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

The morning sun spilled over the Toba Hills with the generosity of a drunken king, painting the ochre rocks an intense gold and promising a heat that would become brutal by midday.

The makeshift camp was a small island of order in the midst of the victory's chaos. The armor, swords, and boots of Gideon's knights were piled in the cart like the hoard of a dragon with a particular obsession for hardware. The air smelled of coffee, of the dried meat sizzling in a pan over the fire, and of the peace that only follows a battle barely won.

Paul was snoring. It was a deep, guttural sound, that of a man who had pushed his body to its limit and now refused to acknowledge the existence of the outside world.

Hilda, however, was awake. Seated on a flat rock, her back perfectly straight, she watched Ghislaine. The beast-woman was not still. Her torso bare, covered only by two bands of red cloth, she moved in the center of the clearing. She wore a pair of makeshift leather pants she had taken from one of the defeated knights. This wasn't training; it was a violent meditation. Her katana, Hiramune, traced arcs in the air, so fast the eye could barely follow. It sliced the wind without making a sound, a feat of control that seemed superhuman to Hilda. Every muscle in Ghislaine's back and arms contracted and relaxed with a predatory fluidity. She was the personification of contained strength.

Hilda felt sticky. The sweat from battle, the dust from the canyon, the dried blood—even if it wasn't hers—all formed a second skin that made her feel dirty, uncomfortable.

"I need a bath."

The phrase was a whisper, but in the morning silence, it sounded like a declaration.

Ghislaine stopped mid-swing. The tip of her katana hung suspended a millimeter from the ground. She turned her head, her one visible eye fixing on Hilda with an intensity that still unnerved her.

"The stream," Ghislaine said, her voice a low growl. "The one we passed on the way here. The water is clean."

Hilda nodded, grateful. She stood up, stretching her sore muscles. The battle against the Cockatrice and the clash with the knights had left their mark. She felt as if she'd been beaten with sacks of rocks.

"I'll go with you."

Together, they walked toward the small stream. The sound of water running over stones was a melody of civilization in the middle of this savage land. The stream had formed a natural pool, not very deep, but wide enough, and the water was so clear you could count the pebbles at the bottom. It was surrounded by tall rocks that offered an illusion of privacy.

It was perfect.

Ghislaine didn't hesitate. With brutal, practical efficiency, she shed her makeshift attire, letting it fall onto a rock. Hilda looked away for a moment, a vestige of her former modesty. When she looked back, the beast-woman was already stepping into the water.

Her body was a map of past battles. Scars of all shapes and sizes crisscrossed her tanned skin: thin lines from sword cuts, jagged circles from the bites of beasts, faded burns. But they weren't imperfections. They were medals. Her body was strong, functional, every muscle defined not by vanity, but by the necessity of survival. Her large, firm breasts defied gravity, and her wide hips tapered to a narrow waist and a stomach of steel. The dark hair of her pubis was a wild touch that completed the image of a war goddess in her natural state.

Hilda felt a pang of envy. Not for the warrior's physique, but for her absolute lack of shame. For the way she inhabited her body like a fortress, not an ornament.

Inspired, Hilda also began to undress. Her movements were slower, more conscious, but there was no longer any hesitation. The woman who was ashamed to wear leather pants had died somewhere along the way.

Just as she was about to step into the water, a voice shattered the peace.

"Ah, the stream! An adventurer's best friend after a good fight! Nothing like washing off the stink of fear and victory."

Paul stood at the entrance to the pool, leaning casually against a rock, arms crossed and a grin so wide it looked like it might split his face in two. His gaze wasn't subtle. It was an open, brazen, and deeply appreciative assessment.

Hilda froze, one foot in the water. Blood rushed to her cheeks.

"Paul! What the hell do you think you're doing? Turn around, right now!"

He laughed, a genuine, amused sound that bounced off the rocks.

"And miss this view? Impossible. It's a work of art. Fury and Grace. The Predator and the Goddess. It's like a Renaissance painting, but with a higher chance of ending with a sword at my throat. I love it."

His eyes shifted from Ghislaine's scarred, sculpted body to Hilda's paler, curvier figure. He compared them, savored them, without a shred of shame.

"You're intimidating Ghislaine, you idiot," Hilda hissed, looking for any excuse to deflect his intense focus.

Paul arched an eyebrow.

"Intimidating? Her? Hilda, my love, that woman could kill a dragon with a dirty look. I highly doubt my humble appreciation is intimidating her. Are you intimidated, Ghislaine?"

Ghislaine, who had been submerged up to her shoulders, shrugged with an indifference that disarmed Hilda.

