Britain, Aylesbury.
Though it stood on home soil, as a small village tucked away in a corner of the countryside, it had shared in none of the nation's glory or prosperity as the age advanced.
Country paths crisscrossed like the weeds found everywhere along the roadside, wholly unsuitable for vehicles, and rows upon rows of closely packed houses made one wonder whether one had returned to the Middle Ages.
Perhaps its only distinctive feature was the tavern on the village's western side-a ground floor as noisy as an adventurers' gathering place in a story, and an upper floor full of beautiful women that patrons could visit at any time.
This kind of building and business, long vanished from the big cities, was precisely what occasionally drew nostalgic tourists to Aylesbury, providing the livelihood that kept the village from disappearing altogether.
Even so, as modernization progressed, a small village with no value beyond sentiment would sooner or later lose its population, gradually vanish from reality, and become an inconspicuous footnote in a book.
Ten years ago, outsiders and local residents alike had understood that.
Yes, that was how it should have been-
"It looks completely different... It's only been ten years, hasn't it? And now it's an industrial district with a full range of facilities. Humanity's growth and accumulated achievements really are enviable."
A middle-aged man in magnificent aristocratic formalwear, his manner elegant to the point of perfection, sighed.
He walked alone through the discordant scenery interspersed with reinforced-concrete factories, his sturdy leather shoes clicking across the stone-paved square.
Despite his impeccable bearing, he could not conceal the arrogance and coldness on his face as he proceeded calmly, like a noble inspecting his domain.
Darkness had already filled the sky, and beneath the faint moonlight, that pure-white figure looked like a