The Substitute Healer (BL) Chapter 16: Have them release the beasts

After Lyric asked by Alaric to fetch Soren because he’s quite being late, he arrived just in ti to witness the noble healer slap Soren across the cheek. The sound echoed in the air, sharp enough to draw every nearby gaze yet Lyric himself didn’t even flinch. His expression held no trace of worry for Soren, only a deep, icy displeasure settling in his eyes.

"What," Lyric’s voice dropped into a cold murmur as he swept his gaze between the two n, "is happening here?"

At once, Arctelle’s deanor shifted. The arrogant sneer vanished, replaced by a trembling pout as he hurried toward Lyric like a frightened lamb seeking protection. His eyes glistened pathetically, as if tears were ready to spill at any mont.

"Oh my, My Lord..." he whimpered, clutching at his own sleeve for effect. "It’s just, this rat here has been acting as if he’s above and the other noble healers." His voice cracked pitifully, and he wiped an imaginary tear with exaggerated delicacy.

He then cast Soren a wounded glance, pretending to shrink back as though Soren had wronged him gravely. Soren only frowned, unimpressed by the audacity laid out before him but this kind of performance didn’t bother him anymore.

If anything, it was almost tiring.

"I know he hates us nobles," Arctelle continued dramatically, "especially because so many knights seek us out to be healed. But... did he really have to insult ?" He sniffed loudly, lowering his gaze as if ashad. "I—I’m sorry if I was carried away by emotion. That must be why I... accidentally slapped him."

He looked up again with carefully crafted innocence, his voice trembling as he asked, "You’ll forgive , right, My Lord?"

His tone was soaked in fake remorse, all while his eyes glinted with a smugness only Soren could see.

"Hmph. You’re saying he insulted you? Him?" Lyric scoffed, flicking his gaze toward Soren with a mocking tilt of his chin. "This commoner here?"

His eyes swept over Soren as though he were sothing stuck to the bottom of a boot then he looked back at Arctelle, who imdiately nodded with the eagerness of soone who knew the spotlight was favoring him.

Their voices had already drawn attention where a few nurses paused mid-step, and several knights fresh from treatnt looked over, sensing the growing tension.

"Yes, My Lord," Arctelle affird with fake sweetness. "But it’s fine, really. I do understand him. After all," he pressed a hand to his chest dramatically, "it’s not like he grew up with proper education on how to treat nobles like us. Don’t worry, My Lord. We will do our best to educate him. We’ll teach him everything he needs to know."

Hearing that, Lyric humd thoughtfully with the corner of his mouth curling in amusent.

"Right. Now then, why don’t you apologize if you’re clearly in the wrong, Soren?" He stepped closer and nudged Soren’s shoulder in a light, but humiliating enough in front of a crowd. "You can manage that much, can’t you? It’s not like you don’t know when to humble yourself."

He then let out a dry, cold laugh. "Commoners really don’t know their place, eh? Co on. Apologize."

Soren clenched his satchel so tightly that the leather dug into his palm. ’Of course,’ he thought bitterly. ’He doesn’t even know what really happened. But... fine. Even if I explain, who would believe ? No one ever does. That’s just how my life works. Always.’

Lowering his head, he bowed. "I’m sorry. It won’t happen again."

The mont he lifted his gaze, Arctelle and Lyric were already exchanging triumphant smirks. Their expressions said everything that they enjoyed seeing him humiliated.

"That’s right," Lyric said with a satisfied grin. "Anyway, get your ass over here and follow . My brother is calling for you, and you wasted his ti arguing with a noble? Just who do you think you are?"

He then turned sharply on his heel and walked off without waiting.

Soren followed silently, brushing past Arctelle while the noble healer still wore that wide, self-satisfied grin, so bright that even the passing knights who had just been healed noticed and exchanged knowing looks.

But Soren kept his eyes forward, his jaw set, and walked on.

When Soren arrived at the Davenmore tent, Alaric was already inside, lounging with an air of quiet authority. Cael and Sylas sat nearby, both looking terribly bored as though the world itself existed solely to underwhelm them.

Soren bowed deeply and offered the proper greetings, which none of them bothered to acknowledge. The mont he lifted his head, his eyes t Alaric’s sharp, assessing gaze.

"Hm." Alaric exhaled through his nose, sounding unimpressed from the start. "I won’t ask why you’re shalessly late, late enough that I had to send my brother to fetch you."

His eyes flicked toward the twin brothers and Cael, then he leaned back lazily in his seat, fingers drumming once against the armrest.

"I’m sorry, Your Grace. Sothing just happened," Soren replied carefully.

Alaric scoffed, an icy, dismissive sound. "I’m not the least bit interested in what ’happened.’ Starting today, when you’re summoned, you will do your best to co imdiately. It’s not as if the healer’s quarters are miles away, nor are they so understaffed that sothing should delay you. Yes?"

His gaze sharpened, voice dropping colder. "Be responsible. It’s written clearly in your contract. What am I even paying you for if you can’t appear the mont you’re called?"

Soren bowed again, throat tight. "I’m sorry, Your Grace. It won’t happen again."

A faint throb pulsed in his chest, and each breath felt heavier than the last, but he kept his expression perfectly composed. His cheek still stung that’s slightly swollen from Arctelle’s slap though he tried to ignore it.

Cael noticed.

Sylas noticed.

Even Alaric’s eyes narrowed briefly at the sight of the reddened skin but none of them comnted.

After the brief but humiliating lecture, Soren was inford, vaguely that he would be accompanying the four of them to a different location. No further details were given. All he was told was that the journey would take roughly five hours by carriage and that he was needed only in case any beasts appeared along the way and soone will be endured.

Nothing more.

No explanation, no reason why the Duke himself needed a simple healer to tag along.

Still, Soren quietly accepted the order then the day of their departure arrived.

Snow drifted softly from the northern sky, light flakes clinging to cloaks and hair before lting. The air was cold enough that each exhale misted into white.

"Is everything ready?" Alaric asked, his deep voice cutting through the crisp morning air.

"Yes, brother. Everything’s good," Sylas replied, almost too excited for a noble his age. He then buckled his sword at his hip. With his gaze wandering, he ended up staring at Soren who stood a little way off, inspecting the lineup of their entourage with his usual quiet focus.

Cael lingered beside Sylas but wasn’t looking at the preparations at all. His eyes were fixed on Soren specifically on his side profile where Alaric caught the glance and, perhaps out of instinct, followed Cael’s gaze.

At that direction, Soren stood still with the faint chill brushing his cheek as the wind played with the ends of his red hair, tucking and untucking the strands like a teasing hand. His expression, though calm, held that muted fatigue he always carried and yet sothing about him drew the eye.

Cael’s lip curled into a smirk.

"Hah... how shalessly beautiful," he murmured under his breath, too low for anyone else to hear. Then, without waiting for the others, he stepped into the carriage.

Soren, oblivious to the stares and murmurs, simply watched the entourage finalize their formations, breath ghosting in the cold as snow continued falling around him.

While the entourage prepared to depart, a certain figure lingered in the shadows, watching their carriages line up. His lips curled into a slow, venomous smirk. Leaning slightly toward his companion, he whispered in a voice low enough to be swallowed by the wind.

"Send the ssage. Have them release the beasts... and make sure that bastard healer dies first."