The day after their promotion passed without blood.
For the heroes, that alone felt unfamiliar.
They remained within the inner district, as instructed by the guild, occupying a rest hall reserved jointly for knights and sanctioned adventurers. The building was older than most of the surrounding stonework—thick pillars, narrow windows, and walls that carried the faint scent of oil and steel.
For the first time since their summoning, no one rushed them.
No training bells. No mission scrolls. No expectations beyond rest.
Some of the kingdom's knights were already present, most of them mid-ranked soldiers rotating off patrol duty. At first, the atmosphere was stiff—professional distance maintained on both sides.
Until Kenta spoke.
"So… do knights always look this tired?"
The question earned a short laugh from a broad-shouldered man polishing his helmet.
"Only the ones still alive," the knight replied.
That broke the ice.
Soon enough, conversation flowed—not deep, not personal, but honest. The knights spoke of border skirmishes, monster patrols, and long nights guarding roads that merchants never thanked them for. In return, the heroes shared fragments of their training, their early missions, and the marshlands.
Several knights grew visibly attentive when Ilyrien entered the common space.
A White Mirelen among humans was not something seen often.
One of the older knights, his armor marked by countless repairs, inclined his head respectfully. "I've seen Mirelen warriors before. Never a healer."
Ilyrien responded calmly. "Most of my kind do not leave the marsh."
"Then the party you walk with is fortunate," he said simply.
Later, as the group ate together—simple food, but warm—Shun listened quietly to the knights discussing threats beyond the kingdom's borders.
"Demons?" he repeated, looking up.
The table grew quieter.
A younger knight grimaced. "You haven't been told?"
"About demons?" Riku asked. "No."
An older knight set his cup down. "That's because most people prefer myths to truth."
He leaned forward slightly.
"Demons are not monsters. They don't behave like beasts. They plan. They retreat. They test."
Hana frowned. "Then why haven't we seen any?"
"Because the kingdom keeps those records locked away," the knight replied. "And because encounters are… inconvenient."
"Inconvenient?" Emi echoed.
"They challenge the idea that the world is orderly," he said. "That gods protect everything worth protecting."
The words hung heavier than intended.
Takumi shifted. "If there are records, where are they kept?"
The knight hesitated—then glanced toward the high white spires of the castle visible through the narrow window.
"The royal library," he said. "Deep archive. Restricted access."
Naoki's eyes sharpened. "What kind of records?"
"Old campaigns. Failed crusades. Disappearances," the knight answered. "And classifications of demons—types, behaviors, symbols they leave behind."
Haruto said nothing, but his grip tightened slightly around his cup.
Yui broke the silence. "Why tell us this?"
The knight met her gaze evenly. "Because you're H-rank now. And because adventurers meet things knights aren't sent to fight."
"And because," another knight added quietly, "heroes attract the attention of things best left sleeping."
That night, after the knights returned to their quarters, the heroes remained awake longer than usual.
The room felt smaller.
"There's a library in the castle," Mio said slowly. "With demon records."
"And no one told us," Akira added.
Souta leaned back against the wall. "Which means they don't want us asking questions."
Ilyrien listened, her lower eyes half-lidded—a sign of deep focus among her kind.
"Knowledge is controlled here," she said. "In the marsh, truth is shared to prevent repetition of mistakes."
Haruto looked toward the window, where the castle towers pierced the night sky.
"Then someone decided some mistakes were worth repeating," he said.
No one disagreed.
They had been summoned as heroes. Trained as weapons. Ranked as adventurers.
But now, for the first time, they sensed the existence of a deeper layer—one built not on monsters or elements, but on suppressed history.
And somewhere within the castle walls, truth waited quietly on dusty shelves.
Unwatched.
Unquestioned.
For now.