On Rational Marital Life - Chapter 45

Blake, who had been conversing with Jerry, glanced at Layla while chewing his food.

She suddenly understood how the servants must have felt during their interviews—this tense, uneasy feeling of facing someone who held power over them.

“I spoke with some of the servants today.”

“You held another round of interviews?”

“I want to establish some basic rules for both the household staff and your men. But since they aren’t servants of this estate, they’re your subordinates. I’d like you to be the one to inform them.”

Blake chewed a few more times before swallowing. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down noticeably. The sound was loud in the quiet dining room.

“Rules? Is there a problem?”

“The servants and your men come from completely different worlds. They don’t understand each other, so misunderstandings keep piling up. I’ve come up with a few simple rules to help prevent that.”

Blake fell silent for a moment, seemingly considering her words.

Then, glancing at her, his eyebrow twitched slightly.

“Fine. You tell them.”

Layla blinked.

“If you explain it to me first, then I’ll have to explain it all over again to them. Why go through the trouble? I’ll call them over after dinner.”

“But… won’t they take it the wrong way?”

“What do you mean?”

Layla hesitated.

She had many concerns.

First, she was still technically Blake’s wife—but only for now. Since she planned to divorce him, she wasn’t sure if she had the right to interfere in how he handled his subordinates.

Second, the world of mercenaries was governed by brute force. No matter how high-ranking she was as his wife, wouldn’t they rebel against the idea of taking orders from her?

And lastly, there was Blake’s own authority to consider. Wouldn’t it be an issue for him if she started giving out commands?

But the man in question seemed completely unfazed. He agreed without hesitation.

Had she been the one clinging to unnecessary preconceptions?

Layla was relieved that Blake hadn’t placed any strange conditions on his approval. She decided to act quickly before he found an excuse to change his mind.

“Thank you. Then, please call for Whaler.”

“Just Whaler?”

“…Excuse me?”

“You said all my men need to hear this, didn’t you? I’ll call them all over. I’ll stay with you too. They’re not the most obedient bunch—you should be grateful.”

“…Yes. Thank you.”

Jerry shot Blake a look of pure exasperation.

* * *

After dinner, Blake gathered his mercenaries with a thunderous shout loud enough to shake the entire estate.

Then, with a lazy grin, he sprawled comfortably in his chair, watching Layla as if urging her to hurry up and speak.

“What’s going on, Captain?”

“Oh, the lady is here as well. May the blessings of the gods always be with you.”

“Captain, how much are you going to invest in my butcher shop?”

“They said the servants were interviewed—so is this about that?”

Whaler, noticing Layla’s presence, quickly grasped the reason for the gathering.

Blake was a colonel, but at his core, he was still a mercenary. His men reflected that—there was no sense of discipline among them.

They all spoke over one another, blurting out whatever was on their minds, completely disregarding order.

Layla addressed them, maintaining her composure.

“I am Layla Burmang. I should have gathered everyone sooner, but I apologize for the delay in introducing myself.”

She had seen them training from a distance. Some of them she already recognized, but this was the first time she had met them all together.

The rules she wanted to establish were simple:

1. Request supplies through Whaler – No more taking things from storage without permission.
2. Train only in designated areas – No more drills in the garden.
3. Bathe in the evening – Every night, without exception.

Because of the lack of proper management, the estate had fallen into disorder. Rather than listing every single issue, Layla had decided to keep her requests brief.

Even with Blake present, some of his subordinates protested.

The first to object was Carson, a burly man with a short temper.

“This is ridiculous! Why are all these rules aimed at us? Huh? We’re not a bunch of unruly brutes! If people treat us well, we’ll treat them well too.”

“He’s right. The servants have been ignoring us this whole time.”

Even Whaler seemed to acknowledge this, nodding slightly.

Carson, encouraged by the agreement, finally unleashed the frustrations he had been holding in.

“Ignored? That’s putting it lightly! We’re just trying to make a living here, yet they serve us garbage for meals! A handful of leaves and a scrap of meat—that’s all we get! They’re treating us like we don’t belong.”

“They act all annoyed the moment we ask for anything. It’s insulting.”

“I need a proper prayer room.”

“I need a butcher shop! The captain promised he’d support me, but he still hasn’t done it.”

Complaints started pouring in, many of them completely unrelated to Layla’s initial request.

The mercenaries’ voices grew so loud it sounded like a full-blown argument was breaking out.

“Silence!”

Unlike the soldiers in a proper army, these men lacked discipline, but even they fell silent at Blake’s command.

He swept his gaze over them before turning to Layla.

“Why no training in the garden? It’s the perfect spot—plenty of cover for combat drills.”

