Mushoku Tensei: A different path

(Third POV)

As Paul approached the Latreia estate, the grand mansion loomed ahead, its pristine white walls and towering gates standing as a testament to the family's wealth and influence. The intricate crest of the Latreia family was displayed proudly above the entrance—a stark reminder of the noble lineage that had caused him nothing but grief.

Just as he neared the estate, a familiar figure appeared on the path ahead.

Therese Latreia.

Dressed in her knightly uniform, she seemed to be on her way out when her gaze landed on Paul. She stopped abruptly, her body stiffening, and for the briefest moment, Paul caught something in her expression—shock.

That was all the confirmation he needed. She knew. She had known about her mother's plans. She had known and did nothing.

Paul's jaw tightened as he slowed his steps, his sharp gaze never leaving hers.

"Paul—" Therese began, her voice uncertain, almost hesitant.

But he cut her off, his tone like ice. "Don't bother."

She flinched, but he pressed on. "People like you—people who stand by and let things happen, knowing damn well what's going on—you're no better than the ones pulling the strings."

Therese opened her mouth as if to protest, but no words came. A storm of emotions flashed across her face—guilt, anger, regret—but Paul didn't care. He had no time for her excuses.

Without another word, he stepped past her and continued forward.

The gate of the Latreia estate stood before him, guarded by two men clad in the church's silver-plated armor. As Paul approached, one of them moved to block his path, but before he could speak, Paul leveled him with a glare so cold it made the guard stiffen.

"Let me through," Paul ordered, his voice calm but carrying an unmistakable weight.

The guard hesitated, his face paling slightly. He glanced at his partner, but Paul didn't give him the chance to think twice.

"Now."

Swallowing hard, the guard quickly stepped aside, allowing Paul to push through the gate.

But before he could take another step—

"Paul?"

A familiar voice rang out, filled with shock and relief.

His head snapped up just as Zenith came rushing through the door, her golden blond hair disheveled and her blue eyes wide with emotion. She was wearing a dress fitting for a noblewoman of Millis but not for the person wearing it. Paul pitied her because he knew that dresses were uncomfortable for his wife.

But working against the long hems of the dress, she sprinted when she saw him, her expression breaking into pure, unrestrained joy.

And as she threw herself into his arms, Paul, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

As Paul held Zenith in his arms, he heard the patter of small footsteps rushing toward them.

"Papa!"

Before he could even turn, a small body slammed into his side with surprising force.

Paul barely managed to keep his balance as Norn latched onto him, her tiny arms wrapping around his thigh with all the strength she could muster.

"Papa, you're back! You're really back!" the little girl cried.

Paul froze for a split second before warmth flooded his chest. He looked down to see Norn clinging to him as tightly as she could, her blonde hair slightly messy from how quickly she had dashed toward him.

A deep, relieved chuckle rumbled from his throat as he bent down, scooping her up into his arms. "Of course, I'm back. Did you really think I wouldn't be?"

Norn shook her head, pouting as she tightened her grip around his neck. "You were gone forever! Mama said it was only a few days, but it felt like a long time!"

Paul smirked. "A whole year, huh? That's pretty long for just a few days."

"It was long!" she insisted, pulling back just enough to glare at him with watery blue eyes. "You always go off at night, but this time, you took too long!"

Paul chuckled again, gently rubbing her back. "Sorry, sorry. I'll try to be quicker next time."

Norn huffed but nodded, her pout still firmly in place. "You better!"

Zenith, watching the scene with a soft smile, crossed her arms. "Well? Where were you?"

Paul exhaled dramatically, shifting Norn slightly in his arms. "Well, this time, the training involved numbers over strength. It took a little longer since I had to defeat all the targets." Then, with a sly grin, he added, "But don't worry, they went down like flies. They were running more than actually fight."

A sharp intake of breath came from behind him.

The guard and Therese froze, their faces visibly paling.

Paul didn't even glance their way, but he could feel the weight of their stares.

Zenith, on the other hand, sighed heavily. "That training is way too much."

Paul smirked at Zenith's question. "Well, after finishing defeating most of them, I ended up chasing the rest of those pesky things for a while. Kept running into more of them, lost track of time… Until I finished off the last one." His grin widened slightly. "And guess what? That last one just happened to be right in front of Lilia and Aisha."

Zenith's eyes widened. "Wait—you mean—?"

"Yup. They're here. Safe and sound. But... " Paul hesitated to say. "They saw the whole thing. You know, me slicing the spirit's head off."

