The Substitute Healer (BL)-Chapter 86: ‘Argh, f*ck this!’

"Tsk, boring..." 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝓮𝒘𝙚𝙗𝒏𝙤𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝒐𝙢

That was all Sylas uttered when Caelius stepped in.

His tone was lazy, sarcastic and almost disappointed, as if the scene had failed to entertain him long enough. He did not argue, nor did he openly pay attention to Caelius.

Instead, before turning away to leave, Sylas delivered one final kick to Elias’s abdomen, hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs then walked off as if nothing of importance had happened.

Just like that, time passed far too quickly after.

Two days had gone by since the incident, yet neither Elias nor Caelius spoke a word of it to Soren. They moved around him carefully while deliberately avoiding the topic, unwilling to burden his already fragile state of mind with more violence and cruelty than he had already endured.

Silence, in this case, felt kinder than honesty.

Life in the encampment continued with little visible change.

The most noticeable difference was the sudden and near-total disappearance of the beasts that once plagued the northern lands. Their numbers had dwindled to the point of concern, not relief, and their absence left behind an uneasy calm.

Still, the knights carried on as they always did. Scouting the surrounding areas, training beneath the cold sky, and sparring in the snow. Fortunately, the snowfall had eased, allowing daily routines to resume without much interruption.

Meanwhile, Gideon made the decision to return to the capital, taking Kaine with him and Gwen as well. Gwen had originally been sent as reinforcement, but after witnessing how unnervingly peaceful the North had become, Gideon discussed the matter with Cael and ultimately deemed his presence unnecessary.

The threat no longer felt immediate, and lingering any longer seemed pointless.

Alia, however, remained behind.

By all accounts, her new master was now Soren, though Soren himself had yet to truly accept her.

That was how she thought it thought Soren made it clear in the first place that he will not be taking Alia on his side.

With nowhere else to go, Alia stayed within the healer’s camp while offering what little help she could. She worked quietly and obediently, keeping her head low and her presence small.

If anything, she made an effort to be invisible.

Alia understood better than anyone that her actions no longer reflected only on herself.

Every mistake or misstep could cast a shadow on Soren, the one person who had granted her freedom, aside from her former master, Gideon. Because of that, she endured the silence, uncertainty, and the distance while choosing patience over resentment as she continued her duties in the cold North.

Meanwhile, Hector and Melissa, along with Kent, Justin, and Louie, lingered around the encampment more than usual. They lingered not out of idleness, but in hope to catch Soren at the right moment, and hoping for a chance to speak with him, even briefly.

Yet ever since the rumors began to spread about him seducing and sullying the prince, Cael, Soren had grown quieter than he already was.

If silence had once been his nature, now it had become his shield.

After finishing his duties in the healer’s camp, Soren no longer stayed behind to rest or exchange words. He would return straight to his tent with his head lowered, steps measured and distant, as though the world around him no longer existed beyond two places, his work and the space where he slept.

His routine became painfully narrow.

Work then his tent and nothing more.

He no longer ate with them, nor did he sit among them for idle conversations.

The laughter that once followed him, faint as it was, had vanished entirely.

Unlike before when Kent, Justin, and Louie could coax him into sharing a meal or at the very least draw a small smile from him, now there was nothing.

No reaction and warmth.

Soren’s face had grown emptier than usual.

Not cold, or angry. Just plain.

Blank in a way that was far worse than the quiet expression he normally wore. It was the look of someone who had folded inward while carrying everything alone, refusing to let even the smallest crack show.

And for those watching him from a distance, that emptiness was far more unsettling than silence ever had been.

Even Gaspar, who had been silently keeping track of Soren, noticed the change.

He did so not out of personal curiosity, but because he was well aware that his master, Alaric, as well as the Prince, Cael had taken a distinct interest in Soren.

Ever since the rumors began to spread, however, it was not only Soren who changed. The demeanor of both the prince and the Duke had shifted as well, subtle as it was but unmistakable to someone as observant as Gaspar.

To those unfamiliar with Alaric and Cael, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

Their composure remained intact with their authority unquestioned along with their carefully controlled expressions but to Gaspar, the differences were clear. He could see it in the way their gazes lingered longer than necessary, in the restraint that bordered on irritation and in the tension that surfaced only for a heartbeat before being buried again.

What they felt toward Soren, Gaspar could not say for certain.

