The Weak Prince Is A Cultivation God

The fire crackled low in the stone hearth, its flame barely enough to reach the edges of the heavy wooden room. Shadows ruled here. Shadows and silence.

Bragg exhaled slowly through his nose, the flicker of the torchlight dancing across the jagged scar that split his lip. Across from him sat Venom, eyes like broken glass reflecting the low-burning flame.

Between them, untouched mugs of cold tea.

Neither had spoken for several minutes.

The third presence did not sit.

Miller stood like a statue in the corner, one arm cloaked, his remaining hand resting lightly on the hilt of a short blade sheathed at his side. The left sleeve of his cloak hung limp where his arm should've been. He neither leaned nor shifted. Just listened.

Snow tapped faintly at the windows, a soft and constant whisper from the outside. They were buried deep in the north now—beneath the spine of the world, beneath frost-bitten peaks and ghostwood trees that never shed their leaves.

This place wasn't meant for people.

But they were here. Because he had told them to be.

Venom broke the silence.

"Six months," he said. Voice low, tired.

Bragg nodded, scratching his thick beard. "Six months since His Highness went into isolation."

"And not a word."

Miller didn't speak. He never did unless needed.

Bragg leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees. "The wards are holding. The talismans he left us… strong enough to keep us hidden even with the Imperials scraping through the continent. But I don't know how much longer they'll last. Even his seals fray with time."

Venom's lip curled. "The search parties grow bolder. They're not acting like they're looking for rebels anymore. They're looking for ghosts. I heard last week they dug up graves in Damasca hoping to find a clue. Exhumed every corpse born with grey eyes."

"And yet they never find this place," Bragg muttered.

"Not yet." Venom looked toward the window. Snow swirled in spirals just beyond the barrier wall, where a thin shimmer of talisman light flickered like breath in the cold.

Bragg let out a slow sigh. "The world's burning, and we're waiting in the ice."

Another pause. Then he asked, "What of the Empire?"

Venom's answer came sharp. "The wolves have begun to howl. Maximus moves in the west. Subtle, always subtle. Alliances through coin and shadow. One of the mage clans in Baelmoor just swore fealty. Quietly. No parades, no banners. Just an envelope with a wax seal."

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

"Xavier is louder. He took three cities in the east. Not with soldiers. Just him. They say he rode lightning and tore the spires down himself. Makes the people worship. Makes the nobles wet themselves."

"They're beginning to choose sides," Bragg said, his voice low. "All while the throne remains empty."

"And the girl?" Miller's voice, flat and sudden. No emotion. Just the question.

Venom raised an eyebrow. "Iris? She vanished months ago. Just after the second council meeting."

Bragg grunted. "She was never going to survive this peacefully."

"Still," Venom said, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair, "she was the clever one. The sheep with wolf's eyes. I wouldn't count her out just yet."

They let that settle into the quiet. Only the fire spoke.

Bragg shifted again. "And here we are. Far north, deep in a snow forest, in a makeshift sect under a talisman barrier, praying the world forgets us long enough for him to return."

Venom nodded, then gave a crooked smile. "Still, we're not the same broken bastards we were. Not anymore."

Bragg's brow lifted. "You're thinking of the pills."

"The pills, the training, the formations. Seraphine's ghost crystal refinements worked. Better than we dreamed."

"We've had Fifty men reach Foundation Establishment realm."

"More than that. A few are halfway to mid-stage."

"And us?"

Venom's smile sharpened. "Core Formation. All of us. Even the crippled one."

Miller's eye twitched, but he said nothing.

Bragg rubbed his hands together. "It's no small feat. From thugs and mercenaries to cultivators in just a year…"

"Thanks to those pills," Venom muttered. "Converting mana to Qi. Like flipping a blade in the dark. And every man strong enough to survive the shock gained more than power. They gained belief."

"Still," Bragg said, voice graver now, "we are not ready for an imperial army. Not yet. Without His Highness…"

Venom's smile faded.

They all knew it.

Without Lanard, they were holding a castle made of snow.

And snow melts under fire.

A sound broke the air.

A soft click.

Then the drag of a wooden chair over stone.

"Hm," came a familiar, velvet voice.

They turned, eyes adjusting to the far end of the room—where shadow and torchlight met like oil on water.

There, Seraphine sat, legs crossed atop a low stone platform, having appeared without a sound.

Her long slit dress exposed one glowing, pale thigh marked faintly by an old scar. Her eyes were wrapped in white cloth, stained faintly at the corners with red.

She did not face them directly, but tilted her head slightly toward the center of the room.

"I was wondering when you'd stop circling the same thoughts," she said with faint amusement.

Bragg exhaled. "You could announce yourself properly, you know."

"I could," she replied. "But where's the fun in that?"

Venom tilted his head. "What is it?"

Seraphine's brow furrowed faintly.

"It's the World Qi," she said, tone turning serious.

They straightened.

She lifted her head, as if scenting something in the windless room.

"I can feel it," she whispered. "It's shifting. Like a tide turning. Like something beneath is finally surfacing."

Bragg stepped closer. "What does it mean?"

She paused, breathing in deeply. Then gave a rare, breathless smile.

"It means he's almost there."

No one spoke.

But the air seemed to grow heavier. As if the world was holding its breath.

Outside, the snow fell faster.

And beneath it all, behind the seals of their hidden sanctuary, behind the glowing talismans that blurred them from the eye of gods and men…

Something was awakening.