The Substitute Healer (BL)-Chapter 22: “Care for a little walk?”

As someone who hated his orders being disobeyed, Alaric did not let Soren’s punishment end with the long, freezing ride on horseback. No, that was merely the surface of his displeasure.

When the unit returned to the main encampment, their boots sinking into the half-frozen slush at the entrance of the central tent, Alaric gave the next order without raising his voice. A quiet command sharp enough to make the air itself tense around them.

"Put that healer under probation for three days."

The knights froze, Lyric swallowed, Sylas looked away, and even Cael’s lazy expression flickered in faint surprise.

Probation among the healers was not a simple reprimand but meant restriction as well as scrutiny. It meant stripping a healer of small privileges that defined their already difficult position and access to certain tools, priority in supplies as well as freedom of movement within the medical barracks.

And for Soren, who already walked a thin, fragile line as a commoner under a noble unit... it meant being pushed further down. Lower than the apprentices, senior assistants and juniors who used to glance at him with distant respect.

Lower, because Alaric ordered it.

"Effective immediately," the scribe read aloud, hands trembling despite the tent’s warmth. "Soren of the healer division is hereby placed under temporary probation for disobedience of direct orders from His Grace, Duke Alaric Davenmore. His rank is suspended for a three-day duration."

Hearing that, Soren didn’t argue believing that even if it was disobedience, he made sure to save a life and did his job. Despite the unfair treatment, he didn’t defend himself and didn’t even say a single thing.

He just bowed lower and accepted it because whether he liked it or not, Alaric wasn’t just the commander he served. 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝙚𝙬𝓮𝙗𝒏𝙤𝒗𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝒐𝓶

He was his employer.

The noble whose seal determined whether Soren kept his position... or lost everything he’d worked for.

Alaric finally spoke, the cold finality in his tone almost cruel.

"Since you cannot follow orders, use those three days to reflect on your actions. Next time you do it, even if you’re highly skilled, I will kick you out of my unit. Remember that you are not irreplaceable. Know your place. Now, you’re dismissed."

After saying that, Lyric awkwardly winced while Sylas’s mouth tightened, especially knowing that, after all, Soren had still saved their brother’s life.

Cael, on the other hand, had his eyes gleaming with a blend of entertainment and annoyance, yet he was far too lazy to intervene.

But Soren only closed his eyes for a moment, breathing once, slow and steady, before lifting his head just enough to meet Alaric’s gaze.

And now, time seemed to slip by faster than he could measure and it was already the third day of Soren’s probation. Confined to his shabby tent, he hadn’t been allowed to step outside except during meal times. Though he wasn’t heavily guarded, Soren knew better than to assume he had any real freedom. After all, almost every healer bustling in the larger tent and are attending to the injured, mixing poultices, and sorting bandages kept a watchful eye on him, subtle yet unrelenting, reporting every action to Alaric.

With that, he understood the stakes clearly:

one misstep, one display of defiance, and his probation would surely be extended. There was no room for argument and stubbornness, at least not now.

So, Soren sulked quietly within the cramped space, the dim light of a single lantern casting long shadows across the tent’s rough canvas walls. He also occupied himself with small tasks, tidying his few belongings and grinding herbs for practice, but mostly, he killed the hours by writing letters to his friend, Elias.

Each stroke of the quill was a small rebellion, a way to stay connected to the world beyond his confinement, to remind himself that even in restraint, he still had ties that mattered.

And as he wrote, Soren couldn’t help but wonder how long it would be before Alaric’s sharp eyes deemed him ready to reenter the world outside his tent and whether he would ever be allowed to reclaim even a fraction of the freedom he once took for granted.

A while later, as Soren’s quill paused mid-word and his thoughts drifted over the contents of his letter, a voice called from outside his tent.

"U-uhm, excuse me? Young Healer... are you there?"

Soren furrowed his brow, momentarily distracted from the careful crafting of his words. He then shifted slightly, the canvas walls of the tent rustling as he rose. Pausing, he turned toward the sound and finally made his way to the entrance, hesitating a moment before drawing the flap aside.

Standing there was a figure that caught him off guard—a knight, clad in armor polished enough to gleam faintly even in the dim light, a robe draped over the plate, and something small held in her hands.

She offered a tentative smile.

"Oh... uhm, here," she said, holding out the item. "Uhm, it’s food."

Her smile faltered slightly at Soren’s silence, the calm, unreadable expression he wore like armor.

"Oh! Right, how rude of me," she said, stepping a fraction closer. Her tone grew warmer, though slightly awkward. "I’m Melissa. You... you may not remember me, but I do remember you. After all, it was you who healed my friend that time. And... yeah, you also saved me back then. I’ve wanted to thank you properly for so long, but I never found the right moment."

