The Weak Prince Is A Cultivation God
Chapter 30: A Worthless Prince’ Habit

Chapter 30: A Worthless Prince’ Habit

The carriage rolled quietly through the tall stone archways of the Imperial City’s southern gates and vanished into the countryside beneath moonlight.

The roads it followed toward the Kingdom of Solaris were old and well-trodden, paved with dark cobble and ancient history.

Unlike the envoy Lan had arrived with—an ornamental escort of worthless guards meant more for show than security—this carriage was surrounded by professionals.

Hardened warriors in light leather armor, silent and disciplined. No spears. No bright banners. Just steel, caution, and quiet deadliness.

Bandits knew better than to challenge a formation like this.

And so the journey was smooth. No ambushes. No delays. No distractions. Just the rhythmic clatter of hooves on stone and the soft creaking of the wagon as it barreled across hills and valleys toward Solaris.

When they arrived at the capital, dawn was just beginning to tint the sky pale violet. The towers of Solaris Palace came into view, spiked against the rising sun. The carriage came to a smooth halt just outside the outer gate of the palace grounds.

Lan stepped out, cloak shifting as his boots hit the dusted path. The carriage turned and departed almost instantly, wheels already churning to retrace their path back to the Empire.

Two palace guards stationed at the gate recognized him at once and dropped to a bow.

"Prince Lanard," one of them announced. "We will inform the court of your arrival immediately."

Lan offered no response. He was far too tired.

The last days had been a continuous line of chaos—duels, revelations, alliances formed on shattered wine glasses. His mind and body had been running on sheer momentum.

Now that he had returned, that momentum died all at once.

By the time he reached his chambers, the exhaustion hit him like a collapsing wall.

He shoved open the door, dragged himself inside, and fell face-first into the mattress.

He didn’t even bother undressing.

If he were just a man, he would’ve collapsed long ago. But he wasn’t.

He was a cultivator. And the higher one climbed, the less they needed the crutches of sleep, water, and food.

Still, even cultivators were not gods, not while at the level he was. And Lan—tired, sore, and half-starved of real rest—needed at least a few moments of peace.

Just a few.

———

He didn’t get them.

His eyes snapped open the instant someone stepped into the room. Mana. Familiar. Delicate.

"Lady Seraphine," Lan muttered, already sitting upright.

She entered like she always did—gracefully, like her robes weren’t brushing against the floor but gliding over it. Her golden hair was braided, the tail of it trailing behind her like sunlight captured.

"It’s good to see you back in one piece, Your Highness," she said warmly.

Lan rubbed his eyes and stretched his arms. "Yeah, well... I thought I’d save you the stress of healing me this time."

"I’m always happy to heal you, Prince." She smiled, that soft, unwavering look of hers blooming. "But I can’t heal death. Sometimes, all I can do is pray for your safe return."

Lan looked at her for a moment. She was one of the few who still cared. Truly cared. And that thought clung to his chest in a strange way.

He rose slowly. "You’ve always been more than just a healer." _{fr.e ewe.bno.vel .com}

Seraphine offered a polite nod, then straightened her shoulders. "The King and the court summon you."

Lan groaned. "Of course they do. Word of my shenanigans in the Imperial city must’ve reached them."

"Information tends to travel faster than people," she said. "They knew long before you arrived."

"Hm." Lan’s gaze wandered toward the open window.

Then his voice lowered.

"Last time we spoke, you said you wouldn’t follow me to Ranevia."

Seraphine’s eyes dimmed slightly, but she didn’t look away. "Yes. I’d rather not watch you die... and then promptly follow."

"But what if I told you I don’t plan to die there?" Lan asked. "...What if I told you... I plan to turn that lawless rot into something else. A beginning. One so profound the world won’t be the same afterward."

Seraphine’s lips parted slightly, but no words came. She studied him. Truly studied him.

Then she said, "Then I’ll call you crazy. And blindly ambitious. You’ve always been."

Lan shrugged. "I see."

She smiled faintly. "But this time... you’re something else aswell. I don’t know what changed. And I won’t ask until you’re ready to tell me. But now... you’re capable."

Lan chuckled. "Capable enough to follow me into the death territory?"

Seraphine turned, heading for the door. "Go answer your father, Your Highness. He’s waiting."

———

Lan stepped into the throne room as the sun began to rise fully behind the high stained-glass windows.

Aldric Solaris, King of the Solaris Kingdom, sat upon his blackstone throne with his usual hollow-eyed stare. He looked like a sculpture made from iron and fatigue. He was still powerful—still terrifying in his own way—but the weight of age and years of rule showed in every furrow on his face.

To his left stood Grand Vizier Orlan, whose withered form hadn’t changed in decades. The old man’s eyes tracked Lan like a hawk’s might follow a rabbit.

The rest of the court was gathered along the polished dark walls, whispers buzzing like bees in a jar. There was no longer disdain in their eyes. Not like before.

Curiosity. Suspicion. Even fear.

The King spoke first.

"Word of your accomplishments in the Imperial City has reached us," Aldric said, voice deep and even. "How you bested Duke Gallingher’s son. An imperial general. In the Trial of the Vanquished. And ultimately killed him."

The court hushed.

Lan smiled, stepping forward with practiced ease.

"Yes," he said, "it seems I’ve developed a bad habit of killing Dukes’ sons."

His gaze drifted through the room.

And landed, like a knife, on one particular figure: Duke Veyl.

He held the grin longer than was necessary. A grin sharp enough to slit a throat.

"Don’t you think so, Veyl?"

The court tensed.