The Substitute Healer (BL)-Chapter 34: “Gah, w-what the…”

Just as Alaric had planned, their entourage departed at dawn with their destination lay beyond the fortress walls. A temple far enough to remain independent, yet close enough to reach in a day and a half by carriage.

Although the northern fortress ensured that no beasts roamed freely beyond its borders through constant knight patrols, the temple did not rely solely on that protection and maintained its own defenses.

Holy knights were stationed throughout the grounds, guarding every corner and passage where each had mastered inner healing, allowing them to continue fighting even after sustaining severe wounds making their abilities unhindered by pain or blood loss.

They could also use those same techniques to tend to the injured during battle or crisis.

Despite the snow clinging stubbornly to every corner of the tent’s outer shell, Lyric’s thoughts lingered on his conversation with Soren earlier.

"Oh, I humbly thank you, my lord. How can I possibly repay you?" Lyric recalled how anxious and awkward Soren had looked while bowing before him. when Lyric told him that he was the one who carried him back to his tent that night.

Now, at dawn, Lyric lay quietly on his bed.

"Hm. I’m not asking you to repay me," Lyric had replied then, his tone edged with sarcasm he hadn’t truly meant. "If something were to happen to you while we’re here in the north, do you think we could just find a replacement that easily?"

In truth, Lyric knew better that Soren had been doing his utmost to contribute to the subjugation, tirelessly healing wounded knights whether they served House Davenmore or the Imperial order.

Soren then had lifted his head. "My apologies for the inconvenience, my lord. I promise it won’t happen again."

’Damn it... that’s not what I meant,’ Lyric had cursed inwardly as he swallowed.

"Right. Make sure it doesn’t," he’d said instead. "And drink responsibly. If you can’t hold your liquor, then don’t drink at all."

"I’ll remember that, my lord," Soren replied calmly. "And again, I apologize for the inconvenience but if something like that happens again, please pay me no mind. I can’t have you dirtying your hands by touching someone as lowly as me. I’ll accept whatever punishment you deem fit for daring to let my filthy body touch someone of your status."

He said it without hesitation, as though he truly believed it and content with the idea that a commoner like him was nothing but filth in the eyes of nobles.

For the first time in a long while, Lyric felt a sharp surge of guilt tighten around his chest as he looked at Soren especially his expression remained that stayed calm and almost detached, yet it spoke volumes.

It was as if Soren had long ago accepted the degrading labels that others freely attached to him and treated them as though they were nothing more than the natural order of things. There was even no resentment and no visible self-pity.

Only quiet acceptance, a stillness that made Lyric’s own unrest sting even more.

Lyric had known since coming of age that not all commoners were selfish or opportunistic. He had intellectually understood it, but somehow admitting it to himself had always felt like a personal weakness.

And yet, watching Soren now, he felt the sharp weight of his own cowardice. Here was someone who had been mocked, underestimated, and treated with disdain for days on end, yet he continued to work diligently, tending to the wounded knights of both House Davenmore and the Imperial forces, never seeking recognition and never even once demanding gratitude.

Soren’s righteousness with his quiet dignity just shone all the brighter because it existed in spite of the cruelty he faced.

Realizing that, Lyric frowned as he turned to the other side while lying on his bed, feeling his chest tighten further, like a pang of shame piercing through him.

He had always believed that power and status demanded respect, that rank came with unquestionable authority but here was a man without title and noble blood, showing more courage and integrity than many who wielded authority without thought.

And the worst of it was that Soren did not need to prove anything. He did not beg for acknowledgment, nor did he lash out in anger.

He simply was.

Lyric found himself asking, silently, why he could not measure it up.

Why it felt so easy to judge and doubt, so easy to falter in his own convictions while Soren remained steadfast.

He realized, with a bitter twist in his chest that the guilt he felt was not just for his judgment of Soren, but for every moment he had failed to see the truth that was so plainly before him.

That worth was not defined by birth or status, but by the quiet, relentless choices one made, day after day.

As the snow continued to drift against the tent walls outside, Lyric felt the weight of his own conscience pressing against him, and for the first time, he wondered if he might be able to become the kind of person who could measure up—

not to nobles or to power, but to Soren himself.

