The Useless Prince Is A Gangster

Gripping his longsword firmly, Lucian stood in a bloody clearing.

He and Velmera were surrounded by twenty mercenaries and cultists, and his gray eyes scanned them.

With a voice full of greed, a gruff-looking mercenary with a scarred lip sneered. "It's one of the bounties, you see."

Another chuckled ominously while brandishing a spear. "But lowest on the list."

A third whispered, his eyes gleaming, "Still worth 700 crowns," and tightened his hold on his axe.

Lucian scowled, perplexed but determined. "Bounty? On me?" He held Velmera behind him, his posture firm, his voice sharp.

A cult soldier show up, his voice icy and his white mask blank. "You can do whatever you want with the boy, but do not harm that girl. She needs to be delivered safely."

A snarl formed on Lucian's lips. "Do you think I'll simply give her to you? You cult freaks, fuck each other if you want."

A hard-to-trace snicker of mocking laughter reverberated through the clearing. Sweat on his palms, Lucian's grip tightening, his eyes darting around.

A figure in a black mask emerged, his hooded robes and the cultists stepped aside. His presence weighed heavily on the atmosphere.

He raised his head, examining Lucian's defensive posture infront of Velmira. With a hint of amusement, he said in a smooth but poisonous voice, "You must be his brother."

"It's obvious that you look like Leonhardt—the same loose tongue too."

The mutated mercenaries seemed insignificant in comparison to the black-masked cultist's raw power, which made Lucian's jaw tighten and his senses scream.

Behind him, Velmera uttered a tremulous, urgent whisper. "Lucian, be careful. His mana… it's wrong. It feels… endless."

Lucian's voice remained bold despite his narrowed eyes. "What do you want, and who are you?"

With a mocking tone, the black masked man laughed. "Easy, boy. Give up your life, your brother's girl, and your girl. Or I'll take them myself."

Lucian's grip tightened, grinning. "Here's my counteroffer: drop this dome, walk away, and I might let you live for what you did to my sister."

His voice was amused as his black masked head tilted. "You're out of your depth, but bold words." His form melted into mana, and he was gone in an instant.

As Lucian's senses got up, he spun around and felt his longsword being coldly held.

The blade was held in a black-gloved hand, and the metal decaying at its touch. Lucian's gaze shifted to Draven, who was now just inches away and had his mask on too close.

"They say you're fast," the black mask mocked.

"We should test that." The longsword rusted and fell to dust with a loud crack.

With a roar, Lucian summoned the resonance of his soul, and in place of his broken longsword, an arming sword pulsing with corrosive mana showed up in his hand. The blade vibrated with power and gleamed with a deadly red edge. A wave of crimson arcs sliced toward him as he slashed the air.

The cultist's hand changed into writhing tentacles, each of which sparked against the energy and snapped like a whip to deflect the arcs.

With his arming sword flashing as he spun, Lucian pressed forward, slicing a spiral of red energy that exploded into jagged crimson spikes that shot from the ground toward Draven.

Lucian had to jump back to avoid the shockwave as Black Mask's arm changed into a huge, clawed fist and smashed the spikes apart with a loud clang.

His other hand effortlessly blocked Lucian's next attack, a volley of crimson needles fired from the tip of his sword, by creating a shimmering barrier.

He blurred his form as he quickly closed the distance, sneering, "Is that all?" He struck out with his tentacle arm, aiming for Lucian's chest.

The speed of the black mask overcame Lucian as he parried with his arming sword, the blade yelling against the tentacles. Lucian's cloak was torn and blood was drawn as a claw swept across his chest.

In order to slow him, Lucian gritted his teeth and swung his sword into the ground, sending a red shockwave outward that kicked up dirt and roots. With his masked face unflinching, the cultist waved a hand, spreading the shockwave with a pulse of dark mana.

Three mercenaries seized the moment, charging Lucian with swords and axes. He snarled, swinging his arming sword in a wide arc, releasing a crescent of corrosive red energy that sliced through one mercenary's chest, shattering his mana core in a burst of light.

From his free hand, Lucian sent out crimson tendrils which connected around the legs of another mercenary and pulled him to the ground, where Lucian stabbed him in the head with his sword.

Lucian's arm was lightly struck by the third mercenary's axe, but he whirled around and swung his sword, smashing the man's face with a crunch that made his stomach turn.

Velmera raised her staff, a bolt glimmering with divine magic, her eyes burning with rage and terror. With a trembling but fierce voice, she yelled, "Stay away from him!" and pointed at the black mask.

The bolt streaked forward, its holy light piercing the gloom, but he deflected it with a casual flick of his barrier, his form blurring as he reached her in a heartbeat.

Before Lucian could react, Black mask pressed a black-gloved hand to Velmera's forehead, mana flooding her mind.

Visions of great war happened thousands yeats ago—darkness, loss, betrayal—overwhelmed her, staff clattered to the ground as she fell, screaming and rolling her eyes back.

"Vel!" With a roar, Lucian's voice was raw with desperation. With his arming sword blazing red, he charged, slashing repeatedly, each blow releasing bursts of corrosive embers that blazed through two more mercenaries in a red conflagration.

Black Mask, however, was faster. With bone-crushing force, his foot struck Lucian's chest, sending him crashing into a tree. The impact splintered wood and knocked the air out of his lungs.

Lucian's final thought was a last-ditch promise to keep Velmera safe as his vision darkened and his body sagged as consciousness dwindled.