Zenith let out a breath, pressing a hand to her chest. "Goodness… that must have been terrifying for Aisha."

Paul chuckled. "Actually, she handled it better than most adults had." Then, with a reassuring nod, he added, "They're both safe. After that, I made sure they were headed in the right direction. They should be at the inn I was staying at by now."

Zenith's expression brightened. "Really? They're here?" But after a brief pause, her excitement dimmed just a little. "Wait… then why didn't you bring them with you?"

Paul smirked. "Because I had one more surprise for you."

Zenith looked curiously at him, then turned his gaze toward Therese, who was still standing stiffly nearby.

"Take Norn with you," Paul said, his tone carrying a quiet weight. "And let Therese be your guide."

Therese visibly tensed under his cold gaze. She understood what he was doing—this was a test and a warning not to attempt something.

For a long moment, she hesitated, her hands clenching slightly at her sides. Then, finally, she swallowed hard and nodded.

"...Understood," she said, her voice quieter than before.

Paul gave her one last unreadable look before turning his attention back to Zenith and Norn. "Go on. I still have business to take care of here."

Zenith hesitated, concern flickering in her eyes, but she nodded. "Alright… but don't take too long, okay?"

Paul smirked. "I'll catch up soon."

As Therese led Zenith and Norn away, Paul watched them go.

Once they were out of sight, his smirk faded, and his cold glare returned.

It was time to deal with Claire Latreia.

***

Inside the mansion, the guards attempted to take his sword. But they were met them with a murderous glare, daring them to pry it from his hands. The sheer intensity of his presence made them falter, but in the end, they relented and allowed him into the meeting room, where Claire would soon arrive.

Minutes later, Claire approached the door, only to be informed by her guard that he had failed to disarm Paul. The failure earned him a sharp reprimand, but Claire merely sighed, gathering herself before stepping forward and pushing the door open.

Inside, Paul stood at the center of the room, his posture rigid, his fingers resting on the hilt of his sword. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, burned with restrained fury as they locked onto her. The tension between them was palpable, thick like a storm waiting to break.

But Claire did not meet him with hostility. Instead, she regarded him with quiet understanding, her gaze unwavering yet devoid of challenge. She had known Paul for less than a year and heard of his triumphs and failures through her daughter. She had judged him harshly, perhaps too harshly in the eyes of any outsider. But now, faced with the raw emotion in his eyes, she saw something else: a man resolute on settling a conflict.

"You've had a long session this time around, Paul," she said gently, her voice contrasting to the anger radiating from him. "Threatening the guards… was that truly necessary?"

Paul scoffed, his lips curling into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Spare me the pleasantries, Claire. You know exactly why I'm here."

"I do not," she admitted, inclining her head slightly. "But I am willing to listen to whatever it is you want to settle." She moved to the table, taking a seat with deliberate grace—offering him the courtesy of calm in the face of his storm. "Sit, Paul. Let's talk."

Paul hesitated, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword before he exhaled sharply. "I want answers," he said, his voice still laced with restrained fury. "No more lies, no more manipulation. I want the truth."

Claire held his gaze, her expression composed. "I do not know what answers you seek," she admitted, her tone even but sincere. "But if you tell me what you want to know, I will do my best to provide it."

Her unexpected response threw Paul off guard. He had come prepared for a battle of words, a clash of accusations and denials. Instead, she offered uncertainty—but also a willingness to listen.

His grip on his sword loosened slightly, his anger still simmering but no longer teetering on the edge of eruption. "Fine," he muttered. "Then let's start with the two assassin groups you hired to go after me and the others."

For the first time, Claire's expression shifted. Her brows knit together in something between disbelief and wounded dignity. She exhaled softly, as though Paul's words had dealt her an unjust blow.

"Assassins?" she repeated, her voice calm but tinged with quiet offense. "You stand before me, armed and seething, and accuse me of such treachery? Have you no shame, Paul? No sense of propriety?"

She rose with measured grace, her posture unwavering, her chin slightly lifted as she regarded him with quiet disappointment. "I allowed this meeting because I believed you sought understanding. I did not expect you to hurl baseless accusations the moment you opened your mouth."

Paul's jaw clenched. "Don't play innocent with me, Claire. The attacks, the ambushes—they didn't come from nowhere. Someone with power, with resources, ordered them. And who else but you would benefit from my death?"

