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

The cart, now ridiculously overloaded with the spoils from a dozen elite knights, moved with the slowness of a drunken snail. The mule seemed to protest with every step, its stubbornness a losing battle against the weight of high-quality steel and leather.

Paul held the reins with one hand, a lazy, satisfied smirk plastered on his face.

"You know what I love most about victory?" he asked the air, not addressing anyone in particular. "The sound. The jingle of loot. It's the best music in the world."

Ghislaine, sitting in the back of the cart next to the pile of armor, let out a grunt. She was sharpening one of the knives she had taken from a knight, her movements precise and lethal.

"The only sound I like is steel cutting through flesh."

"You're a hopeless romantic, Ghislaine. But you have to admit, this is an upgrade. This sword," Paul said, lifting the magnificent blade he had taken from Captain Gideon, "is worth more than any C-rank quest we've ever done. We could sell all this and retire to a distant island. Buy a tavern. I'd serve the drinks, and you'd handle security. Hilda could keep the books."

Hilda, sitting beside Paul, wasn't smiling. Her gaze was fixed on the road, her mind replaying the battle over and over. The memory of Paul's face, pale and breathless under Gideon's sword, was a thorn in her euphoria.

"An island sounds nice," she said, her voice more serious than she intended. "A place where no one has swords."

"How boring," Paul and Ghislaine replied in unison.

They glanced at each other for a fraction of a second, a spark of mutual understanding between the pervert and the predator, and then looked away.

Hilda sighed. The silence settled for a while, broken only by the creaking of the wheels and the dry wind. She was the one to break it, her tone now decisive, that of a tutor who accepts no excuses.

"Ghislaine."

The beast woman looked up from her knife, her one visible eye narrowed cautiously.

"What?"

"Give me your hand."

Ghislaine stared at her as if she had asked her to tear off an arm.

"What for?"

"For your first lesson. I promised I would teach you. And I, unlike some people," she said, casting a sideways glance at Paul, "keep my promises."

Paul held up his hands in a gesture of innocence. "Hey, I always deliver. Especially on the interesting promises."

Ghislaine hesitated. The idea was humiliating. It exposed her greatest weakness in front of these two people. But the memory of the contract trap, of the condescension from those adventurers, burned inside her. With a grunt of resignation, she extended her calloused, scarred hand.

Hilda picked up a sharp stick and, with the authority of an academy teacher, began to draw in the dusty earth on the cart's floor.

"This," she said in a clear, firm voice, "is a letter. The first one. It's called 'A'."

She drew the shape with two diagonal lines and one horizontal one.

"Look at it closely. Feel its shape. Think of it as a mountain with a bridge in the middle. It's stable. Strong. Like you."

Ghislaine stared at the symbol with a scowl, as if it were an enemy she didn't know how to attack.

"Looks like three crossed sticks."

"It's an A," Hilda insisted patiently. "Now, you take the stick and draw it."

The warrior, whose hands could decapitate a man in a blink, took the stick with a clumsiness that infuriated her. She tried to replicate the symbol. The result was a shaky, misshapen scrawl.

"Dammit! This is stupid!" she roared, throwing the stick down. "My sword doesn't need to know letters to kill!"

"Your sword doesn't sign contracts," Hilda replied with a steely calm. "Your sword doesn't count coins to make sure you're not being robbed. Your sword is strong, Ghislaine. But the world is bigger than your sword. Try again."

Ghislaine glared at her, her frustration a contained storm. She was about to refuse, to lock herself away again in her wounded pride.

"Don't think of it as a letter," Paul intervened, his voice surprisingly serious. "Hilda is right, but she's using a scholar's approach. You're not a scholar. You're a warrior."

Ghislaine and Hilda looked at him, surprised.

"Think of it as a sword stance," Paul continued. "The A is a guard. Two feet planted firmly, a weapon held between them. A wide base, impossible to unbalance. You're not drawing, you're taking a stance on the ground. Feel the balance in the drawing, not the shape."

