The Weak Prince Is A Cultivation God
Chapter 49: Intent

Chapter 49: Intent

Lan’s breathing slowed.

His shoulders rose and fell in silence.

He could feel his body shaking—pain laced through his arms and legs, old wounds aching, new ones bleeding freely. But the pain didn’t matter now. Not anymore.

Before him, Thread still moved behind the broken altar, bleeding and laughing through bloodied teeth, his madness undiminished.

Behind that, the battle continued to spiral further into chaos. Mana beasts screeched and roared, overwhelming his men. He could hear Venom’s pained growl. Halmer’s war cry. He was uncertain if Thorn was still alive.

Lan’s fingers tightened around the hilt of Devil’s Lie.

He whispered to himself.

"...It’s been a while."

His voice was almost a sigh, faint as the wind.

"But this is the only way."

He stepped forward and let his eyes close.

The battlefield vanished from sight. Not just the temple ruins or the enemies. Even sound fell away. In that void, in the breath between breaths, something began.

A soundless ring.

A ripple of presence.

And then—

The world... slowed.

Not truly. Not by any natural measure. It was deeper than speed, more profound.

Lan opened his eyes.

Everything around him was frozen.

A mana beast hung mid-leap, its jaw split open, fangs glistening with saliva. Venom’s axe was mid-swing. Thread’s blood was still mid-spatter.

And standing in front of him, as though summoned by memory itself, was a figure clothed in robes of faded gold and shadow.

Xie Wuchen.

His past self smiled faintly, as if amused by the state of things.

"You seem to be in a bit of trouble," Xie said, arms behind his back.

Lan looked around at the still world.

"...Is time frozen?"

"No." Xie stepped around a drifting splinter of stone. "This is Perception Field: Thousandfold Mind. An ancient technique. One You’ve activated from the dregs of memory left in your soul. It doesn’t freeze time—it accelerates your senses. Thought. Perception. Every nerve in your body is working a thousand times faster than the world."

Lan tried turning his hand slowly, it wouldn’t budge. It felt like moving through water. Every movement felt heavy and surreal.

"It’s... unnatural."

"It’s dangerous," Xie corrected. "The qi consumption is exponential. And more importantly—"

A glowing timer appeared in Lan’s vision, floating at the corner of his eye like a cruel countdown.

[3:24]

"That’s the time until your dantian overloads from strain. If you exceed that, you’ll suffer collapse of your cultivation foundation. You’ll drop a realm. Maybe two."

Lan’s jaw clenched. "...Then we’ll be quick."

Xie nodded approvingly.

"Good. Now listen carefully, because I’m only going to say this once. What you’re about to learn is more than a technique. It’s not a move. It’s a truth. It’s something you become."

Lan stared at him, his expression grave.

Xie continued:

"A sword can cut. Any blade can. Anything can. But intent—true sword intent—cuts not just the flesh. It cuts conviction. It cuts memory. It carves reality."

He extended a hand.

A blade appeared there. No ornamentation. No name. Just a length of raw steel.

"Hold a sword long enough and it becomes part of you. But hold a sword with purpose... and it becomes something more. Something that bends the world around your will."

Lan clenched Devil’s Lie in both hands. It felt heavier than ever. Not physically—but in meaning.

"Intent isn’t just about technique," Xie said. "It’s about understanding. What is a sword to you? What do you cut? Why do you cut it? Every strike is a question you ask the world—and the deeper your answer, the sharper your blade."

The world shivered.

Lan felt something move—inside. A shift in his qi. A deep tremor in his soul.

[Sword Intent: 1.5% → 3%]

Xie walked around him slowly, voice calm and powerful.

"There are swords that speak of justice. Others scream of vengeance. Some cry for lost love, others weep for mercy. But all sword intent stems from clarity. From knowing exactly what you are... and what you must cut away."

Lan’s eyes widened. The sword in his hands felt like it was burning. Not with fire, but with memory.

He remembered the courtyard. The lash. The manacles. The jeers from nobles. His father’s back, walking away.

He remembered exile. Starving. Choking on his own failure.

And he remembered the night the Absolute Dao awakened. The night the world changed.

[Sword Intent: 3% → 5.7%]

"What is it for you?" Xie asked.

Lan clenched the sword tighter.

"It’s not justice."

"No."

"It’s not vengeance, either."

"Then say it."

Lan inhaled. The words came without hesitation.

"My sword is for severance. It cuts away weakness. Lies. The destiny others wrote for me. I cut not for hatred... but because they won’t stop. Until I carve out something that can’t be ignored."

Xie smiled.

"And that, finally, is intent."

The air around Lan cracked.

It was more than noise—it was reality fracturing slightly under the pressure of what his soul was now projecting.

The sword shimmered, the dark steel warping, growing heavy with weightless meaning.

[Sword Intent: 5.7% → 10.0%]

The timer flashed: [0:12]

Xie Wuchen began to fade, his form dissolving into smoke.

"You’ve done well," he said. "But this is only the first breath on a long road."

Lan nodded slowly.

"Thank you."

Xie vanished.

And time... returned.

---

The Temple Grounds

The wind slammed back into Lan’s ears.

A mana beast roared.

Venom screamed something behind him—Lan couldn’t hear it over the pounding surge of blood in his skull.

Thread was halfway through a spell—his body mid-twist, the scythe raised above his head.

Lan exhaled.

One swing.

He only needed one.

He stepped forward once. A simple, silent step.

And swung.

The blade had no hiss. No roar. There was no magical explosion, no eruption of light.

Only silence. The kind of silence that came after.

Devil’s Lie passed through the air so smoothly it looked as though nothing had happened at all.

Then...

Thread froze.

The scythe in his hand clattered to the ground in two neat pieces.

His body stood motionless for a breath, then—

Slide.

A perfect diagonal cut appeared from shoulder to waist, and his top half slid from the bottom like two halves of a cleanly sliced fruit.

He died with no sound.

All around the temple grounds, the same thing repeated.

The mana beasts froze mid-movement.

Then, in eerie unison—

They fell.

Split cleanly. Not with violence, but with finality.

The cultists who had been shouting? Screaming?

They were already dead.

Standing upright, mid-motion—until gravity caught up, and their halves parted.

Venom looked around, wide-eyed. He dropped his axe.

"What... the fuck did you just do?"

Lan let out a breath.

The cursed blade in his hand hummed with a soundless pulse. He stood amid the battlefield, a calm storm in the center of chaos.

And said nothing.