The World After Leaving the Hero’s Party

“Ah… Hyun Woo…”

The guilt I felt toward him, and the regret for my past actions, only grew stronger with each passing moment.

But like spilled water, there was no undoing what had already happened. Even as the Hero who defeated the Demon King, I couldn’t turn back time.

There was only one thing I could do.

Bear this pain and gradually approach him, even if only a little.

Rebuild even a business-like connection, as he’d suggested.

That was the only way to reach him again and restore any semblance of a relationship.

Because there was no way to turn back the clock.

Claire let out a heavy sigh and stood.

She couldn’t just sit here any longer.

If she wanted to help the Sage—

If she wanted to become someone he could rely on—

She had to act.

No matter how hard it would be.

***

In the western part of the continent, deep in the endless mountain range, stood the towering Ironclad Mountain.

Rich beyond measure in ores and minerals, more so than any other mine on the continent, it was a natural treasure trove. Since ancient times, it had been known as the heart of the dwarves.

In Dwarven City, a settlement based on this setting, the bustling central market was filled with countless dwarf-run shops.

The moment I arrived, I was greeted by a sea of stout figures with thick beards.

“Oi? Ain’t that the Sage? Been a while! What brings you here?”

“Well, well~ Long time no see!”

Back when I was learning smithing techniques, I had frequently teleported here, and these dwarves were people I’d come to know during that time.

Smiling at the familiar faces, I got straight to the point.

“I need some mithril. Can you spare any?”

“…Did you put any on reserve?”

The dwarves gave me incredulous looks as I grinned and held out my hand.

It was no small thing to ask for mithril, one of the rarest ores even within the game. But considering all the unpaid work and quests I’d done for Dwarven City, they refrained from cursing me out, though their faces twisted as if they’d just bitten into something sour.

“Come on, we’re old friends! You’ve got some mithril stashed away, don’t you?”

“Got some, sure. But why?”

The speaker was Marax, not only a shopkeeper but the mayor of Dwarven City and its finest blacksmith. He frowned at me, looking reluctant.

It was understandable. Even the dwarves couldn’t acquire mithril easily.

I explained the situation, and after listening for a while, the dwarves responded with a collective scoff.

“So what you’re sayin’ is, you want us to hand over mithril to save some pointy-eared elves?”

“It’s not just for the elves—it’s for the continent as a whole. Surely you wouldn’t ignore a crisis like this, right, Marax?”

As Marax seemed to mull over my words, I put my arm around his shoulders and activated the Persuasion skill.

“Think about it, Marax. Sure, elves are infuriating and make you want to smack them, but what happens if we let this go?”

“If the plague spreads beyond the Elves Forest to the continent… chaos would follow.”

“And when that chaos comes, people will point fingers at the dwarves for letting it happen. What do you think would happen to the dwarves’ reputation and honor?”

Dwarves have a racial quirk—they are obsessively attached to their honor. They value virtuous actions, abide strictly by contracts, and experience tremendous stress when their honor is tarnished.

This makes them a difficult choice for party members in the game, as their rigid principles often limit players’ options.

But as NPCs, they’re highly reliable. As long as you appeal to “honor” and “virtue,” they’ll usually agree to help.

“Ugh… Sage, I know you’re human, but you’ve never been one to pull tricks over something like this.”

It was moments like these that made maintaining a good relationship with the dwarves worthwhile.

As Marax muttered, the other dwarves nodded in agreement.

Good. Looks like I’ll be getting the mithril for free.

“Still… couldn’t we wait until a few elves have died before giving up the mithril?”

“If you’re going to give it anyway, don’t drag your feet. I’ll make sure to tell the elves that the dwarves were magnanimous enough to hand over mithril to address the plague—out of humanitarian concern, no less!”

“Hmm.”

“Even those arrogant, insufferable elves would have to bow their heads to the dwarves. If you want, I can personally deliver the message to their chieftains.”

“And what would you tell them?”

“After the plague is resolved, I’ll suggest sending a delegation to express their gratitude to the dwarves. Imagine it—a pompous elf, renowned for their pride, bowing before the dwarves. Could there be anything more honorable? And this isn’t the result of war, but of virtuous actions!”

“Hrrm… That would be somethin’, wouldn’t it? But d’ya think they’ll listen?”

“Marax. Don’t you trust me? I’m the Sage. I’ll take care of it. Just trust me on this one.”

“Ugh… Well, elves are unreliable, but you, Sage, are a different story.”

“Exactly! So…”

I extended my hand expectantly.

“Hand it over.”

Marax stared at me for a moment before scratching the back of his head.

“Every time we talk, I feel like I’m being dragged into somethin’. Same thing happened last time…”

He was definitely going to give it to me, but he just had to play coy first.