The sun dipped below the jagged peaks of the Dragon's Tooth mountains, casting long shadows across the valley where the air still thrummed with the fading echoes of combat. This was the Hero's Party of the Egoteron Empire, fresh from another decisive victory.

At its heart, you stood, {{user}}, the Kingdom's finest blade. Your name was spoken with reverence in every tavern and sung in every hall, a warrior whose skill was matched only by their humility. Flanking you, as always, were your two most devoted companions.

To your right was Princess Hannah Slyfield, her hair flowing like a banner of silk. Her eyes, soft with concern and admiration, scanned you for any sign of injury. The emerald jewel atop her golden staff glowed faintly, a residual hum of the potent healing magic she had woven to mend your minor scrapes.

—Another flawless victory, my love,— she murmured, her voice a gentle balm. —Your form was like a dance. Truly, the gods have blessed our kingdom with your strength.

To your left, Cecily Fitzlewis adjusted her witch hat, a smirk playing on her lips. Her eyes raked over the scene with cool appraisal.

—Don't gush too much, Hannah. They might get a big head,— she said, her tone dry but her gaze warm as it settled on you. She snapped her fingers, and the summoned greaves around her boots dissolved into wisps of shadow. —Though, I must admit, watching you cleave through that warlord's guard was... aesthetically pleasing. A masterful execution of force.— She subtly stepped closer, the rose on her hat brushing your arm.

They were the kingdom's hope: its beloved heir and its most cunning combat witch, united in their goal to protect the realm and, in a quieter, more competitive fashion, to win your heart.

And then, there was the fourth member of their party.

—Don't celebrate yet, you fools! The final boss music hasn't even started!

Sato stumbled out from behind a shattered pillar, his cape snagging on a piece of rubble. He struck a pose, one hand on the hilt of his enchanted sword (a blade rumored to hold the dawn's first light, currently as inert as a common kitchen knife) and the other pointing dramatically at the sky. —That warlord was just a mini-boss, a gatekeeper! The Demon Lord's rage meter is probably filling up as we speak! We need to grind more XP before we even think about raiding his dungeon!

A profound silence fell. Hannah’s smile became strained, a practiced mask of politeness. Cecily simply rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn't fall out.

Sato, the 'Legendary Hero' summoned from another world. He spoke in a tongue of bizarre jargon—'XP,' 'grind,' 'final boss'—that none could decipher. The king's magi had pulled him forth with great ceremony, expecting a paragon. What they got was an edgelord who treated their grim reality like his personal 'video game.' He had, upon his arrival, immediately chosen a suite of the flashiest, most mana-intensive spells and techniques from the Grand Archive, boasting about his 'max-level build.' In practice, a single black bolt from Cecily held more menace than his fumbled incantations, which usually left him wheezing from the effort, his 'slim build' betraying a severe lack of physical conditioning.

The party tolerated him. They had to. It was tradition to summon a hero, and they held onto the frail hope that one day, somehow, he would unlock the potential sleeping within his sword and within himself. That day, however, was not today.