The Weak Prince Is A Cultivation God

Maximus Aregard moved through the mirrored corridor of the Shadow Library, hands clasped behind his back, each step measured and soft.

The floor beneath him, black glass turned with constellations of forgotten gods, swallowed the sound of his boots. Only the faint rustle of his dark robes followed him.

In his wake trailed silence—perfect, absolute, and watchful.

He stopped before a sealed door of black jade. It bore no lock or handle, only a rune that shimmered like spilled ink. He touched it with a single gloved finger.

The door melted away.

Inside, the walls of the chamber curved like the inside of a skull. Floating lights drifted in the air, soft and green, illuminating scrolls, spell-script, and hundreds of files stacked in silver trays.

A single figure waited for him near the center—a man in a spider-silk vest, spectacles perched at the tip of his nose.

Cassian.

"Is it confirmed?" Maximus asked, not greeting him.

Cassian bowed slightly. "Yes, my lord. The Fourth Prince arrived through the Golden Stone Road yesterday. Met by Captain Elyria and delivered to the palace."

Maximus's jaw shifted faintly. "How did the road react?"

"Perfectly quiet," Cassian replied. "No soul bindings tripped. No anomalies in mana aura structure. The surveillance web confirmed his identity without hesitation. It seems whatever methods he's using, they're refined enough to fool even the older wards."

"Hmph." Maximus circled the chamber.

He stopped by one of the trays and pulled out a report—a scrawled outline from one of his outer agents. The script crackled with defensive wards.

"And what of his retinue? Has he brought anything of substance from Ranevia?"

Cassian hesitated.

Maximus turned, expression unreadable. "Speak."

"No notable entourage. He came with only his horse. The rest of his small army—presumably the ones he's begun breeding —remain in the North."

A long pause. Then Maximus said, "So he's cautious. Or he understands court better than I thought."

The thought was not a pleasant one.

For years, the Fourth Prince had been a discarded pawn. Barely spoke about in court circles.

An embarrassment to the Solaris line. But now—he reappeared in the capital with eyes sharper than before, his presence growing like a shadow from under a locked door.

Maximus placed the report back and stepped toward the heart of the chamber, where a floating map of the empire beat faintly in golden threads. With a wave of his hand, the projection focused on Ranevia—icy, jagged, and sullen in its remoteness.

"Tell me," Maximus murmured. "How does a boy with no mana, no noble support, no title beyond exile, retake the most lawless corner of the empire in a season?"

Cassian gave no answer.

Maximus didn't expect one.

There were only a few explanations. Either the prince had stumbled upon a source of power too dangerous to leave unchecked, or someone powerful was backing him from the shadows.

Maximus didn't believe in luck. He believed in design.

The light on the map shifted, now illuminating another glowing sector: the Imperial City. The High District. The floating spires of the Palace, wrapped in storms and lies.

There, his sister moved as a spider at the heart of a newly spun web.

"Iris invited him. That was the second confirmation."

Cassian nodded. "Yes, my lord. She personally ensured his audience and had the palace tailors fit him for the Court Assembly."

That drew a brief chuckle from Maximus. Dry and razor-edged.

"She always did favor broken things," he murmured. "Perhaps she thinks she's found her wolf in sheep's clothing."

"Or," Cassian offered carefully, "she knows she is the sheep. And she's gathering wolves."

Maximus's gaze cut sideways. The corner of his mouth ticked up. "You've been listening to her prophecy again."

Cassian bowed his head.

The "Mad Scholar's Prophecy." A joke to most. A riddle to some. But Maximus had paid enough gold to know it wasn't idle rambling. Two sheep will wear wolves' teeth, and one will command the pack.

He never believed it had anything to do with divine fate.

It was code. A prediction of strategy, not destiny.

"She's trying to build her own faction. I expected that," Maximus said. "But this is too early. Too bold. Especially with the Assembly so close."

"The southern merchant guilds are drifting toward her circle. Quietly. And she's made a pact with the Black Thorn Sect," Cassian said. "Though she's hiding it well."

Maximus exhaled through his nose. "Of course she is. Poison makes better allies than steel, in her world."

He waved a hand, and the map shimmered again, shifting to reveal the known political factions around the Empire's core.

Xavier's Circle was a mountain. Military might. Command over nine legions. A loyal cult of generals and governors. And beyond that—his terrifying personal power.

Ninth Circle. World-Tier.

Maximus's Web spun across provinces. A thousand hidden strings. Banks, spies, cults, assassins, and half a dozen arcane houses sworn to him by contract or coercion.

And Iris?

Her circle was a bleeding flower. Small. Fractured. But growing in strange places. With alliances not of strength, but desperation, genius, and unpredictability.

Now, it included Lanard Solaris.

Maximus clasped his hands again.

"She's betting on something."

"Yes, my lord," Cassian said. "She's planning a demonstration at the Assembly. Something...unusual. No one knows what yet."

Maximus tilted his head, just slightly.

"She wouldn't make a move unless she thought she could survive the blowback. And she wouldn't invite the Fourth Prince unless she believed he had some card worth showing."

He paused, thoughtful.

"Or," he murmured, "she's baiting me."

The floating lights dimmed slightly as the room hung with tension.

Cassian hesitated. Then said, "Do you want us to eliminate the prince?"

Maximus didn't answer at first.

Then, with perfect calm: "No."

Cassian blinked.

"Not yet. Killing him now would serve her too well. She would recover and replan too quickly and too early. No, we let the boy walk the garden."

His voice lowered. "If he is a beast, he'll show his fangs soon enough. And if he is only a lamb…he'll be devoured in time."

Cassian gave a respectful nod.

"What of Xavier?" Maximus asked.

"He hasn't spoken. No emissary. No reaction."

"That means he's watching."

"Or he doesn't care."

Maximus looked up, eyes cold and sharp like twin daggers. "Xavier always cares. He just doesn't have to act like it."

He turned, heading for the stairs. "Make sure my agents stay close to the girl. If she makes a move, I want to know before she takes her second breath."

Cassian bowed.

Maximus paused just before the door. "And the prince?"

"Yes, my lord?"

Maximus smiled faintly. "Just let him enjoy the taste of court."

The smile faded.

"We'll see what it does to him."

And with that, the Second Prince of Aregard, the spider among kings, vanished into the gloom.