The Fake Wife of the Strongest Husband Wants to Survive - Chapter 46

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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 46
“Heh, well, I’ve been sorry to see Jeremy lose interest in the sword since he returned from the Academy. If a skilled knight like you were to instruct him, surely he’d reignite his passion for the blade, wouldn’t he?”
“Don’t worry yourself, sir.”
Raidel laughed heartily and raised his glass high.
Jeremy’s spirits lifted just as sharply, and he drained his wine glass in quick succession.
Pesha watched the scene unfold with quiet disbelief, swallowing an inward sigh.
‘What on earth is that man thinking?’
He was supposed to be busy with Military Review preparations, yet here he was volunteering to teach Jeremy swordsmanship.
It was bait thrown to prevent a family quarrel, but didn’t this benefit only Jeremy?
The dinner, which stretched far longer than anticipated, finally ended when Raidel’s tongue began to slur from the wine.
“It’s late—you’ll stay the night here. That way I can observe Jeremy’s swordsmanship tomorrow morning, yes?”
The ducal estate wasn’t a place where Raidel could rest easy, but given the late hour, finding other accommodations on such short notice would be difficult.
Pesha yielded with a resigned nod and glanced sideways at Owen.
He had drunk every glass Raidel offered without his expression changing once, and as soon as he felt her gaze, he turned to face her.
“You must be exhausted. Why don’t you retire?”
“No… it’s just…”
Pesha trailed off and fell silent.
She decided she would let tonight pass as it was, but tomorrow she’d tell him to stop this business of teaching Jeremy.
But events did not unfold as Pesha expected.
* * *
The next morning, warm sunlight filtered through a gap in the bedroom curtains.
Pesha opened and closed her eyes for a moment, pressing her palm against her head.
A light hangover made her temples throb weakly.
“Mm…”
She rose slowly, brushed her hair back, and pulled the bell cord.
Soon a soft knock sounded, and a maid entered with a small bow.
“Did you call, miss?”
“Ah, my head… could you bring me some warm water? What time is it?”
“The water is here, miss. It’s just past noon.”
“Past noon? Owen—no, the Count has already risen?”
The maid nodded respectfully.
“Yes, the Count has been at the Training Grounds for the past eight hours.”
At those words, Pesha nearly choked on her water and set down the cup with a start.
“Eight hours?”
“Yes. Young Master Jeremy and his friends are training with him.”
Pesha let out a laugh of utter exasperation.
‘Friends? Has Jeremy already gathered his friends around him?’
The situation was painfully obvious without seeing it.
Jeremy, shoulders tense with pride as he showed off to his friends, and Owen, cleverly playing along while dispensing his knowledge.
She’d been irritated since morning, but she needed to see it with her own eyes to ease her mind.
After changing into fresh clothes and combing her hair neatly, Pesha hurried toward the Training Grounds as the maid had directed.
The packed sand was marked with countless footprints of soldiers.
In the center of the Training Grounds, Owen stood with arms crossed, his presence commanding and austere, while Jeremy and several of his friends stood before him, drenched in sweat and utterly exhausted.
“One, two! Roll forward! Now roll backward!”
At Owen’s cold, unyielding command, Jeremy scrambled to obey, rolling frantically.
Clouds of dust rose and coated their faces.
“What’s this? You can do better than that!”
Owen stamped his foot loudly and barked, and Jeremy gasped for breath as he rolled again, his friends mimicking his clumsy movements.
As the intensity of the training increased, their breathing grew progressively harsher.
“Eyes forward! Don’t break formation! Ten more laps to the left!”
“Yes, ten…?!”
Jeremy’s friend’s eyes widened in shock, but Owen didn’t so much as blink.
“Do you have a complaint?”
“A, a complaint?”
“If not, begin immediately. Now!”
They turned pale and collapsed back onto the sand.
Under the scorching sun, sweat beaded and soaked the coarse sand.
Jeremy, gasping as if he might collapse, let out a cry.
“Just… just one rest. Could we take ten minutes?”
But Owen’s gaze was cold as ice.
“Ten minutes? That’s just enough time to slit the young lord’s throat and carry him back to the enemy camp as a trophy. After all, even in real combat, the enemy grants you rest periods, don’t they?”
Jeremy was left speechless, his head drooping.
Watching from the far end of the Training Grounds, Pesha clamped her mouth shut to stifle an eruption of laughter.
So Owen was this strict as an instructor.
For Jeremy, whose only aim had been to show off his connection to the Count and extract some useful knowledge, this was bewildering—maddening, even.
“Then could I at least…… have some water, please?”
“Apparently you’re still alive and kicking. My apologies for the oversight. Everyone—prone position, now!”
At Owen’s icy command, Jeremy and his companions cried out as they planted their hands on the ground and held firm.
Their trembling arms and legs looked ready to snap at any moment.
As one of Jeremy’s friends kept pace with the drill commands Owen shouted, he finally burst out in complaint.
“What—what kind of Swordsmanship training is this! You said you’d show us how to get stronger, but all we’re doing is suffering for nothing!”
“The real suffering hasn’t even started yet. Drop and hold before I kick you off. In your current state, lacking even Basic Physical Conditioning, you’re not fit to hold a blade. Five more sets, as you are.”
Pesha bit down hard on her lip to keep from laughing.
Seeing Jeremy, who’d always acted superior and dismissed her, struggling like this was utterly satisfying.
“Keep your breathing steady! No one rests until I say you can rest.”
“Your lordship, please—just a little mercy—!”
“Then I suppose you’d beg the monsters for mercy too.”
At that moment, one of Jeremy’s friends rolled his eyes back white and collapsed in a heap.
Owen watched the sight unmoved.
“Eliminated. Step to the side.”
The friend who’d played unconscious without a twitch suddenly scrambled to his feet and bolted for the corner of the Training Grounds when Owen lifted his boot as if to kick him away.
Through it all, Jeremy trembled but stubbornly held on.
Pesha inwardly marveled.
He wasn’t the first to drop out. It seemed Jeremy had a streak of stubborn tenacity in him after all.
The training showed no sign of letting up.
Push-ups, sprints, crawling—it went on and on until their faces finally turned ashen.
She watched without noticing time slip away, and her mood grew lighter by the moment.
After a hellish eternity of training, it was finally full dark when Owen spoke tersely at last.
“That concludes the first day of training.”
Jeremy’s legs gave out and he collapsed onto the sandy ground, while his companions lay half-conscious with their tongues hanging loose.
As Owen walked out of the Training Grounds after finishing the long instruction session, his eyes met Pesha’s, and she smiled knowingly.
“Our Jeremy is quite the handful, isn’t he? I’d appreciate your continued guidance.”
Owen fell silent for a moment, then his mouth curved up faintly, as if keeping time with her words.
“I intend to meet the young lord’s expectations in full measure.”
It was a most satisfying answer.
Owen turned his gaze to a servant offering him a towel to wipe his sweat.
“Tell them to prepare for the next session once they’ve rested.”
Jeremy and his friends lifted their heads in alarm at Owen’s voice.
Pesha couldn’t help herself and let out a stifled giggle.
For once, her time at the estate felt genuinely pleasant.

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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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