The boss lady looked over anxiously. "Young man, are you alright?"
Lester Liew nodded.
Clara smiled and shook her head. "He's fine."
"Madam, how much are your roofing tiles?" Clara asked, getting straight to business.
Business was important, so the boss lady didn't dwell on Lester and quickly led Clara to look at the tiles while explaining, "That depends on how many you need. We're a tile kiln, and we also sell small batches to villagers nearby. If you're getting over two hundred pieces, the price goes down."
Uncle Joss had helped Clara calculate earlier—tiling their entire roof would require about two thousand pieces. There might be some extras left, but not by much.
Clara then asked if she could buy a bit more first, and if there were leftovers, whether she could return them.
She remembered her parents doing the same with renovation materials back before the apocalypse. Should be fine here too, right?
She was lucky—the boss lady said that although no one had returned unused tiles before, if Clara could guarantee they'd come back in good condition, she'd accept the returns.
"If they're broken, though, that's on you," the woman warned kindly. "It's best to buy a few extra, just in case any break during transport."
"Do you deliver?" Clara asked.
The boss lady nodded. "Where do you live? Let me see if it's nearby. As long as it's still near Goldstone Town, we do delivery."
"Not far—Liew Clan Village."
The woman smiled. "No problem at all. How many do you want?"
"Two thousand. What's the price?"
"Alright, since you're buying a lot, I'll give you a deal—three copper coins for every four tiles. That's one tael and five silver coins for two thousand pieces. That's already our lowest rate, and delivery is included. The cart and labor cost us too—we've got to make a little profit."
She sounded genuine, and Clara found the price reasonable. She paid a 30% deposit on the spot and asked for delivery the next day.
Two thousand tiles couldn't be delivered in one trip. The sooner they started, the better.
The boss lady noted it down and gave Clara a wooden receipt. When the delivery was complete, Clara just needed to show it to the delivery worker and pay the remaining balance—settling silver for goods.
When Clara came out of the kiln, Lester was still leaning against a post at the entrance, blowing on the back of his hand. As soon as he saw her, he quickly dropped his hand and stood up straight, smiling.
"All done?"
Clara nodded coolly.
She headed straight for the blacksmith's to check on her weapon.
The blacksmith, seeing her, thought she was there to rush him and quickly promised, "Just two more days! Come back then, and I'll have it ready."
"Alright, I'll be back in two days."
Clara left, seeing how busy he was.
"You're going home already?" Lester caught up, surprised.
He glanced at the sky—it wasn't even noon yet. They'd come all this way just to visit a tile kiln and a boring smithy. Total waste of a trip!
Clara didn't slow her pace. "Do you know why I brought you along today?"
"Why?" Lester asked sincerely.
"I thought the shop didn't offer delivery," Clara replied. "I figured bringing you along meant one more pair of arms to carry things."
"So… you're lucky," she added, sparing him the hard labor.
Lester tried to laugh, but couldn't manage it. The back of his hand still burned, and he could only silently trail after her.
They walked in silence.
The weather had been clear the past few days, and the path through the valley was fairly easy to walk.
Autumn had fully set in—the hills on both sides were brushed in golden-orange. When the wind blew, leaves danced through the air.
It was a beautiful scene, but eerily quiet. Even under bright daylight, the silence made one's skin crawl.
Lester glanced at the woman striding ahead and secretly felt relieved—not walking this lonely mountain road alone.
The rustling woods whispered in the wind. He picked up his pace to walk alongside Clara.
"Darling, don't you think it's oddly quiet today? It's not even winter yet, but no one's out. We've walked so long and haven't seen a soul."
Clara looked around—nothing seemed unusual. She'd walked this route alone before. Apart from the yellower leaves, nothing had changed.
But seeing Lester so obviously making conversation out of nerves, she mocked, "You scared?"
"W-what? Of course not!" Lester put on a brave face. "It's just… I heard there've been bandits around these parts this year. Thought maybe we'd get ambushed."
"Forget it. My kindness is treated as the act of a fool.." He grumbled, but still quickened his pace to stay beside her.
They continued on, eventually passing through a narrow gap into a longer valley.
The wind howled between the cliffs. At some point, the sun disappeared behind clouds, casting the whole valley in a dim, grey light.
Lester looked around uneasily—something felt off.
He wasn't one to keep thoughts to himself. If it came to mind, he said it.
"Darling, don't you think this path feels… kinda spooky?"
He braced for her ridicule.
Unexpectedly, Clara came to a sudden stop.
She turned to him and said, "Yes."
"W-what?"
Lester's hair stood on end.
He was just about to ask if she was messing with him when footsteps came from the slope to their left.
A group of five or six bandits charged down and blocked their way.
Lester froze.
There really were bandits!
They were doomed. Absolutely doomed.
He nearly cried out—they have knives!
"Darling, how much silver do you have on you? Just give it to them. Our lives are more important. I heard bandits just want money—maybe if we're cooperative, they'll let us go." Lester's voice trembled.
Honestly, for someone as timid as him, thinking that clearly in this situation was commendable.
But Clara didn't operate on common logic.
She raised her hand with a hint of annoyance, signaling him to shut up.
Lester glanced back toward the narrow gap. Maybe if he turned and ran, since they didn't have horses, he could escape…
But before he could move, Clara already stepped forward and demanded of the bandits, "You're robbing us?"
The bandits didn't expect this little couple to be so calm. One of them laughed. "Aren't you a clever girl?"
Clara asked again, "Money or lives?"
They sneered and swaggered closer. "Both, of course!"
Two of them raised their knives and charged.
They were outlaws—no way they'd make the mistake of leaving witnesses.
"Fine," Clara said flatly.
She understood.
And with that, she cast away any hesitation.
The calm in her eyes turned razor sharp. She gripped her knife tightly, and in a flash, slashed across one bandit's throat.
Blood spurted wildly. Clara sidestepped neatly.
Her blade became a death scythe, weaving through them—precise, swift.
One slash, one down.
(End of Chapter)