian abandoned us seven days ago.

Seven days. One hundred sixty-eight hours. Each one counted. Each one suffered properly.

Blonde hair fell across my face. Disheveled. Unwashed since the transfer. Penance for driving him away. My robes clung wrong—sweat and tears and the specific humidity of someone spiraling beautifully.

The emergency morale meeting started in ten minutes.

Lorden’s third attempt at “addressing team dysfunction.” His words. Like we were broken equipment instead of people grieving the only leader who understood our needs.​

He didn’t understand. Couldn’t. His orders felt like rejection wrapped in professional courtesy. Every “please” and “if you could” just highlighted how Master Rian’s commands felt like structure holding me together.

Without structure, I collapsed. Beautiful collapse. Destructive collapse.

Time to share that collapse properly.

I stood. Robes caught on prayer bench. Tore slightly. Strategic tear at thigh. Didn’t fix it. Lorden’s discomfort fed my purpose.

Common room already gathered. Valeria leaned against her blade rack. Red eyes tracking Lorden like prey. Seraphina perched in her armchair. Silver hair perfect. Smile angelic. Planning something.

Lorden stood at the head table. Dark circles under eyes. Bruises from Valeria’s “training.” Haunted expression from Seraphina’s “concerns.”

My turn to contribute.

“Thank you for gathering. I know this week has been… challenging. But I believe we can establish better working dynamics through open communication and—”

I stumbled entering. Not dramatically. Just enough. Caught myself on the table edge. Right beside him. Robes shifted. Torn section exposed more thigh than appropriate.

“Sorry. So clumsy. I deserve reprimand.”

He stepped back. Fast. Professional distance restored.

“No problem. Please take a seat.”

“You won’t punish me.”

“What.”

I looked up. Flushed face. Breathing already elevated. Let desperation show.

“Master Rian would correct my clumsiness. You don’t even notice when I fail.”

“That’s not—this is a professional meeting, Elara. Let’s focus on—”

“You’re not like him.”

Silence crashed through the room.

“You don’t know how to hurt me right. Do you even care if I suffer.”

Lorden’s face went pale. Then red. Professional nightmare unfolding in real-time.

“I care about your wellbeing, which means not—”

“Liar.”

Valeria’s voice cut through. Helpful timing.

“She needs discipline. You’re too weak to provide it.”

“This is harassment—”

“This is honesty.”

I pressed forward. Invaded his space. Let tears gather.

“Master Rian knew my needs. Managed my suffering. Gave me structure through controlled pain. You just recoil like I’m disgusting.”

“You’re not disgusting, you need therapy—”

“I need punishment.”

Grabbed his hand. Placed it against my collar. His fingers went rigid.

“Grab here. Pull. Correct my failures. Show me you care enough to discipline properly.”

He yanked his hand back. Nearly fell over backward. Face horror and confusion and unwanted arousal mixing.

“This is completely inappropriate—”

I collapsed. Knees hit floor. Clutched his boots. Perfect supplication.

“Please. Reprimand me. Spank me for disobedience. Whip me for driving Master Rian away. I’m worthless. Filthy. I deserve your harshest—”

“Elara, get up—”

“You hate us too.”

The words came out broken. Sobbing. Genuine pain mixed with theatrical presentation.

“You’re counting days until you can leave. Just like he did. Because I’m too much. Too broken. Too—”

“Nobody hates you—”

“Then prove it. Hurt me. Show me I matter enough to correct.”

He looked desperately at Valeria. At Seraphina. Both watched with varying degrees of amusement and contempt. No rescue coming.​

“Meeting adjourned. Everyone take personal time.”

He fled. Actual retreat. Door slammed behind him.

I stayed kneeling. Counting heartbeats. Waiting.

Seraphina approached. Crouched beside me. Voice soft.

“Beautiful performance.”

“Not performance. Truth.”

“Even better.”

She helped me stand. Guided me to a chair.

“He’s fracturing nicely. Your guilt projection compounds my narrative manipulation. Valeria’s physical dominance breaks body. You break spirit. Perfect coordination.”

“I just want Master Rian back.”

“We all do. Which is why the pretender must fail completely. Beatrice needs undeniable proof her experiment collapsed.”

Made sense. Clinical sense. But my chest still hurt. Empty space where structure used to exist.

“What if Rian doesn’t come back even after Lorden quits.”

Seraphina’s expression shifted. Rare vulnerability.

“Then we go to him. Consequences irrelevant.”

The next quest Lorden assigned was embarrassing. D-rank. Escort merchant caravan through safe roads. Team building exercise for “low-stress collaboration.”

Insult.

I made it hell.

First ambush—standard bandits—I positioned myself directly in attack path. Took arrow to shoulder. Unnecessary. Deliberate.

Pain bloomed. Beautiful. Sharp. Real.

Gasped. Moaned. Healing light erupted immediately. Wound closed while I writhed.

“Again. Hit me again. I failed to dodge. Punish my incompetence.”

Lorden stared. Horror-struck.

