The Substitute Healer (BL)-Chapter 84: “Oh, who do we have here? Another d*ck?”

For the past week, the beasts in the north had been strangely quiet.

There was no clear reason for it, and not even Alaric or Cael could explain why the usual attacks had suddenly stopped. Patrols returned safely, and no new alarms were raised.

What they did not know was that the real reason had nothing to do with strategy or luck,

it was because of Soren.

Soren’s healing power was far stronger than anyone realized that some High Priests could and would even call it divine. His magic naturally spread around him without him being aware of it, slowly cleansing parts of the north just by his presence. 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝓮𝒘𝙚𝙗𝒏𝙤𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝒐𝙢

This weakened the corruption that fueled the beasts and caused them to calm down. The only thing his power could not fully purify was the strange liquid substance that existed in the land, the same substance that drove the beasts into a frenzy.

And there was another secret no one knew, not even Soren himself.

Every time he was close to dying which had happened many times already, he would meet the Goddess Mirath. Though he didn’t understand who she was or what those meetings meant, each encounter made his healing power grow stronger.

This was why his magic continued to develop far beyond what should have been possible for a human.

Because of Soren, the number of deaths in the north dropped from hundreds to almost none after he arrived.

Soldiers healed faster, and fatal injuries became survivable.

However, Alaric and Cael never realized the connection.

They did not truly understand Soren’s abilities and barely paid attention to him, unaware that he was the quiet reason the north had finally begun to grow still.

With Soren’s growing abilities, the Northern Temple had begun secretly tracking his movements.

They were extremely careful while making sure neither Cael nor Alaric, especially not the twins can ever notice their presence.

When Soren was inside the encampment, they kept their distance. When he left it, they stayed nearby, hidden just out of sight. Holy Knights trained in stealth watched him closely and sent regular reports back to the High Priest.

At the same time, after completing their mission in the capital, Thalric and Aria quickly returned to the north.

They claimed they were urgently needed at the Northern Temple and used that as their reason for leaving without even visiting the capital’s temple. Since the Northern Temple and the Capital Temple did not get along, the excuse was both believable and convenient, and no one questioned it.

With Arctelle traveling alongside Thalric and Aria, the Solven family had finally made their decision to place him directly into the temple’s hands.

Azric, blinded by his hunger for power, did not hesitate and willingly surrendered his own son, believing that this sacrifice would earn him the High Priest’s favor.

In Azric’s mind, his son was not a child to be protected but a bargaining piece.

With the High Priest’s support, he believed he could rise higher than his father ever did, unlike the old Baron who died without advancing his title, trapped in the same position until his last breath. Azric was convinced that this time would be different, that through the temple and its influence, he would finally grasp the power he had always craved, no matter the cost.

Because the Solven family held little influence and even fewer connections, Azric had spent years trying to buy his way into importance.

He poured nearly all of his remaining wealth into donations which is first to the palace, then to the capital temple hoping that gold alone might earn him recognition. But no matter how much he gave, his name was never remembered.

His offerings were accepted politely and forgotten just as quickly, and the Solven family remained invisible and insignificant.

So, when someone of far higher status finally reached out to him, Azric did not hesitate.

The hand offered to him felt like salvation and he grasped it immediately, calling it assistance, never once questioning the true price behind the gesture. He did not ask what would be demanded of him in return, nor did he consider what kind of future his son would be forced into.

Azric saw only the promise of power.

The chance to rise above the shadow of his father, to escape the humiliation of dying as a nobody, consumed him completely.

In his obsession, caution disappeared, doubt was silenced, and morality was pushed aside. By the time he realized that power always demanded payment, it was already too late.

"I’ll kill him. How dare he... how dare he put me in this kind of predicament. I’ll kill him..."

Arctelle muttered the words over and over from the corner of the carriage with mumbling voice while shaking. He sat hunched forward as the horse pulled them along, biting his nails until the skin around them reddened.