Claire let out a soft, almost sorrowful sigh, shaking her head. "Is this truly the depth of your reasoning? That because I disapprove of you, I must therefore seek your death? Have you ever stopped to consider how many enemies you have made, Paul? That the path you walk breeds danger at every turn? Not all shadows that follow you are mine."

Paul's grip on his sword tightened. "You have the means. The motive. And especially, the connections."

"And yet no proof," Claire interjected smoothly, her voice still composed but carrying an edge of firm reproach. "You speak as though I am some villain lurking in the dark, orchestrating your downfall. Tell me, Paul, have I ever lifted a hand against you? Have I ever so much as whispered a threat in your direction?"

Paul hesitated. The fire in his eyes did not fade, but the certainty in his accusation wavered.

Claire stepped forward, unwavering. "You storm in here, blade at your side, prepared for battle against a woman who has done nothing but seek what is best for her family."

"Is that why you won't let her sleep in the same bed as me?" Paul shot back at her, bringing a small but strong crack in Claire's expression.

"I get that we agreed to keep our marriage secret from your enemy faction for her and Norn's own safety, but I heard how you've been controlling her like you did in the past and even start doing the same to Norn."

Paul's arguments were reasonable for a husband, but Claire only considered her country's politics.

"I may not approve of you, Paul, but that does not mean I would stain my hands with blood to remove you."

She let out a slow breath, shaking her head once more.

"You are reckless. Ill-mannered. A man who rushes to judgment before seeking truth. If you wish to know who has sent assassins after you, I suggest you look elsewhere. But if you have come only to slander me with unfounded accusations, then I am afraid you have wasted both our time."

Paul's fists clenched, but he remained silent.

Claire's voice softened, though the strength in it did not waver. "If you truly believe I am guilty, then prove it. Otherwise, I suggest you learn the value of restraint before you hurl such insults again."

A tense silence settled between them.

Paul's anger cooled—not into peace, but into something sharper, something more resolved. He let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head.

"You're right," he admitted, his voice edged with something unreadable. "I can't prove it."

Claire's brows furrowed slightly, a flicker of confusion crossing her face. "Then why—"

"But," Paul interrupted, smirking, "I never intended to."

Claire's confusion deepened, though her poise remained intact. "What are you playing at, Paul?"

Paul took a step forward, his presence looming. "I don't care about proving anything. I don't care about justice, any noble schemes, or whatever rules your world follows." His smirk faded, replaced by something colder—something unbreakable. "All I care about is protecting my family. And take it as it is, YOU are not part of it."

He flexed his fingers before clenching them into a fist. "So listen well, Claire. If you send anyone after me—assassins, knights, mercenaries, it doesn't matter—I will cut them down. Every. Last. One of them."

His voice was calm and steady, as if stating an undeniable truth.

"And I won't stop until you either lose your credibility in this high and mighty world of yours… or until you run out of people to send after me. Whichever comes first."

Claire held his gaze, unreadable. For once, she had no immediate rebuttal.

Paul exhaled, rolling his shoulders as if shedding the weight of the moment. He turned toward the door but stopped just before stepping out. Slowly, he turned back, his voice carrying an unmistakable finality.

"Let me give you some advice," he said. "From someone who left his home on bad terms with his parents."

Claire's gaze flickered—curiosity, irritation—but she remained silent.

"Your way of thinking like a noble is what pushed your daughter to run away before," Paul continued. "And it might just happen a second time. No. It will definitely happen a second time."

A shadow crossed Claire's face, but he didn't let her speak.

"Stop treating her like a puppet," he said, his voice edged with something almost like pity. "And start being a mother—one who supports her daughter in her own life, not the one you want for her."

Claire's lips parted slightly, but no words came.

Paul let out a breath, shaking his head. "And who knows… maybe one day, you'll finally see her as the adult she's become. Not the child you think you need to protect from everything you deem unfit."

With that, he strode to the door and left, his words lingering in the silence he left behind.

However, Paul's attempt to change his mother-in-law's attitude, as little hope for success as it had, bore no change.

'I will... I will never forgive you, Paul Greyrat.'

Her mind was still ablaze, and she felt resentment rooted in the revelation she had received not long ago—one that others in her circle had also received.

'It is your fault. Your fault that my dear Zenith bore the child dooming our race. Even if I become what I detest so much, I won't stop until my daughter is free from the fate you gave her.'

Her unwavering determination bright, she made her way out of the meeting room and off to her accomplices.

This would not be the last Paul would hear from the Latreia woman.

///