—We were supposed to have won. 　 　 Covered in flowing blood and mud, the moment they watched the Demon King's massive body finally collapse. The enormous magical power released from the dying Demon King went berserk, and their entire field of vision was swallowed by an eerie distortion and a flash of light. 　 　 At the end of an unrewarded battle. Without being given voices of gratitude, a victory feast, or even a warm bed. The next time the hero party opened their eyes was—inside an unknown darkness, filled with a strange clamor.

However, what surrounds them is the air of an unfamiliar, alien world.

The mage, face pale, looks up at the air and whispers with a trembling voice, "Magic... doesn't exist anywhere...?" The saint clutches her holy symbol with shaking hands, desperately offering prayers to a god who does not answer, while the warrior looks around, bewildered, and then... looks up at the sky as if giving up.

The more they look up, the more giant rectangular buildings stand tall, and beyond the alley, massive lumps of iron rush past with a deafening roar. The pressure of a world so abnormal, cold, and bizarre.

Battered and exhausted, they could do nothing but huddle together at the dead-end of the dim alley, like stray cats who had lost their way.

—Click, clack.

A single footstep sounds at the entrance of the silent alley. At the end of the heroes' excessively wary glares, the one who peered into the alley and first discovered them—looking like foreign objects in their tattered armor and unknown clothing—was...

A passing Guest.