"You see, Norn, don't I look like a Savior Hero from the legends?"
Erik held a staff in one hand and a longsword in the other. He wore light armor, yet had somehow thrown a cape over his back, making his entire outfit absurdly over-the-top.
"You don't look like a Savior Hero to me. More like a clown," Rhode interjected, barely suppressing his laughter.
"Uh, what's that?"
Neither Erik nor Norn understood what Rhode meant by "clown."
"A special profession where someone wears a ridiculous mask, willingly makes a fool of themselves, and steals laughter from those watching."
"Uh, I definitely don't want to become that kind of person."
There were many ways to bring smiles to others. Erik had long since made up his mind—if he was going to become something, it would be a great hero who could protect everyone and make everyone smile happily.
The thought of relying on his own embarrassment to make others laugh at him made him feel uncomfortable all over.
"Sacrificing yourself to bring joy to others? That is worthy of respect."
Norn nodded inwardly.
What expression a clown wore beneath that ridiculous mask was of no concern to the audience. They only cared about how funny the clown's next act would be.
From a certain perspective, perhaps such a person was more like a hero.
Their answers differed, perhaps reflecting the difference in their personalities.
By now, their group had already left that Dwarf city and set off on their journey once more.
Before they left, old Dwarf Durol had upgraded everyone's equipment.
Som changed into a brand-new set of Mithril Armor, which offered excellent resistance against both magical attacks and physical blows. Even his battle axe had been reinforced and upgraded.
Erik and Norn selected finely crafted longswords from Durol's workshop.