The Substitute Healer (BL)-Chapter 36: “And don’t jinx us!”

After a day and a half of travel, Cael and Alaric finally arrived at the temple with a faint glow of the afternoon sun resting above its towering stone walls. The long journey had quieted the escort, and even the horses seemed subdued as they came to a halt before the massive gates.

Then a deep temple bell rang out along with its sound, rolling through the stone halls like a solemn announcement.

Slowly, the gates parted.

Rows of acolytes dressed in white stood waiting inside. At the sound of the bell, they lowered their heads in perfect unison, staffs resting firmly against the marble floor.

At the front of the assembly, the High Priest stepped forward. His hands were folded within the wide sleeves of his ceremonial robes, and were calm yet grave expression.

"May the Light of the Goddess Mirath bear witness," he spoke solemnly. "The Northern Temple humbly welcomes His Grace, the Duke, and His Royal Highness, the Prince of the Empire."

At his words, the air seemed to still, as though the temple itself acknowledged their presence.

Behind him, the temple healers followed his lead, lowering their heads. Their gazes remained respectfully downcast, yet the weight of the figures before them was undeniable as authority sharpened like steel, wrapped in noble composure.

"We acknowledge your arrival with reverence," the High Priest continued, lifting his gaze just enough to meet theirs. "May your steps within these sacred walls be guided by clarity, and may the purpose of your visit find its answer here."

He then inclined his head a fraction deeper, a rare gesture reserved only for those of the highest standing.

"The temple is prepared to receive Your Highnesses, as well as the healers under your protection. Lodgings have also been arranged, and the inner halls are open to you at your command."

"Thank you, Your Holiness. I appreciate the gesture," Cael said politely. "However, before we retire, may I ask what time the ritual will be held tomorrow?"

As he spoke, his gaze shifted briefly passing from Alaric to Caelius, then settling on Soren. Soren did not avert his eyes, meeting the look without hesitation that the sight only deepened Cael’s smirk.

But that exchange did not go unnoticed.

Thalric, who had been standing quietly beside the High Priest, dignified and silent lifted his gaze at once, clearly having caught the subtle interaction.

"So straightforward as always, Your Highness," Thalric said calmly. "The ritual will begin at eight in the morning, which should leave you ample time to rest."

After saying that, he inclined his head slightly before continuing, "Servants will also be stationed outside each of your chambers. Should you require anything at all, please do not hesitate to summon them."

At once, the acolytes stepped aside, parting neatly to either end. Beyond them stretched a long corridor of stone and quiet light waiting to receive its guests.

However, before night fell, Alaric and Cael were entertained by the temple and treated to a feast prepared in their honor. Caelius and Soren were also seated with them on the circle table laid with carefully arranged dishes and warm lamplight.

"Please, have your fill, Your Highnesses," the High Priest said kindly while smiling. "Since tomorrow will be a demanding day and about the clothes, Your Highnesses’ ceremonial robes have already been delivered to your chambers."

’Hah, this geezer really does love the sound of his own voice,’ Cael thought.

Still, he offered the High Priest an innocent smile, one that appeared polite and agreeable. Behind that smile, however, lay a sharp contrast, one that did not escape Soren’s notice.

Soren, on the other hand, was utterly exhausted from the journey. His limbs felt heavy, and even lifting his spoon and fork took effort. Yet he forced himself to eat, keenly aware of the pressure pressing down on him.

He was seated not only with the Duke and the Prince, but with the High Priest himself surrounded by men of unquestionable noble standing and that realization alone was enough to make his stomach churn, along with dizziness creeping in as he struggled to keep his composure.

"Are you alright?" Caelius asked flatly, his unreadable gaze settling on Soren. They were seated close enough that the change in him was hard to miss.

"Ah yes, sir. I’m fine," Soren replied quickly. "Please don’t mind me."

Hearing his answer, Caelius said nothing more. He clearly did not believe him, but instead of pressing further, he only continued to glance at Soren now and then, his silent attention far more unsettling than words.

"Oh, by the way," the High Priest said, breaking the brief tension, "which among these healers will be representing Your Highness in tomorrow’s ritual?"

