The Useless Prince Is A Gangster

Deep under the busy streets of the same capital city, a secret meeting room hid in darkness, lit only by a single mana-lamp flickering above a worn oak table.

A high-ranking cult soldier was seated across from the other, his face obscured by shadows. His hooded cloak blended into the darkness, giving off an air of cold authority, while his gold faceless mask caught the lamp’s dim glow.

A hooded man sat across from him, his face obscured by a thick hood. His body tensed as he leaned forward, hands clasped, his voice low and suspicious. "Thirty mercenaries? Sneaking them into the hunting event secretly? That is a careless demand."

With a slight tilt of his mask, the cult soldier spoke in a smooth yet menacing voice. "Ten escorts are permitted for each noble house. We have forty of our own under their cover. Before the event starts, you must plant these thirty mercenaries in the forest."

With a cautious tone, the hooded man leaned back and rubbed his chin with his gloved hand. "It’s still a huge risk."

With his gloved hands spreading easily on the table, the cult soldier chuckled softly, his voice muffled by his mask. "Come on over. We are not negotiating with a random street vendor. Your king himself is the one we are dealing with."

The hooded man froze, his voice remained steady as his fingers clenched, showing a hint of concern. "Pay attention to what you say. That title should not be used casually."

The soldier leaned back, his tone light but with a hint of threat the blank surface of his mask glowing darkly. "I apologize. However, we might need to reevaluate our agreement with the crown if this is out of your price range."

With a firm yet controlled voice, the hooded man’s hand shot up. "Your mercenaries will be ready."

"That’s the spirit," the cult guy said in a pleased, slightly arrogant tone.

With a firm tone, the hooded man extended a gloved hand across the table. "Give it to me."