Chance, or Fate?

After spending ten days in the wilderness, Paul finally gave the order to return. Ghislaine and Eula had managed to hunt down a relatively rare B-Rank monster known as a Sun Bear, so he wanted to pawn off the parts to the Guild before they could spoil.

Fortunately, as the land to the East was commonly used by Adventurers, there were significantly fewer bandits and slavers. The Adventurer's Guild would deploy A or even S-Ranked Parties to annihilate groups that hunted or enslaved its members, so, unless they had a very powerful backing, the average bandit or slaver group avoided areas frequented by Adventurers.

In the end, it wasn't a group of bandits or slavers that Paul and his Party had to worry about; it was other Adventurers. Wagons weren't exactly all-terrain vehicles, so they needed to travel along established paths to avoid having their wheels or axels give out on them.

Under normal circumstances, a group of Adventurers wouldn't even bat an eye towards a covered wagon. They might offer their services if the wagon was traveling in the same direction as them, but, more often than not, Adventurers avoided Merchants.

The thing that made Paul and his Party an exception, excluding the fact the majority of their members were beautiful women, was that they were traveling without a horse or another means to pull their wagon. Instead, it was drawn along by none other than Paul himself, his body appearing to release steam as he pulled the overburdened wagon without a shirt on.

Seeing Paul pulling the covered wagon while Ghislaine and Eula walked alongside him, a Party of Adventurers consisting of three human males, a fully armored Dwarf, a bookish-looking girl with slightly pointed ears, and a dog-like woman from the Beast Race.

Seemingly representing the group, a relatively handsome man with red hair and matching red eyes stepped forward to ask, "Did your horse run off or something...?"

Unlike most people, who fell into the role of swordsman or Mage, the red-headed ikeman had a sizeable crossbow strapped to his lower back and a red, expensive-looking longbow. There were only five arrows in his quiver, but the runic pattern engraved into their shafts made it clear they were no ordinary arrows.

Since he had already ceased pulling the wagon once the group began their approach, Paul was able to manage a relatively casual smile as he answered, "You don't become strong by skipping out on training."

Though it probably didn't earn him any favor from the men in the group, Paul punctuated his statement by flexing his right arm and winking at the bookish-looking girl in a stereotypical Mage outfit. A lifetime of dedicated training had given him a body that appeared to be carved from marble, so he couldn't help showing it off. He was pretty proud of it.

Believing Paul had caught her staring at his chiseled abs, the relatively youthful-looking Mage pulled down the brim of her hat to cover the beet-red face. Noticing this, the black-haired youth standing next to her, a kid with messy hair, padded winter clothing, thick leather gloves, and a fang-like shortsword strapped to his lower back, furrowed his brows and asked, "How do we know you didn't rob a huntsman and steal their wagon? Only an idiot would roam around the countryside pulling a carriage."

"Timothy...!"

After barking at the black-haired youth, the red-headed archer adopted an apologetic expression as he turned back to Paul, rubbing the back of his head as he said, "Sorry about that. Though, it is pretty suspicious of you to be pulling a wagon full of furs and preserved meats this far away from the city. Your clothes don't exactly look like they belong to a group of Hunters, so I can only assume you're Adventurers...?"

Pulling out his own Guild Card, the red-headed archer revealed that he was a B-Rank Adventurer. More importantly, his card was engraved with the seal of the Adventurer's Guild itself.

"The names Rolan. I'm the Leader of the B-Rank Party known as Lion's Head. I'm also a Surveyor with the Guild, so I'd appreciate it if you could answer some of my questions."

Showing no particular concern in his expression or body language, Paul shrugged his shoulders, saying, "Ask away." before immediately turning to Eula and adding, "Mind grabbing me something to wear? Now that I'm no longer moving, my body is starting to cool down."

Nodding her head, Eula answered, "Of course." before walking around to the back of the wagon. This caused Rolan to squint his eyes, but before he could say anything or order his companions to check the wagon, Paul interrupted, stating, "You have ten questions. After that, we'll be on our way. I've read the Guild's bylaws, and your status as a Surveyor doesn't grant you the right to interrogate or search people."

Furrowing his brows, Rolan was about to ask why Paul would bother to read the Guild's bylaws when his final human companion, a bearded man with short brown air, blue eyes, and a rather fierce-looking scar running across his left cheek stated, "I'd be careful with my words if I were you. Out here in the wild, people get lost and go missing all the time. It would be a shame if that mouth of yours got you and your lasses into trouble..."

Showing no signs of being intimidated, Paul maintained a smile as he gave the roguish-looking man a once-over. He had three dagger-like swords of varying lengths strapped to his waist and an almost excessive number of pouches near his hip, lower back, and thighs.

"Are you a practitioner of the North God Style...?"

Resting his left hand on the pommel of his longest blade, the man asked, "And if I am...?"

Adopting a slightly more serious expression, Paul stated, "I'm only going to say this once. Everyone in my Party is at least Saint-Ranked. The next time you try to threaten or pressure us, you only have yourselves to blame for what happens next."

