The Fake Wife of the Strongest Husband Wants to Survive - Chapter 68

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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 68
Fulton pulled his overcoat tighter around himself.
After days of not leaving his room, the weather had grown noticeably colder.
He rubbed his reddened nose and hoisted the enormous stack of documents he’d been cradling against his chest.
Reports written while confined to his room during these weeks of house arrest.
They detailed the expected revenues from the Beryl operation going forward, the losses that would accrue if it were abandoned, and the cascade of misfortunes that would follow.
He understood that his lord had ordered confinement as a form of reproach, but no matter how he thought about it, he could not abandon Beryl.
Perhaps presenting this report would only bring harsher punishment.
But Fulton had always lived by saying what was true was true.
He knew many disliked his rigid manner, but it was his nature—there was nothing to be done about it.
His lord had kept him close as Deputy precisely because he valued this quality, and Fulton’s conviction remained unchanged: the right course was to press forward in the direction he believed correct.
Whether this place was a battlefield or a fief, he served his lord, not the Lord’s daughter—so he would need to have a proper reckoning with his master.
“They’re all mad, clearly.”
How could that inexperienced girl hold such sway that even seasoned officers couldn’t move against her word?
Even Jane, his fellow Deputy, had begun her correspondence complaining about the woman, but complaints had long since ceased appearing in her letters.
And Rebecca, the most straightforward of the three Deputies—what of her?
She merely followed orders and showed no outward dissent, yet Fulton had seen how she sat beside the Lord’s daughter throughout the council meeting, eyes fixed on him with unmistakable approval.
‘Blast. I should have spoken up when Jane was still complaining about her, instead of letting it pass.’
Fulton had never harbored ill will toward her from the start.
And for good reason: he did not believe his lord had entered into a marriage where he was entirely the loser.
There was intention behind it—his lord’s will.
That alone was reason enough to respect her.
Yet the territory’s livelihood could not be sustained on respect alone.
Someone had to speak plainly.
His role was to check her before her confidence from one success led her to cause real disaster.
As Fulton walked briskly toward the lord’s office, organizing his tangled thoughts, he suddenly noticed that the first floor was alive with noise and bustle.
Glancing out the window, he saw laborers loading multiple supply wagons high with Oak Barrels.
Rebecca stood watching with her arms crossed, and he felt a stab of confusion.
“What are you doing right now…?”
Still holding his reports, Fulton descended the stairs and approached Rebecca.
“Listen, Rebecca.”
Rebecca only rolled her eyes at him.
That she hadn’t even offered a single word of concern to her colleague who’d barely just been released from nearly a month of confinement—it was so perfectly her.
“What’s going on?”
“What do you mean? See for yourself.”
Rebecca gestured at the Oak Barrels with a tilt of her chin, as if too bored to explain.
“No, I mean why are you loading these onto the wagons? What’s inside them?”
“Half cold water, half hot water, I’m told.”
“What?”
Fulton’s eyes widened as he asked again, and Rebecca gave a light shrug.
“But the Lady said the hot water needs to be even hotter, so we’re also gathering pots and fire-building equipment.”
“What nonsense is this….”
“I couldn’t say for certain, but apparently you need to spray water before you can mine stone.”
“Stone…? Has my lord given permission for Beryl extraction?”
Fulton’s perpetually weary eyes went wide, light flooding back into them.
There would be no opportunity to present the mountain of reports he’d written in confinement, but the fact alone that his lord had changed his mind felt like sufficient reward for all his suffering.
Yet Rebecca looked at him as one might regard a peculiar creature.
“What?”
“Huh?”
“Ah, you wouldn’t know—you were under confinement. The Lady discovered a new gemstone.”
“A new…gemstone, you say.”
“The entire Stone Mountain that rings our territory is apparently composed of this stone. Remarkable, really.”
“Then it can replace Beryl!”
Rebecca, no longer even glancing at Fulton’s astonished face, replied with casual indifference.
“That’s apparently not the case, actually.”
“What do you mean?”
“I confess I’m puzzled myself… but then, surely the Lady has thought it through, hasn’t she? It’ll work out somehow.”
“Work out somehow?”
At Rebecca’s words, Fulton let out a bitter laugh of disbelief.
“Since when did you become so optimistic? You—who moved only by careful calculation—what are you talking about?”
“Then what? Your very existence is a variable. No matter how much I calculate and predict, you’ll solve the problem in ways I never imagined.”
The remark struck Fulton as irresponsible.
As his brow furrowed, Rebecca let out a soft laugh and added her own thought.
“Why don’t you watch and see? You’ll understand when you witness how my lady elevated Beryl from mere refuse in Emerald production into a cornerstone industry.”
* * *
Several days passed after that.
Fulton had been in a foul mood throughout.
It was galling enough that the Lord had dismissed him from the office without even reading his report, but Namoi Castle’s relentless din day and night had worn his nerves razor-thin.
The princess’s antics showed no signs of letting up.
She was hauling boulders on carts, smashing them, making an absolute racket in the process.
After days of restraint, he finally cornered one of the Countess’s personal maids and demanded to know what all this noise was about, only to have the sharp-tongued woman answer curtly.
“What else? Her Ladyship is conducting research.”
“Research?”
“There’s a proper Research Laboratory, but the materials she’s working with this time are too large, so she’s doing it outside.”
The maid—a fitting match for that princess, one might say—ended the conversation unilaterally and stalked away.
Well. No matter his displeasure, there was nothing to be done about work undertaken by the Countess herself.
While he was trying to ignore what he couldn’t change, he stumbled upon yet another bewildering sight.
Spread across a broad swath of the Front Courtyard was something blue, laid out to dry.
“Good heavens.”
What on earth was this?
It appeared to be some sort of material being dried.
Unable to pass by without stopping, he stood there dumbfounded until someone addressed him.
The architect of this chaos was Pesha.
“Deputy Fulton. It’s been ages since we’ve met.”
The last time had been a month or so ago in the conference room, when they’d clashed over his remarks.
Given that he’d received confinement as a consequence of those words, he merely offered an awkward, respectful bow.
Even so, his eyes remained fixed on what appeared to be blue mud drying on enormous sheets of cloth.
“Ah, this?”
Too hesitant to ask directly, Pesha noticed his curious stare and gestured toward the mud.
“It’s progressing well, isn’t it? I was worried because it’s winter, but the sun is strong enough that it should dry quickly.”
“It’s…… progressing well?”
As Fulton asked with a twisted expression, Pesha nodded calmly.
“Yes. Everything is proceeding nicely.”
He couldn’t help but press further.
“What exactly…… are you attempting to do?”
Everything he’d observed of Pesha’s activities was utterly bizarre.
He’d heard mention of creating pigment.
But mineral-based pigments were hardly rare or remarkable—so what could justify all this commotion?
Seeing his evident disapproval, Pesha rummaged through her pocket.
“Well. This is supposed to be secret, but the prototype is already finished. I’ll show you, Deputy Fulton—and only you.”
“…….”
“You won’t look? Even my lord hasn’t seen it yet.”

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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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