"No. He's annoying, but not intimidating," the warrior said, her voice a monotone growl. "Ignore him, Hilda. The pervert has always done this. The first time I saw him after a fight, he stared at me like I was a piece of meat at the market. I got used to it. If you don't pay attention to him, he gets bored and leaves."

Hilda was speechless. She looked at Paul, who was grinning as if he'd just been given the highest of compliments.

"See? We have an understanding. It's a veterans' code," he said. "Besides, watching my woman bathe is my favorite pastime. And now I have a stereoscopic view. It's a logistical upgrade."

"I am not your woman, and stop talking nonsense," Hilda retorted, though her voice lacked its usual force. She gave up. With a sigh of exasperation, she submerged herself completely in the cold water, letting the sensation cleanse not just her skin, but her embarrassment as well.

The water was a blessing. She sat on a submerged rock, across from Ghislaine, while Paul remained on the bank, their unwanted audience.

"So," Hilda said, trying to create a semblance of normalcy, "has he always been this insufferable?"

"Worse," Ghislaine answered without hesitation. "At least now he has a reason to stay put. Before, he'd disappear the moment he smelled a skirt or a jug of cheap ale. You're a good influence on him. You make him less of a… jerk."

"I'm not sure if I should be flattered or offended," Paul chimed in from the shore. "I think I'll go with flattered."

Hilda ignored him. The morning sun warmed her damp skin, and for the first time in days, she felt truly relaxed. Ghislaine's body, strong and functional. Her own, softer, but which she now knew was capable of making the earth tremble. And Paul, the architect of it all, watching them like a fox in a henhouse. This was their strange, dysfunctional unit. Their team.

It was then that Paul stopped smiling. His expression changed. The lechery was replaced by intense concentration. He narrowed his eyes, his head tilting slightly.

He remembered the lake. He remembered the first time he had seen Hilda like this, naked and vulnerable in the twilight. He remembered the feeling, the accidental discovery. The vision that had changed everything.

Could he do it again? On purpose?

He sat on the rock, crossing his legs, mimicking the posture of a meditating monk.

"Paul? What's wrong with you now? Tired of looking?" Hilda asked, noticing his change in attitude.

"Shhh. I'm... meditating on the beauty of the universe," he lied, closing his eyes.

He concentrated. He tried to recreate the sensation from that day. It wasn't an act of sight, but of perception. He had to empty his mind of everything else. And that was hard. Extremely hard. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts: the loot from the knights, the book they were going to get, Hilda's smile, the memory of her body under his the night before…

And, above all, Ghislaine's body.

Damn it. How was he supposed to concentrate with that woman just a few feet away? His mind, instead of emptying, filled with images of her muscles tensing, of the way the water slid down her tan skin, of her defiant breasts…

His head began to ache. A dull pain behind his eyes.

Focus, you idiot. Don't think about her breasts. Don't think about... well, any part of her. Think about the flow. The energy. Like with Hilda.

He forced the image of Hilda at the lake into his mind. He remembered the brown aura, the color of fertile earth after a rain. It was a calm, solid, stubborn energy. He saw it flow, swirl, intensify.

Now, Ghislaine.

He opened his eyes, but he wasn't just looking. He was searching. His gaze passed over the surface of the water, over her damp skin, looking for something beyond. For a moment, he saw nothing. Just two incredibly beautiful women bathing, an image that would make any god or demon pause to admire.

The distraction was monumental.

"Are you okay, Paul? Your face is turning red," Hilda said, a note of genuine concern in her voice.

"I'm... achieving enlightenment," he grunted through his teeth. The headache intensified. It felt like he was trying to flex a muscle he never knew he had.

And then, he saw it.

It was a flicker. An almost imperceptible flash. At first, he thought it was a reflection of the sun on the water. But it wasn't. It was a subtle glow, an aura emanating from Ghislaine's skin.

But it wasn't brown.

It was a vibrant orange. The color of incandescent embers, with streaks of deep red that seemed to pulse with a contained heat. It wasn't the solid, patient energy of the earth. It was a volatile, aggressive, dancing energy. It was fire.

Paul's breath caught in his throat. The vision was hypnotic. The aura clung to her, moving with a nervous quickness, flickering and flaring with the warrior's every small movement. It seemed brightest, most intense, around her hands and her right eye—the one covered by the patch.

He was so fascinated he forgot to be subtle. He stood up and walked to the water's edge, his eyes fixed on the vision only he could perceive.

"Paul, you're getting too close," Hilda warned, her tone growing sharper.

He didn't hear her. He crouched, reaching out a hand, as if he wanted to touch the fiery aura.

