Mushoku Tensei: Swordsage Path -The Noble's Great Breasts

The road to the Toba Hills was a lesson in hostile geology. The fertile green land surrounding Creston had died a few miles from the walls, giving way to a cracked and thirsty terrain. The landscape had become austere, dotted with ochre and reddish rocks that seemed to bleed under the relentless sun. The air was drier, the wind blowing with a sharp whistle that carried dust and the promise of a silent danger.

"This place is depressing," Hilda said, adjusting the hood of her travel cloak to shield herself from the sun. She was sitting next to Paul in the cart they had rented, a two-wheeled vehicle pulled by a mule that seemed to share the landscape's foul mood.

"Monsters like depressing places," Paul replied, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "Fewer people to bother them. Less competition for food. It's a paradise for a grumpy hermit."

Hilda studied the map the Guild had provided, a piece of parchment already stained with the sweat from her hands.

"According to this, the entrance to the canyon labyrinth is just past that peak shaped like a broken tooth. The map says it's the Cockatrice's preferred nesting area."

"Perfect. We'll make a little noise when we arrive. Nothing attracts a territorial beast more than a couple of loud, seemingly incompetent adventurers. It's the best camouflage in the world. Act like an idiot so the enemy underestimates the threat."

"You've been perfecting that technique your whole life, haven't you?"

Paul gave her a crooked, arrogant smile.

"And it's worked wonders for me. People see my pretty face and my drifter's haircut and think I'm just some lucky thug. By the time they realize I'm actually a tactical genius with irresistible charm, it's already too late."

Hilda rolled her eyes, but a smile touched her lips. The journey, despite the mission's tension, had settled into a comfortable routine. The mornings began with Paul's jokes, followed by strategic discussions and long silences where they simply enjoyed each other's company. They weren't just a team anymore; they were a symbiosis.

"And what if the shield plan doesn't work?" she asked, her voice losing its joking tone. "The bestiary said its fascination with its reflection is a possibility, not a guarantee."

"Plan A is always the most elegant. Plan B is the one that works," Paul said, his expression turning serious. "Plan A is I distract it with the shield while you turn it into a garden statue stuck in the mud. Plan B is, if it looks me in the eyes, you take its head off with a rock spear before I become a very well-preserved museum piece."

"That's not funny, Paul."

"I'm not kidding. If it gets me, don't hesitate. Don't try to save me. Finish it. That's an order. The mission is more important than me. And you are more important than the mission. If I go down, you have to get out of here alive. Understood?"

The hardness in his voice took her breath away. She nodded silently, the weight of that trust and responsibility settling on her shoulders.

That's when they heard it.

First, it was a cry of frustration, a guttural, furious roar that didn't belong to any beast they knew. It echoed off the rock walls of the canyon that was beginning to form around them.

Paul stopped the mule instantly, his entire body tensing like a bowstring. His hand, by pure instinct, was already resting on the hilt of his sword.

"Trouble," he whispered.

"Humans?" Hilda asked, straining to hear.

"Worse. Adventurers."

They dismounted the cart stealthily, moving like shadows among the rocks. They advanced about fifty yards to a bend in the path. The scene they found was a small, pathetic drama in full swing.

A woman stood in the middle of the path, her back to them. She was tall, with a slender yet incredibly muscular frame. Her skin was a deep brown, and her long, messy gray hair fell down her back. Two beast-like ears, like a tiger's, twitched atop her head, and a long tail with the same fur pattern lashed furiously in the air, its tip adorned with a distinctive golden ring. She wore a leather outfit that exposed her toned abdomen and much of her chest, which was barely covered by two bands of red cloth. A lethal-looking katana rested on her left hip.

Across from her, two men in cheap, dented armor were laughing their heads off. They were the kind of low-rank adventurers found in every frontier town: thugs with more arrogance than skill.

"We already told you, kitty!" said one of them, a skinny man with a rotten-toothed grin. "The mission is simple. You go in there, kill the giant chicken, and bring us the head. The Guild pays us, and we give you your cut."

"The map is wrong!" the beast woman roared, her voice like contained thunder. She turned to face them, and Paul and Hilda could see her face. She had sharp features and an expression so fierce it could have intimidated a battalion. A black patch covered her right eye, giving her the air of a pirate or a gang leader.

"The map leads nowhere! And the contract… the contract doesn't say what you claim!"

The second adventurer, a burly man with a greasy beard, let out another laugh.

"And how would you know, huh? Can you even read, beast? We did you a favor by reading it to you. You should be thanking us. Now stop wasting time and go hunt that thing."

