The Weak Prince Is A Cultivation God-Chapter 58: A Single Touch

Lan stepped into the sunlight.

He looked rested. More than rested—composed. There was a clarity to his movements, a silence to his presence that made the dozens of men in the courtyard pause. They stood straighter. Watched harder. As if they could sense something had shifted.

Venom was the first to speak.

"Welcome back, we thought you were dead."

Lan cracked a faint smile. "It’s good not to be."

Venom chuckled, but it didn’t quite seem full. There was wariness there. And respect.

Lan’s eyes drifted across the assembled figures. Dozens of fighters—Vipers, Fangs, new recruits—stood waiting in formation. Bragg leaned against a stone pillar, arms crossed. Seraphine watched from the balcony, golden hair tied back, expression unreadable.

"What’s happened while I was away?" Lan asked, voice cutting clean through the courtyard.

Bragg answered first. "Nothing major. No new beast waves. No Ash Tongue remnants. Just wind and quiet."

Venom followed. "Trade’s boomed, though. Since we started protecting the southern road, it’s ten times busier. Merchants even tried paying tolls."

Lan raised a brow. "And did you take it?"

Venom hesitated. "Well... we didn’t want to offend, so—"

"Don’t," Lan said.

That one word was enough. It wasn’t a suggestion. It was law.

"Their coins are worthless in the long run," Lan continued. "Let them pass. Free."

The men exchanged glances. Even Bragg blinked at that.

Venom shrugged. "You sure? Sounds like coin slipping through our fingers."

"Not coin. Leverage." Lan’s voice remained calm, but there was iron beneath it.

Venom gave a low whistle. "Hells. You’re the boss. So for the past three weeks, you’ve been doing this cultivation thing?"

"Correct."

Bragg turned. "And it made you stronger?"

"Yes."

Venom eyed him skeptically. "You don’t look stronger."

Bragg crossed his arms. "Agreed. You still look quite thin."

Lan chuckled, stepping deeper into the courtyard. "Then this is the perfect time to discuss the chain of command."

Every man’s attention snapped to him.

Lan’s voice rang clear. "From this moment forward, Miller is my second-in-command. The Grand Commander. In my absence, his word is law. His and Seraphine’s."

Miller, standing still and silent at the side, offered a shallow nod. No change in expression. No surprise. Only acceptance.

"But under them," Lan continued, pacing slowly across the stones, "we need a general. Someone to lead the fighters. Train them. Organize them. Command them."

Venom grinned. "Obviously, that’s me."

Bragg scoffed. "Your brain rot again? You can barely command your self."

Venom rolled his shoulders. "And what, you think you’re better?"

The two stepped toward each other, voices rising, ready to brawl right there.

Lan didn’t stop them.

He just turned his back, walked to the edge of the courtyard, and began unbuttoning his coat.

The courtyard fell into an eerie hush.

Lan slipped off the heavy garment, letting it fall across a stone bench.

And then they saw it.

His body had changed. Carved muscle, lean and honed like tempered steel. His back was a map of scars and cultivation lines, veins beating with faint black qi. Strange, delicate sigils had surfaced along his shoulder blades—marks of breakthrough, of power bound to blood.

Even Seraphine leaned forward slightly from the balcony.

Lan turned slowly, grey eyes flicking across the courtyard.

"First one to touch me..." he said, voice barely above a whisper, "becomes general."

Silence. Then—

Boom.

Bragg and Venom vanished.

They moved like specters, one from the right, the other the left, a coordinated blitz of strength and speed. Dust burst from beneath their boots. Their fingers reached forward—

And found only air.

Lan was gone.

Their eyes widened—too late.

A moment later, his voice echoed from behind them.

"What is this effort?" he asked, walking casually past. "Almost like you don’t want to be general."

And then—

They felt it.

The impact bloomed across their torsos before their minds could process it. They were already flying, already tumbling back across the courtyard stones.

Groans.

Dust.

Laughter from the soldiers. Shock from the recruits.

Lan stood, arms folded, expression calm.

"Sloppy."

Venom coughed as he rolled onto his stomach. "You... hit us?"

Bragg grunted. "When?"

Lan raised a brow. "Before you blinked."

He watched as the two men slowly picked themselves up. Expecting them to try again. To charge, to learn, to adapt.

But they didn’t.

They stood there, catching their breath, not advancing.

Lan frowned. "What’s this? Giving up?"

Venom rubbed the back of his neck. "We know our limits."

Bragg sighed. "And this... this is way past them."

Lan clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "Tch. And here I thought I’d get some fun out of this."

He walked to retrieve his coat, slipping it over his shoulders, muttering, "You two need a lot more training..."

And then he turned his back.

The courtyard relaxed.

Soldiers began to disperse.

And that was when it happened.

Two shadows surged forward—silent, precise.

Like beasts that had been stalking prey. Bragg and Venom moved as one, years of instinct and desperation overriding reason. This was the moment. His back was turned. His guard down. His posture relaxed.

They would reach him now. They would win.

And yet—

Lan smiled.

Just before their fingers could graze him, the world shifted.

[Spiritual Pressure]

The air snapped. Their bodies crashed to the stone, knees first, then shoulders, then chests—pinned as if mountains had dropped from the heavens. The ground beneath them cracked in webbed fractures, the stone groaning under the force.

Lan hadn’t lifted a finger.

He simply stood there—silent, still, absolute.

The others in the courtyard staggered, breath caught in their throats. The pressure wasn’t aimed at them, yet still it choked the very air they breathed.

Authority. Pure and undeniable.

But even as their faces pressed against shattered stone, Bragg’s arm trembled forward. Venom’s fingers inched closer. Blood leaked from their noses. Muscles screamed. Yet they moved—defying even this crushing weight.

Lan turned, watching them strain in agony. He saw no pride in it. Only will. Only hunger.

His eyes softened.

With a slow breath, he released the pressure. The force vanished. The world exhaled.

"You’re both general," Lan said, already walking away. "Do your best."

Behind him, they gasped and coughed—bruised, beaten, but smiling.