The Substitute Healer (BL)-Chapter 30: “Hngh… what’s w-with the question if y-you’re already on it?”

Chapter 30: “Hngh... what’s w-with the question if y-you’re already on it?”

"What’s happening here?"

At that moment, the two noble healers stiffened and immediately bowed. "Greetings, Your Grace."

Alaric had entered the hall.

His mood was clearly sour along his presence that’s both commanding and tense. Just moments earlier, before entering the hall, he had been lost in thought, having spoken in depth with Sylas about what had happened to Soren and the punishment awaiting the man who had dared offend them, a man whose name Alaric no longer even cared to recall.

But one decision had already been made.

For attempting to harm royalty and the House of Davenmore, the man’s entire family would be executed, and all their assets seized.

Alongside that, an investigation had been ordered into Soren’s connection to the suspect. It was then that Alaric had been forced to confront an uncomfortable thought.

Perhaps he had treated Soren too harshly.

That thought lingered as his sharp gaze swept over the two nobles, then across the entire healer’s tent, finally landing on the injured knights grimacing in pain and the two nurses frozen in place, clutching bandages and herbs.

"Are all of you deaf?" Alaric snapped. "I asked what’s happening here."

Hearing his sharp tone, Arctelle and Irlian snapped back to their senses at once. Both straightened, careful not to further provoke the duke as they noticed Alaric striding toward them with deliberate, heavy steps.

"Your Grace, everything is under control," Arctelle said smoothly, lifting his chin with practiced confidence. "It is nothing severe enough to warrant your concern." His voice was calm and proud as if nothing unpleasant had occurred at all, as though he hadn’t been berating the knights and nurses moments earlier.

"He is correct, Your Grace," Irlian quickly added, forcing a polite smile.

As he spoke, his eyes flicked briefly toward the nurses standing behind Alaric. They were huddled together, clutching bandages and herbs while visibly trembling. When Alaric followed Irlian’s glance and looked back at them, Arctelle’s and Irlian’s expressions instantly hardened, their cold stares warning the nurses to stay silent.

When Alaric turned his attention back to the two noble healers, their faces softened again, masks slipping neatly back into place.

On the beds nearby, the injured knights exchanged uneasy looks. Gritting their teeth, they tried to push themselves upright with hands trembling as they pressed against wounds already red and festering.

"Y-Your Grace," one of them spoke up, voice strained. "Forgive my impertinence, b-but these young lords refused to treat us. They told us to rely on herbs instead."

Alaric frowned, his gaze slowly shifting back to the noble healers.

"Go on," he said coldly. "Tell me more."

He stepped closer to the knights who are now bowing as to respect his presence, and the nurses hurriedly moved aside to make way for him.

"W-what are you saying?" Arctelle exclaimed, hastily following after Alaric while Irlian trailed behind him, anxiety and anger flickering across his face.

"T-they always do this, Your Grace," another knight added, wincing as he moved. "They refuse unless we’re on the brink of death or unconscious. They say healing even a graze is a waste of mana..."

"Oh my, when did we ever say that?" Arctelle snapped, his voice rising. "How insolent!" He faltered mid-outburst when Alaric turned a cold, unblinking stare on him.

"Y-Your Grace," Arctelle corrected quickly, swallowing. "You shouldn’t listen to them. It’s all lies." He added as he shot Irlian a sharp look, silently urging him to speak.

"T-that’s right, Your Grace," Irlian said stiffly. "Why would we deny them our mana? It’s our duty to heal."

The tension in the tent thickened, the knights breathing hard, the nurses frozen in fear, and Alaric standing between them all with silent authority, clearly unconvinced unless he hears more of it.

"Hmm... interesting," Alaric said slowly. His gaze even remained fixed on the knights, sharp and unreadable. "Healers who refuse to treat wounded knights, the very ones guarding the north against the beasts? That is truly interesting." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. "Do you swear on your dignity as knights that what you’re saying is the truth?"

At those words, Arctelle and Irlian both stiffened then feel a flicker of panic crossed their faces before they quickly masked it, nerves and anger twisting together in their chests. 𝑓𝘳𝘦𝑒𝑤𝑒𝘣𝘯ℴ𝘷𝘦𝓁.𝑐𝑜𝑚

But neither of them spoke.

