The Weak Prince Is A Cultivation God
Chapter 32: The Law

Chapter 32: The Law

And there stood the prince—expression a mask, his hand still gripped around a pulsing mass of crimson meat—as he looked back at the court.

"How about now?" he asked.

No one spoke.

Not even the King.

———

A heavy and cold silence swallowed the throne room whole.

It was more than just the stunned quiet of disbelief—no, this was different. This was the stillness that came when the body forgot how to move, when lungs forgot to breathe. When fear itself paused to make room for something greater.

Duke Veyl lay on the polished stone floor, his chest torn open, heart gone. The crimson trail of his last moments glistened beneath the golden sconces. And above him stood Lanard Solaris, hand soaked in red, eyes giving nothing.

He had done it.

He had really killed him.

Right there—in front of nobles, advisors, Captains, and the king himself—Lanard had brutally executed one of the most powerful men in the kingdom.

Some stared at him in silent horror. Others dropped their gazes, not daring to meet the King’s eyes. No one moved. Even the guards at the perimeter dared not step forward.

Then came the pressure.

The air shifted—tightened. It was like the entire room dropped into the abyss. Knees weakened. Mouths dried. Hearts stuttered.

A presence—thick, old, extremely suffocating—descended on the court.

It was the King’s magic aura.

A surge of royal wrath that made it hard to even exist. It lashed through the air without form or color, but its weight was unmistakable.

He hadn’t moved from his seat.

He didn’t have to.

His presence alone silenced the blood and bone of every person within the room.

Even Lanard.

’Ah,’ Lan thought bitterly, forcing himself to stay upright, chest rising with controlled breaths, ’I forgot how terrifying this old man is.’

Still, he didn’t kneel. He stood tall, matching his father’s gaze, even as sweat beaded beneath his collar.

King Aldric Solaris spoke, voice calm but colder than steel left in snow.

"Say, Lanard. Of all the years you have lived... Though you may have been weak, I have never known you to be a fool."

His words cut deep through the entire room.

"And for that reason," the king continued, "I will grant you the grace to explain your actions... before I take measures."

The silence that followed was not permission—it was a demand.

Lan’s thoughts raced. Every second he spent thinking felt like a dance on a guillotine’s edge. But his face betrayed nothing. He reached into his robes and retrieved a tightly rolled parchment. Its seal bore a dark mark—one unmistakable to those who knew.

He tossed it toward the dais.

The Grand Vizier snatched it from the air with a single fluid motion. His bony fingers unfurled the parchment and scanned it once. Then again. And again.

Each time slower than the last.

His face darkened.

His hands trembled just slightly as he rolled it shut.

The King’s eyes didn’t move.

"What is that?" he asked.

The Grand Vizier cleared his throat.

"It’s a letter. Written, signed, and stamped by Duke Veyl..." he paused, voice dipping, "ordering the assassination of the fourth Prince. Carried out by the Massari Assassination Group."

Another ripple of shock passed through the court. Murmurs erupted again—but quieter now. More cautious.

A few, though, did not react. Some knew. Some had always known.

Lan’s voice broke the tension.

"Before I left for the Imperial City, Duke Veyl threatened my life."

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to.

"Treason in itself," he continued. "But I was kind. I dismissed it as the ramblings of a grieving father."

His eyes dropped to the corpse lying behind him.

"Then, I’m certain you all are aware already, while en route to the Princess’s banquet, my carriage was ambushed. All guards were slain. An attempt was made on my life..."

He let the moment hang.

"...it failed."

"I killed them, every last one," Lan said plainly. "And on the body of one of those assassins, I found that."

He nodded toward the scroll now resting in the Vizier’s hand.

The King sat still, but his fingers were now pressed against his temple. He breathed slowly.

"Duke Veyl was a great asset to Solaris," he said, finally. "He presided over Karzia, and under his rule it thrived. He was feared. Respected. A loyal subject for many years..."

Then his eyes opened fully, and the weight of them seemed to press down on the entire chamber.

"...but treason is treason."

The court leaned in.

"He not only threatened a royal prince, but he conspired and acted upon it—hiring assassins and sending them against the royal bloodline."

The King’s hand dropped.

"A crime punishable by death."

Gasps.

The court flared into whispers and shifting glances again.

But Aldric raised a hand.

"However, his sentence would have come after a fair and honest trial," the King said, voice hard again. "Not... a spontaneous and babaric execution. And certainly not in the middle of the throne room."

He stared at Lan, gaze unmoving.

"Barbarism is unbecoming of princes."

Lan remained still, he didn’t say a word.

"For this reason," the King continued, "Prince Lanard—I reinstate your sentence."

A few heads snapped up.

"You will depart for Ranevia in one week’s time."

Lan’s jaw tensed. Perhaps in an attempt to restrain the smile that was about to grace his face.

Then—

He nodded once, eyes locked to his father’s.

"Understood, Father," he said. "I will bear this punishment for my actions."

A moment passed between them.

Something unspoken.

The King gave a final nod. "You are dismissed."

Lan turned slowly.

He swept his gaze across the court—the neutral, his enemies, the cowards and the sycophants.

He bowed, but only just slightly.

Then walked.

Blood still dripped from his fingers as he passed the stunned nobility. The duke’s corpse behind him, the scent of iron clinging to the air like it were obsessed with it.

He crossed the massive doors and exited the throne room without looking back.

The stone beneath his boots painted with red.