The Substitute Healer (BL)-Chapter 109: “Hail Duke Davenmore!”
Just like the original plan, the military unit from the North returned to the capital. After several days of relentless travel through winding roads, cold dawns and long silent nights, they finally passed through the towering gates that marked their arrival home.
And what greeted them was not silence, nor solemn recognition of hardship but celebration.
Cheers erupted from every side of the streets while swelling into a deafening roar that rolled like thunder between the stone buildings. Flower petals filled the air, tossed by eager hands from balconies and crowded walkways.
They drifted down in soft showers of color while catching the sunlight as they fell like gentle rain beneath a bright sky. The day was warm yet breezy, the wind carrying both fragrance and noise in equal measure. Banners fluttered proudly overhead with their colors rippling like waves as the procession advanced.
Those of high standing rode on horseback at the front with their armor gleaming beneath the sun making the people saw them returning from the North as protectors, victors and symbols of strength.
To them, this was a moment of triumph.
but not all of them shared the joy.
Cael, Alaric, Lyric and Sylas moved forward with measured silence with restrained their expressions. The cheers washed over them like meaningless noise, hollow against the weight still pressing on their thoughts.
Their bodies had returned to the capital... but their minds had not left the North.
They remembered the cold winds that carried the scent of blood, the uneasy silence between battles and the things that should never have happened... yet did.
The laughter and celebration around them felt strangely out of place like sunlight forced into a room that still reeked of smoke and ash.
"Long live the second prince!"
"Hail Duke Davenmore!"
"Hail to the young lords of Davenmore! The unstoppable twin young lords!"
The crowd’s voices rose louder, more intense as if determined to drown out any shadow that lingered. People reached forward while waving, crying and some are even weeping in relief at the sight of their returning protectors.
Yet none of the four responded beyond the bare minimum courtesy.
Cael’s gaze remained fixed ahead, distant and unreadable. Alaric’s jaw was slightly tense despite the grandeur surrounding him while Lyric’s eyes scanned the crowd without truly seeing it, as though searching for something that was not there.
Sylas carried a faint tightness in his expression, one that only those who knew him well would recognize.
The North had not simply been a battlefield.
It had been a question left unanswered and no amount of cheering could silence what lingered in their minds.
So, while the capital celebrated victory, while petals fell like blessings from the sky,
the four of them walked forward beneath the rain of flowers not as heroes basking in triumph...
...but as men who had returned carrying something heavy that no one else could see.
Unbeknownst to the cheering crowd that filled the streets with celebration, there was still one person who should have stood among those being honored. One more name that should have been shouted with equal warmth. One more figure who should have ridden through the gates beneath the rain of petals and praise.
But he was not there.
He had been driven away... chased out by the very four who now walked through the capital as if they alone had carried the weight of the North.
It was supposed to be five.
Five who returned, endured and fought.
Yet because of their own wrongdoings, because of the choices they made in silence and pride, they allowed the truth to be buried. They let the people believe the victory belonged only to those present, when in reality... the one who contributed the most to the subjugation was the very one erased from the celebration.
No cheers called his name.
No flowers fell at his feet.
No eyes searched for him in the procession.
And still, the celebration continued bright, loud, and painfully incomplete.
Among the crowd stood people who had come not merely to witness history but to welcome someone dear to them home.
Caelius’ attendants from the intelligence division were gathered neatly to one side with their composure intact but their eyes gleaming with relief. Beside them stood several of his household servants, faces bright with emotion after days of anxious waiting.
At the very front was his nanny and her hands were trembling as she clutched her handkerchief tightly.
She was crying openly.
Tears streamed down her wrinkled cheeks and her shoulders were shaking as she looked upon him as though confirming he was truly alive... and unharmed... truly back where she could see him again.
When Caelius noticed her, something softened in his otherwise composed expression. The rigid calm he maintained before the public loosened just slightly and a faint smile touched his lips.
It was not the smile of a noble receiving praise.
It was the quiet relief of someone who had returned to a place where he was loved.