"I knew it…" he whispered, his voice filled with an almost religious awe.

Ghislaine felt the intensity of his gaze. It was different from his usual lechery. It was a stare that seemed to see right through her. She felt a strange pressure, a tingling in her covered eye. It was a familiar sensation, one she sometimes got in the heat of battle, but never in a moment of calm.

"What are you looking at, you idiot?" she growled, feeling exposed in a new and unnerving way.

Paul finally blinked, the vision of the aura receding, though not disappearing entirely. The thrill of discovery washed over him, a euphoria so potent it erased every other thought.

"Hilda!" he exclaimed, turning to her with a look of childish triumph. "Hilda, it's the same! I'm seeing the same thing I saw with you at the lake! When I discovered your affinity for earth!"

Hilda stared at him, confused. "What? What are you talking about?"

"Her aura! Ghislaine has an aura! It's not like yours, it's not brown! It's… it's orange and red! Like embers! Like the heart of a bonfire!" He leaped to his feet, the excitement making him gesture wildly. "It has to be fire magic! Of course it's fire! I knew it! It makes perfect sense, you've always been so… hot!"

SPLAT!

A fist-sized ball of mud, perfectly packed, shot out of the water and slammed into Paul's forehead with impeccable accuracy. It hit him with enough force to send him stumbling backward to land flat on his ass in the dry dirt.

"Ouch! Hey! What was that for?!"

Hilda stood in the water, her arm extended, her face flushed to the roots of her red hair, an expression of exasperated fury on her face.

"For being a hopeless pervert!" she shouted. "And for barking orders! Don't yell at Ghislaine like that, you're making her nervous!"

Paul rubbed his forehead, smearing the mud. He looked at Hilda, then at Ghislaine, who was watching them both with absolute confusion.

"Nervous? I'm the one who just discovered that our katana-wielding force of nature might also be a fire mage, and you're the one getting nervous!"

"Shut up!" Hilda shot back. The truth was, the word "hot" had been the last straw. A pang of something dangerously close to jealousy had shot through her, and she had reacted on instinct.

Ghislaine finally spoke, her voice a growl of pure bewilderment.

"Aura. Fire magic. Can someone explain what the hell you two are talking about?" She touched her eye patch. The strange pressure had intensified when Paul had focused on her. Her Demonic Eye, the secret that allowed her to see the flow of mana in her opponents, was vibrating with an energy she didn't understand. "Is it possible that this idiot, this arrogant pervert, can see something that I can't even understand myself?"

Paul scrambled to his feet, ignoring the mud on his face, his excitement too great to be contained by a mere projectile of muck.

"Ghislaine, you don't understand! You have power! Not just in your muscles, you have magic! An affinity for fire! You could learn to throw fireballs! To summon flames! You could set your enemies on fire before you cut them in two!"

He approached the water's edge again, his face lit by a passion that wasn't lust, but the pure excitement of a strategist who had just been handed a devastating new weapon for his arsenal.

"This changes everything! An earth mage who controls the battlefield, an incredibly handsome swordsman who can handle any situation, and now a sword saint who also breathes fire! We're unstoppable! The Guild will have to create a new rank just for us! The SSS-Rank, for 'Super Sexy and Surprising'!"

Ghislaine stared at him. Magic. Her, who despised weak mages who hid behind their spells. Her, who trusted only in the cold steel of her blade. The idea was so ridiculous, so alien to her identity, that she didn't know how to react.

Hilda, seeing the confusion on the warrior's face and the madness in Paul's eyes, took control.

"Paul, get out of here. Right now," she commanded, her voice once again that of a noble lady giving an inescapable order. "Let us finish our bath in peace. We'll talk about your... revelation when we're dressed and dry. And when you stop looking like a child who just got a new toy."

Paul opened his mouth to protest, but Hilda's glare was as sharp as Ghislaine's katana. He sighed, defeated.

"Fine. Fine. You ruin all my scientific fun," he grumbled. "But don't think I'm going to forget this. Ghislaine, get ready. Your life as a mere mortal who only cuts things is over. You are now an Artist of the Blazing Armageddon!"

He turned and marched off, disappearing between the rocks, probably to plan a training regimen that involved setting things on fire.

A silence settled over the pool once more. Hilda and Ghislaine looked at each other.

"Are you fed up with him yet?" Ghislaine finally asked.

"I'm afraid so," Hilda sighed, beginning to wash her hair with a piece of soap. "But... as crazy as he is, he's never wrong about these things."

And deep in her heart, Hilda felt a new surge of excitement. The team of The Rose and the Sword had just become infinitely more interesting. And infinitely more dangerous to anyone who dared stand in their way.