The metaphor hit home. Ghislaine picked up the stick, her expression shifting from frustration to the intense concentration of a swordswoman analyzing a new technique.

She closed her eyes for a moment, visualizing the stance. Then, with a fluid, confident motion, she drew a nearly perfect A in the dirt.

She stared at the symbol, her one eye wide with surprise.

Hilda smiled, a genuine smile full of pride. She looked at Paul, and in her eyes was a gratitude and admiration worth more than any loot. He gave her a knowing wink in return.

The lesson continued. B became "a shield and a sword, ready to strike." C, "an open guard, waiting for a feint." Letter by letter, language was transformed into a combat manual, a code the warrior's mind could begin to decipher.

When they reached the gates of Creston, the afternoon sun bathed the granite walls in an orange glow. The guard with the scar on his chin recognized them instantly. His professional gaze went from Paul's face to Hilda's, and then stopped on Ghislaine. His eyes widened slightly upon seeing her.

Then, his gaze fell upon the cart. And it stayed there.

"By all the gods..." he muttered, his stoicism broken for an instant. "Did you raid an armory?"

"Pest control," Paul answered with his most charming smile. "Some very loud insects were bothering us in the hills. We had to fumigate."

The guard didn't smile, but a new level of respect, one bordering on fear, settled into his expression. He waved them through without any more questions.

Their first stop was the Adventurers' Guild. The atmosphere changed the moment they walked in. The murmur of conversations died down. The adventurers, who had previously ignored them, now stared. The news, or rather, the rumors, had traveled faster than their cart.

Paul walked straight to the counter where the silver-haired elf was still stamping documents with an expression of existential boredom. He didn't wait his turn. With a dramatic gesture, Hilda overturned the sack containing the Cockatrice's head onto the wooden countertop.

THUD.

The sound was heavy, wet, and final. A smell of old blood and reptile filled the air.

The entire Guild fell deathly silent.

The elf stopped stamping. She looked up slowly, her violet eyes fixed on the grotesque head, with its glassy eyes and hooked beak. She showed no surprise. No disgust. She simply raised an eyebrow, an almost imperceptible movement.

"The quest for the Cockatrice of the Toba Hills," Paul said. "Completed."

The elf looked at the head, then at Paul, Hilda, and finally Ghislaine. Her eyes lingered on the beast woman for a fraction of a second longer than normal.

"Proof of kill verified," she said in her melodic, monotone voice. "Contractor: anonymous. Reward: six Asura gold coins."

She counted the coins with hypnotic efficiency and slid them across the counter.

"Logged. Good work. You create less paperwork when you succeed. Next."

Paul collected the coins. He turned to face the silent guild hall. In a public and deliberate gesture, he handed two gold coins to Ghislaine and two to Hilda. He pocketed the remaining two.

"The team 'The Rose and the Sword' has been updated," he announced loudly. "We now accept a lioness into the pack. And as you can see, we're very good at our job."

No one applauded. But the murmur that resumed as they turned to leave had a different tone. It was no longer indifference. It was awe and, in some corners, envy.

They left the Guild and headed for Lorne's residence. The collector received them with the same austerity, but this time, there was a spark of anticipation in his eyes.

Paul placed the Mountain's Heart on the polished wooden desk. The geodesic crystal, a deep amethyst color, seemed to absorb the light in the room, pulsing with a contained energy.

"Impressive," Lorne said, lifting the crystal with reverent hands. "Purer than the legends described. The core is intact. A perfect specimen."

He looked at Hilda, then at Ghislaine.

"The Cockatrice is no easy beast. And you returned without a scratch. Theron wasn't exaggerating. You are a competent team."

"We're the best," Paul corrected. "Now, the book."

Lorne didn't argue. He went to his bookshelf and returned with the brown leather volume. He placed it on the desk, next to the crystal. Knowledge in exchange for raw power.

