The Substitute Healer (BL)

Chapter 113: “Is he nearby? Could you at least tell me his name?”

TIME SKIP WARNING

Four months later...

In a secluded village tucked quietly in the southern part of the empire, Soren had slowly begun adjusting to his new life. Four months had already passed since his arrival, though time here felt different.

The hurried tension that once clung to his days had gradually loosened, replaced by something far calmer and easier to breathe in.

Unlike before, Soren had become more outgoing.

He spent much of his time outdoors now while wandering along narrow dirt paths that wound through fields and cottages, or pausing to admire the changing colors of the sky as the sun dipped behind distant hills. The scenery never failed to soothe him such as the rustling trees, the quiet hum of village life and the simple rhythm of people living day by day.

It was peaceful in a way he had never truly known.

Life there was nothing like the capital, nor the harsh northern regions where he once stayed.

Back then, his days had been tightly bound to duty such as healing the sick, tending to the wounded, and answering endless requests from commoners who sought relief from pain. He had done what he could, but there were always limits placed upon him, expectations that confined him more than he realized.

Here, those invisible chains were gone.

For the first time in a long while, Soren felt... free.

Elias, too, had settled comfortably into their quiet life.

He even devoted most of his time to his growing love for flowers while collecting them from nearby meadows, forests, and traveling merchants who occasionally passed through the village. What began as a small hobby had slowly turned into something much larger.

Behind the villa now stood a full greenhouse, carefully tended and filled with blooms of every color imaginable. Some were delicate and fragrant, others rare and strange in shape but each one was nurtured with patient care. The greenhouse had become Elias’s pride as a living sanctuary of color and quiet joy.

As for Soren, he had found companionship in unexpected places.

He had made many friends over the months though most of them were elderly villagers who welcomed his presence with warmth and curiosity. They often invited him to sit with them in the afternoons, sharing stories of past harvests, old festivals, and memories of a time when the village looked entirely different.

Their conversations were simple, sometimes repetitive, but always filled with sincerity.

One of the people he had grown especially close to was an old woman who sold freshly baked bread near the village square. She lived alone with her young grandson, doing what little she could to support them both.

For a long time, she had struggled to walk properly with her legs weakened by illness she could never afford to treat. The nearest temple was far from the village, and hiring a healer privately cost more than she could ever hope to pay.

And Soren had learned of her condition by chance. Without hesitation, and without asking for anything in return, he healed her.

To him, it was a simple act of kindness but to the old woman, it meant everything.

For the first time in years, she could move freely again.

She could walk beside her grandson, cook without pain, tend to her small home, and live without the constant burden of helplessness. Her gratitude was immeasurable that she insisted on giving Soren fresh bread whenever he visited, though he often tried to refuse.

Still, she would press it into his hands with tearful smiles, saying it was the only way she could express her thanks.

From that moment on, their bond deepened naturally.

She would often call him over just to talk, to share stories, or simply to sit in comfortable silence while her grandson played nearby. And Soren, who had once lived surrounded by noise yet felt utterly alone, found quiet comfort in these small moments of ordinary life.

Days passed gently in the southern village that’s filled with warm sunlight, soft laughter, blooming flowers, and the simple kindness of people who asked for nothing more than presence.

And though Soren rarely spoke of it aloud, something within him had begun to heal too.

Though faint, Soren could now smile sincerely not out of politeness and habit but because he was truly happy. It still felt unfamiliar, the quiet warmth that settled in his chest, the steady sense of fulfillment that followed him through each passing day.

And yet, even as he embraced it, a small voice lingered in the back of his mind, whispering doubts he could never quite silence.

’Do I deserve this?Is it really alright for me to feel this way?’

The questions never fully disappeared.

They surfaced in quiet moments especially when the sun felt too warm, when laughter came too easily and when peace stretched too long without interruption. Happiness, to him, still felt fragile and almost borrowed.

But in the end, Soren chose not to dwell on those thoughts.

He allowed himself to loosen the tight hold he once kept on his own emotions.

Instead of questioning every moment of peace, he simply moved with the flow of life as it came.

And slowly, day by day, the quiet village began to feel less like a temporary refuge and more like somewhere he truly belonged.

Life there, though secluded and far removed from everything he once knew felt more fulfilling than anything he had experienced before.

It was gentler than the harsh struggle of surviving in the slums of the capital, where every day had been a battle just to endure. It was warmer than the cold, suffocating weight of the North where duty and pain had shaped most of his days.

Here, life was simple... but it was full.

And perhaps what surprised him most was the kindness of the people around him.

Those who had once been strangers now looked after him with quiet sincerity.

