"See? I told you, he can't feel pain. I guess we can sell him for a hundred gold coins, what do you think?" one snickered, shoving Soren back into the dark cell after testing him.
His body had been whipped countless times while his hands were shackled. His toenails had been plucked repeatedly. He was kicked in the stomach, burned, his lips constantly bruised. His hands were smashed to bones, yet not a groan escaped him, and his face remained expressionless. The only time he lost consciousness was from extreme blood loss or when his mana ran out during self-healing.
"Well, you're right. A lot of nobles will line up once they find out this brat isn't just useful for his abilities but can also serve as a shield. He won't die easily," another sneered as they closed the door.
Once they left, the other healers in the cell crawled forward, eyes wide while inspecting Soren's wounds. Some were so deep that bone was visible, especially in his hands but as they watched, the injuries slowly knit themselves closed.
"W-wow… look at his wounds… it's healing!" the girl whispered, unable to tear her eyes away.
"Right… it's scary to watch, but his skin… it's like brand new!" a boy said, carefully moving Soren's clothes aside to get a better view.
"Hey… do you think he's okay?" another boy asked, looking at Soren's unconscious body with pity.
"He's fine. He didn't even scream once. I'm glad it's always him who takes the beating for us…" the girl murmured, crawling back to the corner with the shackles on her ankle rattling softly.
"W-wait… what? Are you serious? How can you say that?" the boy snapped.
"I mean… he volunteers. What choice do we have? None of us want to be beaten, right?" the girl replied, rolling her eyes in frustration.
There were only four of them in the room: the girl, the two boys, and Soren lying unconscious before them.
As days passed, all of them were sold at an auction. Nobles seeking healers bought them to display before the Emperor of Elarion or simply to show off but not everyone was fortunate enough to be purchased for talent alone.
Commoners like them were often treated as tools… or worse.
The girl was bought by a cruel, gluttonous Viscount and locked in an attic, where her master sexually harassed her.
"Let me go! You bastard! I'm a healer! You can't treat me like this!" the girl screamed as she struggled with all her strength while being stripped naked in front of the Viscount who was sitting on the bed with a grin on his face, clearly enjoying himself.
"What an amazing body. I didn't... ugh... regret buying you," the Viscount said while masturbating himself and moaning as he glanced at the two men holding the girl. "You there… spread her legs. I bought her, so she's mine. I can do whatever I want with her. Come on, my dear…"
"Ugh, no!" Her scream echoed through the attic, mingling with her muffled sobs and shuffling sounds.
For months, she was trapped there, subjected to the Viscount's cruel whims whenever he pleased. Her body and spirit were pushed to their limits, enduring a misery that seemed endless.
Until she took her own life.
The other boy, on the other hand, was sold to a brothel, trapped in a life he had never chosen.
"So… this is the boy? Look how scrawny he is…" the brothel manager muttered, eyeing the boy lying on the bed, drugged and unresponsive.
"My good sir, surely you're not taking your money back, are you?" the buyer said. "Just… tame him. That's what you're good at, right?"
The manager let out a heavy sigh, examining the boy closely. "Hmm… he hasn't been used before. He'll fetch a good price. Alright, I'll take him."
Soren, however, managed to escape after being brought to a brothel. Six months later, he reunited with the boy from the cell and helped him escape as well while going so far as to make the boy's former master impotent, ensuring he could never harm another victim again.
As for the other girl and boy, rumors whispered that they were dead.
After four years, Soren was now twenty-two, his long red hair falling past his shoulders and golden eyes gleaming with a quiet intensity. His build was slightly feminine, not small but not particularly muscular, giving him an almost ethereal presence.
Beside him stood Elias, now twenty-four, with black hair and matching eyes. In contrast to Soren, Elias had grown into a knightly figure, broad-shouldered and strong, yet his gentle demeanor belied his imposing frame. He devoted himself to healing the common people without ever accepting pay and tended to his flowers as a quiet hobby in his rare free moments.
Together, they carried the scars of their past, yet had grown into men shaped by resilience, compassion, and an unspoken bond forged in shared suffering.
One afternoon, Soren and Elias were returning from their daily healing rounds in the slums when they passed a commotion near the bulletin board. Curious, they stopped and glanced at each other.
"Hey, look! A paper from the Davenmore dukedom!" someone nearby exclaimed.
"Wow… the pay is huge, and the house is free too!" another added.
"They're looking for a healer to accompany them to the northern border," a third voice said.
"Wait… going there is basically suicide! Even if the pay's high, your life is on the line. It's like digging your own grave!"
Soren and Elias exchanged another look and walked closer to read the posting.
"The pay is high, and the accommodation is included… that's a good deal," Elias murmured, scanning the paper. Then he glanced at Soren, whose expression remained calm, unreadable as always, but Elias knew better than anyone that Soren had been searching for his calling all these years, and perhaps this was it.
Soren was too strong of a healer to stay in the slums and even though, Soren was helping Elias to heal the common people, he knew that Soren never felt the accomplishment that he was searching for.
When they returned home, where the two of them had been living together—Elias watched Soren from behind as he removed his robe. Soren glanced back at him briefly.
"Uhm… why don't you try applying for that position, Soren?" Elias asked.
Soren merely averted his gaze and moved to the table, pouring himself a glass of water from a small pitcher.
"I mean… your ability is such a waste here. It's not like me, my skills as a healer are below average, but yours… it's…" Elias trailed off, unsure how to put it into words.
Soren set the glass back on the table, looked at Elias, and said quietly, "Alright. I'll try. I want to use my gift to help… you know, to fulfill my mother's wishes so, how about you come with me?"
Elias jolted, locking eyes with Soren. He then stepped closer and wrapped him in a hug. "You really are a handful. So… if I come with you, will you go there?"
Soren buried his face against Elias's chest, not moving his arms to hug back, and whispered, "Yes…"
"Alright, then. Let's leave early tomorrow," Elias said, patting his back, his cheeks flushed.