Disappointed Leader

Dawn broke over the town, its gentle rays penetrating the glass windows of a secret, yet not-so-secret room. Unlike the cliché dark and foreboding chambers often found in scary bedtime stories, this space was bright and warm, bathed in the soft glow of the rising sun. The room, while sparsely furnished, exuded an air of importance and power.

At its center stood an elegant square table, flanked by three chairs. Two were positioned, facing the window, while the third sat opposite, basking in the morning light. The two chairs facing the window were occupied by men dressed with simple elegance – not-so-large tunic pants, crisp white shirts, and overcoats that spoke of their status. One even sported large silver chains around his neck, an obvious yet hidden display of his wealth and status.

From a distance, these men appeared respectable, perhaps even noble. But a closer look revealed the truth in their eyes – a raw, barely contained violence that marked them as thugs. Not common street criminals, but the elite of the underworld. Upon even closer inspection, one of them, the one without a heap of necklaces on his neck, had a scary long scar tracing down from his jaw to the base of his neck.

The chair backing the window remained empty. Instead, a man stood nearby, gazing out at the rising sun. His attire set him apart – expensive silk robes of a soft grey hue draped his frame. One hand glittered with gold rings on every finger, while the other held a glass of amber whiskey, which he sipped occasionally.

Silence reigned in the room. The two seated men didn't dare speak, their tension only continuing to rise as they awaited acknowledgment from the man by the window. It was clear who held the power here.

Minutes ticked by, marked only by the occasional clink of ice in the whiskey glass. Finally, the man spoke, his voice deep and calm, yet underlined with a current of anger that made the seated men stiffen.

"Gentlemen," he began, not turning from the window, "I find myself... disappointed."

The two thugs exchanged nervous glances but they stomached their nervousness just as soon as it appeared. This man being disappointed wasn't something they wanted to hear.

Besides, they knew why they were here. Days ago, others had sat in these same seats, tasked with a simple job. Now, those men were gone, and their target had turned the tables on them.

"I gave clear instructions," the leader continued, his tone never rising above a conversational level. "The orphanage was to be acquired. Quietly. Efficiently. And if need be, by all means." He paused to take another sip of whiskey. "Instead, I find my men beaten and some even killed, my plans in shambles, and whispers of a child warrior spreading through the streets."

He finally turned, fixing the seated men with a cool gaze. "This... displeases me."

At the snap of his fingers, the door opened. Four men entered, dressed similarly to those who had first approached Mrs. Benson about buying the orphanage. Their faces were masks of cold indifference as they dragged in two other figures.

These new arrivals were a stark contrast to the composed thugs. Terror etched every line of their faces, their eyes wild with fear. When their gazes met the leader's, they froze, as if hoping stillness might render them invisible.

The leader ignored them, addressing the seated men once more. "I despise failure," he said, his voice soft but carrying authority that easily filled the quiet room. "Loose ends must be tied. Those who fail me, or worse, betray me..." His eyes flicked to the terrified men. "They face consequences."

He raised his hand, palm up. The air above it began to shimmer and swirl, coalescing into a ball of fire. The flame grew, fed by energy drawn from both the man and the atmosphere around him. It was a spell of his own creation, designed to explode on impact with devastating force. A spell known by few as the Laden Spell.

Wooonnngg~

The ball of fire hummed gently as it formed and swirled atop his hand, the room's temperature spiking immediately.

The leader's eyes narrowed in concentration. In the confined space of the room, control was paramount. The fireball stabilized, and with a flick of his wrist, he launched it at the two trembling men.

The spell struck one man directly, then exploded in a blinding flash.

Boom!

When the light faded and the smoke cleared, all that remained of the two were charred remnants scattered across the floor. Yet, not a single body part flew out of a metre radius. The leader had set up a barrier around them after all. Besides the barrier, there was no liquid like blood. The explosion had been so hot that it dried up their blood instantly.

Without a word, the four men who had brought in the victims moved to clean up the grisly scene. The leader turned back to the window, taking another sip of his drink as if nothing had happened.

"Now then," he said, addressing the seated thugs who sat rigid with shock and fear. "I have a new task for you." He turned, fixing them with a penetrating stare. "The question is... will you fail me as well?"

After witnessing the fate of those who had disappointed their leader, there was only one possible answer. Both men shook their heads vigorously.

"No, sir," they chorused, their voices steady despite the fear evident in their eyes. "We won't fail you."

The leader nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Excellent. Then let's discuss how we're going to solve our... orphanage problem."

As he began to outline his plan, the sun climbed higher in the sky, its warm light a stark contrast to the cold calculations being made in the bright, elegant room.

While these plots were happening, Turai remained unaware that he would soon be expecting another set of visitors and this time, he would have to do a lot more than  just protecting the orphanage.