The woman's tail bristled. Her muscles tensed, and her hand moved to the hilt of her katana.

"I can't read," she growled, the admission like spitting poison. "But I'm not stupid! You're cheating me!"

Paul visibly relaxed. A smile of recognition, mixed with a hint of amusement and nostalgia, spread across his face.

"No way…" he muttered, more to himself than to Hilda. "Ghislaine… Still a magnet for trouble."

Hilda looked at him, confused and alert.

"You know her?"

"We met years ago. On a mission to hunt goblins in the southern swamps. She was a rookie, same as me, but even then she was a monster with a sword. Proud as a queen and easier to fool than a child. Can't read a single letter."

Before Hilda could process this, Paul stepped out from behind the rocks, walking toward the group with an insulting calm.

"Well, well. Bothering a helpless lady?" Paul said, his voice echoing in the canyon. His smile was lazy, but his eyes were as sharp as blades. "How unoriginal, boys. You could at least find a more creative hobby."

The two adventurers spun around, surprised. They saw Paul, sized up his light armor and his sword, and their surprise turned to disdain.

"Get lost, pretty boy," the skinny one said. "This isn't your business."

Ghislaine turned at the sound of the new voice. Her one visible eye went wide as she recognized Paul. A mix of surprise, shame, and relief crossed her face.

"Paul?"

"The one and only," he replied, never taking his eyes off the two thugs. "I see you're still collecting friends of the highest quality, Ghislaine."

"They're not my friends," she snarled.

"Hey, we're talking to you!" the burly one said, taking a step forward.

Paul sighed, a sound of pure boredom.

"Look, I'm in a hurry. My lovely partner and I are in the middle of what we like to call our honeymoon, and you're ruining the mood. So I'll give you two options. Option one: you disappear. You run and don't look back. Option two: I give you a free lesson on the difference between a real adventurer and a couple of parasites in armor. The lesson includes broken bones and a public humiliation your grandchildren will remember. Your choice."

The burly man roared and charged at Paul, raising his rusty axe.

Paul didn't move. He waited. Just as the axe was about to fall, he slid aside with a fluidity that seemed to defy physics, a move from the Water God Style. The axe slammed into the ground where he had been a second before. With a swift, precise motion, Paul struck the man on the back of the neck with the pommel of his sword. The burly man collapsed into the dust like a sack of potatoes, unconscious.

The skinny man froze, his mouth agape, his eyes wide with terror. He looked at his fallen partner, then at Paul, who was now watching him with a predatory grin.

"Need me to repeat the options?"

The man let out a panicked shriek, dropped his sword, and took off running, tripping over his own feet in his desperation to escape.

Silence fell over the canyon again, broken only by the whistling wind.

Paul dusted off his hands and turned to Ghislaine.

"Well. That was nostalgic. What were you supposed to be doing, getting into a C+ rank mission with a couple of idiots who probably couldn't handle a drunk boar?"

Ghislaine sheathed her katana, but the tension didn't leave her shoulders. The humiliation of being found in that situation was palpable.

"They told me the reward was good. That it was a job to exterminate rock lizards. Easy."

Hilda approached, keeping a cautious distance. She observed the beast woman with a mix of curiosity and wariness. She saw the countless scars that covered her skin, testaments to real battles. She saw the contained strength in her muscles and the fierceness in her one visible eye. This woman was dangerous. And yet, there was something vulnerable in her posture.

"They tricked you, Ghislaine," Paul said, his tone softening slightly. "There are no rock lizards in these hills. A Cockatrice lives here."

The beast woman clenched her fists.

"I knew it. I knew they were lying. The contract… they read it to me, but it didn't sound right."

Hilda stepped forward.

"Do you have the contract?" she asked, her voice calm and firm.

Ghislaine eyed her with distrust.

"And who are you?"

"She's my partner," Paul said. "And she's smarter than both of us put together. If anyone can tell you what garbage you signed, it's her. Her name is Hilda."

Ghislaine hesitated for a moment, then pulled a crumpled piece of parchment from a pouch on her belt and handed it to Hilda.

Hilda took it and smoothed it out. Her eyes scanned the text quickly. Her expression shifted from curiosity to disbelief, and then to a cold anger.

"This isn't a Guild mission contract, Paul," she said, her voice sharp. "It's a disgrace."

"What does it say?" Ghislaine asked, her voice a low growl.

