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Chapter 06



“No! Don’t do that!”
A shrill voice cut through the air.
I grabbed the stranger’s hand tightly and shouted.
“Have you never peeled a potato before?”
I held up the potato he had… no, the potato he had hacked into pieces, looking utterly bewildered.
Why couldn’t this mercenary peel a potato properly?
Could it be that he had never even peeled a potato in his entire life?

“Of course not,”
the man replied as if the question didn’t even make sense.
When you go to war, you eat potatoes all the time. Many mercenaries even carry dried potatoes as preserved food.
So I assumed he could at least peel a potato neatly and left the task to him…

“Again! There’s still too much potato left on the peel! That’s how you chop a potato, not peel it! Look at all that leftover potato! That’s enough to feed three people even if we make soup!”
The potato I had entrusted to him was nearly halved.

“That’s enough. Stop cutting it and do something else.”
“…And what exactly do you want me to do now?”
He threw the potato he was holding to the floor. When I glared at him, he immediately washed it and put it into a basket.

“I didn’t do it on purpose,”
I heard a faint excuse.

“Well, I guess you’ve practiced swordsmanship but not potato peeling.”
Sighing, I handed him a neatly peeled potato.

“What now?”
“This time it’s very simple.”
“What is it?”
“Grate the potato really finely.”

After some thought about what to make, I had decided on potato pancakes.
I had made pancakes plenty of times, but I had never, not once in ten years, made potato pancakes.
They never appeared on ancestral tables, and my husband disliked them.
I had forgotten about them until I saw some potatoes at the market and remembered.

“You just need to grate it as finely as possible. That shouldn’t be hard, right?”
There was no grater here, nor extra money to make one.
So I had to put this strong mercenary to work.

“What are you talking about?”
He looked confused again.

I rolled up my sleeves and explained as clearly as I could.
“You have to crush it so finely that you can’t even tell if it’s a potato or potato porridge.”

He tilted his head. Clearly, he didn’t understand.
I racked my brain for a way to make him understand instantly, and then a good idea came to me.

“Here! Just imagine this potato is someone you really dislike and crush them into a pulp.”
“…Someone I dislike?”
“Yes.”
“Like someone who tortures or kills others?”
“Exactly. Everyone has at least one person they’d like to grind to pieces.”
“Got it.”

Huh? He really understood immediately?
In an instant, his eyes changed.

Whirrrrrr!!!
“Ahhh!”
The potato split in half in mid-air, then quickly into four pieces, then eight.
How many pieces is that now?
His arms moved like blades in a blender, dazzling and swift.

‘Who could this person he resents be…!’
Well, at least it’s not me.

Shhh-shhh-shhh!
He had complained earlier about the starch sticking to the blade, but now he was swinging the sword like a tornado.

Just as I worried the heat might cook the potato, he suddenly stopped.

“Wow.”
Half a potato mash done in five minutes!

“Wow, how did it get this fine?”
It could’ve been passed off as having been made in a state-of-the-art blender.
I had thought that with a big, rough sword, it would only be roughly chopped, but it exceeded my expectations.

“Is it done now?”
The mercenary lowered his still-hot sword. I handed him a dry towel, and he wiped the blade clean.

“Excellent. This is exactly what I wanted—or even better.”
“Don’t overdo it.”
“Aren’t you a real swordsmanship genius? Turns out I brought along a famous swordsman.”

Haha.
Now all I have to do is strain the mixture through a cloth to separate the starch water and season it!

“…Say that again.”
The mercenary suddenly grabbed my wrist. The look in his eyes peeking through his hair was intensely persistent.

“Did I say what I really thought? That now I can just strain it and season it?”
“No, not that. What you just said—about being a famous swordsman, or a swordsmanship genius.”

He finally let go of my wrist.
“Do you really think so?”
“I do, sincerely. But just so you know, you’re still two silver short of what I want.”
I added that just in case he tried to run.

He studied me through the strands of hair falling over his face.

“What’s the matter? You don’t get compliments often?”
What a suspicious person.

I handed him another potato. On his large, rough hands lay a big potato.
Just as he was about to start working, a voice came calling.

“Wh-who are you… here…!”

The mercenary immediately sprinted down the alley. A man in a hat clumsily followed him.

“So he really is popular,” I muttered, opening the lid to the oil.
I had wanted him to taste the potato pancakes and give his opinion. Looks like I’ll have to ask Michelle instead today.


A little earlier…

Huff! Huff!
Even though he hadn’t run far, Carlos felt his lungs tighten.

Cough! Cough!
After hearing shocking news from Michelle, he had fled and stopped in a dark alley.
Even though he only paused briefly, his legs gave out and he sank to the ground.

“No… this can’t be.”

Carlos recalled the conversation.

