The Substitute Healer (BL)-Chapter 47: “Are you stupid?”

Caelius Rennovar learned early in life that even with nothing more than an earl’s title, his family held a firm and quiet footing in the capital.

Officially, the Rennovar household was known for its medicine business, supplying herbs and healing potions to those who could not afford the temple’s services, as the temple demanded heavy donations from nobles before offering treatment.

For commoners, however, the Rennovars sold medicine more freely but always in exchange for information gathered from the darkest corners of the slums, where secrets traveled faster than coins.

Beneath the respectable trade ran an intelligence guild few dared to speak of, allowing the family to hear whispers long before they reached the palace halls. But because many nobles remained ignorant of this underground network, the Rennovars were often looked down upon for associating too closely with common folk.

This was why Caelius, despite his noble status, learned to live with his guard constantly raised while observing, listening, and collecting knowledge without drawing attention to himself.

The family survived by remaining neutral, carefully avoiding alignment with both the crown prince and the youngest prince, knowing that choosing a side would invite scrutiny from ambitious nobles eager to exploit the fragile tension between the two heirs.

However strict and careful Caelius was about choosing whom to associate with, Soren stood out as the strangest person he had ever met. It wasn’t just Soren’s position or circumstances that bothered him but the fact how Soren never fought back.

Caelius found it frustrating, even pitiful, that Soren never tried to stand his ground or question why he was treated with such cold indifference, as if he believed he deserved it.

What unsettled Caelius more was Soren’s silence when he was clearly being hurt or taken advantage of. Anyone else would have complained, argued, or at least shown anger but Soren did none of that.

He just endured everything quietly without resistance and protest.

During the time Caelius spent in the north, he never once heard Soren whine about his treatment. He never ranted to others, never sought comfort, and never tried to defend himself through words.

He simply accepted things as they were, carrying everything alone.

That quiet endurance drew Caelius in more than he cared to admit.

He couldn’t tell whether it was because Soren felt like a mystery he couldn’t unravel or because Caelius himself was slowly being pulled in by a sympathy he didn’t know how to name.

Even when everyone in the encampment knew that the prince openly favored Soren, Soren never once used it to his advantage the way other nobles would. Caelius had seen plenty of people cling to power, exploiting even the smallest connection to someone of high rank, but Soren never did any of that.

If it had been anyone else, they would have used the prince’s backing to pressure others, demand special treatment, or shield themselves from consequences. Having one of the highest-ranking figures supporting them was an opportunity most people would not waste but Soren acted as if it meant nothing.

According to what Caelius had heard, even after Soren woke up in the prince’s own bed, he remained unchanged. He did not grow arrogant or demanding. He was still the same quiet, restrained Soren, as if the prince’s favor had never touched him at all.

Because of how distant and unusual Soren’s behavior was, Caelius eventually found himself wanting to know him better. There was something about Soren that didn’t fit the way people in the camp usually acted, and that alone kept drawing Caelius’s attention back to him.

Another reason was far more practical.

Soren was an exceptional healer, and Caelius had already begun considering the possibility of taking him in. Rumors had reached him that House Davenmore and the prince were planning to discard Soren once he was no longer useful.

They were fully aware of his abilities, yet still willing to let him go.

Though the reason on Davenmore’s side was easy to understand as Soren was a commoner, and the house had never hidden its deep-rooted resentment toward those of lower birth. What Caelius could not understand was the prince’s stance.

Even he must have known that letting Soren go would be a loss.

If they truly abandoned him, then Caelius had no intention of letting such talent go to waste.

"Hm... should I ask him to eat with me?" Caelius murmured, lost in thought.

Arctelle and Irlian, who had been watching him from nearby, exchanged glances. Neither of them understood what had him so distracted so they simply shrugged at each other.

"What is he doing right now?" Caelius muttered again. "He should be in the other tent. Knowing how diligent he is, he’s probably still working, doing whatever needs to be done..."

He was about to walk past them without another glance when Arctelle finally spoke up.

"U-um, my lord, where are you going?" Arctelle asked, briefly looking at Irlian as if urging him to say something as well.

"Oh, right," Irlian quickly added, forcing an awkward smile. "My lord, why don’t you join us for lunch? You’ve been away for a week. At the very least, we could eat together."

Caelius stopped and stared at them, his expression unreadable. ’Tch. They’re healers, but they’re nothing compared to Soren,’ he thought coldly. ’All they know how to do is flatter and gossip. Spending any more time with them would be a waste.’