"Well, do you always talk like that?" Lyric asked, his voice teasing, though there was a faint edge of curiosity behind it.

"Like what, my lord?" Soren replied evenly, his tone polite but careful, as if measuring every word.

"Tch... never mind," Lyric muttered, waving a hand dismissively.

Then, he leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing for a moment as if weighing whether to press further. "Well, I just came to tell you that you will be accompanying my brother I mean, His Grace to the temple as a representative for the healers under House Davenmore."

Soren’s gaze flicked downward briefly before returning to Lyric. "I understand, my lord," he said simply, his voice calm and unwavering.

Lyric studied him for a moment while noting the subtle composure in Soren’s posture, the way he said things without hesitation or complaint and it was infuriating and admirable all at once. "Don’t you have any questions for me?" he asked with curiosity and expectation mixing in his tone.

"No, my lord," Soren answered without blinking, as if the idea of questioning him had never even occurred.

Hearing that, Lyric let out a soft exhale, half in amusement and frustration. There was something about Soren’s steady composure, his unwavering respect mixed with quiet pride that made it difficult to read him.

He tilted his head slightly, watching the subtle rise and fall of Soren’s chest as he stood there in silence, and wondered what it was that made this commoner so unshakable.

’Ugh, he really is something. I can’t even tell what he’s thinking. Was he always like that? Is he just numb, or... what? What a waste of time. I should’ve just said what I want to say but can’t he tell that I’m... right, why am I fussing over him? Who does he think he is, making me feel like this? Damn it... ugh, just sleep!’ Lyric mumbled to himself, messing up his bed and kicking at the blanket before finally settling after a moment.

On the other hand, when dawn finally broke, Soren hadn’t slept a wink as he had spent the entire night preparing his belongings for the departure with the late notice leaving him scrambling to pack efficiently.

Every item he touched seemed to remind him of something else he might need, and his mind raced with a thousand small details he couldn’t afford to forget. 𝒇𝓻𝓮𝓮𝙬𝙚𝒃𝒏𝓸𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝓬𝓸𝒎

On top of that, he had waited for the knight tasked with carrying a letter to Elias in the capital, wanting to ensure it reached its destination safely. By the time that errand was complete, it was far past the hour he would have liked to rest.

Overthinking, worrying, and planning kept him awake with each thought twisting into the next without pause, until exhaustion had become a distant, unreachable idea.

And now, finally, they were on the move.

The carriages had been traveling for an hour with the steady rhythm of the horses’ hooves a constant backdrop to Soren’s tense awareness.

He just sat upright inside the carriage while trying to organize his thoughts and keeping an eye on the passing snow-covered landscape outside.

Even though the journey had just begun, a weight of anticipation and unease pressed on him where both for the temple ahead and for the duties that awaited him there.

"The journey is still long. Why don’t you shut your eyes for a while?" Alaric’s voice pulled Soren back to reality, and he glanced up to see the noble sitting across from him wearing his usual expression.

Cael, on the other hand, was riding in a separate carriage with Caelius, who accompanied him both as company and as a representative of the Imperial family while Soren represented House Davenmore.

"Oh, I’m fine, Your Grace," Soren replied quickly, waving a hand awkwardly as he tried to reassure Alaric.

"Just sleep. It’s not like you have anything important to do right now, so stop being stubborn. You’re clearly drowsy, so there’s no reason to stay awake. I’ll wake you later."

"B-but... how could I dare sleep in your presence, your gr—"

"Tch. Do you want me to knock you out instead?" Alaric interrupted sharply.

"Uh... oh, no. Then..." Soren faltered, caught between fear and embarrassment.

"Right. So, sleep," Alaric continued, his tone firm but with a hint of irritation. "You constantly trying to hold back your yawns is getting on my nerves."

Soren hesitated for a moment longer before finally letting his eyelids droop but even as he tried to maintain his composure, he couldn’t ignore the faint, prickling awareness that Alaric’s gaze lingered on him.

When he woke, he froze, utterly unprepared for what he saw with himself resting on Alaric’s lap. Alaric, for his part, was asleep, leaning back against the bench with steady, even breathing.

"Gah, w-what the..." he muttered, still lying there while trembling as his heart raced.