And not far from there stood Irlian, who had earned notable merit for the campaign. The noise of the crowd pressed heavily around him, yet his gaze moved restlessly while searching and scanning anxiously until it finally found what it was looking for.
His mother.
She stood among the common spectators while waving eagerly despite the press of bodies around her. In her hands she held a wreath of blossoms, carefully woven and bright that meant to be offered in honor and pride.
Her smile was even wide and radiant, filled with a joy so genuine it made her seem years younger.
The moment their eyes met, her expression trembled not from sadness but from overwhelming relief that made Irlian felt his chest tighten.
A smile formed on his face as well, but unlike hers, his was touched with nervousness. His fingers shifted slightly against the reins, shoulders subtly stiff. Pride, gratitude, and something heavier all tangled within him.
He had returned victorious, even earned recognition and he was being celebrated.
And yet...
For a fleeting moment, his gaze dimmed before he steadied himself again.
Because somewhere beyond the cheers... beyond the flowers... beyond the warmth of those who welcomed them home...
There remained the quiet absence of the one who should have been standing beside them, as what he also believed.
Arctelle.
The name lingered in Irlian’s mind like a fading echo that’s familiar and impossible to ignore.
Someone he had once called a friend, who had walked beside them not as a rival, but as a companion and fiercely determined to prove his worth but Arctelle had been driven into a corner... not by others alone, but by something growing quietly within himself.
Jealousy.
Not toward praise and rank but toward Soren.
Soren’s ability had always been overwhelming and effortless in a way that made others feel as though they were struggling just to keep pace with something that moved beyond ordinary limits. Where others fought, Soren endured. Where others calculated, Soren simply acted.
His strength did not demand recognition, yet recognition followed him regardless.
And that... was what Arctelle could never escape.
At first, it had only been comparison as the natural measuring of oneself against another but comparison turned to frustration. Frustration hardened into resentment and resentment, left to grow unchecked, slowly isolated him from the very people who once stood beside him.
Arctelle was not cast aside without reason.
He was not simply abandoned.
He had cornered himself, pressed inward by pride and wounded dignity, by the unbearable weight of standing beside someone whose brilliance made him feel invisible.
The more Soren accomplished, the more Arctelle seemed to shrink within his own shadow. And instead of reaching outward... he turned inward, withdrawing and pushing others away before they could witness the depth of his struggle.
By the time he was removed from the subjugation mission, it no longer felt sudden.
It felt inevitable.
And Irlian knew that because he had watched it happen.
He had seen the tension in Arctelle’s gaze whenever Soren’s name was spoken, seen the way his silence grew heavier with each passing day and seen how admiration twisted into something strained and painful.
And when Arctelle was finally pushed away from the mission, Irlian had felt something he did not dare,
Relief.
Relief that he would not be dragged into whatever storm Arctelle was spiraling toward, that the growing tension would no longer fracture the unit from within and that things, at least on the surface, would become simpler.
Safer. But standing now beneath the shower of congratulatory petals while hearing the crowd celebrate a victory that felt incomplete...
That relief did not feel like peace because despite everything and despite Arctelle’s jealousy and pride,
He had still been their companion.
And now he was gone.
Not honored and remembered.
Not even spoken of.
As time passed, the procession continued with loud cheers, music, and falling flower petals.
Kent, Justine, Louie, Hector, and Melissa all took part in the celebration. They smiled, waved, and walked proudly like the heroes everyone believed them to be but deep inside, something felt missing.
It didn’t feel complete.
The victory would have truly felt triumphant if Soren had been there too walking beside them, seen and cheered by the people like the rest of them.
Without saying anything, they all seemed to think the same thing at once. They imagined how Soren would probably feel overwhelmed by the attention. He would likely look shy and uncomfortable, not knowing how to react to so many people watching him.
Just imagining that made them feel a little better but that was only in their minds because Soren wasn’t there.
No one even knew where he had gone. Before they returned to the capital, they had even heard that some of Soren’s belongings were found at the bloody battlefield.
Left behind.
And since then... no one had seen him again.
