The Weak Prince Is A Cultivation God
Chapter 25: Retribution.

Chapter 25: Retribution.

The Trial of the Vanquished was inevitable.

Not just at this banquet, but at every gathering like it that had come before. This was tradition—older than the reign of the current emperor, older than any one royal line. When a member of the imperial family sought strength outside the imperiality, this was how it was done: a hall, a table, a crowd of the ambitious.

And a fight.

Every Imperial royal like Iris who sought to rise had held a banquet like this. And every banquet had a trial.

But the trial was never as simple as it appeared.

It was a trap. A beautifully constructed snare.

A powerful figure would be planted among the guests. Their role was clear: publicly humiliate an attending kingdom’s royal, undermine their legitimacy. The royal would then be forced to challenge them in turn. If they didn’t, they would be branded a coward. Weak. Unfit for rule. And thrown out by the imperial host.

Sometimes they were even disowned by their families. That stain never washed away.

But if the royal did challenge the figure? Then they walked willingly into the lion’s maw. Because once the Trial of the Vanquished was invoked, the chosen opponent had every legal right to kill the royal. No repercussions.

But Lan... had flipped the script.

Corvin had invoked the trial. Corvin had drawn first. And now, he, too, had everything to lose.

[You have Accepted]

[Countdown Initiated: 2:59]

"I suppose this was always going to happen," Lan said, casually stepping down from the high table, the corner of his lip curled with quiet amusement. "Let’s not pretend you weren’t selected for this from the start."

Iris said nothing. Her posture remained poised. But Lan could feel it—the tightness in her knuckles, the way her lips hovered just short of a scowl.

She wasn’t angry at the challenge. She was angry at how effortlessly he’d taken control of the room.

From the moment he arrived, Lan had steered the banquet like a ship, and every noble, warrior, and royal had unknowingly sailed with him.

She was clever. But Lan? Lan was dangerous in a way that intelligence alone could never match.

Lan turned to Prince Izal, who leaned forward with his chin on his palm, watching with amusement.

"Who’d they saddle you with?" Lan asked, voice light.

Izal sighed. "Captain Basay. That one with the eagle crest." He pointed lazily toward a broad-shouldered man near the wine table. "A capable fighter, I’m told, but he lacks poetry."

Lan studied the man briefly, then said, "Well, he certainly looks better than this worthless lot. He might actually win."

Silence.

Then both princes broke into laughter, their cackles echoing through the golden hall like a knife dragging across glass. The gathered warriors bristled, their pride burning behind stoic masks.

"You’re quite the jest, Prince Lanard," Izal said between laughs.

"Huuuh... I try, I try."

> [1:17]

Lan’s smile faded as he glanced at the dwindling timer. He could feel the pull of the coming storm—a tension in the bones, an itch beneath the skin.

Corvin, down below, was red with fury.

"Stop stalling, you bastard!" he shouted. "Come down here and face me!"

Lan turned his head slowly, eyes half-lidded, unfazed.

"I’ve never seen a man in such a hurry to die," he said, descending the dias of the high table with his hands tucked behind his back.

"No... that’s not true," he grinned, shark-like. "I’ve seen plenty, and very rarely do I offer them the mercy of death, but today im feeling generous."

Corvin swung his sword through the air.

"Enough talk! Draw your blade!"

Lan stopped a few paces away. His hands remained empty.

"You think I need a sword for someone like you?" His voice dropped. "That’s a bit insulting."

Gasps rippled through the audience.

He was unarmed. And he was mocking a general of the empire.

Could this really be the same Solaris prince they’d whispered about for years? The failure? The weakling? The one with no mana core?

What gave him this confidence?

Corvin’s eyes narrowed. "Have it your way then."

He raised his blade and vanished into motion, his feet shattering tiles beneath him as he launched forward, his sword raised and runes glowing.

"Brace."

The air split with the sound of steel.

But as Corvin brought the blade down, his target was no longer there.

> [Black Step]

Lan now stood several feet behind him, untouched, unbothered, watching as Corvin’s sword struck only empty marble.

"Brace for what?" Lan asked, voice tinged with mockery. "Disappointment?"

The hall stared in stunned silence.

They hadn’t seen him move.

No blink. No blur. He was simply... gone, and then there.

Corvin’s hands tightened around his hilt. His mind raced.

What was that? How... how did he move like that?

"You’re weak, General," Lan said, pacing slowly, addressing not just Corvin but the entire crowd now. "The lot of you are. I only pity Her Highness."

He motioned toward Iris without even looking.

"That she could only scrape together such a worthless bunch."

"Especially you, Corvin. You would be nothing, nowhere, without your fathe—"

He stopped.

With a slow and sinister grace Corvin’s sword punched through his abdomen. The general had closed the distance in an instance of distraction.

Gasps exploded across the room.

Blood spilled from Lanard’s mouth as Corvin shoved the blade deeper.

Lan staggered, coughing, fingers curling around the steel.

"You talk far bigger than you’re capable," Corvin hissed in his ear. "And now you’ll die for it."

This was expected, even the system showed it. Lanard had no way of winning a normal fight against someone like Corvin.

Lan’s hand rose, weakly, shakily.

He grabbed Corvin’s shoulder.

Then, through crimson-stained lips, he whispered:

"Grit your teeth. This is gonna hurt."

[Countdown Complete]

[Heavenly Tribulation: First Stage Beginning]

[Thunder of Divine Retribution]

A soundless instant.

Then—

Lightning fell from the heavens.

Not ordinary lightning.

It tore through the ceiling of the imperial palace, ignoring stone, ignoring spell-barriers. A jagged bolt of divine light crashed into the two locked men with a thunderclap that shattered glass across the city.

Screams erupted.

Power rippled outward, blowing back chairs and banners. The floor cracked. The chandeliers above trembled.

And far above, the storm clouds were only beginning to gather.