NTR: Stealing Nobles and Wives in another world-Chapter 12: The Iron Trainer

Something crashes against my door hard enough to make the hinges squeak. I jump up in bed, rubbing sleep from my eyes as the door flies open—basically explodes inward—showing a figure against the morning light.

"Up and at 'em, Cockslinger," says a tough female voice. "Your vacation's over."

The woman steps into my room, and wow, she's scary. Tall—around 5'10"—with a fighter's body showing real muscle under her tight training clothes.

Her black hair has silver streaks despite her youngish age and is pulled into a tight braid over one shoulder.

There's a jagged scar down her right cheek that almost hits her eye. But what really grabs me is the faint blue glow around her clenched fists.

Another transmigrant. Great.

I sit up, suddenly aware I'm only wearing loose sleep pants. Last night with Rosalind was... life-changing, if my new status window means anything.

"Who the hell are you?" I ask, trying to look dignified while scrambling to cover up.

"Lady Keira Ironheart." She says it like I should know the name. "Former champion of House Ironmont.

Current babysitter to useless transmigrants who think with their dicks." She throws some clothes at my face hard enough to hurt.

"You have five minutes to get to the courtyard before I drag you there naked."

She turns and walks out, leaving my door hanging half-broken.

Well, good morning to you too, sunshine.

I check my status window out of habit, wondering if it has any info about my lovely new trainer.

[STATUS UPDATE]

Name: Daren

Level: 2

Experience: 0/500

Class: Transmigrant Champion

ABILITIES:

- Enhanced Physique (Level 1): Active

Effects: Increased stamina, strength, and sexual prowess

- Natural Charm (Level 2): Active

Effects: Reduces inhibitions in targets; touch creates arousal

COMBAT SKILLS:

- Basic Stance: Untrained

Effects: Fundamental fighting position not yet learned

- Defensive Awareness: Untrained

Effects: Ability to anticipate and react to incoming attacks

- Weapon Proficiency (Unarmed): Untrained

Effects: No knowledge of proper striking techniques

- Combat Stamina: Novice

Effects: Enhanced by transmigrant physique, but lacks technical efficiency

HAREM CAPACITY:

- Slots: 1/3

- Active Bonds: Madame Rosalind (Servant-Rank)

Great. A complete list of all the ways I'm going to die today.

I put on the training clothes—simple linen pants and a loose shirt—and head to the courtyard, hoping I remember the right way. The manor is still mostly unknown territory to me.

Thankfully, I can follow the sound of someone beating the crap out of what turns out to be a wooden training dummy.

Lady Keira is systematically destroying the poor thing with strikes so fast I can barely see them. Each hit lands perfectly, her body moving with a smooth grace that seems almost supernatural.

She stops mid-strike as I walk up, sensing me without looking. "Four minutes and thirty-two seconds. At least you can follow basic instructions."

She turns, looking me up and down with cold, critical eyes. Her gaze stays on my chest, and for a second I think maybe my Natural Charm ability is working, but then she snorts.

"Enhanced Physique, level one. Typical. Your body has potential, but your mind is empty." She walks around me slowly.

"Transmigrants like you are all the same. Your abilities boost what you were best at on Earth. Let me guess—professional seducer? Male stripper?"

"Marketing executive, actually," I reply, feeling slightly offended.

"With a side business in brothels, clearly." She stops in front of me. "Show me your stance."

I stare blankly. "My what?"

"Combat stance. Basic fighting position." She sighs heavily. "Just... show me how you'd prepare to fight someone."

I've seen enough action movies to have some idea, so I spread my feet, raise my fists like a boxer, and try to look tough. Based on her face, I've failed miserably.

"By all the gods," she mutters. "It's worse than I thought."

Without warning, she sweeps my legs out from under me. I hit the ground hard, air rushing from my lungs.

"Lesson one," she says, looking down at me. "Your stance is garbage. Feet too wide, weight badly distributed, guard non-existent. You telegraph every move like you're sending a damn letter."

She offers a hand to pull me up, which I take gratefully. The moment I'm standing, she drops into a perfect fighting stance.

"This is a basic defensive position. Copy it."

I try to match her posture—feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, hands raised to protect the face. She circles me, making small adjustments with cold precision.

"Back foot angled out slightly. Weight centered. Elbows in to protect the ribs. Chin down." Each instruction comes with a firm repositioning of the wrong body part. "This is how you avoid dying in the first five seconds."

For the next hour, she drills me on this single stance. Just standing there. Moving forward. Moving backward. Shifting weight. Every time I mess up, she either yells a correction or physically knocks me down to show the consequence.

"Again," she demands after dropping me for the twelfth time. "And stop thinking so much. Your body needs to learn this, not your brain."

"Kind of need my brain to tell my body what to do," I grunt, getting back to my feet.

