The Weak Prince Is A Cultivation God

The wind off the sea still smelled of char and brine. Ironwater Harbor lay behind them—broken masts jutting from the water like snapped bones, the air thick with the faint crackle of cooling embers. Lan didn't look back.

Miller's detachment remained in the ruins, a hard-eyed garrison of Ranevian loyalists who would hold the coast until they were called again.

The rest of the force—nearly a hundred strong—marched north with the loot and captives in tow.

Heavy carts groaned under stolen barrels of salted fish, bales of sailcloth, crates of coin, and bundles of shipwright tools. Shackled shipbuilders stumbled barefoot in the mud, their faces pale, still smelling of smoke.

The road wound through marshlands that sucked at boots and slowed wagons. The sky was a dull pewter, heavy with the promise of rain.

Here and there, shattered fishing hamlets watched them pass in mute horror. Doors slammed. Curtains twitched. Mothers clutched children close, faces pale in the shadows of doorframes.

Lan's banner with the silver mark of the serpent snapped in the wind, and that was enough to send them deeper into their hovels.

Venom rode ahead on a black gelding, his scar twisting when he grinned at the silence. "They've learned quick," he said over his shoulder. "Not a single fool trying to throw stones this time."

"Stones wouldn't matter," Bragg muttered from beside him, a bow slung over his back. "They've seen what happens when you stand in the road."

Venom's grin widened. "They're right to be afraid. You think the prince even needed half of what we brought against the harbor?"

Bragg spat into the mud. "Not a tenth. The man's saving his strength for something else."

The conversation drifted back on the wind, but Lan heard it. He didn't bother to respond. It wasn't flattery that kept his men in awe—it was the quiet certainty that every move he made was deliberate, every blow withheld until it mattered most.

---

Far to the south, panic bloomed like rot in the belly of Solaris.

Grain caravans from the coast halted without warning. Those that tried to travel inland were ambushed or disappeared on the road.

The market squares, once fat with merchants and fishmongers, now stood half-empty. Bread prices tripled in three days. By the end of the week, they'd doubled again.

In the poorer districts, the smell of baking bread turned to the smell of burning buildings as mobs turned on any who looked like they had food to spare.

Bakers' shops were smashed open. Storehouses were looted under the cover of night. The city guard beat people in the streets, but even their spears couldn't keep the desperation at bay.

The naval command was worse. In the high-vaulted war hall overlooking the river, officers stood white-faced before a map of the Solaris coastline. Red wax markers once littered the map where the fleet had been anchored. Now, most of them were gone—scraped away with a dull knife.

"Near-total loss of ships," the Admiral's voice cracked when he said it. "The northern fleet is gone. The shipyards—burned. Even the harbor pilings are ruined."

The nobles shouted over one another, voices sharp with panic.

"How are we to send our families to safety—?"

"The trade lines—our coffers will bleed dry—"

"This is rebellion! The northern snake must be crushed—"

But under the roar, no one offered a solution.

----

Night had settled by the time Lan's column halted in a shallow valley. The wind carried the scent of pine and damp, far cleaner than the brine-soaked coast. Torches lit the sprawl of tents, casting shadows across wagons piled with loot.

In the largest tent, a war table was spread with maps, their edges weighed down by knives and cups of black tea. Miller stood stiffly on one side, his armor still smelling faintly of seawater.

Venom leaned against the table, arms folded, eyes on the ink-smeared coastline.

Lan traced a finger from the Ironwater coast to the heart of Solaris. "The kingdom breathes through two lungs," he said. "The grain roads, and the sea. One lung is crushed now."

Miller's jaw tightened. "And the other?"

Lan's eyes flicked to the northern roads leading through Ranevia. "The other will collapse when the hunger sets in. Bread riots will tear the capital before the army can march north. They'll suffocate themselves trying to feed their cities."

Venom grinned. "So the harbor was just the first breath."

Lan didn't smile. "The first breath of a long winter."

A hush fell over the tent. Outside, the wind rattled the banners. Somewhere down in the camp, the sound of shackles clinking carried through the night as the captives were chained in groups. The shipwrights would rebuild—not for Solaris, but for him.

---

Capital — Day Three After Ironwater's fall.

The palace gates were barred by midday. Nobles packed their own storehouses, refusing to share with the common districts.

The king's herald announced emergency grain requisitions, but the wagons sent out were intercepted by mobs before they could reach their destinations.

The army commander demanded that troops be sent north at once to reclaim the harbor. The treasury minister countered that moving that many soldiers would take too long—and by then, there might be nothing left to defend.

Rumors spread like oil on water. Some said the northern prince had made a pact with sea demons, walking across the waves to strike down ships barehanded. Others whispered that the serpent banner would soon fly over the capital itself.

---

War Tent — Night Before Departure

Miller stood over the table, his calloused fingers drumming against the map. "Ironwater's garrison is secure. No surviving royal patrols to the south. But the capital… they'll be desperate enough to throw mercenaries and conscripts at us."

"That's fine," Lan said. He turned a small, carved marker between his fingers—a black serpent coiled around a broken mast. "They'll fight with empty stomachs. And they'll lose."

Venom's eyes glinted in the torchlight. "You're enjoying this."

Lan looked at him. "Enjoyment is for after the war. This is necessity."

Outside, the campfires guttered low, the night thick and still. In the distance, faint on the wind, smoke still rose over the ruined harbor—a black thread on the horizon that would not fade for days.

Lan turned back to the map, pressing the serpent marker down over the coastline.

"Phase two begins next," he said.