Three Fates Entwined | Dream Team

Chapter Three

Dream watched from the sidelines as two warriors battled against each other. It wasn't that entertaining, especially since both had been knights discharged from the army for either a lack of skill or a lack of self control. He would've rather taken up another task or dueled another assassin. Heck, he'd rather go into the ring and fight and unequal match than watch two under-trained fighters.

But of course, nobody would dare face him. He was Dream, the most feared assassin that bowed to no one. He never failed a task, he never let his target get away, and he never gave up.

Dream adjusted the bandages covering his hand, pulling at them irritably. Without them, he'd probably bleed to death, but with them, he was so uncomfortable that he would've rather bled anyway.

A green cloak covered him, its hood pulled down over his masked face. People constantly asked him about why he chose to wear a mask with a friendly-looking smiley face drawn on it, but that stopped after he took care of the first few. Nobody knew what he looked like underneath the mask, and he preferred to keep it that way.

A cheer rose up from the crowd of spectators as one of the fighters managed to run his sword through the other. It had been a long match between two equally dimwitted opponents. As disapproving as he was, he had to admit that it was better than doing nothing.

"Our contestant has won again!" the announcer said as the former knight paraded around inside of the small arena. "He has a sword of steel, a mind of steel, and a deathly gaze of steel!"

Dream rolled his eyes, leaning his back against the hard stone wall. Clearly, the announcer didn't have much going on inside of his brain, either. The least he could do was find an adjective that wasn't "steel."

"Who dares to face him?" the announcer asked, a glint in his eyes. He pulled a bag out of his pocket and shook it. The sound of jangling coins filled the air, and Dream sat up straighter. "Here I have two hundred coins, given by generous donors, for the one who can defeat our champion."

Two hundred coins? A usual task only earned him a hundred, maybe a hundred fifty at most. A job worth two hundred coins was rare, and here was an idiot giving them away as if for free.

"Is anyone brave enough to step forward?" the man called. "No? Well, I suppose I'll have to keep these co---"

"I'll do it."

The announcers eyes lit up and swept over the crowd, looking for the one who had spoken. "Oh, a challenger? Brilliant! Stand up, and reveal yourself!"

Dream stood up, pulling his hood even lower over his face. His whole right side was still bandaged after his most recent task, which had him fighting a massive army alone, but he didn't doubt that, even injured, he could defeat his opponent without any problem.

"Well, well, well! Come on down, good sir, and face your enemy!"

It all sounded so exciting when the announcer said it like that, but Dream knew that the fight would be over in seconds. He'd have to drag it out a bit if he wanted the spectators to be satisfied, but then again, why do anything for them?

Dream made his way down to the arena, all the time keeping his head bowed so that none could see his face. It wouldn't have mattered much if they did catch a glimpse of what was under his hood, since most of his face was obscured by a white mask, but they'd still know who he was. He couldn't risk letting the gold slip away from him like that.

"Look at him, with his head hanging low like that," his opponent jeered mockingly. His voice was deep, perhaps even intimidating to some. But not to Dream. "Such a weakling! I can take you down in a second."

A smirk crossed Dream's face. Funny, he had been thinking the exact same thing.

He knew who his opponent was. Tarsel had once been a well-known warrior in the King's army, but he kept messing up because his pride got in the way. He was hot-headed and acted irrationally, contrasting Dream's own cool and calculated ways.

"Tarsel, do you accept this opponent?" the announcer asked. "If you win, you may keep the coins. But if he wins, then the gold is his."

"I accept!" Tarsel's voice boomed around the arena. Dream could hear murmurs from the people watching, probably wondering how fast it would take for him to be defeated. His smirk widened.

"You hang your head down like a peasant," Tarsel said quietly, so that only Dream could hear. "That green cloak of yours, without a family emblem. All these bandages wasted upon you, probably for a mere scratch. I am disgusted that I have to fight someone so weak."

"These bandages cover a very serious wound," Dream said in a low voice. "The likes of you would be dead from what ails me now."

Tarsel tossed back his head and laughed. Dream narrowed his eyes. He was used to people treating him like dirt before he revealed his identity, but he still hated it. People thinking that they were above all others, mightier than the King. He was sick of it.

Some people just deserved to die.

Dream raised his head, pushing back his hood, letting his blond hair and mask be seen by all. Gasps rang out, but nobody made a move to run away.

"Y-you---" the announcer stammered. "I--- sorry, but---"

"Too late," Dream said, smiling. "He has already accepted the challenge."

Tarsel looked very pale. Maybe it was because he had just crossed the line insulting the most feared assassin ever, or maybe it was because he knew that he was going to die.

Either way, Dream didn't care. To him, it was just another task, another target to take care of. Kill the victim, then accept the rewards. Nothing else to it.

Dream pulled out his weapon, a long knife. It was shorter than a sword, but longer than a dagger, and it was his favourite melee weapon. He was very good with a bow, too, but he preferred to use his knife whenever he had the option.

Tarsel held his sword even tighter than before. He was as white as a sheet, which was an even greater reaction than Dream usually got when he revealed himself. The people who boasted the most always ended up the most cowardly.

"Begi---" the announcer started, but a loud voice cut him off.

"Dream!"

Dream glanced upward to where he had been sitting earlier. A man clad fully in black clothes stood there, staring at him from behind dark tinted sunglasses. He knew immediately who it was: Peligro, the person who controlled the black market. His most frequent employer.

Taking advantage of his distraction, Tarsel rushed at him, his sword held out. Dream whipped around, sidestepping the blade and bringing his knife up in a deadly arc towards the former knight. In a second, he lay dead at his feet.

Dream took the sack of gold from the announcer, who was shaking visibly, and turned his attention back up towards the back. Peligro was gone, but he wasn't worried about that.

He had a new task set out ahead of him. A new target.

He could only wonder who it would be.