The Weak Prince Is A Cultivation God
Chapter 44: A Red Candle’s Shadow

Chapter 44: A Red Candle’s Shadow

By the next hour, Lan and his new entourage had gone their separate ways to begin preparations for the campaign ahead.

Wren had already vanished into the alleys to gather reconnaissance. Thorn began preparing supplies for travel. Halmer busied himself with maps and routes, while Garran barked orders at the Mad Vipers now mobilizing under Lan’s rule.

Only Venom remained, riding beside Lan in silence as they made their way toward the southern roads.

The cold bit at their cloaks, but neither paid it any mind. Before them was the mouth of the Ranevian mines—at a time it was the pride of the region, but currently a wound in the mountainside, surrounded by skeletal scaffolds and broken tracks.

Venom grunted as he stepped ahead. "It used to be loud, this place. Back when I was still cutting my teeth as a runner, the forges down here never slept. We mined steel that fed a significant portion of the kingdom’s weapons."

Lan followed him into the shadow of the mountain. The old tracks creaked underfoot, and the stale air reeked of old iron and sweat.

"Now?" Venom continued. "It’s all but dead. We dig for weeks and find nothing but gravel and ghost ore. Every once in a while, we hit a vein, but it’s gone before we can make use of it."

They passed hollow carts, shattered crates, and rusted pickaxes. Some men labored deeper in the tunnels, but their faces bore the dull exhaustion of digging a grave that had no bottom.

"And digging deeper?" Lan asked, brushing his fingers along the stone walls.

"Impossible." Venom stopped at a broken lift platform, one of its chains long snapped. "Ever since the last collapse many years ago, we haven’t been able to reinforce the deeper tunnels. It’s too unstable. The deeper we go, the more... strange things we find. Crystals that drain your mana. Creatures that don’t die right. The kind of stuff you send letters to the capital about."

Lan arched a brow. "And what did they say?"

"They told them to seal it." Venom shrugged. "So they did. Not long after, they pulled their garrison that collected the ores out of the region."

They stepped out into the sunlight again, and Lan stared at the mine’s yawning entrance.

"It’s still valuable," Lan said.

Venom turned to him. "You didn’t hear me? It’s dry."

"I heard you," Lan replied. "But the potential isn’t gone. It’s just buried. If the mana formations run that deep, then this mine holds more than ore. I’ll fix it."

Venom frowned. "I don’t think much can be done with broken shovels and half-dead men?"

Lan didn’t answer. His eyes were already elsewhere, calculating. Something in the distance moved.

Down the road, a rider galloped toward them.

A single horse, cloaked rider. Dust kicked up in its trail. Venom stepped forward, hand going to the massive axe on his back.

As the rider neared, the horse reared slightly, slowing just in time. The man atop it wore heavy grey wrappings, and his face was shadowed beneath a deep hood.

"Prince Lanard," the rider called out.

"That’s me," Lan said calmly.

The man reached into his cloak and pulled something small—a glowing stone etched with red and gold runes—and tossed it toward Lan. He caught it without effort.

"Her Imperial Highness wishes to speak with you," the man said. "Privately."

Lan looked at the item in his palm. A rune stone. He didn’t need to examine it long. He already recognized the aura: transmission stone.

He nodded. "Understood."

Without another word, the rider yanked the reins. The horse whinnied, spun sharply, and thundered back the way it had come.

———

By midday, Lan had returned to the former governor’s estate—now his. It had not been luxurious, but with a few days of cleaning and repair, it would become passable. It would do for now.

He stepped into the chamber he’d slept in the night before, closed the door, and placed the stone on the table.

A secure rune transmission stone. It would only activate with a trace of his blood. Although it would have also needed his blood to set up, but how Iris had acquired that was no mystery—he’d spilled enough at the banquet for a mage to scrape some from the floor.

He pricked his finger with a pin and let a single drop fall onto the rune.

It glowed.

"Hm. Is it working?" Lan muttered. "Hello? Hello—"

"I don’t hear anything..." "It might not be working" "Anyone on the other side? Hello?"

A voice snapped through the stone. "Can you stop talking for two seconds, for the love of the gods."

Lan smirked. "Ah, you’re there. Why didn’t you answer sooner?"

"Because I was in a meeting," Iris Aregard snapped. "And suddenly my desk started making strange noises."

"Well, you told them to give me the stone. Poor timing is on you."

"Yeah, and you got it a while ago, you’re using it over an hour late," she growled.

Lan leaned back in his chair. "So, what’s this about? Anything urgent...or you just want to know how my day has been?"

She sighed. "Your actions in Ranevia have... created waves. Strong ones. Strong enough to attract quite the attention."

"That a good thing?"

"Absolutely not." Her tone was firm. "You’ve made enemies interested in you again. The dangerous kind. And two of them are going to act soon."

Lan stilled. "Who?"

"First, Gallingher. Now that he knows where you are, he’s already mobilizing a squad for your assassination."

"Efficient."

"Too efficient. You’re not in the Solaris Capital and are no longer protected by palace politics. Out there, your death be written off as a gang killing, same with all the nobles before you."

Lan tapped the table, thoughtful. "I guess handling him was unavoidable. Better now than later, then."

"You’re underestimating them," Iris warned. "These aren’t some low rank guards or drunk bounty hunters. They are quiet professionals. They’ll try their best to kill you."

"I’m sure they will," Lan nodded. "And who’s the second?"

"Not who. What." Her voice dropped.

"The Court of Red Candles."

"The Ash Tongues?" Lan asked.

"Yes," Iris said. "That gang is composed entirely of Red Candles members. Cultists to the core."

"I was going to bring them under heel."

"Don’t," she said flatly. "Kill them. All of them."

"Bit dramatic."

"Necessary," Iris insisted. "They will never be loyal. Even if they pretend to be, and then completely destroy you from the inside, even if it’s at the cost of their lives. That cult has operated in shadows for centuries—they’ve brought down entire provinces."

"So even if they surrender...?"

"They won’t. But if they do, it’s a trap. They’ll infiltrate your ranks, whisper into ears, sabotage your efforts."

Lan leaned forward, resting his arms on the table.

"And if I kill them all... their cult will retaliate?"

"They will come for you regardless," Iris said. "But a clean kill denies them a foothold. The Red Candles win through disease, not battle. Don’t let them spread."

Lan went quiet for a moment.

Then he said, "My plans have changed."

"Good."

There was a moment of silence between them. Then Iris added, "Keep the stone. I’ll contact you again if more updates arise. And don’t die."

"Your concern is noted, Princess. Have a lovely day."

"Hello?" she asked. "Aren’t you going to say it back?"

Lan raised the stone toward the light, shaking his head. "Hmm. She disconnected. No manners. How rare for a princess."