The Useless Prince Is A Gangster

The flames roared, eating up the headquarters of the Lambordi Circle. The walls cracked under the heat, and smoke twisted into the night sky like angry ghosts. The air smelled of blood and burning flesh, the floor covered in blood and bodies. The Lambordi Circle had fallen.

In the middle of the flames, a body burned.

Or what was left of one.

It was now just a black, smoldering pile. But it had once been Vinci Moretti, leader of the Lambordi Circle. The man who had taken everything from Reo Carter.

Now, he was ash.

Reo sat in a chair a few feet away, lit by the fire's glow. He leaned back, one leg over the other, clicking a silver lighter open and closed.

Click.

Click.

The same lighter that had started the fire.

His red eyes, glowing in the firelight, were fixed on the burning body. He didn't react to the sounds of the fire or the smell of burning flesh. He just watched.

Five men stood behind him, holding guns, their faces serious as they stared at the body. They were Matteo's men, loyal to the Bellucci Cartel.

They had followed Reo into this chaos, and now they waited, silent and tense, for what came next.

Reo was a mess. His body was full of bullet wounds, blood soaking his clothes. He had taken the worst of the fight, cutting through the Lambordi Circle with a madness that scared even his allies.

He had finished the mission, but it had cost him. His breathing was shallow, his movements slow. He didn't have much time left.

A gust of wind blew through the broken windows, feeding the flames and sending sparks into the night. One landed on his sleeve, burning a small hole. He didn't brush it off.

He had wanted to feel something.

Satisfaction. Anger. Relief.

But there was nothing. Just emptiness.

Reo clenched the lighter tighter, the cold metal digging into his palm. The movement caught the light, making his wedding ring shine faintly.

He still wore it.

Even now.

Then—

A voice cut through the crackling fire.

"Damn, Reo." Matteo Bellucci stepped forward, hands in his coat pockets. His men moved aside, making way for their boss. "I know you'd burn the Lambordi Circle to the ground, but I didn't think you'd do it in three months."

Reo shifted slightly, his red eyes meeting Matteo's.

Matteo crouched near the fire, staring at Moretti's burned body with a grin. He glanced at the five men behind Reo and gave a sharp nod. "Out. All of you."

The men hesitated, looking at Reo, but Matteo's voice was firm. "Now."

They left, their boots squelching in the blood-soaked floor, leaving Reo and Matteo alone in the fire.

Reo exhaled. "Why can't I feel anything?"

Matteo didn't answer right away. He kept staring at the body, shadows flickering across his face.

Reo leaned back in his chair, tilting his head. "Five years ago, I burned those bank robbers alive. The ones who killed my housekeeper, Gracy. She was old. Harmless. They killed her like she was nothing."

Matteo stayed silent.

Reo flicked the lighter absently. "Back then, I felt something. Satisfaction. Closure. Killing them on her grave… it felt right."

The fire crackled, the only sound in the room.

Reo ran a hand through his black hair, his sharp jaw tightening. Shadows danced across his face, his red eyes glowing in the firelight.

Three months ago, he had been the Lambordi Circle's top hitman. Their most deadly weapon.

His mistake?

Trying to leave.

He had spent years making a name for himself in the underworld, but in the end, he just wanted a quiet life. A home in New Zealand. A future with her.

But the Lambordi Circle didn't see him as a man. To them, he was a tool. And tools don't get to walk away.

So they took everything from him.

Reo stood, holding the lighter, his voice barely a whisper. "I hunted this bastard for months, thinking I'd feel something when I killed him." His lips twisted into a bitter smile. "But now that he's dead? Nothing."

Matteo exhaled and stood up.

Then, in one smooth motion, he pulled out his gun and aimed it at Reo.

Reo didn't flinch.

He had expected this.

Matteo's finger rested on the trigger. "A deal's a deal."

Of course.

Years ago, Reo had killed Matteo's father.

In exchange for the Bellucci Cartel's help in destroying the Lambordi Circle, Reo had promised his own life.

Matteo was here to collect.

Reo spread his arms, his bloodied body swaying slightly. "Do it," he said, his voice calm, almost relieved. "I don't have time to bleed out. Let me die with some honor."

Matteo's grip tightened on the gun. He had dreamed of this moment for years—the chance to put a bullet in Reo Carter's head.

But now, faced with the man who had just destroyed the Lambordi Circle, who had given everything to fulfill their deal, he hesitated.

Reo's lips curled into a faint, bitter smile. "Come on, buddy. You owe me this much."

Matteo's jaw tightened. He stepped closer, the barrel of his gun inches from Reo's forehead. "You're a damn fool, Reo."

Reo chuckled, a low, hollow sound. "Maybe. But I'm a fool who kept his word."

For a moment, neither moved. The fire roared around them, the heat pressing in like a living thing.

Then, Reo's hand twitched, and in a flash, he drew his own gun, aiming it at Matteo.

Matteo's eyes widened, but he didn't flinch. A smile spread across his face. The two men stood there, guns pointed at each other, the air between them crackling with tension.

"Last battle," Reo said, his voice steady. "For old times' sake."

Matteo's lips curled into a grim smile. "You never make it easy, do you?"

Reo's finger tightened on the trigger. "Never."

The gunshots echoed through the warehouse, sharp and final.

Matteo staggered back, his shoulder bleeding where Reo's bullet had grazed him. But Reo… Reo crumpled to the ground, a single shot through his chest.

