The Substitute Healer (BL)-Chapter 25: “Ah… uh… oh!”

The midday mess tent smelled of roasted meat, smoke, and the faint tang of ale. A brazier in the center sent out a comforting warmth, pushing back the cold northern air that slipped in whenever the flaps shifted.

The circle table by the fire had four chairs neatly arranged around it, and small mugs of ale were lined up, waiting.

Soren then stepped toward his seat, thinking this would be a quiet moment to rest. But then he stopped when Kent, Justin, and Louie weren’t sitting. They stood in front of him, lined up shoulder to shoulder, heads lowered slightly.

The sight made Soren frown in confusion.

Before he could speak, the three simultaneously bent at the waist in a careful bow that the movement was uncharacteristically formal, almost ceremonial.

"We... we are truly sorry," Kent said first, his voice low but steady, carrying weight he rarely allowed in his tone. "For treating you so rudely those past few days. We really haven’t apologized properly to you, so..."

Justin’s gaze lifted briefly to meet Soren’s eyes. "For mocking and insulting you... for making you feel unwelcome among us," he added, his voice tinged with remorse.

Louie, usually the most fidgety of the three, straightened slightly, swallowing before he spoke. "We... we were wrong. You didn’t deserve any of it. Please, forgive us."

Soren blinked as he was taken aback.

He had expected jokes, teasing, maybe even a little grudging respect, but not this. The sincerity in their voices, the carefulness in their posture and the way their eyes avoided his only to find courage in each other...

it made something in him tighten.

"Wait..." Soren started, his hands hovering over the mug, unsure where to begin. "You... you mean all of that? I d-don’t really know what to say, honestly."

Kent nodded once, the smirk gone, replaced by a solemn seriousness that was rare to see while Justin’s jaw was firm, eyes unwavering, and Louie gave a small, hopeful nod.

Then, Soren exhaled slowly, feeling the warmth from the brazier mix with the unexpected surge of emotion in his chest. He finally allowed a small, genuine smile. "It... I appreciate this," he said quietly. "I really do. You didn’t have to, but... thank you."

Hearing that, the three of them relaxed slightly, sliding into their chairs. Kent reached for his mug first, Justin followed, and Louie finally let out a soft laugh of relief. On the other hand, Soren lifted his own, and the four of them clinked their mugs together in a small, quiet gesture like a silent acknowledgment that things were changing, that trust was being rebuilt.

Steam curled from the ale, mingling with the smoke from the brazier.

For the first time that day, Soren felt warmth not just from the fire, but from the sincerity of his friends. The midday mess tent, once just a place to take a break, had become a space of quiet reconciliation, laughter to come, and bonds reaffirmed.

"I really was a bastard that day, ha? I’m sorry..." Kent mumbled, his face flushed as he smiled awkwardly, looking Soren squarely in the eyes.

"Oh, no! It’s really fine. It’s the past, so..." Soren flailed his arms, trying to smooth things over, but before he could finish, Louie and Justin both set their mugs down and shook their heads vigorously.

"No, it’s not fine! After all, we were really rude to you and even insulted you. Argh! We won’t even dodge if you decide to punch each of us right now!" Justin said, staggering slightly as he tried to keep his balance, his hands waving helplessly in explanation.

"Oh... I’m fine now. Aside from that, you already apologized, so it’s really fine," Soren said, trying to calm them, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"Argh! How could we be such jerks to someone as nice as you?!" Louie shouted, ruffling his own hair in frustration. "I wouldn’t even ask God for mercy if He decided to strike me with lightning right now, you know?!"

Soren immediately stood, reaching out as if to stop Louie, but the warmth from the brazier and the gentle buzz of the ale began to hit him.

His legs wobbled, and dizziness crept in.

"Ah... uh... oh!" he exclaimed, gripping the edge of the table, trying not to topple over. The three of them froze, panic flashing across their faces as they watched Soren sway.

Soren let out a soft laugh at his own clumsiness, though he still had to sit back down quickly, his hands holding the table for support. "I... I think I’ll stay seated," he muttered, feeling the drinks slowly settle in his system.

Kent, Justin, and Louie exchanged embarrassed glances with the tension from their earlier apology now mixed with the ridiculous sight of Soren wobbling in his chair. "We... uh... maybe went a little overboard with the apology," Kent admitted, scratching the back of his neck.

Justin groaned, sinking back into his chair. "And yet, I feel like we still didn’t express how sorry we are enough."

