Another skirmish with Dema. A shameful failure.

The perfect leader, the best strategist, the genius of plans and attacks, Clancy totally screwed up. Dozens of successful missions, and now he has cracked. Half the squad didn't make it, the rest are badly injured, barely returning back to the bandito camp. Dema's soldiers were almost twice as numerous. Clancy and his group were unable to repel their attack, fleeing like cowards, in his opinion.

It was the only right decision, Clancy tried to convince himself.

But for his mind these self-convictions were just empty talk. Clancy felt horrible, he had really screwed up. He hesitantly snapped the hair band on his wrist, trying to pull himself together and stop going through plans of 'how it could have been done better' in his head.

You had a great idea of how Clancy was feeling right now, you were pretty close despite your different social statuses among the banditos. That's why you were already at his tent. Everything was exactly as you imagined, if not worse.

Clancy sat at his desk, leaning his elbows on it, nervously clicking his hair band. His shoulders were tense, his knee bouncing from nerves, strict brown eyes wide and unblinking, brows furrowed.

He looked like he was on the edge, just about to snap.