The Weak Prince Is A Cultivation God

It was a new day.

Though the sun had risen just like any other, painting the imperial gold and white, nothing felt ordinary. The birds sang, the merchants bustled in the markets, the banners fluttered above the stone towers—but beneath that illusion of normalcy, the world had changed.

The Absolute Assembly had gathered the day before with one purpose: to deliberate who among the royal bloodlines was truly worthy to claim the imperial throne.

It was supposed to be a day of political maneuvering and ceremonial declarations. A display of power and lineage. Nothing more than calculated alliances and noble speeches.

And yet, it became something no one could have anticipated.

Not because the noble houses finally revealed who they would side with.

Not because secrets were spilled—shady dealings and backroom betrayals that tainted the noble images of both Prince Maximus and Crown Prince Xavier.

Not even because a terrifying majority of the imperial army had pledged itself to Xavier.

No. What shook the Assembly—what redefined it—was the appearance of one man.

A man who was thought to be nothing. Worthless. A piece so irrelevant, many hadn't bothered to even track his movements.

And yet, there he stood, unmasked in the center of the grand hall, facing generals and dukes and the Emperor himself, and declared:

"I am a god."

And the terrifying part?

They believed him.

Or at least… they had no choice not to.

That pressure. That weight they felt. That thing he did—to a 5th Circle battalion commander no less—stopping his breath with nothing more than words. It wasn't a trick.

It was power. The kind of power that didn't ask for respect but demanded it.

And that wasn't all.

He had promised more.

An army. An army of gods like himself. An army that would rise under one condition—if Iris Aregard became Empress.

That single statement had upended the entire imperial playing board.

Now, the nobles whispered in their manors and behind closed garden walls. Their lips trembled with fear and excitement alike.

And they gave him a name.

"The Manaless God of the North."

---

Night had fallen again.

At the highest balcony of the Aregard Palace, Princess Iris stood cloaked in the evening breeze. Her dark gown clung gently to her figure, and her long hair moved like a shadow behind her.

The city lights twinkled far below.

"What a title you've earned," she said.

To her right, Lan sat perched at the edge of the balcony railing, legs dangling over the sheer drop without a care in the world. He was quiet, eyes focused far into the horizon as though it held answers.

"You know I counted on you surprising me..." Iris said after a moment. "Expected it even. I told myself nothing you did would catch me off guard."

She looked down at the flickering lights of the city.

"And yet..."

Lan cracked a faint smile. "I have a habit of causing a scene, I guess. Though… I'm disappointed I didn't kill a Duke's son this time."

Iris smirked. "Instead, you killed a battalion commander. In the most breathtaking way, I must add."

Lan side-eyed her with one brow raised.

"Pun intended," she said, her smile growing.

Lan chuckled softly. It was short-lived.

He turned back to the skyline, and slowly, the smile faded from his lips.

"You know…" he started, "this... what I did…"

"Is not entirely great?" Iris finished with a sigh. "I know."

Her voice lowered. "It's bad for me. And worse for you. We've painted a very, very large target on our backs. There are people—dangerous people—who will now stop at nothing to end us."

She stepped closer to him, folding her arms.

"But that's the price of becoming a real contender for the throne," she said, more firmly now. "I was just a filler before. A wildcard. Someone they allowed in the race out of tradition, not belief."

She met his gaze.

"But now I have support. Real support. Because of you."

There was a pause, the wind whispering between them.

"I don't understand you," she said quietly. "And I try not to. Because trying just makes it worse. What you are doesn't make sense. What you've done doesn't make sense."

Iris looked away, down at the empty street beyond the palace gates.

"I've always believed in the prophecy of the sheep. But that doesn't make this… any less odd."

She looked back at him, and for the first time, there was something soft in her voice.

"A god, huh?"

She chuckled under her breath.

"I believe you, Lan. Because it takes more than a man to do what you've done."

---

Suddenly, the balcony doors burst open with a loud crash.

A guard stood panting, his armor lightly dented.

"Prince Lanard!" he barked. "Your Fourth Guard—he's here. He demands your presence. He says it's urgent."

Lan was already moving.

He followed the guard through the halls, Iris trailing close behind.

They reached the palace's left wing, the corridor filled with the heavy smell of iron and dirt. The moment Lan stepped into the room, his breath caught.

Miller's warhorse stood, trembling and exhausted. Blood spattered its coat.

And there—standing to the right of the beast—was Miller himself. His armor was cracked and soaked in crimson. One arm was missing entirely, severed just above the elbow. His breathing was ragged.

But it wasn't Miller that made Lan's heart drop.

It was the woman kneeling on the floor.

Seraphine.

Her golden hair matted with blood. Her white robes torn and stained. And in her hands, she clutched a single sack—her knuckles white around the fabric.

When she looked up at Lan, he froze.

Her eyes had been sliced. Deep, bloody cuts ran across her sockets. Only crimson tears remained.

"I saved them…" Her voice was weak but steady. "The pills… and the script. I managed to save them…"

She held the sack tighter.

Lan took a step forward, mouth slightly agape. "What… what happened?"

And for the first time in all of it, his voice trembled.

Miller answered, his voice low.

"Your brothers and father found out about the mines. They came demanding full access. All the gold. Venom and Bragg refused. So they started slaughtering. Fang and Viper alike. All of Ranevia."

Lan stared, eyes wide.

"They were going to wipe us out. Seraphine gave the order to retreat. The survivors are in hiding, far up north. But... Solaris has taken Ranevia."

There was a long silence. One that felt like a blade sworn to drop.

Lan's fists clenched.

And clenched.

So tight, his nails dug into his skin until his palms bled, droplets pattering against the marble.

"Lan, calm down," Iris whispered, standing at his side. "You have to be smart about this."

But she could feel it.

The pressure was rising.

The temperature in the air seemed to drop, like the world itself feared what he might do next.

Lan stepped forward. In one swift motion, he mounted a nearby horse.

"Miller," he said coldly. "Let the princess's people tend to your wounds. The moment you're fit to move, go meet the others. Stay hidden. Stay safe."

He looked to Iris—his eyes sharp with rage, but focused.

Then her voice reached him again.

"Lanard, you can't fight an army alone."

He met her gaze, voice low and cold.

"Watch me."

And with that, he snapped the reins and vanished into the night.