“Halara is pregnant.”
“P-p-pregnant?”
“Oh dear. I shouldn’t have said anything. Should I have kept quiet?”
“Earlier, you only speculated she might be pregnant, right? She’s really pregnant?”
“What? Were you eavesdropping on our conversation?”

Michelle’s voice still buzzed in his ears like mosquitoes.

“Whose child is it?”
“How would I know? I’m just helping because she’s pregnant and wants to live properly now! So don’t come looking for me anymore, got it?”

Her expression and tone suggested the pregnancy was real.
Pregnant!
The eldest son hadn’t even married yet!
And now the second son—the Dochef young master who hadn’t even secured a position in the family—has a child?
What nonsense is this?

If true, it would be a disaster.
‘The family atmosphere has been tense lately…’
If news spread that the second young master had caused a huge scandal…
The servants, including myself, would be too intimidated to even lift our heads.

“M-Madam…”
A groan escaped Carlos’ lips.
Just thinking about telling Francesca made him feel suffocated.

No. Keep your composure, Carlos. Think calmly. Even if the pregnancy is real, there’s no proof the child belongs to the Dochef young master.

Carlos took a deep breath to clear his mind.
The important thing is: who is the father?
Halara, a well-known beauty in the village, had plenty of entanglements.
No one knows yet who the father is.

It’s too soon. I promised the madam I’d handle this carefully and find out everything for sure!

Carlos forced himself to stand, legs trembling, still holding onto hope. He hurried to find Halara.

“Have you seen a woman with golden hair around here?”
He searched the market, where she was known to frequent.

“I didn’t see her this morning,”
“Did she just leave?”
“I have no idea.”

Where could she be? Even the vegetable shop owner hadn’t seen her.
Carlos picked up his pace.

Finally, at the far end of the market, someone reported seeing her.

“Golden-haired woman…?”
“That woman? She was here a little while ago.”

The bearded blacksmith replied immediately.

“She was here? Really?”
“Why are you acting like that? I’m not senile yet.”
“Alright. So where did she go now?”
“That I don’t know.”

As the blacksmith turned away, Carlos followed.
“Could you at least tell me the direction? It’s important.”
He added the clarification to prevent any misunderstanding, like with Michelle.

The blacksmith smirked.
Carlos interpreted it as agreement and smiled with him.

“She left with a tall, handsome young man.”

Carlos’ eyes flashed.
Gotcha!
He might be able to find the father—or at least someone who could plausibly be the father—today.

“She went that way,” the blacksmith indicated, and Carlos sped off.

To his dismay, the direction Halara headed was toward her house.
‘She said no men, yet brought one anyway.’

She was in the yard.
And the man who looked like the father was there too.
Holding a potato in his hand.
Finally, I found you.

Carlos focused his gaze.
Halara smiled.

“Aren’t you a real swordsmanship genius?”

A gentle breeze blew.
Through the grass, the man’s previously hidden figure came into view.

“Dochef Young Master…?”
A handsome face, clothes in disarray.

An absolutely inappropriate person to be here stood before him.

Surviving as the Wife of the Swordsmanship Clan’s Troublemaker

Surviving as the Wife of the Swordsmanship Clan’s Troublemaker

검술명가 망나니의 아내로 살아남기
Score 9.9
Status: Ongoing Author: Released: 2026 Native Language: Korean

Synopsis

A daughter-in-law of a traditional Korean clan—
on the very first day she ever flipped the dining table and walked out of her in-laws’ house,
she was transported into a fantasy world.

“You’re saying you’re pregnant with my son’s child?”
“That can’t be true! How could a commoner like me possibly be carrying the young master’s child…?”

Marriage, in-laws, everything—I’m sick of it!
I decided to live alone in this new world, but then—

“Come into the estate.”
“Pardon?”
“You said you like my son. Move in and live here.”

Unlike in the original story, my in-laws are telling me to marry the male lead.
What kind of ridiculous family is this?

It was a marriage with an end already in sight.
This family would soon be destroyed anyway, so I planned to leave at the right time.
Before that, I just wanted to use the duke’s wealth to cook and eat everything I wanted, but—

“How dare you insult our daughter-in-law in front of me. You’re prepared for the consequences, aren’t you, Madam?”
“Those who dared to disgrace the duke’s daughter-in-law—I will personally deal with them all. Then perhaps Halara will forgive me.”
“I was already annoyed by the sound of people insulting Halara, so this works out nicely.”

For some reason, my in-laws adore me.
And even—

“Divorce? Halara, I must have misheard, right?”

Even Dochef—the protagonist of this novel and the troublemaker of a renowned swordsmanship family—has changed.

“Without you, I’m nothing more than a delinquent. Knowing that, you wouldn’t really try to leave me, right?”
“Dochef, I…”
“…And our child needs a father too.”

Excuse me?
A child?
I’m not pregnant though?

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