Each jolt of the carriage only seemed to tighten the fury coiling inside his chest.

He wore neither fine clothes nor anything truly decent, nothing that spoke of wealth or comfort.

For now, he looked like someone who could easily be mistaken for a drifter, someone fated to fade into the streets.

For a boy who had openly spoken of ambition and greatness, this state was unbearable.

The humiliation gnawed at him, slowly eroding what little rational thought he had left while leaving only resentment and rage behind.

Across from him, Aria and Thalric sat in silence.

They just listened without interrupting with unreadable expressions as Arctelle continued to mumble threats under his breath.

Every so often, they exchanged brief glances with one another that’s quiet, knowing looks before returning their attention to the boy, as if weighing something far more important than his words.

"My Lord, you must calm yourself and regain your composure," Thalric said quietly while lowering his voice as if the walls themselves might be listening. "When you stand before His Holiness, you must present yourself properly. Do not act like this, or you will regret it. His Holiness detests such behavior. Be at your best once we arrive."

At those words, Arctelle turned sharply toward him, the movement rough and filled with restrained anger. He then stopped biting his nails and fixed Thalric with a cold, hostile stare.

"That’s the hundredth time you’ve said that, Your Excellency," he snapped. "Do you not grow tired of repeating the same warning again and again?"

"I am merely reminding you," Thalric replied with a tight smile pulling at his lips.

A vein even stood out along his temple and neck, betraying the irritation he struggled to contain. "I mean no harm. You know that."

"I know exactly what I’m doing, Your Excellency," Arctelle said flatly. "I understood you the first time. There’s no need to keep repeating yourself. My ears ache, if you truly must know."

A moment after, silence settled in the carriage, broken only by the rhythmic creak of the wheels then Thalric spoke again far less patient.

"Very well. If that is your choice, then remember this clearly. Your role in this mission is vital." His gaze hardened. "If you truly desire power to stand behind you, then set aside your pride and do as we instruct. As I told you before we left the capital, Soren is of great importance to His Holiness. Do whatever is necessary to earn his favor, and you will have nothing to fear."

Throughout it all, Aria remained silent with her attention fixed on Arctelle, observing him as if measuring how much of him would endure once he finally stood before someone they called His Holiness.

The plan was simple.

Since Arctelle no longer held the protection of the palace nor the backing of the capital temple, both stripped away by Cael’s punishment, his fate quietly shifted northward.

He was now to be taken in by the High Priest of the Northern Temple instead.

To the outside world, it was a reasonable decision.

The Solven house was known, after all, for producing a prodigy healer, and that prodigy was Arctelle himself. Even if he had been cast aside by the young prince Cael, the story could easily be reshaped as a talented boy abandoned by the palace, only to be saved by the mercy of the Northern Temple.

In that version of events, the High Priest would appear kind and gentle, a savior who offered shelter when no one else would.

With the palace and the central temple no longer acknowledging the Solven house, the Northern Temple would face no real punishment for taking Arctelle in.

On the contrary, the High Priest could even gain favor among the common people, revered for his compassion, never knowing the truth of what they were truly praising or who they were truly serving.

With Arctelle’s involvement secured, the next step was already decided.

He would return to the northern encampment not as a disgraced noble tied to the palace, but as a guest of the Northern Temple and that distinction mattered. It will allow him to move freely, observe, and to continue the plan without drawing suspicion.

And at the center of it all was Soren.

Arctelle would bring him before the High Priest, handed over like an offering.

In doing so, he would finally prove his worth. Power, recognition, and reward awaited him at the end of it all,

or so he had been led to believe.

Meanwhile, after making sure Soren was resting peacefully, Elias lingered a moment, gently caressing his face before leaving the tent.

He planned to step outside and find Caelius to ask more about Soren but the moment he stepped out, he ran into Sylas.

"Oh, who do we have here? Another dick?" Sylas said with a smirk, clearly trying to insult Elias.