The Weak Prince Is A Cultivation God

Somewhere far off, a wolf howled. Another answered.

Lan's grip tightened slightly on the talisman paper tucked inside his coat.

Tomorrow, they would march deeper. Tomorrow, they would begin the work of taking Solaris.

But tonight, the wasteland watched them in silence.

-------------

The report came at dawn, wrapped in red and sealed with the mark of a low-level field agent.

That was already strange.

Maximus Aregard sat in the quiet of his private study, the glass walls to his left opening onto a view of the Imperial Gardens.

Morning mist swirled over the silver koi pond below, veiling the white stone bridge in thin cloud. The quiet here was deceptive—he could feel the pulse of the city even from this high up.

He broke the seal without ceremony, eyes skimming the parchment.

Lanard Solaris.

The name alone was enough to still his hand mid-turn.

The report was brief, and in its brevity, dangerous. A sighting. Repeated sightings, in fact—over the course of a day. Far north. Hidden under layers of misdirection, yet surviving. He and his entourage, seemingly untouched.

The agent's final line was the real weight:

"Confirmed presence. Recommend immediate capture or elimination before he consolidates further."

Maximus leaned back in his chair, the faintest smile ghosting over his lips. So they had finally spotted the fourth prince again.

After all this time… you showed yourself to the world, not just to me.

He tapped the edge of the scroll against his knee, thinking. Ranevia. Cold, barren, abandoned since the gold ran dry. Not the place one expected a man like Lan to hide—unless, of course, you understood what he was capable of.

The normal response would have been immediate action. Mobilize assassins. Bring him down quietly. Send a message.

But Maximus Aregard was not normal or stupid.

He reached for a fresh parchment and began to write, his handwriting crisp and without hesitation.

"Maintain observation. Rotate agents every week. No contact. No engagement."

A thin pause, then he added: "Do not underestimate. Assume lethal response to intrusion."

He signed the order, pressed the black wax seal, and sent it off without fanfare.

---

By late afternoon, the sky above the Imperial Capital had darkened to the strange molten gold that always preceded storms. The air in his office grew heavy before the scrying mirror on his desk shivered, its surface rippling into an image of another man's face.

Xavier Aregard.

Even distorted through magic, his eldest brother radiated that suffocating military presence—eyes sharp, voice like tempered steel.

"Maximus," Xavier said without preamble, "I've received the same intelligence you have. Our people have confirmed Lanard Solaris is alive. And yet I'm hearing you've given the order not to move against him."

"That's correct," Maximus said mildly.

The pause on the other end was loaded. "You'll explain that."

Maximus leaned forward, resting his chin lightly on his steepled fingers. "Lan came to the Imperial City once, you know. Quietly. I doubt it was in any official record—they tend not to keep notes on things they can't explain or see."

Xavier's eyes narrowed. "When?"

"Two days and a half ago," Maximus said. "He walked into my study without so much as triggering a single ward. Claimed he had power beyond you. Beyond me. I don't make a habit of believing braggarts, but…" His eyes flicked, almost lazily. "I also don't ignore men who walk into my home like ghosts and leave without permission."

Xavier frowned, but stayed silent, letting Maximus continue.

"He made it clear he had no interest in the Imperial Throne. He wants Solaris, nothing more. His kingdom. His grudge. His war. He was… very specific about that."

"And you believed him?"

Maximus's lips curved. "I believed that if he wanted the throne, he wouldn't have told me anything at all."

The stormlight outside deepened, casting the room in a strange amber glow. In the mirror, Xavier's expression hardened.

"So you're saying—what?—if we leave him alone, he'll leave us alone?"

"Precisely."

Xavier's voice sharpened. "That sounds like fear to me."

Maximus laughed softly, the sound without warmth. "No, brother. It's called intelligence. I have no interest in fighting battles that don't matter. Lanard Solaris is dangerous, yes, but he's not our problem—unless you decide to make him one."

"And if he grows stronger? If he turns his attention to the Empire?"

"Then," Maximus said, his tone like a blade slipping free of its sheath, "we kill him. But until then, I suggest we let the wolf hunt his own forest. We've both got enough enemies without adding another who's clever enough to choose when to fight."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The storm outside broke in a low roll of thunder.

Finally, Xavier said, "If he becomes a threat, I'll deal with him myself."

Maximus's smile returned, faint and unreadable. "I'm sure you will."

The mirror's surface rippled, then went still, leaving only Maximus's own reflection staring back at him.

When the office was silent again, he stood and crossed to the window. The storm had begun in earnest now, rain tracing uneven paths down the glass.

Far below, the city moved—merchants rushing to cover their stalls, cloaked nobles ducking into carriages, the street guards tightening patrols.

Maximus tapped his fingers against the glass, lost in thought.

Xavier saw the world as a battlefield—problems solved with decisive strikes and overwhelming force. It was why the army loved him. But that was also why men like Lanard Solaris could slip past him.

Power like Lan's didn't need armies. It didn't need banners or declarations. It just needed time.

And Maximus… well, Maximus had learned long ago that time was a sharper weapon than any sword.

"Let him be," he murmured to the glass, as if Lan might somehow hear it through the rain. "We'll see if the world is kind enough to kill you for me."

But even as he said it, he knew the truth.

The world had never been kind to Lanard Solaris. And somehow, that made him all the more dangerous.