“Elara, you’re supposed to stay behind Valeria—”

Second arrow. This one I guided with minor mana manipulation. Hit thigh. Deep.

“Yes. More. I deserve this for losing Master Rian.”

Healed again. Mana expenditure excessive. Glowing golden restoration accompanied by breathy sounds that made the merchant look away uncomfortably.

“This is insane—”

Trap triggered next. Poison darts. I walked into obvious pressure plate. Darts hit chest, arms, stomach. Toxin burned.

“Oh. Oh yes. The poison is exquisite. Thank you. Thank you for this lesson.”

Collapsed. Writhing. Healing through venom’s agony. Each second prolonged deliberately. Mana draining fast but the pain was worth it.

Lorden tried healing me. His magic felt wrong. Invasive. Not Master Rian’s firm, controlled energy.

“Stop. Let me suffer. I need to atone.”

“You need medical attention—”

“I need pain.”

The quest took six hours. Should’ve taken two. My “incompetence” weaponized into exhausting babysitting. Lorden returned looking decade older.

Perfect.

That night, I delivered confession letters. Seventeen pages. Handwritten. Detailed every “sin” I’d committed against Master Rian. Every time I’d failed. Every moment I’d caused him stress.​

Slid them under Lorden’s office door. Heard him groan inside. Papers rustling. Maybe crying.

Good. Shared suffering. Communion through mutual agony.

Morning brought my masterpiece. Volunteer mission. Solo scouting cursed mire. Everyone knew it was suicidal. Toxic atmosphere. Corruption zones. Monsters that ignored conventional healing.

“I’ll go. Penance for my failures.”

Lorden looked up from breakfast. Eyes bloodshot.

“Absolutely not. That’s a B-rank death trap.”

“Perfect. I deserve death.”

“Elara—”

“Or do you not trust me enough to suffer properly.”

Trapped him. Refusing implied I wasn’t capable. Agreeing meant accepting responsibility for my “suicide.”

He chose wrong option. Always did.

“Fine. But take backup—”

“No. Solo. Like Master Rian used to test me.”

Left before he could argue more.

The mire welcomed me. Toxic fog. Corrupted mana eating at barriers. Monsters sensed weakness immediately.

Let them come.

Claws ripped. Teeth tore. Venom burned. Each injury cataloged lovingly. Each pain savored. Healing through agony became meditation.

Screamed Master Rian’s name. Let it echo through cursed landscape. Worship through suffering.

Returned eight hours later. Mangled. Robes shredded. Blood coating skin. Regeneration orgasmic.

Lorden waited at guild hall entrance. Face sheet-white.

“You’re—what happened—”

Stumbled past him. Into common room. Collapsed beautifully on floor. Writhing. Moaning. Healing light pulsing.

“Master Rian. Master Rian. Only you understood. Only you knew how to hurt me right.”

Golden magic flooded. Wounds closed. Bones knit. Euphoria peaked.

“Heal me? No. Hurt me more. I haven’t atoned enough.”

Lorden backed away. Hit wall. Slid down. Hands over ears.

“This is hell. This entire guild is hell.”

“Yes.”

I looked at him through tears and ecstasy.

“Now you understand what Master Rian endured daily. Managing us. Containing us. Loving us enough to structure our chaos.”

“That’s not love—”

“You wouldn’t know.”

Rose. Stumbled to chapel wing. Left him sitting there. Broken.

Days blurred. More “accidents.” More volunteered suffering. More confession letters. Fifty pages total. Graphic details about my unworthiness.

Lorden stopped sleeping. Heard him pacing at night. Muttering. Crumpling papers.

Dawn of day fourteen, I watched from chapel window.

He stumbled outside. Black circles. Gaunt face. Resignation letter clutched in shaking hand. Collapsed on cobblestones. Passed out from exhaustion.

Letter fell beside him. Undelivered.

I pressed face against glass. Pouted.

“He ran. But he’ll come back for more suffering.”

Because envy demanded it. Pride required it. He wanted to conquer Crimson Rose, prove himself better than Master Rian. That stubbornness kept him chained to impossible dream.​

Perfect trap. Seraphina’s design. Valeria’s pressure. My guilt. Combined devastation.

Watched him sleep fitfully on stone. Wondered if Master Rian was sleeping better. Wondered if he missed managing our beautiful disasters.

Wondered if he knew we were destroying his replacement one confession letter at a time.

Healing staff felt heavy. Empty without his commands directing my service.

Soon. Beatrice would see the failure. Recall Master Rian. Return our structure.

Until then, I’d kneel and suffer and drag the pretender down into shared agony.

Prayer through pain. Worship through weaponized incompetence.

Lorden stirred outside. Grabbed letter. Stared at it. Crumpled it again. Stood shakily. Walked back inside.

Stubborn. Stupid. Exactly as predicted.

I smiled through tears.

Time for morning confessions. Another seventeen pages. More graphic details. More ammunition for his nightmares.

Master Rian endured this daily. Lorden would break within month.

The countdown continued. Beautiful. Inevitable. Perfectly destructive.