Oh—not Clara.
Her mood wasn't heavy at all, because she had just come to terms with it.
At this point, any conscripted porter who hadn't yet returned was ninety-nine percent likely to be gone—most likely buried who-knows-where, if they were even buried at all.
Worse yet, some might not have been buried, but left to rot somewhere remote, their bones gnawed clean by wild beasts.
Clara had always liked Quinn Liew—he was tall, capable, and a solid young man.
But the dead could not return. All she could do now was pat the village chief's shoulder and offer her condolences.
The village chief looked at her in bewilderment. "Clara, you don't seem worried about your Lester at all?"
He suddenly remembered: back when the conscription notice was issued, Clara had been the only one in the entire village to volunteer and fill in the form herself.
Everyone else had needed prodding, and even then, they'd gone with resigned faces, clearly reluctant to serve.
Clara still had to live in the village—she couldn't afford to have people suspect her of killing her husband.
She explained at once, "Of course I'm worried. But what's the use of worrying? I'm just trying to comfort myself and hope for the best."
The chief finally let go of his suspicions and sighed. "You really are a woman of hard fate."
Clara quietly raised a brow. Hard fate?
Since ditching that useless Lester, her back no longer ached, her legs no longer hurt, food tasted better than ever, she could scarf down five bowls in one sitting, and sleep like a log every night!
If she could just stop farming and live like a proper landlord, life would be perfect.
Clara rode up front on horseback while the village chief and the rest traveled behind in the ox cart. They set off at noon and reached Willowridge County Town just before sundown.
Last time she was here, Clara had found it quiet and underwhelming.
This time, perhaps because more people had returned, the city felt livelier.
It wasn't any one thing—it was the mix of laughter and sobbing that now filled the streets.
The ones who made it back were naturally laughing.
The ones who didn't had family members gathered outside the county office, waiting for the death list to be posted.
The chief arranged for the five villagers to wait at a teahouse, then called Clara over and the two of them went to a side courtyard beside the county office.
A young clerk opened the door and let them in, quickly closing it again.
He recognized Clara and greeted her in surprise.
Clara, on the other hand, had no memory of him and looked at him doubtfully. "And you are…?"
The clerk gave a wry smile and introduced himself as Zachary Zhou—he had once joined Clara on the Fishbone Mountain bandit raid.
Clara made a face of dawning realization—but truthfully, she had no recollection of him.
Zachary didn't seem to mind. He already knew why they had come. He invited them in for tea, then said:
"I placed Quinn under Officer Rex's command. The man's a veteran—highly experienced and skilled in martial arts. The supply convoys he leads usually come back safe. I'm sure they're still on the road."
"And besides," he continued, "I've not received Quinn's name on any of the death lists. Uncle, don't worry—he might return in a few days."
Clara raised a brow at that uncle. So the chief had a nephew working at the county office, huh?
Zachary turned to Clara. "Did someone from your family also join the supply convoy?"
Clara nodded, and after getting a signal from the chief to speak freely, she said, "My husband, Lester Liew. He went with the same group but hasn't returned either."
"Oh?" Zachary looked thoughtful, then startled. "I know that name! Isn't he that particularly handsome scholar-looking fellow? Just a bit younger than me?"
Clara blinked. "Yeah, he's got a nice face."
Zachary immediately offered a reassuring smile. "He was in the same unit as Quinn—also under Officer Rex. They probably teamed up and are still on the way back."
There was one thing Zachary didn't say aloud.
The reason he had assigned both of them to Officer Rex's team was because he'd accepted a five-coin bribe to do so.
Still, business was business—and since they were all from Liew Clan Village, he'd naturally looked after them a little.
"I never would've guessed he was your husband," Zachary added, clearly surprised. "I thought someone as fierce as Madam Clara would have a husband even tougher than herself!"
Clara's brows twitched.
The chief asked about the other five villagers. Zachary's expression turned somber. "They're on the list. I checked specifically for people from Liew Clan Village—eight names total."
The chief sighed heavily, unsure how he'd deliver the bad news to those families.
Still, knowing Quinn might be alive eased his own heart slightly. He asked Zachary to keep an eye out—if Quinn returned to the city or showed up on another list, they wanted to know right away.
Zachary reassured them, "You're overthinking it. Quinn's a strong lad. He'll be fine."
Then he gave Clara a small smile, trying to comfort her as well. "Lester looked clever enough. He probably won't die so easily."
If he'd stopped at the first part, Clara might've appreciated it. But after that last sentence, her whole face soured.
The others thought she was just anxious and looked at her with sympathy.
By the time they left Zachary's house, night had fully fallen.
Zachary offered to let them stay the night, but the chief declined since the others were still waiting at the teahouse.
Clara and the chief returned with grave expressions, but before they even spoke, the five villagers could already tell from their faces. One by one, they lowered their heads, their eyes reddening in silence.
With the city gates already closed, they couldn't head back tonight. Clara led everyone to Manager Fan's tavern, rented one large shared room and two single rooms.
The five villagers took the shared space; Clara and the chief each had a room.
The villagers promised to repay her when they got back to the village, but Clara waved it off. "My treat."
They were all from the same village, and their wives and sons worked in her waterwheel workshop. As the boss, Clara wasn't stingy when generosity was called for.
The group murmured their thanks, ate a bit to fill their stomachs, then retired in a low mood.
The chief, who had watched those kids grow up, was clearly upset as well. And with no word on Quinn, he sat with Clara in a quiet corner of the tavern, trying to estimate where Quinn and Lester might be.
Which only made Clara more uneasy—because the more she thought about it, the more convinced she was that Lester probably hadn't died.
He'd left well-prepared—warm clothing, thick-soled shoes, even a rain cloak and bamboo hat.
So long as nothing went terribly wrong, the route from Willowridge to Darkmoon Gate should have been safe.
The only real danger would've been outside Darkmoon Gate itself.
Now, Lester didn't have any martial skills, but he wasn't stupid. He'd even taken her dagger.
If all he did was hide and defend himself, the chance of being stabbed by enemy soldiers was no more than fifty percent.
And then there was the truly frustrating part: after being pounded daily by her, Lester had gotten frighteningly good at dodging.
(End of Chapter)
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