The Fake Wife of the Strongest Husband Wants to Survive - Chapter 12

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 12
Ordinarily, a lord’s primary income came from taxes collected from his territory residents.
But the polluted land of Swamp operated differently.
The corrupted soil made farming impractical, and constant monster attacks made hunting nearly impossible.
With no distinctive trade goods to speak of, there was precious little coin to extract from the residents’ already-empty purses.
Perhaps she should simply be grateful they hadn’t fled to another territory.
‘Of course, if I squeezed hard enough, something would come out. But looking at the state of Earl’s Castle, I can see Owen isn’t the sort of lord to be that harsh.’
Before the embezzled funds disappeared entirely, she had to find a way to make money.
Otherwise, she’d be back to preaching austerity, eating nothing but coarse potatoes in a drafty castle while the wind whistled through the cracks.
“Money… I need to make money!”
Pesha set down the ledger and clutched her head in anguish.
In those romance fantasy novels, the female protagonists always seemed to overcome crises through business ventures.
‘How did they actually make money, though?’
Clothing design, perfume, cosmetics, cooking…
Pesha yanked at the hair she’d been gripping.
“Argh! None of it has anything to do with me!”
Wasn’t clothing design something they did in salons?
Perfume already existed.
She’d only ever worn cosmetics, never made them—hadn’t even attempted it.
Cooking? She was good at eating.
Only now did it truly sink in that she’d transmigrated into a minor villain with no useful skills whatsoever.
What good were flashy abilities for a villain anyway? Just to torment the protagonist, probably.
With a heavy sigh, Pesha gazed wistfully toward distant mountains.
“My knowledge from my past life isn’t exactly glittering either…”
The profession she’d held in her previous world held little distinction in this one—and even less practical value.
‘I should have learned cooking or design so I could make use of my skills somehow.’
Perhaps it was because she hadn’t sensed any useful profession to draw out as a last resort against the crushing tide of circumstances that she’d committed herself so deeply to learning Herbalism instead.
‘Honestly, all I know is what grows from the earth.’
Things that grow from the earth…
Her gaze settled on the territory’s landscape below.
Tiny figures like ants hurried about their business, bustling with purpose.
Her eyes drifted to the hillside beyond them.
It was a sparsely forested ridge, low and gently sloping like a small hill—perfect for a walk.
If she spent some time wandering through the woods, perhaps a brilliant idea would come to her?
“All right, let’s go.”
Pesha, dressed comfortably in an unadorned gown, left a quick note for the servants and slipped out of the castle.
It had been ages since she’d walked anywhere on foot, and leaving Earl’s Castle entirely was something she’d never done before.
She’d heard Swamp was sparsely populated for its size, so instead of venturing past the busy thoroughfare before the castle, she chose the rear gate.
After showing her identity pass and passing through the gate, Pesha began climbing the slope.
The low elevation made the ascent effortless.
As she walked past the scattered cedar and rubber trees that still remained among the mostly cleared land, several observations came to her.
“The soil is better than I expected…”
The earth was moist, dark, and soft to the touch.
Looking around, she spotted earthworms—creatures that lived only in clean soil—scattered here and there, and saw traces of mole burrows dotting the ground.
“To think such fertile land has been corrupted by monsters…”
It was a tragedy.
Reaching the summit at last, Pesha shaded her eyes with her hand and surveyed the surroundings.
Rocky peaks jutted sharply all around the Territory of Swamp in a rough circle.
“Sigh—only the interior is remotely usable; everything around it is just stone hills.”
It was well known that the Emperor had no fondness for Owen.
A hunting dog is devoured by its master once the hunt is finished.
To the Emperor, Owen was nothing more than a tool to be discarded once it rusted—there was no chance he’d be granted good land.
“Barren, utterly barren.”
As Pesha descended the far side of the hill, shaking her head ruefully, a scream reached her ears.
“Ahhh! Nooo! Help me! It hurts—I’m dying!”
Startled by what sounded like someone in mortal agony, she glanced around and spotted white canvas tents pitched below the hill.
Smoke was rising from the tents as if something were burning, and as she drew closer, she could hear the constant groans of many people.
Bewildered but curious, Pesha approached cautiously.
The first thing she noticed was a harsh, acrid smell.
“Cough!”
She clamped her hand over her mouth and nose, breaking into a cough.
“Hack, hack! Oh, it’s so sharp.”
The smell was so acrid her eyes began to water.
“What is this stench?”
“It’s the smell of Analgesic.”
Just then, a voice answered from somewhere nearby.
Pesha spun around in alarm to find a woman in a white headscarf and apron setting down a water bucket she’d just carried before the tent entrance, smiling warmly.
“You must be from out of town. Nobody in the Swamp doesn’t know this smoke…….”
Pesha’s eyes darted left and right.
What should she say?
The hesitation lasted only a moment — it was true she’d come from elsewhere, so she simply nodded.
Whereupon the woman kindly offered an explanation and introduced herself.
“I’m Sally. I work as a nurse here at the Hospital.”
“Hospital?”
Pesha looked up at the white tent in surprise.
At the peak of the tent, she glimpsed a symbol: two serpents entwined around a staff.
The snake had long symbolized resurrection and renewal, a mark favored by physicians since ancient times.
‘Still, even so — a single tent and they call it a hospital…….’
As if reading Pesha’s thoughts, Sally burst into laughter and spoke.
“Of course this isn’t the main facility. The main Hospital is over in the Old Town District, but we’ve had so many patients lately we set up this temporary ward in a hurry.”
“But why are there so many patients?”
“Monsters, mostly. The Territory Lord does what he can, but he can’t ward off every evil alone.”
“I see…….”
Pesha simply nodded along.
“The Fortress has been left in ruins for so long now that Monsters occasionally breach into the Territory. Most of these patients are injured by them.”
Sally drew two handkerchiefs from her pocket and dampened them in the water bucket she’d brought.
She held one out to Pesha.
“If you’re curious, you can look inside. Your first time will be rough with all this smoke, so cover your nose with this.”
“Th-thank you.”
Pesha was half-propelled forward, handkerchief held tight over her nose and mouth, into the tent.
The smoke seeping out had given her some warning, but the interior was a bewildering maze unlike anything she’d imagined.
Makeshift cots lined both sides, and every patient lying upon them was puffing away on things that looked like cigarettes.
Those not smoking coughed or groaned in obvious distress.
‘What in the world is happening here?’
Medical staff hovered over patients who looked critically ill, though their numbers seemed woefully insufficient.
As Pesha stood transfixed, Sally offered an explanation through gentle coughs.
“Hoban leaves — dried and rolled in paper — make an effective Analgesic when smoked. Medical supplies are always scarce, so we distribute Analgesic to ease the patients’ suffering, hack, hack. To ease their suffering.”
“Hoban?”
Pesha’s astonishment was palpable.
‘Hoban leaves do have pain-relieving properties, but they’re terribly bitter. There are side effects too — nausea, hives. And they’re using it as a smoking preparation?’
For all her study of Herbalism texts, this was a method of treatment Pesha had never encountered.
‘The Analgesics being distributed are abysmal.’
The true gravity of the Territory’s situation became starkly apparent.
While her mouth hung open in shock, acrid smoke suddenly rushed in.
The result was a violent fit of coughing so severe her eyes streamed with tears.
“Hack, hack! Hack!”
“Oh my. Are you alright?”
Sally rubbed her back, but once the smoke had been swallowed, there was no expelling it.
‘Analgesic or not, how are their lungs surviving this?’
The medical staff coughed constantly, and even patients sleeping without Hoban smoke couldn’t stop their hacking.
“This won’t do…….”

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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