The Substitute Healer (BL)

Chapter 111: “…So, where the hell did you go?”

After learning that Soren had vanished without a trace after leaving the encampment, Cael could think of little else. The question of where Soren might have gone followed him relentlessly, day and night, refusing to leave his mind in peace.

He was certain Soren had been present during the attack and his men had confirmed it after thoroughly examining the scene. Among the scattered remains, they discovered a small pouch, the only personal item Soren had brought with him to the North.

He hadn’t even taken the other belongings that had been given to him which meant whatever had happened must have occurred suddenly without warning or preparation.

Yet the deeper the investigation went, the more troubling everything became.

They tried to identify the attackers but no clear answers surfaced. Several of the bodies were missing entirely, leaving behind no explanation of who they were or where they had gone. At the site itself, only the merchants and their slaves remained among the dead, along with the fallen horses and broken carriages. Strangely, nothing of value had been taken. The goods were untouched as well as their belongings that it didn’t look like a robbery.

It looked planned and intentional, directed toward a specific purpose.

And still, there was no trace of Soren.

No blood trail leading away, no witnesses who had seen him escape and there was even no sign that he had been taken. It was as if he had simply disappeared in the chaos.

Refusing to accept that, Cael ordered a wider search. His men combed through the slums where Soren had once lived and tracked down the man who had been with him before, questioning every possible lead but nothing came of it.

No matter where they searched, Soren remained nowhere to be found.

Then there was a crash of shattering porcelain that rang through the bedchamber violently like something inside Cael had finally snapped loose. Feeling frustrated, he threw the vase on the floor hard enough that its fragments scattered across the polished floor.

The tray of untouched food followed while clattering down in a mess of spilled broth and broken ceramic. He didn’t even look at the destruction. His chest just rose and fell too quickly with his ragged breathing, almost trembling.

"Fine... you win," he spat bitterly, though the room was painfully, suffocatingly empty. His voice sounded rough and strained like the words were being dragged out of him against his will. "How dare you make me feel this way... You’re nothing but a nuisance. Pathetic. Stupid. An idiot who never knew his place..."

The insults came one after another, harsh and relentless but there was something desperate underneath them. They didn’t sound like hatred. It feels like he was just clinging to them because they were easier to say than anything else.

His teeth gritted as his eyes flickered toward the door, toward the silence.

"...So, where the hell did you go?"

The question slipped out quieter than everything before it, stripped of anger. For a moment, he just stood there, listening... as if expecting footsteps, a voice, something. When nothing came, a crooked smirk tugged at his lips, force and unnatural.

"I refuse to believe that you’re dead," he scoffed while letting out a sharp, breathless laugh. He then shook his head immediately, firmly, like he was rejecting something absurd. "You? Die? Don’t be ridiculous. You didn’t even die after falling off a cliff before... so how could you now?"

His laughter grew louder, but it sounded wrong, almost fraying at the edges. His fingers curled into fists so tight his knuckles were turning white.

"That’s impossible," he muttered again, more forcefully this time. "Completely impossible."

He began pacing while feeling restless and agitated like a caged animal refusing to acknowledge the open wound in its chest. Every step was impatient.

"Hah... damn it..." he murmured while pressing a hand against his forehead with his smirk still lingering but trembling now. "I’m going crazy."

But even as he said it, he kept shaking his head over and over again while denying the thought before it could settle. Denying the silence and the emptiness pressing in around him.

Because if he stopped even for a second, if he allowed himself to truly consider the possibility...

...then that would mean Soren were really gone.

And Cael would rather destroy the entire room to tear apart every fragile thing within reach than admit that someone he believed who’s unbreakable... had disappeared without him allowing.

Looking back, Cael realized there had never been a moment when Soren truly smiled at him. Not once had he seen genuine happiness in Soren’s eyes. Soren had always seemed distant like someone merely existing rather than living. He was someone who always have his guard up and to Cael, he had appeared emotionless and lifeless, and that emptiness was exactly what had drawn his attention.

It fascinated him.

That was why he chose Soren as his amusement because he’s a quiet, unresponsive figure he could provoke, test, and handle however he pleased. To Cael, Soren had been nothing more than an intriguing puzzle... a toy that never reacted the way others did.

But now that Soren was no longer within his reach, no longer where Cael could see him or summon him at will, something felt... wrong

.