"That's your problem." She pokes my chest hard. "Combat isn't intellectual. It's instinctual. You need to feel the movement, not think it."

She positions herself behind me, adjusting my stance again. "Your hips are key to power generation—in fighting as in fucking."

I almost choke. "Excuse me?"

"Don't play innocent. Combat is like sex—rhythm, timing, knowing when to advance and when to withdraw." Her voice is clinical, educational. "The difference is, get it wrong in combat and you die."

Something clicks in my head. Maybe it's the unexpected comparison, but suddenly the stance feels less awkward. I shift my weight the way I would during sex, finding a natural balance point.

"There," she says, stepping back. "That's less pathetic."

My status window flickers in the corner of my vision:

[STATUS UPDATE]

COMBAT SKILLS:

- Basic Stance: Untrained → Novice

Experience: +10 XP (Training Breakthrough)

Progress, I guess?

"Break for water," Lady Keira announces, pointing to a pitcher on a nearby stone bench. "Five minutes, then we start movement drills."

As I gulp down water, I take the chance to ask a question. "So you're a transmigrant too?"

She raises an eyebrow. "What gave it away? The blue energy or my charming personality?"

"Both," I admit. "How long have you been here?"

"Fifteen years." Her face hardens. "Long enough to know that this world will eat you alive if you don't adapt quickly."

"And your ability is...combat related, obviously."

She nods once. "Martial Domain. Direct enhancement of combat capabilities." She eyes me critically. "You're Carnal Domain. Sexual enhancement, influence, pleasure manipulation. Useful for bedding serving girls, less useful for staying alive in the arena."

"Hey, I didn't exactly choose this specialization."

"No one does. The transportation process enhances natural aptitudes." Her smile is thin and humorless. "Says a lot about what kind of person you were on Earth."

Before I can defend my previous life choices, a new voice interrupts us.

"Keira! There you are."

A man walks into the courtyard carrying a cloth-wrapped package. He's tall, broad-shouldered, with the confident air of someone comfortable in their own skin.

His beard is neatly trimmed, framing a handsome face that's weathered just enough to look distinguished rather than old.

What's really interesting is how Lady Keira's whole attitude changes when he arrives. The hard edges soften, the constant scowl eases, and her posture shifts subtly from combat-ready to something almost...yielding.

"Aldric," she says, her voice losing its drill sergeant quality. "I didn't expect you until this evening."

"I finished my duties early," he replies, approaching her with familiar ease. "Thought I'd bring you something from the Silver Baker. Those honey cakes you like."

He kisses her cheek, and she actually accepts it without stabbing him, which based on my short experience with her seems miraculous.

"This must be Lord Westfield's new project," Aldric says, turning his attention to me. His eyes assess me with the practiced gaze of a warrior. "Ser Aldric Ironheart, at your service."

Ironheart. Her husband, then.

"Daren," I reply simply, not sure what title I should use.

"Ser Aldric is a knight of House Ironmont," Lady Keira explains, a hint of pride in her voice. "And my husband."

"Former champion himself," Aldric adds with a modest nod. "Though that was before my lady wife claimed the title and outshone us all."

There's something in his tone—a subtle edge beneath the compliment—that makes me think this is a sore point. Interesting.

"Taking a break?" he asks, unwrapping the package to reveal pastries that smell amazing.

"Just five minutes," Lady Keira replies. "He's barely learned basic stance."

Aldric chuckles. "Bringing back memories of when you trained me, my dear?" He winks at me. "She's brutal, but effective. Best fighter in three kingdoms, my wife."

"Former best," she corrects, a shadow crossing her face.

"Nonsense," he says, though his smile tightens. "A champion is a champion, regardless of...circumstances."

The tension between them is subtle but clear. There's history here, something complicated and possibly useful. My status window flickers again, this time showing something new:

[NTR QUEST ALERT]

"The Trainer's Heart"

- Build trust with Lady Keira through training excellence

- Create tension in her marriage to Ser Aldric

- Seduce Lady Keira using Natural Charm ability

Reward: 100 XP, Combat Mastery skill, Potential Harem Addition

Warning: Failure may result in severe relationship penalties

Well, that's unexpected. And probably suicidal.

"Your five minutes are up," Lady Keira announces, already shifting back to trainer mode. "Aldric, you're welcome to watch, but we have serious work to do."

"I wouldn't dream of interfering with your methods," he says, setting the pastries aside. "I have business with Lord Westfield's steward anyway. Tournament preparations and all that." He gives her another kiss, this one on the lips. "I'll see you this evening."

As he walks away, I notice Lady Keira's eyes follow him with a mix of emotions I can't quite figure out. When she turns back to me, her expression is twice as hard as before.

"Defensive movements," she barks. "Now."

This is going to be a very long day.

And somewhere deep in my mind, I'm wondering if I've just found my path to survival in this tournament—or a shortcut to an early grave.