The Substitute Healer (BL)-Chapter 32: “Hngh! Y-Your Excellency?”

After a few days, gossip began to ripple through the encampment, spreading from tent to tent and most of it centered on how unreasonably luxurious Soren’s tent was compared to those of Arctelle and Irlian.

Whispers carried poorly concealed envy and spite, exaggerated with every retelling until it sounded as though Soren had been granted a noble’s pavilion rather than a healer’s quarters.

As punishment for their conduct, Arctelle and Irlian were ordered to spend the entire month stationed in the regular healers’ chamber. The place was cramped and poorly ventilated, with no private bath and no personal space to speak of.

They were forced to share the same quarters with the very people they had always looked down on, working shoulder to shoulder under constant scrutiny. To make matters worse, their progress was to be monitored personally by Alaric, leaving them no room for complaint or defiance.

Caelius, on the other hand, continued his duties in silence, performing his work with the same steady diligence he always had. True to his nature as a man of few words, he neither sought praise nor reacted when it came.

Still, his efforts did not go unnoticed. He was permitted to remain in his own tent and was even rewarded with several additional fur robes that’s small, practical comforts meant to ease the bitter cold.

It was a quiet acknowledgment, but a clear one, especially when contrasted with Arctelle and Irlian’s demotion.

As for Soren who had contributed the most according to knights whom he attended, his reward was far more substantial.

He was given a tent large enough to comfortably house five people. Compared to his previous, modest quarters, the difference was staggering.

The tent had its own bath, proper furnishings, a sturdy bed layered with thick fur blankets, neatly folded pajamas, hand warmers, and heaters placed thoughtfully around the space. Softly scented candles were arranged with surprising care, lending the tent a warm, almost gentle atmosphere that felt entirely out of place in a military encampment.

Standing at the entrance, Soren froze.

"T-this is... this is too fancy for me, Your Grace," he said hesitantly, his eyes slowly scanning the interior as though afraid it might vanish if he looked too closely.

Alaric stood beside him with arms crossed with expression carefully schooled into indifference. He did not spare Soren a glance, though inwardly his thoughts were far less composed. A part of him wanted to acknowledge Soren’s tireless work properly and to offer him thanks, perhaps even an apology for the harshness he had shown.

But that was a weakness he could not afford.

"This isn’t even enough for your contributions," Alaric said curtly. "What will my people say if someone like you is constantly bullied because his employer doesn’t pay him any mind?" He scoffed and turned slightly away. "Don’t flatter yourself, commoner. I’m doing this for my reputation so take it or leave it. That’s that."

The words were sharp, deliberately so yet even as he spoke, Alaric cursed silently to himself. Soren was still standing there, clearly torn with his hesitation that’s plain to see.

For a fleeting moment, Alaric wondered if he had been too harsh again then promptly buried the thought, refusing to let it show.

Meanwhile, back in the temple in the north.

"Hngh! Y-Your Excellency?" Aria, the priest lay with his legs spread open as the bishop named Thalric Venshad kept thrusting himself inside him, forcing out heavy sounds.

"Ah, so tight. You take my dick really well, Aria."

"Ugh! Hngh!" Aria arches his back when Thalric thrusted to him so deeply and even lifted the priest’s one leg in the air, grinding their hips together.

"Eek! Hngh! So deep, Your E- Excellency..." Aria said, touching his own dick. When Thalric noticed, he took his hand away, placed down his leg, grabbed his hip, and then put Aria’s hands on top of him.

"You’re not allowed to touch yourself until I say so. Just take what I’ve given you. Consider this your punishment for failing the task I entrusted to you, okay? I told you clearly to deal with that persistent bitch priestess since she keeps getting in my way but you couldn’t even manage such a simple thing."

Even if Aria were listening, he was lost in a haze because every word that comes out of the bishop’s mouth was the time that he thrusted inside him. It was fast and deep, making Aria’s mind lose in ecstasy.

"M-my apologies, please give me one more chance... I’ll do b-better. Hngh! A-and, you’re so d-deep, please... more..."

Before Aria can say more, Thalric slithered across his ear and whispered while his dick was still inside him. "Remember your place," he murmured, wrapping around his resolve and slowly eroding it.

