The Morning Court of Shadows
This world separated the path of cultivation into four enormous Realms—each like a mountain, each more difficult to ascend than the previous one.
Mortal Tier: Bronze Level, Silver Level, Gold Level.
Origin Tier: Primal Level, Starfire Level, Majestic Level.
Supreme Tier: Sage, Saint, Supreme Saint.
Divine Tier: The Earthly Immortal—the pinnacle of all existence.
Among them, farmers, guards, soldiers, mercenaries, those cultivating the Mortal Tier populated the world. Ninety-nine of every hundred martial artists never transcended it.
But not so the Origin Tier. Those who made it were able to conquer a whole region. In the world of martial arts, they became elders or sect masters, names invoked with respect. In the empire, they were generals who could lead tens of thousands of soldiers.
And above them, the Supreme Tier. A Sage might kill hundreds. A Saint might shatter an army. A Supreme Saint might wipe out a nation by himself.
Then there were the Divine beings—creatures of myth and legend, rumored to tread among the heavens themselves. None alive might claim to have seen one.
According to the world's standards, Lucian Drake was now a man of power.
He did not have the deep techniques or subtle mastery of a veteran Origin cultivator, but the force was undeniable. Against a Mortal Tier foe, he could finish the fight before the other even had a chance to inhale air.
He was no longer helpless.
(Ding! The player's strength has now harmonized with national power! Even if the national power drops, the player's strength will never go back. Please keep on working hard!)
Lucian's eyes widened. "That's. perfect," he grunted in relief.
His biggest fear had been losing his strength if the Drake Kingdom failed. But this—this guaranteed stability. Freedom. Confidence.
He could now concentrate solely on constructing his empire without fear that weakness would bring him down once more.
As that settled, his perception changed.
A brilliant light glimmered in his mind—and then rolled out into a gigantic 3D Map, alive and throbbing with detail.
It was his dominion.
All the mountains, rivers, and cities came alive in front of his inner vision. Clouds floated over toy skies; merchants traversed the streets; even a soldier's perspiration glistened under the sun of this spiritual image.
He could zoom in, view faces, overhear whispers, sense the heartbeat of his country as if the world itself was his body.
Underneath the projection, lines of facts coalesced:
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Empire Forging Map Game System (Beginner Level)
• Territorial Area: 320,000 square miles (Arable land: 80,000 square miles)
• Domestic Resources: 30.5 million coins (1 Red Rock Iron Mine, 1 coal mine, 1 copper mine)
• Population: 3.22 million
o Wealthy: 1%
o Commoners: 18%
o Poor: 71%
• Military Strength: 300,000 soldiers
o 2 Origin Tier experts
o 200 martial artists
• Comprehensive National Power: 345 (Minor Kingdom Level)
(Note: Because the player's nation is on the Minor Kingdom level, the Empire Forging Map Game System is presently on Beginner Level. The player is only able to mobilize subterranean resources. As the country becomes stronger, more features will progressively become unlocked!)
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Lucian's jaw fell a little. "This feature… it's unthinkable."
He could see all of it without ever having to leave the Imperial Palace—his whole kingdom spread out for him like a living thing.
With that, no spy would be able to hide, no rebellion raise its head without notice. He could rule with precision.
"Now this… is an Emperor's eye," he whispered, his fingers curling into a fist of determination.
Ideas started fermenting in his head, plans whirling like pawns on a grand chessboard. He could fill the treasury, strengthen the borders, bring prosperity to the people—all while building his own strength in harmony with the kingdom's development.
Standing lost in thought, a voice came from outside the chamber door.
"Your Majesty," a gentle, old voice called, "the time is come to get ready for the morning court session."
Lucian turned. The stooping but dignified man entering was clad in the rich robes of a senior eunuch. His black hair was graying at the temples, his face gentle but watchful.
This was Walton, an Origin Tier—Primal Level expert and one of the handful of individuals Lucian could truly trust. He had been a servant to the last emperor and had been ordered to guard Lucian upon the death of the old ruler.
Lucian nodded. "Very well. Let's start."
Servants hurried about—filling basins with water for bathing, spreading out the Imperial Robe, and brushing his black shoulder-length hair. His purple eyes reflected morning sunlight, serene yet shining with reserved resolve.
When at last he entered the grand hall, golden light streamed through the high lattice windows, casting a warm glow over the marble floor. Black and silver Drake Kingdom banners bearing a snarling dragon crest hung above the Imperial Throne.
As Lucian took his seat, the court exploded.
"Salutations to Your Majesty! Long live the Emperor! Long live, long live forever and ever!"
The cry of hundreds of officials resounded through the hall, but Lucian did not flinch, his face an unreadable mask.
"Rise," he spoke coldly. "And speak your minds."
"Thank you, Your Majesty!" they all exclaimed in unison, bowing low and then rising.
Lucian's eyes scanned them—ministers, generals, scholars. Loyalty was worn like a mask by each one. Behind those courteous smiles lay ambition and greed.
Foxes and snakes, he thought. All smiling at me while sharpening their knives.
There were only two he could actually count on: Thomas White, the gray-haired Prime Minister with unshakeable eyes, and Eldric Bennett, the bald, broad-shouldered Grand General whose very presence stilled most men.
Both had been sworn brothers to the late Emperor—through-and-through loyalists.
As Lucian's eyes met theirs, the two older men smiled weakly and bowed once more. There was relief on their faces—maybe seeing the young emperor standing tall reassured them that the kingdom wasn't ruined yet.
At the foot of the steps, Walton's voice rang out clear across the marble.
"If there are reports to make, speak now. If not, the court is dismissed."
In an instant, a robed figure stepped forward. The Minister of Rites it was, his face compressed with discomposure.
"Your Majesty, this minister has a report. Envoys of the Ironforge Kingdom have arrived to seek an audience."
The words bit like a bolt of lightning.
The court was silent. Even the air froze.
Lucian's eyes grew cold. The Ironforge Kingdom—a border state, also a Minor Kingdom, but by far more powerful than theirs. Its soldiers were well-armed, its economy flourishing, and its intentions no secret.
Their borders had always run red with blood. Skirmishes erupted like sparks every few months.
And now—ambassadors.
Lucian's brain was quick. They wouldn't have come without reason. A test? A threat? A demand for tax?
Nevertheless, he showed not a glimmer of doubt on his face.
He reclined upon the Imperial Throne, his voice calm as etched steel.
Notices of their arrival should be announced.
Courtiers bowed, and tension flowed through the room like a storm before it.
Lucian Drake remained still, purple eyes aglow with subtle calculation.
He was the emperor now—and this was his initial dance with the wolves.