There was an unfamiliar emptiness lingering around him that’s impossible to ignore. It irritated him more than anything else. The feeling was foreign, unwelcome, and deeply frustrating... because never, not once, had he felt this way about any of his past toys.

And that alone disturbed him more than he cared to admit.

While deep in his own thoughts, Lyric just returned from meeting one of the men he had sent to investigate Soren’s disappearance. Carrying quiet disappointment with him, he entered a pub while already sensing that the news would not be any different from before.

And it wasn’t.

Once again, they had found nothing. No sign of where Soren had gone, no clear evidence of whether he was alive or dead. Just an empty trail that led nowhere and that uncertainty weighed heavily on Lyric, far more unbearable than a definite answer would have been.

His men shared a troubling possibility that if someone was still alive yet impossible to trace, then it likely meant someone powerful was deliberately hiding them. Someone with enough influence to erase every clue and silence every lead.

But Lyric couldn’t think of anyone who fit that role.

It certainly wasn’t the Second Prince and he knew that much. Even if Cael never admitted it aloud, Lyric was certain he had been searching for Soren as well, just as quietly and stubbornly which only deepened the mystery.

Lowering his gaze, Lyric sat in silence for a long moment with frustration and regret slowly settling in his chest.

Who could possibly be hiding him?

Where could Soren be?

In the quiet of that moment, one thought slipped past his guarded composure like a quiet, aching wish that if Soren was still out there somewhere... he would at least be given the chance to apologize.

But even Soren’s shadow was nowhere to be found.

Sylas, meanwhile, found himself in a brothel while being surrounded by a crowd of eager women. Unfortunately, even their laughter and touches failed to reach him.

His mind was elsewhere, lost in a storm of memories he could not shake. He remembered hiring people to harass Soren, the cruel words he had thrown at him, and the way Soren’s eyes had filled with tears, pitiful and humiliated under his mockery.

He hated Soren.

No, more than that, he despised him.

To Sylas, Soren had always been nothing more than a commoner, someone beneath him and a target for scorn, ridicule, and cruelty.

And yet, the truth gnawed at him in quiet moments he tried to avoid. Deep down, he knew how petty, how small and meaningless his hatred really was. He had lumped Soren in with all the commoners he blamed for the pain he carried like the deaths of his parents and the loss of someone they had treated as a brother while pouring all that grief and frustration onto a single, undeserving person.

And the cruelest truth of all?

Soren had done nothing to deserve it. Nothing at all. He hadn’t asked for their attention, hadn’t wronged them, hadn’t caused a single bit of the suffering Sylas had so selfishly placed on his shoulders.

And yet, Sylas had taken it all out on him anyway and that thought left a bitter, hollow ache inside him like a mix of shame, anger at himself, and something he didn’t want to name, something that felt like regret.

Sylas just needed someone to blame, and Soren had been the easiest target. But bitter irony gnawed at him because that same person he had tormented was also the one who had kept them safe back in the North.

While in the midst of his own world, a soft voice pulled him from his thoughts.

"Hm, my lord, are you in a bad mood? You seem... distant today."

Another chimed in while trying to smooth over the tension.

"Come on, girls. His Lordship’s just tired from the long travel and the banquet. Let’s just do our best, okay?"

And yet another offered a drink.

"Here, my lord. Have a drink..."

Frustration coiled tight inside him, though Sylas refused to admit its true source. Then, his hands clenched at his sides as he rose abruptly while moving with a force that knocked the women back onto the couches.

"Leave." His voice was cold, cutting through the room as he glared at each of them in turn.

But when none of them moved, assuming he was merely speaking without thought, something snapped inside him.

"I said get the hell out of here! Are your ears just for decoration?!"

The words tore from him in a scream, unrestrained. In a sudden motion, he grabbed the nearest wine glass and hurled it against the wall that it shattered with a loud crash with the fragments scattering across the floor.

The women jumped while flinching instinctively, their laughter and chatter vanishing into stunned silence. Sylas’ chest also heaved with each ragged breath with his glare so intense that it seemed to weigh down the very air around him. The room had become a vessel for his frustration, denial, and his anger, each emotion spilling outward until nothing remained but the chaos he had unleashed.

Alaric, meanwhile, sat alone in his study. After a long moment of contemplation, he turned to Cedric, his longtime butler, and asked, "Cedric... what do you think I should do in a situation like this?"