Morning came late.
Not because the sun hesitated, but because none of them were ready to move when it finally filtered through the canopy. The forest felt different after the battle—less hostile, yet more watchful, as if it had marked them and decided to remember.
Kenta was the first to sit up, groaning softly. "I hate this part," he muttered. "When your body feels fine, but your head knows it shouldn't."
Takumi flexed his repaired arm, disbelief plain on his face. "I felt the bone grind. I felt it. And now…" He clenched his fist. "Nothing."
All eyes drifted to Ilyrien.
She sat against a tree, posture composed but her color slightly dulled, the faint glow along her tail's oil gland subdued. The scales protecting her lathos—the gill-like breathing organ on her neck—caught the light as she breathed slowly, deliberately.
"Don't look at me like that," she said calmly. "I am not fragile."
"You nearly collapsed," Emi said, worry sharp in her voice.
"I used healing magic on seven injured bodies," Ilyrien replied. "That is not 'nearly.' That is expected."
Haruto frowned. "And if it had gone on longer?"
"Then I would have stopped," she said simply. "White Mirelen healers are not martyrs."
That answer unsettled them more than if she'd said otherwise.
They buried what remained of the Stonehide Boar under stone and earth—not out of respect, but caution. Leaving such a carcass exposed would attract predators they weren't ready to face.
The walk back was slower.
Not because of injuries, but because everyone had changed their pace without realizing it. Steps were more careful. Glances lingered longer on shadows. Even conversations came in shorter bursts, as if words themselves needed to be rationed.
Halfway down the trail, Shun finally spoke. "Back there… when it charged me, I froze."
No one laughed.
"I didn't think," he continued. "Didn't calculate. I just… stopped. If Takumi hadn't—"
"You're alive," Takumi cut in. "That's what matters."
"But not because I was strong," Shun said quietly. "Because someone else was."
That hung in the air.
Haruto walked at the front, jaw set. He hadn't said much since the fight. When he finally turned, his eyes were sharp—not panicked, not proud, but searching.
"We're not heroes yet," he said. "We're survivors who keep getting lucky."
Riku nodded slowly. "Luck runs out."
Yui glanced at the road ahead. "Then we'd better learn what replaces it."
They reached the outskirts of the city by evening.
Word traveled fast.
Guards stared at the bloodstained armor. Merchants whispered. Adventurers measured them with new eyes—some respectful, some calculating.
At the guild hall, the clerk froze mid-sentence when she saw them.
"You're… alive?"
Haruto set the Stonehide Boar's core on the counter. It made a heavy, final sound.
"We completed the mission."
The clerk swallowed. "I'll… inform the guildmaster."
While they waited, Ilyrien remained standing, refusing a chair despite clear exhaustion. Several people stared openly at her—four eyes, purple skin, the pale scales at her neck marking her as something rare.
A healer.
A White Mirelen.
Whispers spread like sparks.
One adventurer murmured, "They have one already?"
Another muttered, "That's unfair."
Ilyrien did not react. But Mio noticed her lower eyes narrow slightly—the nocturnal pair adjusting even in the dim hall.
The guildmaster arrived at last, expression carefully neutral.
"H-rank confirmed," he said after inspection. "Casualties?"
"No deaths," Haruto answered.
That earned a pause.
"Impressive," the guildmaster said. "And concerning."
He slid the reward across the counter. "Rest. Train. And don't let this success make you reckless."
As they turned to leave, he added, quieter, "The world is not kind to those who advance too fast."
Night fell over the city, but sleep did not come easily.
In the quiet of the inn, Hana stared at the ceiling, replaying the sound of breaking stonehide. Naoki sat by the window, watching torches flicker along the streets below.
Haruto lay awake, fists clenched.
He kept seeing the boar's charge.
Kept wondering how many steps ahead the world already was.
And somewhere far beyond the city, beyond forests and continents, unseen systems shifted—unmoved by their struggle, yet subtly altered by the fact that, this time, twelve lives had not been reduced to eleven.
For now.
The tale of heroes continued.
But the weight of survival had finally begun to press back.