The Useless Prince Is A Gangster
Chapter 84. Return

Chapter 84: 84. Return

Hello everyone! I just wanted to let you know.

The next arc will be very brutal, voilence and full of blood bath.

But the next three Chapters will be a bit slow and more focused on drama.

Please be patient and keep supporting me!

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In the Arora City, where underworld rules young Reo, just twelve years old, slumped against the wall of a crumbling apartment hallway.

Blood trickled from a gash on his forehead, matting his black hair and staining his torn shirt. His jerk father, reeking of cheap liquor, had smashed a bottle over his head and kicked him out, cursing. Reo hugged his knees, his face a mask of defiance despite the pain.

"Is that blood?" a small voice piped up.

Reo’s head snapped up, his heart racing, only to see a little girl standing nearby, her curious eyes wide. She clutched a tattered doll. He was relieved, and slumped back, his voice gruff. "Don’t bug me. Go away." He didn’t need anyone’s pity.

The girl hesitated, then ran off, leaving the torn doll beside him. Reo closed his eyes, trying to block out the world. But hurried footsteps soon echoed, and he cracked an eye open. The girl was back, holding a small tub of water, a rag, and a packet of buns.

She put the tub down and held out the buns. "It’s my dinner, but you look hungrier."

"I’m fine," Reo muttered, but his stomach made a loud growl. The girl giggled, and despite himself, Reo’s lips twitched. Reluctantly, he took the buns, tore them in half, and handed one piece back. "It’s your dinner. I’m not stealing it all from a kid."

She grinned, taking the half. "You’re a kid too, you know."

Reo snorted, and they sat side by side, munching in silence.

Days later, Reo walked through crowded streets, a bag of leftover food from his job was under his arm. He’d saved some for the girl, eager to share. But as he neared his street, a commotion stopped him cold—a mob gathered, voices raised in heated arguments. Reo pushed through, feeling something wrong.

It’s a car crash, its front crumpled against a wall. The victim was unrecognizable, a pulpy mess of blood and bone.

Then he saw it—a bloodied, torn doll lying in the wreckage. Reo’s breath caught, his heart pounding so loud it drowned out the world. His vision tunneled, the mob’s shouts fading to a dull roar.

The driver, a drunk rich man, argued loudly, his face flushed with arrogance, not a shred of guilt. Reo’s eyes locked on a heavy iron rod lying on the road. His trembling hand reached for it, rage and grief boiling inside him, ready to explode. His first murder, leads him to the underworld.

In the present, He jolted awake in the carriage.

He rubbed his face, leaning back as the carriage swayed. Liana sat across, Nimbus dozing on her lap. Outside, the countryside rolled by, the sky bruised with dusk. In a few hours, they’d reach House Caulem. Reo’s hand brushed his red hair leaning back.

At the Caulem manor’s training grounds, sweat-soaked soldiers sprawled on the grass, catching their breath after a grueling session. Through their chatter, one piped up, "Hey, I heard the first son’s coming back today. That true?"

Another nodded, wiping his brow. "Yeah, he should be here any minute."

A third leaned in, grinning. "Word is, he’s changed since that bandit attack. Even got fame for killing an S-rank monster, something the second son couldn’t pull off."

"No way," a skeptical soldier scoffed. "He said he doesn’t even need guards now."

Laughter rippled through the group. "Probably just hype to make him look good," one said. "A kid who could barely swing a sword, no soul resonance—him against an S-rank? Come on."

"He’s probably still the same cocky jerk," another muttered, but a nervous voice cut in.

"Shh, watch it! He’s still the Duke’s heir. One wrong word, and you’re in the dungeon."

A shout rang out from the distance. "The first son’s here!"

The soldiers scrambled to their feet, curiosity pulling them toward the main gates. The carriage rolled in. From the manor’s office window, Duke Alric stood, his face calm but his eyes sharp, watching the approaching vehicle. In her private chamber, Duchess Maria looked out, her lips pressed into a thin line, her gray eyes cold with calculation.

The carriage stopped, and the crowd held its breath. The door open—and a black cat leaped out, landing with a stretch and a lazy yawn. The soldiers blinked, dumbfounded. "Is... that the heir?" someone whispered, sparking muffled snickers.

Then the door opened fully, and Leonhardt Caulem stepped out. But he wasn’t the boy they knew. Leo landed lightly on the ground, one hand shielding his crimson eyes from the afternoon sun. He stretched, arms high, letting out a long, unbothered yawn.

His black travel coat fluttered in the breeze, hugging a lean, athletic frame that hadn’t existed three months ago. His once-Skinny build was gone, replaced by toned muscle and a quiet confidence. His handsome features, sharper now.

The soldiers gaped, their chatter dying.

Maria, watching from her window, felt her breath catch. Her gray eyes widened in shock. He’s not the same. The trembling boy who’d cowered under her gaze was gone, replaced by someone, something, entirely different. Even from afar, his presence unsettled her.

Leo squinted at the sky, muttering, "Too damn sunny here." Liana stepped down behind him. "Let’s go inside, Young Master Leo," she said, directing a worker to grab their luggage.

Leo’s smirk flickered as his gaze looked over the soldiers, who flinched under his sharp stare. He’d spotted them from yards away, his senses far beyond what they expected. Turning toward the manor—a grand, elegant fortress of stone and glass—his eyes locked onto Maria’s window. She stiffened, a chill running through her as his grin widened, sharp and knowing.

"Here comes the headache, " he muttered.

As he started toward the main doors, a small figure caught his eye—a little girl peeking from behind the entrance, her wide eyes brimming with curiosity and excitement.

In Carthorn town, where the Caulem manor resides, the dark guild’s hideout was full of tension. The usual rowdy chatter was silenced, every mercenary at the tables stiff and silent. Five figures dominated the room—the Wolves, a brutal mercenary crew feared across the region. They sat at a corner table, a portrait of Leonhardt Caulem spread before them.

The bald leader chuckled darkly. "Got word, boys. The sheep’s back in town. Time to hunt."

One of his men, a wiry thug, frowned. "He’s the Duke’s son. Killing him here’s gonna be tricky."

The leader’s eyes shifted to a slim man with a snake-like smile. "Brakk, this one’s yours. Tail him. Report every move."

Brakk’s grin widened, his fingers twirling a wickedly sharp knife. He stabbed it into Leonhardt’s portrait, pinning it to the table. "Consider it done," he hissed, his voice dripping with malice. "Time to bleed a noble."

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