The Substitute Healer (BL)-Chapter 28: Blergh—! Keugh!”

During the time when Soren and Elias were still struggling to put their lives back together after being kidnapped and nearly sold off to either underground auctions or brothels, their fates took sharply different turns.

Soren, by sheer luck and a surge of desperate instinct, managed to slip away from his captor before the transaction was completed. Elias, however, wasn’t as fortunate. He was restrained, dragged into a separate room, and eventually bought by a man who clearly had far darker intentions for him.

But Soren refused to abandon him.

Despite the danger, when he found Elias cornered and terrified, Soren acted without hesitation. He lunged at the buyer and kicked him so hard between the legs that the man collapsed, howling and clutching himself.

The strike was so vicious that rumors later said the employer would never be able to have children again.

Grabbing Elias by the wrist, Soren pulled him away that put the both of them stumbling through the chaos until they finally escape alive and together.

Unfortunately, Soren never imagined that the very man he and Elias had spent years avoiding would one day end up lying at his feet again. Yet here he was, bloodied and trembling, receiving Soren’s healing over and over while being brutalized by the knights on Alaric’s orders.

"Heal him." Alaric’s voice cut through the tension like a blade as he leaned back on his seat, one leg casually crossed over the other, his cold gaze fixed on Soren as if daring him to refuse.

Cael and the twins said nothing. They didn’t even flinch as the command was final.

The ground was already painted with splatters of red, and even the inner walls of the tent were streaked with dried blood. The metallic scent clung to the air, thick and suffocating while Soren knelt beside the man, his hands glowing faintly as he worked.

For the first time in his life, despite being someone who cannot feel pain, he found himself sympathizing with the one suffering beneath him.

The man was being beaten, and then healed, only to be beaten again.

A cycle that felt cruelly endless.

And Soren, trapped in the middle, could only obey.

"P-please... s-spare me. I-I’m sorry..." The man dragged himself across the blood-stained floor, crawling on his torn palms toward the four nobles seated to the left while the three knights stood silently in the corner, arms down, waiting for Alaric’s next command.

"Hah." Alaric let out a quiet, humorless laugh. "Do you still not realize what you’ve done?"

Then he rose from his chair, boots scraping against the ground, and without hesitation ground his heel onto the man’s hand that the crunch of bone could be heard inside and the man’s strangled groan filled the tent.

But, Alaric didn’t even look at him as his cold gaze was fixed entirely on Soren.

"Not only did your pathetic little grudge endanger our knights," Alaric continued, pressing harder until the man’s fingers bent at unnatural angles, "but you had the audacity to taint a day that mattered to us."

He stepped forward, forcing the man onto his back with a sharp kick. After that, the blood splattered from the man’s mouth, mixing with what was already pooled beneath him. "I care very little about whatever personal filth you get yourself involved in but to attack on that day? When the Davenmore household and His Highness himself were present?"

Alaric’s voice dropped into something almost mocking. "How bold of you."

His glare also snapped back to Soren that made him involuntarily flinched.

Before the healer could even process the shift, Alaric kicked the man full in the face as well that a sickening crack sounded as what was left of the man’s front teeth scattered onto the floor. Blood gushed from his mouth, pooling and trailing down his cheek.

The tent fell silent again except for the wheezing, choking breaths of the man who had once held Elias captive.

"P-please, spare me, Your G-Grace. I’m s-sorry! I—I crossed the l-line, please, forgive me!" He choked, coughing out a wet spray of blood. "T-this is all that rat’s fault! Keugh—! Cough! I... I j-just wanted to teach him a lesson, blergh!"

He attempted to push himself up, limbs trembling violently, but his body failed him and he collapsed again. When his eyes met Soren’s, the healer froze. The man’s face was so mutilated that he was barely recognizable and only the hatred in his gaze remained the same.

"Damn, it’s gross. Can we kill him already?" Sylas complained, wrinkling his nose.

"You won’t lose anything by being a little patient, little Davenmore," Cael drawled, smirking as he lazily leaned back.

"Arg, come on, Your Highness, stop teasing me!" Sylas grumbled, dramatically clutching his chest, while Lyric remained silent yet secretly stealing glances at Soren.

The moment Sylas looked his way, Lyric quickly turned his head as if nothing happened.

While Alaric was utterly emotionless through it all. The blood, screams and smell were all routine for him. But for Soren, the metallic stench was suffocating, that he could feel his stomach twist violently.