They made sure he was comfortable, asked if he needed anything, and treated his presence not as a burden, but as something welcome. Their care was never overwhelming, never intrusive. Just steady, gentle, and genuine.

The people in the villa, especially, watched over him attentively.

They even ensured his meals were prepared, his needs tended to, and his comfort never neglected. Their small gestures like warm greetings, thoughtful check ins and simple acts of consideration slowly built a sense of belonging Soren had never truly known before.

For someone who had spent so much of his life feeling like an outsider...

Being cared for so naturally felt almost unreal.

Yet day after day, the kindness remained.

And little by little, Soren stopped bracing himself for it to disappear.

Their conversations were always comfortably ordinary.

There was no stiffness, no heavy formality pressing between their words, just the quiet warmth of people who had grown used to one another’s presence. Even the smallest exchanges carried a gentle familiarity, like something repeated so often it had naturally become part of daily life.

"Soren, come... we prepared you a chamomile tea. You must be tired from just coming back from the village."

The butler lightly held Soren’s sleeve gently like one would guide a family member rather than a guest. Then, a small, knowing smile rested on his face as he led Soren into the living room where a cup of warm tea was already waiting along with its faint steam curling lazily into the air.

The room itself felt calm and welcoming, the kind of quiet that didn’t feel empty but gently lived in.

"Thank you so much, Sir Edgar. I really appreciate it."

"My goodness," the butler sighed, though there was no real complaint in his voice. "I told you not to call me that."

Soren’s lips curved slightly with a bit of playfulness in his tone. "Hmm... but I want to."

"Well, suit yourself," Edgar replied with a soft chuckle while shaking his head in mild defeat. "You know I can never win against you anyway." His expression softened further, the kind of fondness that came naturally, without effort. "Ah, by the way... Elias is in the greenhouse."

"Still?" Soren blinked in surprise. "But it’s almost dark. What is he doing there?"

"Oh, you might not know this," Edgar said casually while folding his hands behind his back in quiet satisfaction. "The greenhouse has lights now. He requested them, and I simply had to make it happen, you know."

Soren’s eyes widened slightly, genuine admiration warming his expression.

"Wow... Edgar, you’re amazing..."

There was no exaggeration in his voice, no politeness for the sake of manners. Just simple, honest appreciation. And Edgar, though he tried to remain composed, couldn’t quite hide the faint upward curve of his lips.

Their words were simple as well as their tones gentle. It’s nothing grand and dramatic, just small talk, quiet care, and the easy warmth of people who had grown comfortable in each other’s company.

The kind of conversation that made a place feel like home.

Until Soren finally asked something that made Edgar visibly flinch.

"But... who really is your master, Sir Edgar?" Soren asked gently. "It’s already been months, yet we still haven’t met him. When will we be able to? I truly want to express my gratitude to whoever your master is. Could you perhaps give me the chance to at least do that?"

The question was sincere, spoken without suspicion and only gratitude. And perhaps that was exactly why it caught Edgar off guard.

Ever since Soren and Elias were discreetly brought to the South by the Crown Prince’s men, they had never once met the person responsible for their relocation. Not a single visit or even a glimpse.

At first, Soren had been cautious, uncertain of the intentions behind such sudden generosity but as weeks turned into months, and as he and Elias continued living in comfort and quiet peace, he slowly began to accept it. Whoever their benefactor was, that person had ensured their safety, needs, and even their small comforts without asking for anything in return.

Still, the gratitude sitting in Soren’s heart refused to remain unspoken.

For months now, he had gently insisted on meeting the one who had made all of this possible. He wanted to thank him properly, not through messages passed along by others, but face to face.

What Soren didn’t know... was that his mysterious benefactor was none other than the Crown Prince himself named Caelum, the only brother of Cael.

Seeing how flustered Edgar suddenly became, Soren began to wonder if his benefactor was someone he simply couldn’t meet on a whim.

Was it Gideon? Caelius?

Who could it possibly be?

He truly had no idea.

And yet, despite the mystery, one thing remained certain.

He loved this place.

It was quiet and peaceful.

Gentle in a way life had never been to him before. For months now, he had stayed in this secluded village, and not once had anyone mocked and belittled him, or looked at him with contempt.

It felt as though he had finally found somewhere he belonged.

"You know..." Soren continued softly, his voice carrying nothing but sincerity, "ever since I arrived here, I haven’t felt any discomfort, not even once. Everything about this is new to me." He gave a faint, almost shy smile. "It seems like your master is truly making sure we live comfortably."

His gaze lifted toward Edgar, hopeful yet gentle.

"Is he nearby? Could you at least tell me his name?"