That time, the priest’s entire body responded before his mind could catch up, muscles taut, breath hitching at each calculated thrust.

They remained within the bishop’s private chamber, a space untouched by public doctrine and shielded from judgment by locked doors and stone walls. What occurred there was unspoken, understood only by the two who stood on opposite sides of power and yet desired the same thing.

Thalric had taken Aria in for his own advantage, yes but the priest had accepted just as willingly.

Once a commoner with no future beyond obscurity, he had recognized opportunity the moment it was offered. The temple was power, influence and safety. To be allowed within its walls was more than mercy, it was ascension of power. And if submission was the price, then he would kneel without hesitation.

He fulfilled his role with care and intention, dirtying his hands where Thalric could not be seen stained, carrying out discreet tasks, silencing loose ends, and offering himself whenever summoned. His obedience was not born of fear alone, but calculation.

Every act was an investment.

He did not resent the bishop’s demands.

On the contrary, he embraced them, knowing devotion of any kind bound him closer to protection. To be abandoned would mean returning to nothing, and he refused that fate with quite determination.

For someone of his origins, the temple was a dream too precious to lose.

He wore his robes like proof of victory, even as he reminded himself daily that they were borrowed. His true status remained buried beneath silence and compliance, for the law was merciless. Commoners were forbidden, rejected outright by doctrine that declared only noble blood worthy of divine service.

And so, the priest bowed lower, spoke softer, and yielded readily not because he was forced to, but because ambition demanded it.

In a world that denied him legitimacy, submission had become his chosen path to power.

Thalric used him, but Aria used Thalric just as skillfully because both were ambitious, and neither hesitated to use anyone to climb higher.

It wasn’t about loyalty or affection as everything was a tool for power. Commands, obedience, and even desire were carefully measured. In their world, only those who could bend others to their will would rise, no matter the cost.

After a few hours, the meeting began.

Even the High Priest, known for his unparalleled healing skills despite being eighty-one, and wielding nearly unrivaled authority in the Temple of Mirath, the Goddess of Healing, now presided over the gathering.

Thalric was among those present, standing with careful composure.

"A week from now marks the three hundred and first year of the curse," the High Priest began, his voice calm but commanding. "As the leading temple in the North, it is our duty to hold the annual ritual."

"That’s right, Your Holiness. Don’t worry, we’ve already sent notice to the Northern Fortress and other locations to inform them of the occasion," one of the bishops replied promptly.

"I see. Good," the High Priest said, nodding thoughtfully while his hand was stroking his long white beard. "Make sure to request at least two additional healers to attend, as most of ours are currently assigned to the slums. You know as well as I do that every year this ritual strengthens the healers’ abilities. We must take advantage of this to help as many people as possible especially the common folk, as the Goddess has taught us."

The High Priest’s piercing gaze swept across the line of bishops, finally resting on the priests gathered in the hall, each aware of the weight of his expectations.

"You needn’t worry, Your Holiness," Thalric said smoothly, stepping forward with a confident smile. "Everything has been arranged. You have our full assurance."

The bishops around him nodded in agreement, their expressions betraying respect and perhaps, in some cases, quiet calculation.

Meanwhile, back in the tent, Cael, Alaric, and the twins, Lyric and Sylas, were gathered for a meeting.

"We know very well that commoners aren’t allowed inside the temple," Sylas began, glancing at Cael before flicking a look toward Lyric and Alaric. "So... what should we do now, Your Highness?"

"Right. We have four healers on our side," Cael replied thoughtfully. "We could just send the two nobles out there."

"You do realize," Alaric said sharply, "that whoever we send will reflect on us, yes?"

"Of course, Duke," Cael said quickly, nodding.

Then Cael leaned back, fingers steepled and eyes narrowed in contemplation. "Hmm... then it’s settled. Let’s send the commoner. There’s no harm in trying something new, is there? Don’t worry, I’ll take responsibility. You see it too, right? Soren is an exceptional healer, even if I don’t like to admit it. I’m saying this because I’ve personally received his healing once and it was... remarkably effective, almost refreshing. Why don’t you give it a try yourselves?"

A pause fell over the group as each considered Cael’s words, the weight of responsibility balanced by the undeniable skill of the commoner among them.