"It says…" Hilda took a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. "It's a waiver of liability. It states that you, Ghislaine Dedoldia, voluntarily agree to enter the territory of the Toba Hills Cockatrice as 'bait' for an anonymous noble's hunting party. You waive any claim to a reward and absolve the 'contractor' of any responsibility in the event of death or petrification. Basically, they sold you as disposable cannon fodder."

The silence that followed was heavier than any rock in the canyon.

Ghislaine's tail stopped dead. Her ears flattened against her head. A tremor ran through her body, a vibration of pure, absolute fury.

"Those… bastards…" she hissed. She turned, as if to chase after the man who had fled, but Paul put a hand on her shoulder.

"It's too late. He's gone. And his friend won't wake up until tomorrow."

Ghislaine shook off his touch with a sharp movement. She stepped away, her back to them, her shoulders trembling.

"It's always the same," she said, her voice broken with rage and a deep, bitter frustration. "Because I can't read. Because I don't know numbers. Everyone thinks they can fool me. They see me as a stupid beast with a sword."

Paul and Hilda exchanged a look. In that moment, Hilda didn't see a fearsome warrior, but someone trapped, just as she had been, but in a different kind of cage. A cage made of forced ignorance.

"You're not stupid, Ghislaine," Paul said, his voice surprisingly gentle. "You're one of the best swordswomen I've ever seen. You're a Sword Saint, or one step away from being one. But this world isn't just for the strong. It's for the smart, too. And sometimes, brute force isn't enough."

Ghislaine didn't answer. She stood there, a statue of fury and shame.

Hilda walked over to her, extending the parchment.

"We're here for the Cockatrice, too," she said.

Ghislaine turned slowly.

"Why?"

"We need something from its nest," Paul explained. "A Heart of the Mountain. It's to pay for a magic book for her."

Ghislaine's gaze shifted from Paul to Hilda. She saw the determination on the redhead's face and the confidence in Paul's stance.

"My partner and I had a plan," Hilda continued, her voice gaining confidence. "He'll distract it with a polished shield. Its weakness is its vanity. While it's captivated by its reflection, I'll use my magic to control the terrain. I'll immobilize it, take away its speed, leave it vulnerable."

Ghislaine listened, her warrior's mind analyzing the tactic. It was a good plan. A smart plan.

"But we're missing something," Hilda added. "We're missing a finishing blow. An attack so fast and lethal it can end the beast in the window of opportunity we create. We need a Sword Saint."

Ghislaine stared at her. She understood the implied offer.

"Why should I help you? You found me at my lowest."

"Because we didn't laugh," Paul said, stepping forward. "Because we know what you're worth. And because those bastards who tricked you will get away with it if you leave. But if you kill the Cockatrice and return to Creston with its head, you'll become a legend. No one will dare call you stupid ever again."

"And because we'll pay you," Hilda added, with a cool, practical logic that surprised Paul. "The Guild's reward for its head is six Asuran gold coins. Two for each of us. A fair and equitable deal. I'll write it up in a contract for you if you want. And I'll read it out loud to you as many times as you need."

The offer left her speechless. It wasn't charity. It wasn't pity. It was a business deal. An alliance between professionals.

Ghislaine looked at Hilda, the woman who could read and understand the world in a way she never could. Then she looked at Paul, the arrogant swordsman who, despite everything, treated her as an equal.

A slow nod was her only answer.

"Fine," she said, her voice hoarse. "We have a deal. But I deliver the final blow."

"Wouldn't have it any other way," Paul replied with a smile.

The team's dynamic had changed. They were no longer The Rose and the Sword. Now, they were three. A strategist, a combat mage, and a force of nature with a katana.

"Alright then," Paul said, rubbing his hands together. "Before we go dance with the chicken-snake, I think we should take out the trash."

He pointed to the unconscious adventurer still lying on the ground. Ghislaine walked over to him, lifted him by the collar of his armor as if he weighed nothing, and with a terrifying coldness, took his coin purse, his dagger, and his boots.

"For the trouble," she growled, before dropping him back into the dust.

Hilda watched the scene, and a strange sense of camaraderie blossomed in her chest. This world was wild, brutal, and often unfair. But for the first time, she felt she had the tools, and the allies, to fight back.

"Let's go," Ghislaine said, looking toward the mouth of the canyon. "The sooner we finish this, the sooner I can get to Creston and rub this thing's head in the faces of a few idiots."

Paul laughed, a genuine sound full of anticipation.

"I like your style, Ghislaine. I definitely like your style."

Together, the three of them advanced into the heart of the Cockatrice's territory, an unlikely alliance forged in deceit, humiliation, and the promise of a shared victory. The game had just gotten much more interesting. And much more lethal.

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