"A deal is a deal," the collector said. "The Stone Tactician's Manual. Use it wisely, Mage Hilda. It is not a book of recipes. It is a book of principles. The earth is a far more subtle and lethal weapon than most imagine."

Hilda took the book. The worn leather felt warm beneath her fingers. The weight of the knowledge it contained was almost physical. It was the key to her next level of power, to her true freedom.

"Thank you, Master Lorne," she said, her voice so full of gratitude that it silenced even Paul.

When they left Lorne's house and returned to the bustle of Creston, the sun was beginning to set. The air was cooling, but a triumphant energy vibrated among the three of them.

"Alright," Paul said, rubbing his hands together. "We've hunted the monster, collected the reward, and gotten the grimoire. I think this calls for a celebration. The best dinner this city can offer, and it's on me. Then, we'll sell all this second-hand gear and be rich."

"Loot first, then dinner," Ghislaine said, her voice a practical growl. "Steel cools, but hunger waits."

"I like the way you think," Paul laughed.

They returned to their inn, "The Bronze Gryphon," and spent the next hour in their room, counting coins, stacking weapons, and planning the sale of the knights' equipment. The atmosphere was light, euphoric. They were rich. They were powerful. They were a legendary team in the making.

"Okay, I'll handle the supplies," Paul finally said, getting to his feet. "I'm going to find the greasiest, most delicious feast in Creston. Boar stew, warm bread, and the best wine our gold can buy. You two, don't kill each other while I'm gone."

He left the room, whistling a tavern tune, his stride full of the arrogance of a man who had conquered the world.

Hilda opened the Stone Tactician's Manual. The pages smelled of old earth and power. Ghislaine, beside her, looked over her shoulder, trying to decipher the symbols that were now, slowly, beginning to make sense.

"'Sympathetic vibration...'" Hilda read softly. "The principle of sympathetic vibration in crystalline structures..."

Paul went down the inn's stairs and out into the night street. Creston at night was a different organism, lit by lanterns that cast long, dancing shadows. The air smelled of sea salt and fried food.

He was heading to a high-end tavern that had been recommended to him, a place where ship captains and wealthy merchants closed their deals. The perfect place for a victory feast.

Novel Title: Bestowing Falna on the Kunoichi

Synopsis:

I had survived. Somehow, I'd passed the graduation exam. As Iruka-sensei handed me my ninja headband, I felt a wave of relief so pure I almost cried. Finally, I was a shinobi of Konoha. My life was about to begin.

And then, right before my eyes, a semi-transparent blue window appeared.

[Soul Synchronization Complete. Welcome.]

[System: Falna Activated.]

I blinked. Then I blinked again.

"What the...?"

Before I could even finish the thought, a tsunami of another life crashed into my brain. Twenty-five years of existence in a world called "Earth." Anime, manga, video games, internet forums, and above all, an unnervingly encyclopedic knowledge of the lives of every single person around me.

My life. The life of Naruto Uzumaki. A story I had watched on a screen.

The shock was so intense I almost threw up my lunch ramen. My first kiss was with Sasuke! I saw it on a monitor, and now I have the first-person memory! And that's not even close to the worst thing that's going to happen to me!

I looked at the crowd and saw Hinata Hyuga, shy and adorable.

That's when my attention returned to that word floating in my vision. Falna. The system gave me a brief, horrifying explanation. I could turn people into fantasy heroes, boosting their abilities to absurd levels. It was the perfect tool to change the future.

There was just one small, tiny, incredibly problematic detail about the activation ritual.

My eyes landed on Hinata again, who blushed instantly.

"WHO THE HELL DESIGNED THIS POWER, A DOUJIN AUTHOR!?"

My path to Hokage is no longer about hard work. It's about exploiting my Otaku knowledge, surviving puberty a second time, and convincing the strongest kunoichi to let me... "update their status."

Sounds way better than "drawing on their backs." I guess.

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Tags: Harem, Adventure, Action, R-18, First Intercouse