Clara borrowed a fast horse from the county's postal station and requested two signal flares—skyburst firecrackers that would shoot into the air with a loud bang and a flash of red light.

  She instructed the county deputy to have his men ready. By dusk, under the fading light of the sun, they were to depart for Fishbone Mountain, where the bandits were currently holed up, and await her signal to act.

  Normally, no one in the county office would have agreed to such a “fool’s errand.” But before Clara left, she single-handedly lifted one of the stone lions guarding the office gate.

  The sight was so overwhelming that the entire office was roused as if injected with adrenaline. They suddenly burned with righteous fury, eager to follow her into battle and wipe out the bandits once and for all!

  Clara galloped out of the city but didn’t head directly to Fishbone Mountain . Instead, she returned home.

  A journey that would have taken five hours on foot was reduced to just an hour and a half on horseback. Envious of the convenience, Clara quietly vowed to buy a fast horse once she secured that hundred taels of silver.

  Her sudden return, especially on horseback, caused a stir as she passed through Liew Clan Village.

  Ryder, who had been playing near the village well, immediately bolted home. “Grandpa, Grandma! Aunt Clara came back on a horse!”

  Without waiting for a response, he turned and dashed toward his third uncle’s house. Just as he reached the riverbank, he saw Clara riding out again, now equipped with her bow and broadsword.

  He barely had time to shout “Aunt Clara!” before horse and rider stormed past, kicking up a cloud of dust that had Ryder coughing into his sleeve.

  “Grandpa, Grandma! Aunt Clara left again!”

  In less than five minutes, the boy was back at the Liew ancestral home breathlessly reporting the news.

  Martha and Doreen had just been getting ready to go check things out themselves. Hearing this, both women froze, wondering aloud what on earth Clara was doing.

  She had come and gone in a flash. After grabbing her weapons, she stopped by the water mill to say a few words to Adam, Ben, Chad, and Deb, and then mounted up and left again.

  The four children were left staring blankly, wondering if they’d imagined it. Had their stepmother really just ridden past them on a horse?

  Only when Martha, Doreen, and Ryder arrived to ask did they realize—it hadn’t been a dream.

  “Why would your mother rush off like that? Did something happen in the county town?” Martha asked with concern.

  All the men were out quarrying stone for the millstones. Only the women and children were home.

  Knowing Clara had taken Lester to enroll at the academy, she feared something had gone wrong and rushed over to ask.

  Chad and Deb were still dazed. “Mama said she had some business and would be back in a few days. She told us to stay with Grandpa and Grandma at the old house.”

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  Ben, a little more clear-headed, added, “Mama said she’s off to make big money.”

  “Big money?” Doreen’s heart jumped. What kind of money could ordinary folks make that would have her rushing off like this? Was it even something good?

  Martha shot her a sharp look to silence her nonsense.

  Doreen rubbed her nose awkwardly and turned to Adam. “Did your mom say anything more? And where did that horse come from?”

  A horse was far more expensive than an ox—beyond the means of regular folk. Only officials or wealthy landlords owned them.

  Adam shook his head. “She didn’t explain.”

  But he knew one thing for certain—Clara had taken her weapons. That meant this was no simple matter.

  He chose not to share that fact and gave his siblings a look, silently warning them to keep it quiet too.

  Still, with their stepmother gone for a few more days, they would need to continue relying on the old house for support.

  Martha sighed at the sudden burden and told the four children to bring the money box from the mill by dinnertime and eat at her place. She’d send her youngest son over again at night to keep an eye on them.

  The matter had happened too abruptly. Clara hadn’t planned for any of this and would have to explain herself when she got back.

  With weapons in tow, she rode straight for Fishbone Mountain.

  The mountain sat to the south of Willowridge County, one of the peaks within a larger range. It had only one accessible entrance; the other side was sheer cliff.

  This meant that every time officials attempted to raid it, their movements would be exposed in advance.

  The bandits used the entire mountain range as a natural shield. Once they disappeared into the depths of the forest, they became untraceable.

  And with ample food and water available, there was no way to starve them out.

  On the other hand, county troops unfamiliar with the terrain and lacking supplies could barely hold a three-day siege before being forced to withdraw.

  That was on a good day. On a bad one, the bandit leader might get ambitious and lead a surprise attack from behind—turning it into a bloody battle.

  Alone, Clara had no such limitations.

  By dusk, she had already reached the mountain’s rear.

  Her plan was simple: locate the bandit leader before dawn and strike at daybreak.

  That way, the troops would arrive just as daylight broke—without the hindrance of darkness or unfamiliar terrain—and fight at full strength.

  The approaches to Fishbone Mountain —its paths and valley mouths—were all guarded by lookouts. The bandits held the high ground and could easily spot intruders.

  But during dinnertime, their vigilance naturally slackened. Clara used that window to slip past the lookouts and enter from the side.

  The location of the bandit stronghold wasn’t hard to guess. With so many men, they needed a water source nearby.

  Following the flow of a stream, Clara quickly picked up the sound of voices.

  The bandits had been stationed here for over three months. They had already cleared the paths through the woods, making it easy to find the hideout.

  Arrogantly, they hadn’t even bothered to set up checkpoints along the way.

  The stronghold sat beside a natural cave, with dozens of crude tree huts clustered around it.

  You might think the bandits lived well—but not at all.

  The place reeked worse than a wild animal’s den. The stench of horse manure, human waste, and rotting food blended into an assault on the senses. The moment Clara stepped into range, she nearly fainted.

  Around the perimeter, they’d built a two-meter-high wooden palisade along the mountain’s slope.

  On either side of the fence were watch posts—simple tree shacks where guards could take shelter from the sun.

  When Clara arrived, the guards were inside boiling water and cooking dinner: two stolen hens, plucked and thrown whole into the pot—innards uncleaned.

  Water wasn’t easily available near the camp, and cleaning out the chickens would’ve meant walking another thirty meters upstream—not something fugitives bothered with.

  They were desperate men. If boredom struck, they’d just ask the leader for some silver and head down the mountain to a brothel for fun.

  Today’s raiding parties had already returned. With limited horses, they couldn’t all ride out at once, so they rotated in small groups.

  Some never made it back, but most returned with spoils.

  The group with the smallest haul would be punished.

  From her perch in a massive tree near the cave, cloaked in a makeshift camouflage of leaves and branches, Clara witnessed the entire punishment process.

  That was when she spotted her likely target—the bandit leader known as “King Howler”.

  (End of Chapter)

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