"Of course, Your Grace," one of the knights answered immediately, forcing himself more upright despite the pain. "This isn’t the first time it’s happened." His voice shook, but his eyes were steady. "If not for the commoner healer, many of us wouldn’t be alive today. I... I believe his name is Soren."

The two nurses who also knew how Soren works hard looked at each other.

"I-if it weren’t for him," another knight added hoarsely, "we would’ve died long ago. He treated us even when he was exhausted, never once failing to heal any of us despite barely having time to rest himself. He was diligent and always doing his best for us that it’s a shame only a few truly a-appreciate him."

"He was the only one truly doing his duty," the first knight continued, clenching his fist. "The only healer who didn’t look at us like we weren’t worth his mana."

The nurses lowered their heads, silently confirming the words while Arctelle’s jaw tightened and Irlian’s hands curled at his sides. Alaric listened in silence but the darkening look in his eyes made it clear that every word was being etched into memory.

"Well, I’ve heard enough," Alaric said coldly. "You two, come to me tomorrow morning. We need to have a serious talk."

That very moment, the color drained from Arctelle’s face.

His confident posture cracked for just a second, fingers twitching at his side before he forced them still while Irlian stiffened beside him, his breath hitching as unease crept into his expression, eyes flicking briefly toward Arctelle as if searching for reassurance and finding none.

With that, Alaric turned on his heel and strode out of the tent, his anger heavy in every step.

Left behind, Arctelle swallowed hard with his jaw tightening as anxiety coiled in his chest. Irlian’s hands curled into fists, knuckles whitening as cold sweat gathered at his temples. Neither of them spoke. They could only stand there in tense silence, painfully aware that their carefully built composure had begun to crumble.

As Alaric walked away, his thoughts drifted to Soren especially to how the commoner healer had continued to work diligently despite being treated as insignificant. The realization weighed on him, stirring an uncomfortable sense of guilt as he wondered just how harshly he had judged the one person who had truly been doing his duty.

Meanwhile, as night slowly settled over the north, Gaspar was far from the noise of politics and punishment. In the quiet of his quarters, he was with the one person he had saved just a month ago, shortly after his arrival.

That man had once lived in constant fear while being forced again and again into situations he never chose, powerless despite his cries. A commoner with no protection, no voice that anyone cared to hear.

No one had stepped in.

Except Gaspar.

Against rank and expectation, Gaspar had been the only one who chose to pull him out of that hell. The only one who treated him not as something to be used, but as someone worth saving.

Now, in the dim light, there was no coercion and fear but only warmth and closeness. Gaspar held him gently, careful, as if afraid the man might still break. Every touch was unhurried and reassuring, meant to remind him that he was safe now, that no one would force him ever again.

For the first time in a long while, the man Gaspar had rescued wasn’t surviving.

He was finally living and choosing to stay in Gaspar’s arms.

"Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" Gaspar asked softly while still being inside him.

They lay tangled beneath the sheets while Gaspar held him from behind with arms wrapped protectively around his waist.

There was no rush in him now. Only concern and care.

The man then turned his head with a small smile curving his lips. He lifted his hand and reached back, fingers brushing over Gaspar’s arm, then lingering there as if to reassure him. The touch was gentle, almost reverent, as though he still couldn’t quite believe the man holding him was real.

"I’m fine," he said quietly. "Don’t worry." His voice softened even more as he added, "It’s not like you’re forcing me. I want this... I want to be with you too."

He let out a small, almost shy laugh. "And I like how gentle you are. I’ve never been held like this before."

As he closed his eyes while still smiling, a faint blush crept across his face one that Gaspar noticed immediately. His chest tightened at the sight with emotion flickering through him as he held the man a little closer, silently promising that this warmth, this safety, would never be taken away again.

"Anyway, are you good with another round?" Gaspar asked while moving his hand, stroking the man’s dick under the sheets, making him moan.

"Hngh... what’s w-with the question if y-you’re already on it?"

Gaspar just chuckled while kissing his neck and even thrusting inside him again.

"Hang in there. The night is still young..."