Two days had passed since the forest.
Two days since blood had soaked the soil.
Two days since the heroes had learned what "necessary cruelty" meant in this world.
And now—
They stood beneath chandeliers.
The palace had never felt so cold.
Music echoed through the vaulted halls—strings and wind instruments harmonizing into something elegant and hollow. Crystal chandeliers bathed the chamber in warm light, but Haruto felt none of it reach him.
They stood together near the center of the hall.
Twelve heroes.
Clad in simple uniforms, recently cleaned but unmistakably worn.
Surrounded by silk.
The King's Invitation
"This is… a celebration?" Takumi muttered under his breath.
Servants passed by carrying trays of wine and roasted meats, the aroma rich enough to make the stomach ache. Nobles laughed easily, goblets raised, voices loud with comfort.
No one laughed near them.
They were being watched.
Evaluated.
Measured.
"The King of Argenfall welcomes the Heroes of Summoning," a herald announced.
Trumpets sounded.
The doors at the far end opened.
The king entered.
Gold-threaded robes, a crown etched with elemental symbols. His posture was relaxed, confident—the posture of a man who had never once doubted the world belonged to him.
Applause filled the hall.
The heroes did not join.
"You have done well," the king said, his voice smooth and practiced. "Your first mission was completed successfully. Our eastern routes are safe once more."
Safe.
Haruto clenched his jaw.
No mention of the den.
No mention of what followed.
"You represent hope," the king continued. "Proof that the gods have not abandoned us."
Murmurs of approval rippled through the nobles.
One laughed softly.
Hope was cheap when it wasn't yours.
As servants poured wine, whispers followed.
"They're smaller than I imagined."
"Are these really the chosen ones?"
"They look… common."
Yui stiffened.
Hana lowered her gaze.
Shun pretended not to hear.
A nobleman approached, swirling his drink.
"You fight well—for children summoned from another world," he said lightly. "Though I imagine proper knights could have handled such beasts faster."
Haruto met his eyes.
Didn't respond.
That restraint cost him more than any battle.
"This doesn't feel like a celebration," Akira muttered.
"To support your continued growth," the king announced, raising his hand, "the kingdom has approved the allocation of high-grade weapons, armor, and materials for your exclusive use."
A ripple spread through the hall.
Surprise.
Jealousy.
Outright displeasure.
"These items will be prepared and distributed tomorrow," the king added smoothly. "They require refinement to match your elemental affinities."
Not a gift.
A process.
An investment.
Haruto exchanged glances with Yui.
They understood.
"There is one more matter," the king said.
The music faded.
"For five months, the Kingdom of Argenfall has submitted requests to a neighboring people. Requests that were… repeatedly denied."
A subtle shift passed through the nobles.
"Today," the king said, "those requests have been accepted."
A side door opened.
The heroes noticed the silence first.
Not the respectful kind—but the uncertain kind.
Figures entered the hall.
They were shorter than humans, their bodies lean and fluid in motion. Their skin carried a deep purple hue, unlike any race the heroes had seen before. Most striking were their eyes—four of them, arranged in pairs, each reflecting light differently.
Hana inhaled sharply.
"They're… sapient," she whispered.
One among them stood out.
At the center walked a white Mirelen.
Their skin was pale—almost luminous—contrasting sharply against the surrounding purple. Mana rippled faintly around them, gentle and steady, like a quiet heartbeat.
The purple Mirelens surrounded the white one protectively, forming a loose barrier without touching.
Instinctive.
Deliberate.
"These are the Mirelens," the king announced. "An ancient race dwelling beyond the marsh boundaries."
He gestured toward the white Mirelen.
"This individual belongs to a rare white variation—a lineage capable of wielding healing magic."
A stir spread across the hall.
No one spoke.
"Their presence here is not an alliance," the king continued. "Nor a contract of servitude."
The heroes listened closely.
"They have agreed to escort and support the summoned heroes—under strict terms."
The white Mirelen stepped forward and bowed, one hand pressed to their chest.
"I am Ilyrien," they said softly. Their voice carried a strange resonance, calm and clear. "I will provide healing when required. Nothing more."
No pledge.
No loyalty oath.
Just boundaries.
Shun leaned closer to Emi.
"They look nothing like dwarfs… or us."
Emi nodded, eyes fixed on the purple Mirelens.
"And they're protecting the healer, not commanding them."
Kenta frowned. "That's… different."
For the first time since arriving in this world, the heroes felt something stir that wasn't fear or exhaustion.
Curiosity.
As the music returned, nobles approached again.
Some asked carefully worded questions about the Mirelens.
Others pretended not to notice them at all.
One noble scoffed quietly.
"A healer escorted like a treasure chest."
Another replied, "That alone tells you their value."
A third voice—older, sharper—cut through.
"Heroes," the man said calmly, addressing Haruto's group, "do not misunderstand this generosity."
They turned.
"The kingdom invests where returns are expected," he continued. "You are assets. Valuable ones—but assets nonetheless."
He glanced toward the Mirelens.
"And so are they."
Then he smiled and walked away.
The nobles approached.
One by one.
A woman draped in silver spoke sweetly to Hana.
A man with a merchant's gaze questioned Kenta about battlefield efficiency.
Another praised Yui's precision—then asked if she planned to specialize or remain "flexible for command needs."
None asked how they felt.
One noble—older, sharp-eyed—didn't bother pretending.
"You should understand something," he said quietly to Haruto, wine glass in hand. "Heroes are not saviors."
Haruto met his gaze.
"They are tools," the noble continued. "Sharpened, directed, and—if necessary—discarded."
A pause.
"Accept that, and you will live longer."
Then he smiled and walked away.
As the night wore on, the heroes grew quieter.
They smiled when required.
Nodded when spoken to.
Answered questions carefully.
Saelreth stood slightly apart, observing silently.
When the feast finally ended, the heroes left together.
No laughter.
No excitement.
Only the echo of clinking glasses behind them.
When the feast finally drew to a close, the heroes exited together.
Ilyrien and the purple Mirelens remained behind, watched by guards—not restrained, but not free.
Outside, the night air felt colder than before.
"They celebrate fast," Naoki said quietly.
"And forget faster," Yui replied.
Haruto looked back at the palace, then at the quiet white figure still visible through the doors.
This world didn't welcome saviors.
It negotiated with resources.
And for the first time, the heroes understood—
Healing, mercy, even compassion—
They were all bargained commodities here.