"Y-you bastard! I-it’s your fault! Blergh—! Keugh!" The man gagged again, vomiting more blood that splattered across the floor.

Hearing that, Alaric sighed, bored. "Hmm. What are you waiting for? If he dies, do you want to be beaten on his damn behalf?"

His cold eyes bore into Soren. "Stop standing there like this is entertainment to you and do your job, commoner."

Without even glancing back, Alaric stretched out his hand then after that, one of the knights immediately placed a handkerchief in his palm, as he casually wiped the blood droplets off his cheek.

"I u-understand, Your Grace." Soren bowed and stepped forward but the moment he attempted to pass Alaric, the Duke stuck out his foot.

Soren didn’t even have time to gasp so he stumbled and fell directly onto the blood-soaked man making the knights snickered, low and cruel.

The man, fueled by pure delirious hatred, suddenly surged up and clamped his hands around Soren’s throat. His fingers dug in harshly, tightening with a strength born from desperation.

"Y-you... die! Die! DIE!" His scream was wild and hysterical while it’s echoing inside the tent as he straddled Soren’s waist, pressing down with shaking, blood-covered hands.

Warm, thick blood smeared across Soren’s healer’s green robe, soaking into the fabric as the man kept squeezing, refusing to let go.

"Hmm," Alaric murmured while tilting his head slightly as he crouched beside them. "I think this is more entertaining than me beating you again and again."

He observed the bloody man with a calm, almost clinical expression before his gaze slid to Soren, whose face was already draining of color as the hands tightened mercilessly around his throat. 𝘧𝓇𝑒𝑒𝑤ℯ𝑏𝓃𝘰𝑣ℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮

"Well... isn’t this not so bad for someone approaching his inevitable death?"

"Die! Die!" the man shrieked with blood spilling from his mouth. "I—I already lost e-everything... I’ll die, blergh! Today, I k-know it! So, I might as well d-drag you with me! Keugh!"

He lurched forward, vomiting again and this time onto the side of Soren’s neck yet he never loosened his grip.

His fingers only dug deeper, trembling with rage and despair.

Soren couldn’t feel pain, but that didn’t save him now. All he could register was the sensation of air being cut off. His legs kicked weakly while his hands were clawing at the man’s wrists in instinct rather than desperation, and he could feel his breath thinning out and his consciousness slipping away.

But Alaric just stood beside them as though watching a performance made for him alone.

"Brother... he might die," Lyric finally murmured, still being seated.

Alaric then turned his head toward Lyric, his face carved with cold indifference. "We can just hire another one," he replied flatly. "He’s an orphan anyway, and a commoner at that."

He even shrugged lightly, gesturing at the scene with a flick of his fingers. "Given the fact that this is the north, an accident is always plausible, yes?"

At that moment, something inside Soren fractured.

He had faintly and foolishly hoped that Alaric could show even a sliver of compassion toward another human being. Even toward someone beneath him but as his vision blurred and darkened around the edges, Soren realized there was nothing there.

There’s no warmth and empathy, not even contempt—

just emptiness.

This time, as the world dimmed, Soren concluded one undeniable truth: He could never and would never understand Alaric’s personality.

Just as Soren’s consciousness was slipping, a sharp crack split the air.

A heartbeat later, something warm splattered across his face, dripping down his cheeks, jaw, and collarbone. Then the man’s grip suddenly loosened before falling away entirely as his body toppled to the side with a heavy thud.

Hearing that sound, Soren blinked while struggling to make sense of the blur in front of him and panting for air. His lashes were sticky with blood and his breathing was shallow and uneven. When he finally forced his eyes open, a silhouette loomed over him.

It was Cael.

The noble’s shadow stretched across Soren’s blood-soaked body, and as Soren’s vision adjusted, he could see Cael’s face clearly now which was splattered with faint droplets of red, eyes calm, and a slow smirk curling his lips.

"Hmm," Cael murmured, tilting his head slightly. "I’m good with timing, aren’t I?"

That was the last thing Soren registered before everything went black.

Once Soren’s eyes closed and he lay motionless on the blood-soaked ground, Cael rose to his feet. He then flicked off the blood clinging to his hands before directing his attention to Alaric. The Duke’s expression stayed neutral, but Cael noticed the faint trace of surprise beneath it.

"Well," Cael drawled lightly, wiping a smear of red from his cheek, "my apologies, dear Duke. I’m not ready to let this one die yet."

Then a slow, mischievous smile curved his lips. "I still haven’t had enough fun. So... just overlook it this once, alright?"