The Terminally Ill Prince is the Mad Dog of the Underworld (Novel) - Chapter 18

Episode 18. The Foul-Mouthed Prince

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“Greetings, Young Master.”

Peter, who had just come to fetch water, bowed his head after being unexpectedly stopped.

“Cut it out, you lowborn. Do you think I stopped you just to receive your reluctant greeting?”

“I-I’m sorry. Being ignorant and uneducated, the proper etiquette for greeting noble persons-“

“Stop stuttering like an idiot. You lowborns can’t even speak properly.”

“…I apologize.”

“So you’re Allenbert’s servant.”

“Yes, I am.”

Calling his brother by name without any honorifics – it clearly showed both how disrespected Allenbert was and how insolent that boy was.

“I’m embarrassed that someone as low and shabby as you is a servant. Do you think this is appropriate?”

“I am ashamed. Though our family has fallen, my grandfather held the title of baron…”

“So you’re fallen nobility, I see. No, you’re nothing but a commoner who’s lost even that title now.”

Peter tightly closed his eyes seeing the sneer on the boy’s lips.

It was always like this. Those who looked down on him became even more cruel in their contempt after learning he was fallen nobility.

‘Endure it. Such insults mean nothing.’

He could laugh it off thinking of his mother, who had only recently begun recovering her health, and his two younger siblings. However…

‘This is bad. If I get caught up in this trouble and cause Young Master trouble…’

The thought of causing problems for Allenbert was unbearable.

“Your Highness, if I have done wrong, please punish me.”

Baklava clicked his tongue seeing Peter drop to his knees.

“You have no pride. And you claim to be of noble birth…”

What did he want? First he scorned him for being fallen nobility, now he criticized him for lacking pride despite being noble.

But Peter knew well how futile it was to argue logic with someone intent on trampling and insulting him.

“To think someone like you has noble blood, I’m ashamed.”

Baklava spat out what he considered the most vicious words. Now that he knew Peter was Allenbert’s servant, he planned to insult him to draw out his master.

‘I don’t want to do this either.’

But once he started something, he had to be thorough.

‘The first time is hard, but it gets easier after that.’

Right. How could he call himself a prince of Grünewald if he couldn’t even do this much? Brother, don’t look down on me. I can at least do this much…

A twisted stubbornness and sadistic desire welled up in the boy’s heart.

*Ptui!*

After spitting on the floor, Baklava commanded.

“The floor is dirty. Clean it up.”

“Y-yes, sir.”

“Who said to use your hands?”

Peter froze as he was about to take out his handkerchief.

“Pardon?”

“Lick it clean with your tongue. Like a dog.”

“M-my tongue, you say?”

Even Peter’s face, which had shown submission until now, showed small cracks.

“Your Highness.”

“Keep talking if you think you can handle the consequences.”

“…”

Baklava felt uncomfortable watching Peter freeze in place.

But if he returned without properly crushing even one servant, what punishment would he face from his brother?

The boy’s not-yet-mature mind transformed that fear into anger toward the servant before him.

“Why are you just standing there? Do you find my words amusing?”

“No, sir.”

Watching Peter slowly lower his head, Baklava gritted his teeth. Well, he could just compensate the servant generously after this was over.

‘This might actually be better.’

Wouldn’t it be a profitable deal for that servant to endure some insults in exchange for money worth more than a month’s wages?

But that wicked impulse was brief. As his excitement subsided, Baklava’s resolve weakened slightly. Despite being called a ruffian, he still retained some noble upbringing.

“If you can’t do it, stand up and offer your cheek.”

“…Yes, sir.”

Just as Peter was about to rise, preferring to take a slap instead…

“What are you two doing?”

Allenbert was striding toward them from a distance.

* * *

“Well, who do we have here? Isn’t it my brother with his lowborn foreign blood?”

I smirked at the provocation from this wet-behind-the-ears kid who looked about Peter’s age.

“Playing cute, aren’t we?”

The thug prince bristled at that.

“You’re laughing?”

“Am I not allowed to laugh as I please?”

I looked around the frozen dining hall.

‘Look at this atmosphere, geez.’

In underworld terms, this was like a gang lieutenant barging in to harass some poor underlings trying to eat their meal.

“Can’t you leave people alone while they’re eating, you ill-mannered b*st*rd? Don’t you feel sorry for these people rolling their eyes because of you?”

Everyone lowered their gaze when our thug prince glared at them. It showed just how nasty his usual temperament must be.

“So, our cute little brother. You’re the youngest?”

Unlike my hair, his was bright blonde. While his frame was well-developed for his age, his malicious eyes and underdeveloped jaw gave him an unpleasant appearance.

‘I win this one.’

Simply put, his looks paled in comparison to this Lord Allenbert.

“Lost your memories and can’t even recognize your brother?”

The youngest sneered.

“But why is this b*st*rd speaking informally to me with every word?”

