The Weak Prince Is A Cultivation God-Chapter 65: Royal Visit.

The road had not changed.

Lan rode alone this time—just like he had last time, no entourage, no banners, no fanfare. Just the rhythmic clop of his horse’s hooves against the polished white marble of the Golden Stone Road.

He remembered it well. How could he not? Once, it had paved before him like a divine test. Now, it greeted him like an old enemy, masking its sharp edges beneath charm.

The marble beneath him still glowed faintly with filigree gold. Still warm beneath the hooves, as if the sun had been hammered into the road’s veins.

The towering statues that lined either side—immortal monarchs carved from pearl, steelstone, and memory—remained eternally watchful, their eyes fixed forward with imperial indifference.

Gardens bloomed in abundance. Roses that refused to wilt. Trees with leaves like crystal that shimmered with unnatural beauty. Fountains whispered nearby, their waters glowing faintly with mana.

It was breathtaking... and hollow.

Extremely hollow.

Lan didn’t marvel at it anymore. He saw it for what it was: surveillance, complete and unavoidable surveillance. Every shimmer, every scent, every silent statue was a mechanism.

The road was no road at all, but a net—the arteries of an empire that remembered everything and forgave nothing.

He passed under an arch of scanning light. Somewhere, an imperial scribe wrote his name again.

Lanard Solaris IV. Alive. Present. Watched.

He was marked.

At the second checkpoint, the familiar figure of Captain Elyria stood waiting. Clad in gold-trimmed plate, helm beneath one arm, her eyes as stern as ever.

"You again," she said, mouth twitching with the faintest curve.

"You wound me," Lan said, drawing back his hood. "You really need to work on your greetings."

She turned without a word and began walking. Lan followed.

"Her Highness is expecting you."

The palace rose ahead—its black and gold towers wrapped in lightning and cloud, a beast of stone slumbering in power. They passed over floating bridges and beneath crystalline arches, their boots echoing in the hollow corridors of nobility.

Eventually, they arrived at a familiar door: the wing of Princess Iris Aregard.

There stood Envoy Cassian, still thin and elegant, still draped in violet robes, and still with the eyes of a man who always knew more than he said.

"It’s been a while," Cassian said, bowing slightly.

Lan returned it with a nod. "You look tired."

"I am," Cassian replied. "But you look... confident. Dangerous."

Lan smiled without teeth. "I’ve had a long few months."

Cassian gestured. "Come. She’s in her quarters."

Lan stepped through the doors and into a storm of cloth and scissors.

The princess’s chambers were vast, as always—taller than most towers, ringed with stained-glass windows and gleaming with scented oil lamps.

Rich rugs softened the floor. Racks of fabrics lined the walls, like battle standards waiting to be chosen.

In the center of it all, perched on a small golden stool, stood Iris.

Barefoot and regal, arms slightly raised, she was surrounded by tailors who darted around her like birds—pinning, measuring, adjusting layers of fine cloth in blacks, crimsons, and golds.

Her eyes met his.

"Ah, Lan," she said, lips curling into something amused. "You’re here."

Lan didn’t answer immediately. He crossed the chamber slowly, gaze sweeping over the chaos.

"Hm," he said, picking up a small cream cake from a nearby silver tray. "Could it be I’ve been invited for a wedding?"

Iris rolled her eyes.

"I never imagined you as a bride," Lan continued, taking a bite.

"There’s a higher chance of a building growing wings and flying," she said flatly.

He laughed, quiet and sharp. "Fair."

He moved to the window, looking out at the garden terraces below. Even from here, he could see the palace’s magical cranes carving new monuments in the distant court.

"So what’s going on here?" he asked.

Iris gestured for the tailors to pause. She stepped down, her half-finished gown trailing like smoke behind her.

"I’m being fitted for the Absolute Imperial Court Assembly," she said, as if it were obvious.

Lan turned to face her fully.

"That important, huh?"

"It’ll be the first I’ve ever attended," Iris said, smoothing down a sleeve. "For most of us, really. The first full assembly in nearly a generation. Everyone who matters will be there."

She picked up a jeweled ring from a nearby tray and slid it onto her finger absentmindedly.

"Even you."

Lan raised an eyebrow. "Me?"

"You didn’t think I called you here just for conversation, did you?"

"Ah, this is the Emperor’s acceptance thing you spoke about," Lan said. "I’m beyond excited."

Iris sighed. "Now say it with a bit less sarcasm."

"I physically can not." Lan shook his head.

She turned. "You’ll need to be fitted too."

Lan gestured at himself. "Just toss me whatever you’ve got in the closet. I’m not wearing dresses and golden sashes."

Iris returned to her stool but waved the tailors off for now. She looked at Lan directly, the light from the chandelier casting sharp shadows across her face.

He studied her expression—focused, unreadable. She wasn’t teasing anymore.

"So," Lan said, eyes narrowing, "what exactly is this assembly?"

The air shifted.

Cassian stopped writing.

The tailors grew suddenly quieter, sensing the change in tone. Even the lamps seemed to dim just slightly.

Iris didn’t answer right away. She reached for a goblet of wine on the nearby table and took a slow sip.

Then she said, with quiet gravity:

"The Emperor has opened the path."

Lan frowned. "The succession?"

Iris nodded.

"This assembly," she said, "is more than ceremony. It’s the beginning. The moment when those who want the crown... show their teeth."

Lan leaned back against a pillar, arms crossed. "And how sharp are yours?"

Her voice was calm. "Comparatively? Quite dull. But no one can know that."

A long silence passed between them.

Outside, the towers of the Imperial City gleamed like blades Would . The court was awakening. The game had begun.

And Lan—whether he liked it or not—was already on the board.