The Substitute Healer (BL)-Chapter 94: “Picking up gold like a beggar. So pathetic.”

Chapter 94: “Picking up gold like a beggar. So pathetic.”

Back in the frozen northern cold, Soren sat across from Alaric inside the commander’s tent.

The canvas walls fluttered softly as icy wind pressed against them, but the air inside was heavy for an entirely different reason. This time, Soren was not here to ask for guidance, nor to plead for understanding because he had already reached his conclusion.

He would leave the North.

Leaving meant more than simply crossing its borders but abandoning everything tied to it.

The blood, humiliation and the memories he had buried and the ones that still clung to him like frostbite.

It meant walking away from a place where he had given everything he could, only to be reminded again and again that it was never enough.

Soren had finally understood something painfully clear that no matter how much good he did, no matter how many lives he saved or how much he contributed, none of it truly mattered. His efforts were overlooked, his sacrifices were dismissed, and his existence reduced to something disposable.

The North would never see him for anything beyond what it wanted him to be.

As he spoke, his voice was calm for someone making such a decision.

There was no anger left in him, but only exhaustion and quiet resolve.

This was not a choice made in haste, but one forged after countless disappointments.

Leaving would hurt but staying had already destroyed him.

And this time, Soren chose himself.

"Hmm, leave, you say?"

Alaric’s voice carried no trace of disappointment.

There was even no surprise, not even mild concern. He just leaned back in his seat inside the tent with his fingers resting lazily against the armrest, as though Soren’s words were nothing more than a passing remark about the weather.

And that made Soren’s chest throbbed.

"Yes, Your Grace," he replied after a brief pause while lowering his head. "My apologies. In return for failing to complete my contract, I will not ask for a single penny."

For a moment, Soren waited.

Some small part of him that’s somehow stupid and hopeful had expected Alaric to object, to ask him to stay, to remind him of his value, or at the very least question his decision. After everything he had endured, and had done for the North, Soren had hoped that Alaric, the one who employed him, might be the first to stop him.

But that moment never came.

Instead, Alaric let out a short, humorless laugh.

"Hah. What do you take me for?" he scoffed with mocking eyes as it fixed on Soren. "Do you think I am incapable of paying you what was promised in the contract?"

The words struck harder than Soren expected because this was not concern but offense. Not at the thought of losing him, but at having his authority questioned.

"I–it’s not what I intended to say, Your Gr..."

"Silence!" Alaric’s voice cut through the tent like a blade as he rose slightly from his seat with irritation clear in his expression.

"How dare you hide behind excuses?" Alaric snapped with his voice rising as irritation finally surfaced. "If you wish to leave, then say it plainly. Do not insult me by pretending this is about your damn payment. For God’s sake, I would not have cared even if you demanded triple the amount promised. That is my point!"

The words echoed sharply inside the tent, heavy and unforgiving where Soren stiffened where he stood. His hands clenched tightly at his sides with his nails digging into his palms as if pain might keep him grounded.

Then, he did not respond right away.

Or he could not.

The last fragile thread of hope within Soren snapped soundlessly because Alaric had not tried to stop him, had not asked what drove him to this decision, nor questioned whether something or someone had pushed him to the edge.

There were no concern and hesitation, not even curiosity.

To Alaric, Soren was nothing more than a name on a contract, a tool hired for a purpose and easily replaced once no longer needed.

Realizing where he stood, Soren just lowered his gaze while swallowing hard. The cold beyond the tent suddenly felt distant compared to the ache spreading through his chest. He had endured the North’s brutality, its cruelty, and its indifference but this moment hurt far more.

Because this time, it was personal.

And for the first time, Soren understood that no one here would ever ask him to stay.

Soren’s vision blurred with his eyes burning as tears gathered despite his effort to hold them back. Then, he bit down hard while forcing his breathing to remain steady and refusing to let his composure crumble,

not yet.

Then, without warning, something heavy was thrown toward him that he was almost hit by it, making him stepped back suddenly that he almost lost his balance.

It was a leather pouch that hit the ground at his feet with a dull clatter. Gold coins spilled out from it while scattering across the tent floor with their sharp metallic sounds cutting through the tense silence like mockery.