“A brother should act like one to deserve respect.”

“Oh, really?”

I gestured to Peter.

“Come here.”

“Y-yes.”

“Are you mad? Stay right there.”

Despite the thug’s cold voice, Peter followed my order.

“You lowborn has lost his mind.”

Looking at the rough but uncertain eyes of the growling kid, I had different thoughts.

‘This b*st*rd, is he just pretending to be angry?’

I’m not someone who can’t distinguish between real anger and acting tough for show. This one was the latter.

“Yes. Prince Baklava’s full-blooded brother is the second prince…”

At that, the thug’s expression hardened.

“You filthy servant, have you lost your mind? I’ll tear your mouth apart.”

“…!”

I gently placed a hand on Peter’s trembling shoulder and sent a stream of aura through him. His tension visibly eased.

‘So, this brat is Baklava Grünewald, the fifth prince.’

Even in this situation, Peter had been considerate enough to avoid mentioning the name, knowing I had amnesia. What a thoughtful guy.

“So you’re nothing more than a lackey, a minion, a pawn, a slave, a stooge sent by the second prince. How pathetic can you get? What are you even doing here?”

“…!”

“You live in luxury, eating expensive food and wearing fine clothes in a grand house, yet all you do is bully and beat up poor servants? Even a neighborhood thug would change his ways if he were treated with half the respect you get. But what about you?”

Baklava’s face went blank after being hit with a barrage of insults in the blink of an eye. He had likely never been spoken to like this in his life. Poor kid.

“What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?”

Baklava, overwhelmed by my forceful words, stammered without realizing it.

“I-I didn’t-“

“Shut up.”

I cut him off.

“Judging by your face, you feel wronged. What’s so unfair about this? Is this not your true self?”

Baklava’s eyebrows twitched as if asking, ‘How did you know?’

“That’s what we call pathetic self-justification. ‘I didn’t want to do it, don’t blame me.’ It’s all nonsense. So what? Do you think that’s an excuse? You should be ashamed. What next? If someone orders you to beat people or steal money, will you do it? And still call yourself a man?”

I pointed at Baklava.

“A prince of the great Grünewald family is scared of his own brother… Pathetic fool. You should remove yourself from the family registry. It’s embarrassing to share a family name with someone as small-minded as you.”

Finally snapping out of his daze from the verbal assault, Baklava retorted.

“What insane nonsense are you spouting? Just because I scolded your lowly servant doesn’t mean-“

“Then why come all the way here to mess with me? Were we ever close enough for that? Even with my memory loss, I can tell that’s bullshit. With that mouth of yours calling me lowborn and mixed-blood trash, do you think we were ever friendly? Am I wrong? Answer me, idiot.”

“No, listen-“

“Shut it. Don’t make excuses. You’re just a pathetic thug.”

Baklava stomped his foot hard on the ground in frustration.

*BANG!*

“Stop cutting me off, damn it!”

Ignoring him completely, I worried about something else.

“Hey! You’re gonna break the marble floor like that. Take it easy.”

“Shut up! You filthy half-breed!”

“Oh?”

That was quite the insult.

“Your mother hides away like a recluse in her room, and now you’re trying to act like some respected elder brother?”

“Oh yeah? Is that what happened?”

I pressed him further.

“I’m curious now. What exactly happened back then?”

Baklava frowned as if he thought I was mocking him.

“You know I have amnesia, right? I really don’t remember.”

“You crazy b*st*rd. There’s no talking to you.”

Baklava’s insults grew more colorful by the second.

‘Adorable little brother.’

For a prince, he had quite the foul mouth. But compared to what I’d heard in the underworld, this was almost cute.

Insulting someone’s parents or calling them an orphan was practically a greeting in those circles.

‘But in noble society, it’s an unforgivable insult.’

The fact that he thought he could insult me like that showed he thought little of me—and that was something I couldn’t let slide.

‘So it’s justified if I beat him up.’

The justification was on my side. And violence backed by justification isn’t considered a crime—whether in the underworld or among nobles.

Of course, you’d need both strength and resolve to deal with the consequences afterward. But I’m the fourth prince of Grünewald. Even if I’m not well-liked, I’m certainly not so weak that I can’t handle my youngest brother’s provocations.

‘Besides…’

Baklava was just a puppet.

This was really a fight between me and the second prince. So I planned to spit on his chess piece and toss it into the trash where it belonged.

‘You picked the wrong guy.’

I’m the kind of man who once charged into enemy territory alone, ready to die. Compared to that time, this situation posed no real threat to me at all.

“Baklava.”

“Don’t call my name, you lowborn scum.”

“You keep going on about filthy blood…”

I pointed at Baklava.

“So are you insulting Father for lying with some dirty commoner?”

Baklava’s face went blank as if he’d been slapped across it.

In my hometown, we call that “brain freeze.” It’s a good phrase—remember it well.