“The servants also use that space. If someone suddenly appears wielding a sword, of course, they’re going to be startled.”

“Then they should learn how to react when someone appears with a sword. Good training for both sides.”

Carson snickered as he made the suggestion, clearly joking.

…Or at least, Layla hoped he was joking.

Even Blake gave him a disappointed look.

“If you must train in the garden, then we’ll set specific hours. I’ll speak to the head gardener and have them designate an area.”

“The gardener?”

“There are many expensive trees and plants in the garden. A well-maintained garden reflects the dedication of the gardener. If training there is inconvenient, perhaps we could ask the gardener to create a separate area for training in the rear garden?”

Blake seemed satisfied with her suggestion. Stroking his chin, he nodded.

“…That’s a good idea. Fine, until a proper training ground is built, you’ll only train on weekends. Once it’s ready, you’ll stick to that area.”

“Why are we changing our training schedule just because of the servants? I—Surrak—am against—”

“Wouldn’t you rather have a dedicated training area?”

“—changing my mind! I fully support this decision! The captain’s wife is truly wise!” Surrak beamed, immediately switching sides.

“I still need a prayer room,” Adrian interjected.

Blake ignored him.

“And bathing? That should be a personal choice. You can’t force that.”

“Raise your hand if you bathe every day.”

At Whaler’s words, only he and Blake raised their hands.

Layla, without thinking, also lifted hers—only to quickly lower it, her face turning red in embarrassment.

The other mercenaries simply stared.

Blake scowled at them.

“…Wash yourselves. Every. Day.”

“As for the meals, I’ll make sure they’re adjusted accordingly.”

Layla understood why there were complaints about the food. Blake alone ate a massive amount, mostly meat—if his men were given the same portions as the servants, of course they’d be upset.

Adrian, for once, voiced a reasonable concern.

“There are things we need on a daily basis, but every time we ask, the servants act like it’s a huge inconvenience. They glare at us before reluctantly bringing what we need.”

“What kind of things?”

“Underwear, clothes, towels, shoes, sword oil, soap… and a prayer room.”

“…I can’t build a prayer room for just one person’s beliefs. But for everything else, just inform Whaler. As for their attitude, I’ll speak to the servants.”

Adrian slumped his shoulders in disappointment. He clearly wasn’t satisfied, but at least he dropped the issue.

When Blake took over the estate, several former staff members had left, and mercenaries had taken their place. This meant fewer servants were now responsible for serving more people, making their workload significantly heavier.

Layla considered ways to improve the situation before offering a polite farewell to the mercenaries.

“I understand that these changes may be inconvenient, as they differ from what you’re used to. However, the servants here will continue to assist with your meals and living arrangements. There may be misunderstandings now, but I intend to improve things moving forward, so I ask for your cooperation with these rules. Thank you for taking the time to listen today.”

For once, the mercenaries remained silent, exchanging awkward glances instead.

These were rough, battle-hardened men who had never been addressed so politely before. It wasn’t just because she was the captain’s wife—none of them had ever interacted with a true noblewoman before. They simply didn’t know how to respond.

Her voice was quiet yet firm, carrying an undeniable presence.

She was small, with delicate features and graceful movements—everything about her felt different from their world.

Even Blake understood their reaction.

After all, he had felt the same way when he first met Layla.

So this is what nobility truly is.

It was already late into the night. Blake got up and dismissed his men.

“Alright, that’s enough. Meeting’s over. Go back to whatever you were doing.”

With a casual wave of his hand, he sent them away, then placed a hand on Layla’s waist.

“See? Everything went smoothly because I was here.”

His fingers traced the curve of her waist, his touch lingering suggestively.

Slap.

Layla smacked his forearm. It didn’t hurt, but the unexpected action caught him off guard just long enough for her to slip away from his grasp.

“I need to write down everything that needs to be organized tomorrow.”

“What? What’s wrong? Talk to me—we need proper communication to improve things.”

“You don’t change even when I do talk to you.”

Without giving him a chance to grab her again, Layla quickened her pace, heading out of the room.

Behind her, Whaler chuckled, shaking his shoulders as he watched the scene unfold.

“It’s all part of the strategy,” Blake muttered. “She needs to see how much I care. It’ll make her fall for me eventually.”

“You sound like a lovesick husband. If she ever meets her former fiancé—the crown prince—you might even get jealous.”

Blake scoffed. “Why the hell would I be jealous over a man she already left behind? Stop talking nonsense and go make sure those fools don’t slack off.”

With an amused smirk, Whaler simply nodded and left the room.

The next day, Layla threw herself into reorganizing the estate.