The sight froze him in place.

Startled, Soren lifted his head with his lips parting slightly in disbelief and saw Alaric who was looking down at him.

Not with concern and restraint.

His gaze was cold, distant, and superior like one would look at something beneath them. The moment their eyes met, a sharp pain tore through Soren’s chest, deeper than anything he had felt before.

"Y-Your Grace?"

After saying that, suddenly, the tears that he had been desperately holding back finally escaped while streaming down his cheeks without pause. He made no sound, but his shoulders trembled faintly as his breath hitched.

"Take it," Alaric said flatly and even have the time to arrange the papers on his table. "If that isn’t enough, I can give you more."

He said while acting as if there’s some dust on his paperworks, making Soren flinched.

"How dare a lowly person like you behave this way?" Alaric continued with voice dripping with disdain. "What, are you dissatisfied with how you’ve been treated here? You were given shelter, you’re well fed and was even granted luxuries you could never dream of having in those damned slums you came from."

Each word struck like a lash.

"Just how deeply did that filth rot your mindset, hmm?" Alaric added coolly.

Soren’s throat tightened painfully.

He tried to speak and tried to explain, to defend himself and to say that wasn’t it but no sound came out. His lips just trembled uselessly as he stared at the scattered gold with his tears falling freely now, splashing onto the floor alongside the coins.

In that moment, Soren understood completely.

To Alaric, his pain was ingratitude, his breaking point was arrogance and his worth or his entire existence could be reduced to a handful of gold tossed at his feet.

Crushed beneath the weight of that realization, Soren remained silent while unable to form a single word.

"What, aren’t you going to get them?" Alaric’s voice was sharp, cutting through the tent like a whip. "Kneel and gather every single one of them, every last coin. And remember this, you wouldn’t even be touching a single one if it weren’t for me. Not a single one, do you understand that?"

Soren’s throat tightened with his mouth opening as if to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. His voice felt gone, swallowed by the weight of Alaric’s mocking gaze.

"You should know," Alaric continued while leaning slightly forward, "how arrogant you looked while thinking you could just leave on your own. Decide your fate, as if you have the right." His tone sharpened with disdain. "Well, that doesn’t matter anyway. The empire is vast, you see? People like you? You’re replaceable. Disposable so who do you think you are?"

"I..." Soren tried to answer but the sound was barely escaping from his lips like a broken whisper. And then it died. His courage just refused to come back.

"Kneel," Alaric ordered again and louder this time. "I said kneel! Gather every coin on the floor. What use are those knees of yours if you can’t even obey?"

Soren’s stomach twisted painfully.

BUt he just swallowed hard with his lips trembling.

Slowly, stiffly, he sank to his knees with his fingers shaking as he began picking up the coins, one by one. Each coin felt heavier than the last, like a piece of his own humiliation pressing him down further. He laid them back on the couch carefully, as if moving too fast would break him entirely.

And then, timing itself felt like torture, the tent flap opened where Cael, Lyric, and Sylas stepped inside making Soren froze for a heartbeat with his heart hammering violently in his chest.

A second after seeing him like that, Sylas’s laughter cut through the tent like ice. It was cruel and mocking. "Look at you," he sneered while doubling over with hands on his knees and eyes glinting with amusement. "Picking up gold like a beggar. So pathetic."

Cael, by contrast, simply stared. He even just walked past Soren as though he weren’t even there and his silence felt more humiliating for Soren than words could ever be.

Lyric also stepped forward and without warning, his boot pressed down on Soren’s fingers so hard.

And then Sylas followed, stomping down lightly on the same fingers just to make the point, laughing all the while. 𝐟𝐫𝕖𝗲𝘄𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝕧𝐞𝚕.𝕔𝕠𝐦

Feeling the deep humiliation he just experiences with the four nobles, tears burned in his eyes again, but he forced himself to continue, slowly while collecting each coin. Every movement was agony and every sound of laughter was a hammer on his chest.

Every step of cruelty such as the words, the twin’s boots and the stares pressed him deeper into a corner that he couldn’t escape.

And yet, he kept moving.

Because stopping wasn’t an option.