Matteo stood over him, breathing heavily, his gun still smoking. Reo lay there, his blood pooling beneath him, his red eyes staring up at the ceiling.

"Thanks… buddy," Reo whispered, his voice barely audible over the crackling flames.

And then, he was gone.

Matteo holstered his gun, his expression unreadable. He looked down at Reo's lifeless body, then at the burning remains of Vinci Moretti.

"It's done," he muttered, turning away.

---

Darkness

That was all Reo knew at first. A deep, endless void. Was this the afterlife? It didn't feel like peace. It felt like… nothing.

Then, a voice. Cold, mechanical, and inhuman.

[ALERT.] 

[SOUL TRANSFER COMPLETE.]

Words appeared in his mind, glowing like lines of code. They hovered there, cold and unfeeling, as if some unseen force was cataloging his existence.

What the hell is this? Reo thought, his mind struggling to make sense of it.

Before he could process it further, the pain hit him—sharp, unrelenting, and everywhere. His body felt like it had been torn apart. Cuts, gashes, bruises—each one screamed for attention. He couldn't move. He couldn't even open his eyes.

Flashes of memory hit him. Muscular men, their faces twisted in rage, dressed in rough, old-fashioned clothes. They weren't the Lambordi enforcers he knew. 

These men were different—brutal, wild, like something out of a nightmare. Reo's mind flashed to the moment the blade sliced across his throat.

The pain in his neck was unbearable. It burned, as if molten metal had been poured into the wound. He couldn't breathe. Panic surged through him, but his body refused to respond.

[ALERT.] 

[CRITICAL DAMAGE DETECTED: THROAT LACERATION.] 

[INITIATING HEALING PROTOCOL...]

The voice was calm, almost indifferent. Slowly, the searing pain in his throat began to fade. He felt the wound closing, flesh and muscle mending as if guided by an unseen hand.

Air rushed into his lungs, and he gasped, his chest heaving as life flooded back into him.

He could sense more now. The cold, hard ground beneath him. The damp grass and leaves pressing against his skin. The chill of the night air, broken only by the warmth of his own blood pooling around him.

[ALERT.] 

[MULTIPLE LACERATIONS DETECTED.] 

[INITIATING FULL BODY RECONSTRUCTION...]

The voice was relentless, methodical. Reo's body was a patchwork of injuries, and the system was fixing them one by one.

First, his limbs. He felt the sharp sting of cuts closing, the bones realigning. In his mind's eye, he saw the bandits again—one swinging a crude axe, another slashing at him with a rusted blade. Each wound healed, and with it, the memory of the attack flashed before him.

Then, his torso. A deep gash across his ribs, a puncture wound in his side. The system worked tirelessly, stitching him back together.

The pain was excruciating, but it faded as quickly as it came. He saw the bandit who had stabbed him—a huge brute with a jagged dagger, his face twisted in a snarl.

Finally, his stomach. A sword had pierced him clean through. The memory was vivid—the bandit leader, the man with the scarred face, driving the blade into him with a cruel laugh. Reo felt the wound close, the flesh knitting together as if it had never been torn.

But even as the pain subsided, he felt drained. His body was healed, but he had no energy left. He couldn't move. He couldn't even lift a finger.

[ALERT.] 

[DANGER DETECTED IN VICINITY.] 

[ENERGY LEVELS CRITICAL.] 

[RELEASING EMERGENCY ADRENALINE SURGE...]

A jolt of energy coursed through him, sharp and electric. His heart pounded, his muscles tensed, but he remained still, his body too exhausted to respond.

And then, a voice—soft, familiar, and impossibly close.

"Darling… wake up."

It was a whisper, tender and urgent, like a lover's plea. Reo's eyes snapped open, and he jolted upright, gasping for air as if he had been drowning. His chest heaved, his lungs burning as they filled with oxygen.

He was in a dark forest, the moon casting faint light through the trees. The ground beneath him was soaked with blood—his blood.

He looked down at his hands, confused. They were different—smoother, younger, free of the calluses and scars he had earned over years of violence.

He sat up, spitting blood, the metallic taste sharp on his tongue. His gaze fell to his chest, where a small hunting knife was embedded. He gripped the handle and pulled it out slowly, the blade sliding free with a sickening sound.

[ALERT.] 

[MINOR PUNCTURE WOUND DETECTED.] 

[INITIATING HEALING PROTOCOL...]

The wound closed almost instantly, leaving only a faint scar. Reo stared at the knife in his hand, its blade glinting in the moonlight. It was a simple weapon, but it felt foreign, out of place.

[SCANNING ITEM...]

A blue holographic projection scanned the knife and holographic appeared before him, like an advanced AI system. Lines of data flickered across the display, analyzing the knife.

[ITEM IDENTIFIED: HUNTING KNIFE.] 

[TYPE: ORDINARY]

[MATERIAL: IRON.] 

[CRAFTSMANSHIP: CRUDE.]

His eyes scanned the dark forest, his senses sharp despite the lingering fog in his mind. The adrenaline still coursed through his veins, his body tense and ready. In the distance, he saw the faint glow of fire—a campfire.

[ALERT.] 

[HOSTILES DETECTED.] 

[DISTANCE: 200 METERS.]

The voice was cold, precise, and utterly devoid of emotion. Reo's grip tightened around the hunting knife, his knuckles whitening.

He didn't understand where he was, or how he had ended up here, but one thing was certain: he wasn't going to let whoever had attacked him walk away alive.