Not believing Paul's words for a moment, the roguish-looking man snorted through his nose while the black-haired swordsman adopted a scowl and said, "Hogwash. You're full of crap." before placing his hand on the sheath of his sword and adding, "Rolan...these people are obviously bandits...just give me the order..."

Instead of giving the order to attack, Rolan raised his hand in a stopping gesture, barking, "That's enough! Even if they were bandits, we don't just attack people! Now, let me do my job...!"

Finished with his outburst, Rolan took a deep breath to compose himself. Paul's words had reminded him of something, so, after calming down, he looked back and asked, "Are you Paul Greyrat, the Leader of the Einherjar Party?"

Confirming Rolan's suspicions, Paul nodded his head, answering, "That's me." in a matter-of-factly tone.

Resisting the urge to curse under his breath, Rolan suddenly brought his hands together, bowing as he shouted, "Please forgive my comrades for their imprudence! We did not mean to offend the apprentice of the Sword and Water Gods...!"

Surprised by Rolan's spontaneous apology, the members of Lion's Head didn't immediately process his words. When they did, the roguish-looking man became a little pale as he raised his hands away from his blades as if they had suddenly become scalding hot. Then, noticing Timothy was still ready to strike, he smacked the glowering, black-haired youth in the back of the head, shouting, "Do you have a death wish!?"

Not expecting his friend to smack him, Timothy shouted, "What the hell, Jace!? Why did you hit me...!?" while rubbing the back of his head. At the same time, the petite yet discernibly buxom Mage stepped in front of him, a nervous smile on her face as she stared at Paul and said, "Please don't be mad...Timothy has always been a little slow in the head..."

"Lei-!?"

Before Timothy could finish speaking, the brown-haired Magus, known to her friends as Leilah, smacked him over the head with her club-like staff, shouting, "That's Paul Greyrat, the person everyone was talking about a year ago! You know, the youngest Sword Saint in history...!"

Rubbing the top of his head, Timothy refuted Leilah's claim, shouting, "Are you an idiot, or just blind!? Sword Saint Paul should only be around twelve or thirteen years old! That guy is clearly in his twenties...!"

Without taking his eyes off of Paul, Rolan attempted to alleviate Timothy's confusion by stating, "It's because he gave up the latter half of his life to awaken his Touki forcibly. I can also confirm that the Sword Saint recently came to Sharia, so the odds of this being the real deal are very high..."

Though he was a little annoyed that his name and position had apparently been exposed, Paul wasn't too surprised. Most of the people living within the world of Mushoku Tensei lived extraordinarily mundane lives. Famous Adventurers, Swordsmen, and Mages were the closest things they had to idols, so it wasn't too weird that his name had started to circulate in areas with heavy traffic and diverse populations...

Accepting the fur-lined coat that Eula had brought out for him, Paul wore it but didn't bother to close it up as he asked, "So? Are we done here, or did you still have questions?"

Rubbing the back of his head, Rolan answered, "If possible, I would like to check your Guild Card. After that, my companions and I will be sure to apologize for our behavior..."

"Yeah, yeah...here..."

Pulling out his Guild Card, Paul tossed it towards Rolan with an almost bored expression on his face. He didn't enjoy killing, but he was a little disappointed that things were wrapping up without a fight. At the very least, he felt like he owed the scarred man a solid punch to the face...

Confirming Paul was who he said he was, Rolan found himself swallowing a knot in his throat as he handed back the metallic card and said, "We've inconvenienced you..."

Shrugging his shoulders, Paul accepted the card and said, "Just be careful who you insult, heckle, or harass in the future." Then, looking towards the scarred man, Jace, he added, "It would be a real shame if your words and actions came back to bite you in the ass..."

Understanding how close he had come to relinquishing his life, a nervous chuckle emanated from Jace's throat as he kept his hands raised. He was fairly confident in skills as an assassin and a scout, but he was only at the Intermediate Rank of the Sword and North God Styles. He could probably hold his own against an Advanced Rank Swordsman, but Paul was a Saint known to apprentice under two different Gods. Squaring off against him in a fair fight was practically suicide.

"Listen...I-"

Before Jace could apologize, Timothy earned aghast looks from nearly every one of his comrades as he shouted, "Sword Saint Paul Greyrat! My name is Timothy M. Britts, Advanced Rank Swordsman of the Sword God Style! I challenge you to a match...!"

Recognizing the name from the original series, Paul's expression revealed a fair amount of surprise as he asked, "How old are you...?"

Thinking Paul was looking down on him due to his age, Timothy's already serious expression became grave as he answered, "Older than you..." in a nearly growling tone.

"Right..."

Realizing he was standing in front of one of Sword God's future disciples, a boy with the potential to become a Sword Emperor, Paul became a little more serious. In the original series, Timothy had gone on to sire the next generation Sword God, Jino Britts, so it wasn't much of an exaggeration to say talent flowed through his veins.

"Very well, Timothy. I, Sword Saint Paul Greyrat, accept your challenge...!"

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