Louie, still messy-haired and animated, gave a dramatic sigh. "Next time... we’ll just write a letter. Less danger of killing our friend with too many words and emotions."

Soren chuckled, shaking his head, finally letting himself relax. "You guys are impossible," he said, his smile genuine.

The three of them grinned sheepishly, and for the first time that day, the tent was filled with a warm mix of laughter and relief.

Under the sheltered awning beside the healer’s tent, the three nobles gathered for a break. Crates and stools formed their seating, and a small brazier crackled warmly in the center, keeping the cold northern wind at bay. Cups of tea steamed gently, meant to soothe frayed nerves and replenish energy after the morning’s work.

Irlian Vensworth leaned back slightly, her legs crossed, eyes sharp as she glanced around the empty corner. "Honestly," she murmured, swirling the tea in her cup, "I don’t see why anyone would allow him to touch more than the simplest wounds. A commoner handling delicate work... it’s absurd."

Solven Arctelle’s fingers drummed lightly against the crate he was sitting on, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Absurd is one word for it. The delusion... that he could be considered competent alongside us nobles. It makes me wonder if the others have lost all sense of judgment."

Caelius Rennovar, sitting upright across from them, said nothing. His gaze, calm and steady, shifted from Solven to Irlian, then briefly toward the empty space where Soren would have been.

His silent stare alone seemed to demand decorum, yet he offered no commentary.

A moment after, Irlian let out a soft laugh, though it was dry and cutting. "Competence? He can barely handle simple instructions without making a mess. And yet they treat him as if he were one of us. How ridiculous."

Solven leaned back, crossing his arms, feigning a deep sigh. "Entitlement, more like it. A commoner with the audacity to act as if he belongs in our presence... It’s insulting, really. I almost want to correct him publicly, but perhaps letting him stumble quietly is more... satisfying."

Caelius’ eyes met Solven’s for a moment, silent and unflinching, a subtle warning to temper his venom so Solven smirked but didn’t push further.

Irlian on the other hand just tilted her head, voice soft yet venomous. "And the worst part... he actually believes he’s earning respect. That naive little pride. It’s almost laughable."

Solven’s lip curled, mimicking a sigh of victimhood. "It is infuriating. I swear, if he ever dares to overstep again, the consequences will be... educational. For his own good, of course."

Caelius’ calm stare swept over them both again, quiet and measured, a reminder that petty cruelty, though amusing, must remain restrained under his watch. Neither Irlian nor Solven dared to contradict him directly, though their disdain lingered like smoke.

The brazier crackled, steam curled from their tea, and for a brief moment, the corner was filled only with the nobles’ thinly veiled contempt, sharp words exchanged like daggers, with Caelius the silent observer, keeping the balance in check.

Caelius himself saw nothing wrong with Soren, aside from the fact that he was a commoner and an exceptionally skilled healer at that. Despite this, Caelius never involved himself in the affairs of others because he considered it a waste of time, and, after all, he didn’t truly know Soren personally.

They had only encountered each other because both had been hired as healers for the beast subjugation and nothing more, nothing personal.

’Hmm... Soren is actually more helpful than those two. I wonder if their behavior is just an inferiority complex. He even does so much more than them while they gossip and arrive late to tend the wounded, Soren wakes up at five in the morning to do his work. And yet, I can’t understand why the His Grace Davenmore or His Highness Elarion hardly acknowledges him. At the very least, they should provide him with a proper tent so he doesn’t have to worry about the cold. But knowing Soren... even I can tell he dislikes asking for anything. For a commoner, a tent like that would probably feel like a luxury. Honestly... I feel sorry for him, rather than resent him.’

After that thought, Caelius quietly left the sheltered awning and headed back to the healer’s tent, checking to see if there was anyone else in need of care. He moved with his usual calm efficiency, steps measured, mind focused on the work rather than idle gossip.

Meanwhile, night had fallen over the camp. The brazier’s warmth was dimmed by the cold, and Soren, already quite intoxicated from the day’s ale, had dozed off at the table, head resting heavily on his arms.

Lyric leaned against the edge of the table, his eyes narrowing as he coldly studied his flushed face with the dim firelight caught the tips of his hair and the faint warmth on his cheeks, and so, he let out a quiet, exasperated sigh.

"Ah... seriously..." he muttered, shaking his head slightly, a mix of irritation and reluctant amusement in his tone.