The Useless Prince Is A Gangster
Chapter 120. Next Move

Chapter 120: 120. Next Move

Captives gripped the rusty railings, their bony hands holding tight, eyes wide with awe and anger.

Sylo, one of the cruel enforcers of this awful prison, lay broken on the scarred stone floor, her body a bloody mess, limbs twisted, blood pooling under her. Her eyes flickered with pain and fear, tears cutting through the dirt on her face as she sobbed, her screams sharp and wild, echoing like a dying animal’s cry.

Leo stood over her, the blue flames that had covered him now gone, his torn black under shirt barely hanging on, showing a body covered in healing scars.

Erin watched from her high throne-like chair, her violet eyes sparkled with a dark, almost cruel thrill, her smirk sharpening as she enjoyed Sylo’s pain.

"Rip her apart!" a young man yelled in a husky voice. Hurt her!"

The yell caused a flurry, and more people joined in, demanding her death in a raw chorus.

"Kill her!"

"Torture her slowly!"

The stone floor was thundering with the raucous cheers that filled the arena.

However, Leo raised his hand, and the Blood Dragger vanished into his item box, glowing softly. The applause subsided as the audience fell silent in front of him due to his commanding presence.

Erin got to her feet, her boots clicking as she descended from her platform, her silver hair gleaming in the light. With a sigh, Leo raked a hand through his red, sweaty hair and knelt before Sylo, his gaze fixed on her anguished expression. Her eyes met his with a flicker of fear, and her sobs slowed.

His smirk was cold, voice low and bitter. "Look at you, Draven’s girl. These people want you ripped apart." He leaned closer, voice a creepy whisper. "Honestly, I’d love to cut you up myself. But you’re staying alive—for now. I wantyou alive for interrogation."

Sylo’s eyes widened, terror flashing through her pain, her lips shaking. Leo ’s smirk grew, like a hunter playing with broken prey, but before he could push further, Vivien broke through the crowd, her small body running across the arena.

Her auburn locks bounced, her red eyes shining with happiness as she collided with Leo , wrapping tightly about his waist. "You were awesome!" she shrieked, pride in her voice, paying no attention to the blood on his shirt.

Leo chuckled, messing up her hair, his cold look softening just for her. "Almost done, little devil. We’re going home soon."

Erin reached the arena’s center, stopping in front of Sylo, who glared up, her voice weak but hateful. "You... you’re messing with things you don’t understand. You’re going to die, girl."

Leo ’s eyes flicked to them, catching Sylo’s words.

Erin laughed, a sharp, mocking sound, crouching to meet Sylo’s gaze. "You think I don’t know what’s happening? Come on, you’re all obsessed with this Ruler stuff." Her voice dropped, sneaky. "But you missed something big—the bright light that guides the Ruler."

Sylo’s body tensed as her eyes widened and a flash of insight pierced her agony. Then she felt a terrible shudder. Her muscles twisted as if something had torn her from the inside out, and her veins glowed a sick green. Her body stretched and her skin split as her scream turned into a choking gurgle.

Leo reacted fast, grabbing Vivien and shielding her against his chest, turning away as Sylo’s body exploded in a gross burst of blood, bone, and flesh. The blast splattered the stone floor, chunks raining down, the arena falling dead silent as the prisoners gasped, shocked.

Deep in the Treachery’s secret backup base, a huge, dark chamber hid inside a ruined stronghold, Draven stood in the middle, trembling, fists clenched so hard his knuckles turned white, veins bulging under his sweaty skin. His breaths were short and uneven, each one a fight against the heavy pain of Sylo’s death—a sharp, raw loss he felt tear through his heart. Sweat dripped from his face, falling to the cold stone floor with a soft, steady drip, the only sound in the chamber’s heavy silence.

Around him, cult soldiers knelt in a circle, their gray robes spreading like spilled ink, heads bowed low, one hand pressed to the ground in stiff respect.

In front of Draven stood Ashern, his quiet but deadly presence whose very being was like a still storm.

His eyes gleamed like dark stones beneath the hood of his elegant robe, and his sharp, pale face was adorned with a knowing, icy, and cruel smile. Even just that smile made Draven shiver, not only from grief but also from the fear Ashern’s eyes evoked. Draven was aware that Sylo had been brutally murdered by Ashern in order to silence her and protect the cult’s secrets; she could feel the defeat from a distance.

Draven’s voice, a tremulous whisper ripped from his throat, broke the silence. "Why are you here, my lord priest?" His gray eyes begged for mercy that he feared would not come, and his words faltered as fear and sadness shattered the strength he once possessed.

Ashern’s smile widened, his tone soft but cutting like a knife. "You really want to know, Treachery?" Draven’s heart pounded, he’s the reason for the Ruler and that girl had wrecked his prison, nearly destroying everything. How Ashern knew so fast was a mystery.

"Do you grasp how catastrophically you failed?" Ashern continued. "You nearly lost our equipment, our research—our sacred work."

Draven’s knees shook, but he forced himself to stand, his voice quivering as he pleaded. "I know I failed, lord priest. Please... give me a chance to make it right. I’ll kill the Ruler myself." His eyes, raw with desperation, locked onto Ashern’s, searching for any hope.

Ashern’s smile stayed, but his eyes gleamed with cold amusement. He moved forward, smooth as a ghost, and put an arm around Draven’s shoulders, like a warm gesture.

"Dear Draven," he murmured, voice sweet but poisonous, "who am I to grant chances? That privilege belongs to our Goddess, Ashtarya."

Draven’s breath stopped, terror gripping his heart, his body stiff under Ashern’s touch. But the priest chuckled, a low, creepy sound, patting Draven’s back lightly. "Fortunate for you, it seems the Goddess chose me to judge your fate today."

Draven’s shoulders relaxed, a small spark of relief cutting through his fear.

Ashern stepped back, pacing slowly, his gaze sweeping over the kneeling soldiers, their bowed heads shaking under his stare. "I hear one girl annihilated our entire force," he said, voice tinged with mocking curiosity.

Draven nodded, head down, shame burning his face. "Yes, lord priest. She killed Warden like he was nothing."

Ashern turned, his smile turning wild. "Fascinating, don’t you think?"

Draven’s brow furrowed, confusion mixing with his grief.

Ashern’s voice dropped, clear and icy. "She’s stronger than the Ruler, even stronger than you could think. She is the bright light in the darkness."

Draven’s eyes widened, shock stealing his breath. "Her... the light?" he whispered, voice barely there, the truth hitting like a blade.

Ashern nodded, his tone firm. "We begin the operation to capture our divine subjects. And we will extinguish the light during the mission. Without her, the Ruler is nothing."

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