"My apologies," Caelius said calmly, "but I have somewhere to be. It’s not as if you can’t eat without me, yes?"

"Ah, of course," Irlian replied quickly.

"Then how about tea later, my lord?" Arctelle cut in, causing Caelius to turn fully toward them.

"Tea?" Caelius asked, tilting his head slightly. "Can’t you drink without me?"

Arctelle flinched and immediately glanced at Irlian for help. "O-of course not, my lord. That’s not what I meant."

"Then that settles it," Caelius said flatly. "I have matters to attend to so eat by yourselves."

With that, he turned away, already focused on someone else entirely.

As Caelius disappeared from sight, Arctelle finally dropped his composed expression. He then clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes as he turned to Irlian with an irritated sigh.

"That damn, who does he think he is?" Arctelle muttered.

"Shh. Lower your voice," Irlian warned quickly. "What if he hears you?"

"Whatever," Arctelle scoffed. "He’s been rude to us since this morning. He wouldn’t even bother talking to us."

Irlian hesitated. "Well... when has he ever talked to us much, though?"

Arctelle paused, then frowned. "Hm. That’s true. He’s usually quiet but today feels different, doesn’t it? He’s been unusually talkative."

"Right?" Irlian nodded. "Maybe he finally realized he should talk more?"

Arctelle shot him a sharp glare, making Irlian flinch. "Are you stupid?"

"Hey, what was that for?" Irlian snapped back.

"Never mind," Arctelle said curtly, turning away.

After a brief pause, he clicked his tongue. "Anyway, what really happened to the young lord last night? I was exhausted trying to calm him down, but he wouldn’t settle at all. By the time I returned to my tent, I slept like a log. Did you hear anything?"

Irlian flinched again, instinctively glancing left and right to make sure no one was close enough to overhear them inside the tent.

"Well... I heard that commoner was the one who helped calm Young Lord Davenmore," he whispered. "That’s what the nurses were saying. Apparently, that wretch is being summoned again today."

Arctelle scoffed sharply. "Tch. Soren this, Soren that. That rat really doesn’t know his place, does he?"

"But what could we do?" Irlian replied quietly. "He was the one who managed to put the young lord to sleep and he even healed him completely."

Arctelle clenched his jaw. "Right. And now how do you think the others see us?" he snapped. "I bet they’re already gossiping about how useless we are. Damn it..."

Irlian let out a small sigh. "There wasn’t much we could’ve done anyway. I heard beast blood entered the young lord’s wound that’s why our healing didn’t work."

The silence that followed was heavy filled with resentment, embarrassment, and an unspoken fear of being replaced.

"Tch. What are we supposed to do now?" Arctelle hissed. "My father sent me here to earn merits, not to prove how useless I am. If that wretch stays here, we won’t gain anything at all. We need to do something."

Irlian frowned. "But what can we do? Do you even have a plan?"

"I do," Arctelle replied without hesitation. "But we’ll need people to carry it out. You know someone, don’t you?"

"I brought a few with me when I came here," Irlian said after a moment. "What about you? You brought people too, right?"

"Yes," Arctelle answered. "But we’ll discuss it later, at night. We can’t risk being overheard here."

Irlian nodded. "Right. Then I’ll come by your tent tonight."

Meanwhile, when Lyric woke in the middle of the afternoon, he couldn’t remember what he had done or how he had acted. All he could recall was the sharp pain in his wound. He immediately sat upright on his bed and began rolling his shoulder in slow, circular motions.

"What the... it’s not painful anymore," he muttered, still rotating it. Just then, the flap of his tent opened, revealing Sylas carrying a cup of water.

"Oh, you’re awake. You slept like a log," Sylas said, setting the cup down. "How do you feel? Does it still hurt?"

"Hm... no. On the contrary, I feel refreshed and it feels like I was cleansed. What happened?" Lyric asked, frowning in confusion.

Sylas chuckled softly. "Don’t you remember how wild you were last night? Hah... just a few weeks ago you said you wanted him to heal you, but when he actually came, you threw a dagger at him that grazed his shoulder too. And the funny part? He didn’t even complain once."

"W-what? I did that?" Lyric exclaimed, eyes wide.

"Yup," Sylas replied, raising an eyebrow. "So... are you really fine now?"

Before answering, Lyric swung his feet onto the floor, wrapped a cloak around his shoulders, and hurried toward the tent flap.

"W-wait, bro! Where are you going?"