A probing arrow came first—slicing through the cold air in a deadly arc, whistling through the wind.
The arrow pierced through the window of the main hall and embedded itself deep inside.
Had someone been sitting in there… it was unthinkable.
But the courtyard remained eerily silent. The shouts or screams the bandits expected didn't come.
The two mounted raiders exchanged a look, then swiftly dismounted and charged toward the main gate.
Right then, Clara raised her bow. The bowstring, taut all this while, finally released with a sharp twang—two arrows flew out together, splitting midair like a swallow's tail, flying straight toward the two charging bandits.
Two screams rang out almost simultaneously, followed by a heavy thud. One of the bandits fell forward, an arrow lodged squarely in the center of his forehead—dead before he hit the ground.
The other had a stroke of luck. A gust of cold wind from the river gorge shifted the arrow just slightly off course—it struck his left shoulder instead.
Seeing his comrade drop and taking a hit himself, he didn't hesitate. He spun around, bolted back down the slope, mounted his horse in a flash, grabbed the reins of the riderless horse, and whipped them both around to flee.
"Trying to run? Too late."
Clara fired another arrow.
The fleeing bandit crouched low on his horse, trying to duck.
But that arrow flew as though it had eyes. Thwack! The sharp sound of it piercing flesh rang in the air. The man tumbled from the galloping horse and rolled several times down the snowy slope, landing in a heap among dry, jagged stones. His limbs twitched briefly—then he stilled.
Three arrows. Two kills. And still, Clara felt it was a waste.
A good bow was hard to come by. Good arrows—even harder.
Hearing that the courtyard had gone silent, Lester first set down the knife by the door, then hurried into the hall to retrieve the bandit's arrow. He ran up to Clara, who was still up on the ladder, and held it out.
"What for?" Clara frowned.
Lester lifted the arrow higher toward her. "To shoot again. Might as well restock your quiver."
Clara sighed. She took the arrow and gave it a glance. The tail feathers were all messed up. She tossed it back down. "It's no good."
"Go fetch the three arrows I just fired," she ordered.
Lester blinked, unsure if he heard her right. "Right now?"
Clara gave him a sidelong look. When else?
Lester took a big step back. Going out there now was asking to get killed!
Seeing how cowardly he looked, Clara snapped coldly, "There are no more bandits outside. I haven't seen any more coming this way either. And I'm still here covering you. What are you scared of?!"
Seeing she was growing impatient, Lester finally mustered his courage. "Okay."
He moved the logs blocking the door, gave Clara one last glance for confirmation, saw her nod, and quickly cracked the door open a sliver—then bolted out.
The moment he stepped outside, he nearly slipped on the icy snow. He skidded straight to the corpse. Seeing the lifeless, wide-open eyes staring at him, he whimpered, covered his own eyes with one hand and groped around for the arrow with the other. He yanked it out and flung it into the courtyard.
Then he ran down toward the riverbank, eyes averted, and fetched the other arrows from the body there. Without stopping to breathe, he sprinted back and slammed the door shut behind him, collapsing against it and gasping for air.
After catching his breath, he looked up at Clara, who had just climbed down from the wall, hoping for praise.
But the arrows he'd brought back looked worse than the one the bandit had fired at them. One was covered in bloody flesh, one had a cracked shaft, and only the fletching remained intact.
Clara didn't care about the shaft. She needed the arrowheads and feathers.
She snapped all four arrows, salvaging the three intact tail feathers and four arrowheads. Later, she could bring them to Daniel Yang to make new arrows.
Lester didn't get it, but he was stunned. Wait… you can do that?
But then he noticed the human meat still stuck to the arrowhead and immediately gagged.
Clara gave him a wicked look. "Can't handle it? Look at the blood on your hands. That's worse."
Lester: "…" Clara, thank you very much!
She patted him on the shoulder. "You'll get used to it."
Compared to the rotting zombies she'd dealt with in the apocalypse, this was nothing.
Just then, Clara heard the village noise growing louder again. She climbed the ladder once more—only to see more bandits making their way toward their home.
They'd already taken the two horses, and left the two corpses behind like trash. Four or five more were now charging up the hill.
Clara didn't hesitate. She loosed arrow after arrow—each one finding its mark. The five fell where they stood.
The rest of the bandits were stunned. They hadn't expected to run into a sharpshooter in such a small village. Fear gripped them, and they retreated quickly, heading back into the heart of the village.
Bandits thrived on speed and efficiency. Clara was clearly not someone easy to deal with. They made the quick decision to leave her alone and continued ravaging the other homes instead.
That's when Lester suddenly remembered. "My father! Oh no, what if something happened to him?"
He looked up at Clara, still perched on the wall, and called out weakly, "Dear…?"
Clara was staring at the fires that had started throughout the village and listening to the village chief and clan leader's desperate cries ringing from the warning bell. She pursed her lips, then jumped down from the wall.
"Dear!" Lester looked at her expectantly.
Clara grabbed the heavy blade behind the door. Her eyes, cold and focused, locked onto him. "If anyone gets over the wall, take the kids and run up the back mountain. Don't even think about trying to fight them."
"Yes, yes, got it. You go—quick!" Lester urged.
Clara waved the blade near his face with an annoyed flick. The whoosh of wind from the blade made Lester instinctively duck.
"Easy for you to play the hero with someone else's life," she sneered.
Lester, legs still trembling, gave her a fawning smile. "Just be careful, dear. The kids and I will be waiting for you to come home safe."
"Oh, I'm sure you'd be delighted if I died at a bandit's hand," Clara scoffed. She knew exactly what little thoughts he was hiding.
She reminded him to lock the door, then slung the bow over her back, grabbed the heavy blade, and rushed into the village.
After bolting the door, Lester climbed up the ladder to the wall and watched her—swift and agile like a panther—cross the bridge in a few graceful leaps and vanish into the village.
He sighed. "This time… you really wronged me."
He'd only ever seen her kill. Never thought she'd be the one saving lives today.
Clara moved swiftly through the village. The first thing she saw was thick, black smoke billowing from the roof of Frank Liew's household.
His was the richest home in Liew Clan Village. Of course the bandits would hit it first.
But that also meant other households had slightly less pressure to deal with.
Clara had no time for unrelated matters. She had one goal—the old Liew residence.
Along the way, she encountered two groups of bandits who had just looted homes and were heading out of courtyards.
Without a word, she struck with her blade.
The same blade that Lester needed two hands to wield, Clara swung one-handed with dazzling speed and precision.
Before the bandits could even react, they were already on the ground—cut down cleanly.
Inside those homes, the villagers were petrified at first, thinking another bandit had come. But when they saw it was Clara from Lester's house, they were both stunned and overjoyed.
Clara tossed the stolen goods back into the courtyard, nodded at the residents, and continued forward without pausing.
(End of Chapter)
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