The Weak Prince Is A Cultivation God
Chapter 29: The Odds We Defy

Chapter 29: The Odds We Defy

They moved in the ways shadows would. Lanard followed closely behind Iris as they slipped along the edges of the city, ducking beneath archways, darting through the skeletons of half-built structures and old ruins swallowed by ivy.

The scent of the city shifted the deeper they went—leather, soot, wine, and blood.

The imperial capital felt everly woke. Its heartbeat lingering in brothels and taverns, from patrolling boots and distant horns. Even the rats seemed tense.

Lan kept pace, quiet but curious.

"I have to ask," he said, crouching beside her as they paused behind a butcher’s stall, "this banquet... What was it exactly? You gathered all these people from across the empire, but honestly... could any of them even stand a chance against your brothers’ courts?"

Iris let out a sigh as she leaned her back against the stone wall. Her eyes didn’t leave the street.

"Perhaps not. No one expects them to, at least."

Lan tilted his head. "Then why hold it?"

"Because I have to," she said quietly. "Because time is running out."

She glanced toward him, the torchlight glinting faintly off the white streaks in her dark hair.

"My father—the emperor—is sick," she said. "And not the kind of sick one recovers from. We pray otherwise, but... he could join his ancestors at any moment."

Lan’s eyes narrowed. "So the war for the throne is about to begin."

"It already has," Iris replied. "Most just don’t know it yet."

They moved again, weaving between abandoned wagons and low fences, climbing a short stairwell that led to another alley. From above, the city seemed like a shifting sea of fireflies and secrets.

"My eldest brother, Xavier Aregard," Iris continued, voice even but cold, "is the most favored to take the throne. Ninth circle. A God of war and conquest. He’s less than thirty—and already one of the strongest mages alive. The army loves him. The nobles fear him. Most back him."

"Ninth circle," Lan muttered under his breath. "That’s insane."

"Then there’s Maximus. My second brother." Her tone didn’t change, but Lan caught the slight flicker in her eyes—respect, perhaps... or warning. "A seventh circle genius. When he was twelve, he led the strategy that ended the northern war. At twelve."

"You’re joking."

"I wish I was. He’s not the brute that Xavier is, but he’s far more dangerous. He plays the long game. His influence in the court is subtle—but deep. His spies span continents. His agents can collapse economies, start revolutions, and erase families with a word."

Lan exhaled slowly. "And then there’s you."

"Fifth circle," she said with a smirk. "And a pretty face."

Lan chuckled. "Pretty is good."

"It is," she said, leaping down from a ledge and landing lightly beside a statue of a forgotten hero. "But it only takes you so far. I have no support from the imperial court. My chances of ascension are... negative. If I don’t outsource power, I’m as good as dust."

"Hence the banquet," Lan said.

"Yes," she replied. "But I’m not the first to try this. Many imperials before me—princes, princesses, lesser heirs—they’ve all tried."

Lan adjusted his cloak as they ducked into a passage, careful to avoid the watchlight of two nearby guards.

"And how many like you ever succeeded?" he asked.

Iris didn’t answer at first.

The silence spoke more than words.

"None," she finally said.

Lan winced. "That’s just damn reassuring. So... why are you so sure you won’t fail?"

She stopped walking, turning her head to meet his gaze. Her voice was steady.

"Because failing isn’t an option," she said. "I either succeed—or I die trying. There’s no in-between."

Lan held her eyes. She didn’t blink. Didn’t falter.

He grinned. "So what you’re saying is... aligning with you is joining a cause that has a zero percent probability of success?"

"Yes," she replied.

"Does that bother you?"

Lan’s smile deepened. "Of course not. Defying the odds is my whole thing." _{f|ree(w)ebn\o.vel.com}

"A fact no one can argue." She agreed.

They shared a glance, then pressed on, moving faster now. The buildings grew thinner—less opulent. The horizon began to show signs of the outer wall, uneven and tall like the spine of a dying beast.

At the very edge of the imperial city, past the final merchant post and just before the rise of the old trade road, stood a caravan.

Three wagons. Two horse-drawn. One armored.

And standing before them—Cassian.

The envoy was wrapped in his usual grey robes, but his arms were folded and his stance relaxed, as if he had known exactly when they would arrive.

"Cassian," Lan greeted, dryly. "Good to see you again."

"Prince," Cassian nodded with a faint smirk. "Surpassing my expectations... you survived the Imperial City."

Lan tilted his head. "I wouldn’t say I survived just yet."

Cassian gestured to the largest carriage. "Then this is to make sure you do. It’s headed straight for Solaris. It’s warded. Enchanted. And nobody but us knows it’s here."

Lan glanced at Iris, then turned fully to face her.

"I guess this is where we bid our goodbyes then, Your Highness."

She nodded, stepping a little closer.

"Corvin died in legal combat," she said. "So I doubt the Imperial court will openly hunt you down. I’ll do what I can to make sure they don’t."

"But the Duke," Lan added.

"Yes," Iris said, her voice colder now. "Duke Gallingher will come for you. Sooner or later. Be prepared."

Lan rubbed his jaw. "He’s been added to the growing list of dukes I’ve pissed off."

"Then you’re doing something right," Iris said with a smirk.

They stood a moment longer in silence, then Iris offered her hand.

"Well then," she said. "We’ll meet again, Lanard."

Lan took her hand briefly, then nodded. "I’m certain we will."

He stepped into the carriage.

The door shut behind him with a soft click, and a moment later, the wheels creaked into motion. Hooves clattered on the road, and the caravan rolled slowly into the darkness beyond the city walls.

Iris stood, watching until it vanished past the first bend.

Cassian moved to her side.

"So," he asked, "is he the second sheep from the Madman’s text?"

Iris didn’t answer right away. Her gaze lingered on the road.

"I’m still not certain," she whispered.

"But perhaps," she said, her voice a whisper now, "he’s something far more frightening than that."