Reincarnated as the disaster prince

Marquess Donovan was seething. His manor, his sanctuary, had become a battlefield. The clash of swords and the cries of dying soldiers echoed through the halls, and each sound felt like a slap to his pride. Blood stained the marble floors, and the scent of smoke hung heavy in the air.

Enough.

Donovan clenched the hilt of his sword, and an oppressive aura spread around him, chilling the room to its core. "You dare defile my home?" His voice was a thunderous growl as he raised his blade high. "Dance of Fire!"

Flames erupted from the edge of his sword, their searing heat illuminating the carnage. With a mighty swing, a wave of fire carved through the air, forcing every combatant to halt. The inferno left scorch marks on the walls, and the sheer force of his attack sent even the bravest mercenaries stumbling back in terror.

At the center of it all stood Donovan, his bloodlust radiating like a storm. His cold, furious gaze fell on the Mercenary King, whose hand tightened around the shaft of his massive hammer despite the fear coursing through him.

But fear was not enough to quell his pride. Gritting his teeth, the Mercenary King charged, raising his weapon high to crush Donovan's head.

"You should have run," Donovan muttered, his voice dripping with disdain. With a swift and merciless strike, his blade arced through the air, severing the Mercenary King's left arm at the shoulder. Blood sprayed across the room as the hammer fell to the ground with a deafening clang.

The Mercenary King's scream echoed as he collapsed, clutching the stump of his arm. Donovan loomed over him, sword poised to deliver the final blow. "This is your punishment," he said coldly. "Don't blame me."

But as he prepared to end it, a memory surfaced—a boyhood memory he had long buried. He saw himself as a young boy, sneaking out of the castle under the cover of night. He ran through cobblestone streets to a small cobbler's shop, where a scrappy boy with bright eyes and dirt-streaked hands awaited him. They had spent countless hours there, laughing, dreaming, and forging a bond that defied the rules of their world. A noble and a commoner, defying fate itself.

Donovan hesitated, his sword trembling. He let out a sharp breath, shaking his head. "Go," he said finally, his voice heavy with conflicted emotions. "I'll spare you for the sake of old times. Leave now, friend… or should I say, enemy?"

The Mercenary King glared up at him, his face pale and twisted in pain. "You'll regret this," he spat, his voice hoarse. "From now on, we are enemies in every sense of the word." He staggered to his feet, his men rushing to support him as they fled, leaving a trail of blood in their wake.

At the mercenary guild, the atmosphere was tense. The Mercenary King sat slumped in his chair, his twin sons tending to his wounds. Their healing magic had stopped the bleeding, but his spirit was battered. His missing arm was a grim reminder of his defeat.

The door creaked open, and an unfamiliar group entered. A dark-haired boy with glowing crimson eyes led the way, flanked by a shadowy figure and a tall man with an unnerving smile. The Mercenary King's eyes narrowed.

"What's a child doing here?" he growled, his voice tinged with irritation. "Go back to your mother, boy, and take your friends with you."

The boy—Theodore—chuckled softly. "I'm no ordinary child. I came to offer you something… something you cannot refuse."

The Mercenary King scoffed. "What could you possibly offer me?"

"Your daughter," Theodore said, his tone casual. "Alive."

The words hung in the air like a thunderclap. The Mercenary King froze, his breath catching in his throat. "You dare—" he began, but Theodore cut him off with a wave of his hand.

"Save your outrage," Theodore said, his voice smooth. "You'll want to hear what I have to say."

Suspicion flickered in the Mercenary King's eyes, and he signaled to his men. Two assassins emerged from the shadows, their blades gleaming. They lunged at Theodore—but before they could strike, Belial moved like a shadow, dispatching them with swift, brutal efficiency.

The Mercenary King roared, grabbing a dagger and leaping over his desk. Before he could land a blow, Belial intercepted him, slamming his head into the desk with bone-crushing force. The dagger clattered to the ground as the Mercenary King let out a strangled cry.

"Enough," Theodore said, his tone calm yet menacing. He stepped forward, gripping the man's hair and forcing him to look into his glowing red eyes. "Don't I look familiar to you?"

The Mercenary King's breath hitched as recognition dawned. "Prince Theodore…" he whispered. "You're supposed to be dead."

Theodore released him, stepping back with a smirk. "I came back to settle a debt. You helped my stepmother's plot to kill me, didn't you? Now it's time to pay."

The Mercenary King's face twisted with guilt and anger. "I had no choice," he growled. "She would have killed me if I refused!"

Theodore's smirk widened. "Spare me your excuses. I've already taken everything from you—your daughter, your pride, and now your freedom."

The Mercenary King froze. "What do you mean, my daughter?"

Theodore's form shimmered, transforming into a man with orange hair. "The man who fed you lies about the queen? That was me."

Realization hit like a hammer, and the Mercenary King's face contorted with rage. "You… manipulated me. You killed her!"

Theodore's eyes glowed brighter. "And I can bring her back… if you work for me."

The Mercenary King hesitated, his pride warring with his desperation. But when Theodore touched his forehead, his vision shifted. He was plunged into darkness, face-to-face with a massive, grinning beast with jagged teeth. The creature's laughter echoed in his mind, driving him to the brink of madness.

When the hallucination ended, the Mercenary King was a broken shell of a man, trembling and pale. Theodore leaned in close. "Defy me, and I'll unleash nightmares beyond your comprehension."

The Mercenary King nodded weakly, his will shattered. "I'll… serve you."

Theodore smiled, turning to seat. "Good. Betray me, and you'll wish I had killed you."

Belial followed close behind, his dagger still slick with blood,and guards Theodore back.