She shifted on her feet, glancing at the ground for a heartbeat before raising her eyes again. "And when I heard that you’re... unfortunately in probation, I thought I’d try my luck."

Melissa’s hand extended slightly, offering the small parcel again. Her nervous energy was almost tangible.

"Oh, was I talking too much?" she asked, a faint flush creeping across her cheeks.

Soren remained silent for a moment, studying her carefully. Her tone wasn’t boastful or condescending but genuine, almost timid, and carried the weight of gratitude that had been long delayed. Slowly, he inclined his head slightly, a small, quiet acknowledgment of her words, before reaching out to accept the food.

The simple gesture was enough to draw a relieved smile from Melissa, and for the first time in days, the tent felt a little less isolating and a little less cold.

"Thank you... uhm, Melissa, right?" Soren finally said, glancing down at the small parcel in his hands before returning his gaze to her.

His smile was hesitant, awkward, but genuine in its own quiet way.

"Yes," she replied softly, a faint blush on her cheeks, "you’re welcome."

Soren cleared his throat lightly, trying to ease the tension. "Oh... by the way, please, just call me Soren. And... you can come to me if you’re injured, or need help... if you want, of course."

Melissa’s eyes widened slightly, a mix of surprise and gratitude flickering across her face. "Oh! Of course. I—I would want that, uh... Soren." Her tone wavered just a fraction, betraying her nervousness.

She then stepped back a little, gesturing toward the food with a polite tilt of her head. "Anyway, please do enjoy it. It’s just... simple dumplings, nothing special, but I thought—"

"Simple dumplings are more than enough," Soren interrupted gently, holding the parcel carefully in both hands. "I... appreciate the thought."

Melissa’s tense shoulders relaxed, and she offered a small, shy smile. "I’m glad... I’m glad you think so. I just... wanted to do something, to... you know, show my thanks properly. Even if it’s small."

Hearing that, Soren gave a subtle nod, tucking the parcel closer to him as if the gesture itself held weight. "It’s more than small. Thank you, Melissa."

For a moment, they just stood there in the soft hush of the tent, the faint scent of herbs and cold air mixing with the warmth of the simple act between them. Neither spoke, yet both seemed to understand that, for now, this small connection mattered.

When Melissa and Soren finally went their separate ways, whispers quickly spread through the healer’s tents. The three noble healers, especially Arctelle, caught wind of it almost immediately, their faces contorting with a mixture of curiosity, jealousy, and thinly veiled disdain.

Meanwhile, Cael, who had quietly observed Soren’s subtle change in expression while speaking to Melissa, smirked to himself. He had noticed the faint softening in Soren’s usually guarded demeanor, the almost imperceptible warmth in his eyes, and an idea began to form.

By evening, Cael decided to act.

He appeared at Soren’s tent, leaning casually against the flap with that lazy, devil-may-care attitude that somehow always unnerved those around him.

"I’m kind of bored," he drawled, voice smooth and teasing. "Care for a little walk?"

Soren drew the flap back cautiously, surprise flickering briefly across his composed face. "Your Highness?" he asked, his tone measured, betraying nothing of his inner thoughts.

"Yes," Cael replied, eyes glinting with cunning amusement. "Let’s take a walk for a bit."

Soren hesitated, glancing down at the restrictions of his probation. "I’m sorry, but... my probation won’t end until tomorrow, Your Highness. I don’t think—"

"Tsk," Cael interrupted with a soft click of his tongue, his tone playful but edged with dominance. "Too much to ask, I see. Tell me, who do you think holds higher position than me with the Duke? Surely me, yes?"

Soren opened his mouth to protest, but the hesitation in his voice was audible.

"Don’t reject me so bluntly," Cael said, leaning a step closer, his grin widening. "Come on, I’m not taking no for an answer."

Before Soren could reply further, Cael reached out and grabbed his wrists with a surprising strength hidden beneath his lazy demeanor. "God, come here!" he snapped, dragging Soren along with effortless ease.

Soren stumbled slightly but kept his composure, matching Cael’s pace with quiet, controlled movements. Despite himself, his mind raced not with fear, but with curiosity. There was something in Cael’s eyes, a glimmer of mischief and challenge that made him uneasy in a way he hadn’t felt since arriving at the northern border.

And as they walked side by side into the crisp evening air, Soren realized that this encounter would be anything but ordinary and that Cael had intentions that were anything but simple.

Meanwhile, a knight approached Alaric and reported, "Your Grace, His Highness has taken the healer out. What are your orders?"

Alaric smirked faintly. "Hah, let His Highness be. Give him a bit of amusement."

The knight bowed. "As you command, Your Grace."