His gaze shifted between Caelius and Soren.

Soren stiffened since he’s originally a commoner and not a noble. The thought alone made his stomach twist as the weight of the noble table and sacred hall pressed down on him.

Cael, having just set down his cup, smiled and looked at Soren.

"Hmm. I’ll be having this young man here."

Then his gaze then slid deliberately toward Caelius.

The High Priest paused, briefly confused by the exchange, though Alaric remained calm and unbothered.

"Oh, I see," the High Priest said after a moment. "Then this young man shall serve as your representative healer, Your Grace?"

Leaning slightly past Caelius, he looked directly at Soren. Under the sudden attention, Soren lifted his gaze, eyes moving from the High Priest to Alaric as uncertainty tightened in his chest.

"Right, Your Holiness." Alaric answered as if he wasn’t be bothered by it anymore and so, the meal continued with them exchanging conversation from time to time until it was time for them to take a rest.

After the meal, Caelius and Soren walked together while Cael and Alaric remained behind to attend to other matters before retiring. With the ritual set for the following day, every detail demanded attention so rest would come only after preparations were complete.

"Have a good night, sir," Soren said quietly, bowing toward Caelius as they stopped outside their chambers.

The two doors sat side by side, quiet and alike in the dim light. When Soren lifted his head, Caelius gave a slight nod in return and stepped into his room without a word, the door closing softly behind him.

After that, Soren exhaled and turned toward his own door with the exhaustion weighing heavily on his limbs but when he reached for the handle—

an arm wrapped around him from behind suddenly.

A hand clamped over his mouth, cutting off his breath while a piece of cloth was pressed tightly against his face until a sharp, unfamiliar scent flooded his senses.

"Hmph—mph!" Soren thrashed instinctively with his fingers clawing at the arm restraining him. He even tried to cry out, kick and to pull away, but the grip was so hard and unyielding that the person wasn’t even budging.

Then, his struggles weakened as his head grew light.

The corridor blurred at the edges of his vision. His heartbeat thundered until the strength drained from his body.

Soren lost his balance and everything went black as he passed out.

Cael and Alaric, completely unaware that Soren was not in his room, went straight to their beds after their talk and went for a warm bath. They even had a glass of wine before letting themselves sink into sleep along with the comfort of the evening fully at their command.

Soren, by contrast, lay gagged on the cold floor with his hands tied behind his back.

The room around him was thick with dust, cluttered with objects long abandoned like evidence of a place untouched for years. Every cough stirred motes of dust into the stale air, making it hard to breathe, and the silence of the forgotten room pressed down on him like a weight.

Soren had no way of telling how long he had been in the room. Hours seemed to stretch and blur into one endless span, marked only by the stiffness in his limbs and the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

Then, faintly, he caught the sound of voices.

They came from just beyond the wall but far enough that all he could do was listen. He lay sprawled on the floor, hands bound behind his back, mouth still gagged and completely helpless.

He didn’t feel pain, only a dull numbness creeping through his body. The dust in the room made each breath harsh and shallow, and with the gag muffling him, even breathing felt like a struggle.

"I don’t even know if boss was thinking right this time."

Soren’s chest tightened.

"Right. But the guy inside clearly has some score to settle with the boss," another voice replied.

His heart began to race, pounding loudly in his ears.

"I get that, but why pick this day of all days?" the first voice muttered. "If we get caught, forget the gold coins, our heads will roll before we even have a chance to run."

"Stop being nosy and just do your job," came the sharper reply. "And don’t jinx us!"

The voices drifted off into murmurs, leaving Soren alone in the oppressive silence. Panic also crept through him, slow and suffocating, made worse by the dust-choked air and the tight restraints.

Whatever they were planning, he was completely trapped utterly at their mercy.

Then, after a few minutes, as Soren tried to relax his body, his eyes fluttered slowly with drowsiness creeping in. He didn’t even hope that anyone would come to save him. He just lay there on the ground, waiting for something to happen, his body facing the door until it opened and someone stepped inside.

"Well, who do we have here? It’s been a long time, slut."