It might have been obsession. or might have been confusion. Or perhaps, at first, it had merely been entertainment like an interesting distraction in the bleakness of the North. Yet whatever it was, it had begun to twist into something far less simple.

Though both men made an effort to appear distant, even indifferent, as if paying attention to Soren might only bring him harm, Gaspar could see past that pretense.

Their eyes betrayed them. There was something unsettled there and something unresolved.

And as someone experienced in matters of romance and human attachment, Gaspar came to a quiet realization.

They were not cruelly detached.

They were just confused.

Deeply, undeniably confused and that confusion, Gaspar knew that it was far more dangerous than indifference ever could be.

"Are you sure you’re not just making things up?" his lover murmured quietly. "What if His Highness and His Grace truly don’t care about him at all? Look at how hurt Soren is now, yet His Highness didn’t bat an eye. He didn’t even try to stop the rumors spreading around the encampment..."

Gaspar let out a soft scoff, more tired than amused. "Why would I lie to you, hm?" he replied while turning slightly to face him. "Besides, it’s not my place to speak of such matters to His Grace much more to His Highness. That would be crossing a line I have no intention of stepping over." He paused before continuing, his tone lowering. "But I’m certain of one thing. They’ll regret how they’re treating Soren right now."

He then shifted closer with his arm tightening around his lover. "You know as well as I do that Soren is an exceptional healer. He could be one of our greatest assets. The only thing working against him is that he was born a commoner. An orphan, at that. He’s lived a hard life, babe. Too hard." Gaspar exhaled slowly. "And honestly, he’s already endured enough. If he ever decides to leave this place... I wouldn’t stop him. Not when he isn’t even being protected here."

His lover fell silent for a moment before speaking again. "You’re right. I’ve been through a lot myself, but what he’s going through?" He shook his head faintly. "If it were me, I don’t think I’d survive it. I might’ve already killed myself."

Gaspar immediately leaned in while pressing a gentle kiss to his lover’s forehead, then softly to his lips. "Hey," he murmured, pulling him into a firm embrace. "Do you really think I’d ever allow that?"

They lay together beneath the blankets with bodies still warm from their earlier lovemaking. The encampment beyond the tent remained restless and cruel, but for a brief moment, wrapped in each other’s presence, they spoke in hushed tones about Soren and the quiet damage being done to him, long after the sounds of the night had settled.

"Anyway," his lover spoke after a brief pause, "how come you know so much about Soren?"

Gaspar laughed quietly. "Haha, come on. Are you seriously getting jealous now?" Then he tilted his head with amusement clear in his tone. "What, do you want to do it again just so I can prove I only have you in my eyes?"

"T..That’s not what I meant, you pervert!" his lover snapped, flustered while shoving lightly at Gaspar’s chest.

"Haha, I’m just kidding," Gaspar replied, still chuckling as he tightened his hold slightly. His tone soon shifted while growing more casual. "Anyway, I don’t think we’ll be staying here for a year after all."

That caught his lover’s attention. "What do you mean?"

"We’ve been scouting the surrounding areas for days now, but there’s nothing," Gaspar explained. "Not a single sighting, nothing that would justify a prolonged stay." He exhaled slowly. "The day after tomorrow, His Grace will come with us to inspect the area himself."

He paused before adding like almost as an afterthought, "The Davenmore young lords will be there too. And the prince, of course."

His lover hummed quietly at that with gaze unfocused as he processed the information. Outside their tent, the encampment remained restless with rumors and unspoken tension, but inside, the conversation drifted on, caught between fleeting warmth and the uncertainty of what awaited them next.

The only thing both of them were sure of was that their return to the capital was drawing near.

Meanwhile, Arctelle was sweating and growing increasingly nervous as he waited for the High Priest. He had been told to wait in the abbot’s chamber, but nearly three hours had already passed. On top of that, he was still exhausted from his long journey from the capital to the North.

Arctelle sat on the couch while glaring at the untouched refreshments on the table. What was meant to be hospitality now felt like an insult.

’Argh, fuck this!’ he thought while clenching his fists in frustration. ’How dare they treat me like this?’

Just as Arctelle was about to storm out in frustration, the door creaked open, revealing the person he had been waiting for.

"Greetings, Your Holiness..." Arctelle said while bowing slightly, though his impatience still lingered in the tense set of his shoulders.