Three Futures Enslaved | Dream Team

Chapter Twenty

George knew that Coriol had said the camp was small, but as a person who had absolutely no idea where he was going, the camp seemed bigger than the castle he had grown up in. 

He lowered his head as a group of people passed by him, all talking loudly and being obnoxious. Every person he walked past seemed to stare at him with bloodlust, but that was just his imagination working against him and he knew it. But all the same, chills ran down his spine as he tried desperately to avoid anyone's gaze.

He didn't even know where he was going. Just... somewhere. He needed to find Sapnap.

What are you going to do after you find him? a little voice inside of his head asked critically. You don't have a plan for getting out of here.

I'll figure it out. After I find him.

How are you going to find him? By wandering around aimlessly until he literally runs into you?

George gritted his teeth and scowled at the ground. Since when was I so hard on myself?

Since forever, but that's besides the point.

He raised his eyes again. He was standing in front of a sort of ring of tents, raising up higher than the rest he had seen. If he had to guess, it was probably the main living hub of the camp, where all the toughest assassins lived.

That reminded him... Actaeon had been the one to bring them there. Coriol had said that Actaeon was the new Lord. So where was the man?

As if he had summoned him, a hand touched George's shoulder, nearly making him jump out of his skin. He yelped and spun around, tripping over himself to back up as he found the archer in question standing right behind him.

"Hello, prince," Actaeon said cheerfully. "How are you?"

George regained his composure and scowled harder. "I'm in an assassin camp with no way of leaving, my friend is missing and my other friend who was supposed to look for him with me is also missing, and I'm surrounded by killers. Yeah, I'm great."

Actaeon laughed. He reached out and poked at George's cheek, like he was a dog that had just done something cute. "Funny, little prince. You certainly have a nice sense of humor. Were you the joker of the court back at your castle?"

George swatted his hand away. "Shut up," he said sourly, which probably wasn't the best thing to say to a dangerous assassin who could probably kill him without breaking a sweat. "Where's Sapnap?"

"Sapnap?" Actaeon mused. He rubbed his chin and grinned. "He's out."

George raised an eyebrow. "'Out'," he repeated in disbelief. "Is that seriously your only answer?"

The archer laughed again. "Your friend is becoming an assassin, prince. He's busy walking over a large distance to gain some endurance right now. I suspect he'll probably make it back to this camp by daybreak tomorrow." He winked. "That is, if he doesn't get killed before then."

George's face flushed. His mind was whirling. Sapnap was too righteous to become an assassin, so he must've been forced against his will. But even then, the man would probably fight until the end not to become an assassin just to spite whoever it was forcing him to become one. But George hadn't been able to find Sapnap, and Actaeon's wide grin only served to unnerve him even more.

"Where is he?" George asked through gritted teeth.

Actaeon waved a hand dismissively. "I'll tell him a pretty young man is interested in his whereabouts when he gets back," he said, turning away, though George still caught that cocky grin on his face. He sauntered off, leaving George fuming by himself in the middle of the camp.

A bubble of anger surged in George's body, but he battled it down. Actaeon had just given him the drive to help Coriol overthrow him. He'd take that anger and turn it right back. He'd make the assassin regret ever messing with him and his friends.

***

George gripped the hilt of his sword tightly. His body ached from where he had been hit multiple times already in the span of just a couple minutes, and his calves felt like they were on fire. 

But it was a familiar feeling, and so he chose to welcome it instead of driving it away with his usual complaints.

"Feeling tired is right," Coriol said, ever the polite assassin. "You've been doing this for a long time."

"Stop making me feel better and get on with it," George grumbled, gripping his weapon even harder.

Coriol shrugged. He held up his wooden staff and lashed out. George raised his sword and moved it up in an arc, aiming to cut the staff into two. At the last second, the staff seemed to bend, shifting its position and smacking George's sword aside.

"Too slow," Coriol said bracingly. "You didn't bring your weapon up to block after you were blocked. You allowed for an opening, one in which you could've been struck and downed. You'd be dead."

George scowled at the medic, who simply shrugged. "You asked for me to stop extenuating."

"I don't even know what that word means."

"Palliate," the blond-haired man said thoughtfully. "Sugarcoat. Alleviate."

"Oh, so you're a walking dictionary now?"

Coriol flicked his wrist. His staff whizzed through the air, straight towards George's head. On impulse, George raised his sword.

"Nice!" Coriol said with a smile, reaching out to catch the severed part of his wooden staff. He frowned at the cut. "Well... you're buying me a new staff."

George simply stared at his sword, his brow furrowed. He had absolutely no idea where that force had come from, or where he had gotten that accuracy from, either. His body had acted by itself without his mind controlling it, and the results were a lot better than he could achieve with the two working together.

He looked up at the medic, who was busy sharpening his newly-shortened staff into a spear. That light smile was still on his face.

"You planned for this to happen," George said, almost accusingly. 

Coriol shrugged. "Possibly."

"Why did it work?"

The man smiled again and tapped his fingers on his new spear. "Well, the way that a person's body works under stress is very unique. The same is true for anger, or any other form of emotion. You seem irritated or unhappy with yourself all of the time, so I wanted to test using that as a way to push your body to show some satisfactory results."

"Has anyone ever told you that the way you talk is extremely tiring?"

Coriol laughed. "All the time."

"Well, they don't say it enough."

The medic laughed again. George smiled too, before he caught himself. What are you doing? he chided himself angrily. You can't be doing this right now. He's an assassin, just an assassin, and you're going to use him so that you can get out of here.

But as the man whacked his legs with his spear and told him to widen his stance, he couldn't help but feel like something missing within him had been filled. Like the protector and mentor that he never had --- or missed.

That was right.

He missed Filens.