The Morning Court of Shadows
This world divided the path of cultivation into four vast Realms—each standing like a mountain, each harder to climb than the last.
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 peak of all existence.
Of them, cultivators of the Mortal Tier filled the world—farmers, guards, soldiers, mercenaries. Ninety-nine out of a hundred martial artists never rose beyond it.
But the Origin Tier—that was different. Those who reached it could dominate an entire region. In the martial world, they became sect leaders or elders, names spoken with reverence. Within the empire, they were generals capable of commanding tens of thousands of troops.
And above them, the Supreme Tier. A Sage could slay hundreds. A Saint could break an army. A Supreme Saint could annihilate a nation alone.
Then there were the Divine beings—figures of myth and legend, said to walk among the heavens themselves. None living could claim to have seen one.
By the world's measure, Lucian Drake now stood as a man of strength.
He lacked the profound techniques or refined mastery of an experienced Origin cultivator, but his power was undeniable. Against a Mortal Tier opponent, he could end the fight before the other even drew breath.
He was no longer defenseless.
(Ding! The player's strength has now synchronized with national power! Even if the national power declines, the player's strength will never regress. Please continue to work hard!)
Lucian's eyes lit up. "That's… perfect," he muttered with relief.
His greatest fear had been losing his strength if the Drake Kingdom faltered. But this—this meant stability. Freedom. Confidence.
He could now focus entirely on building his empire without worrying that weakness would drag him down again.
As that thought settled, his vision shifted.
A brilliant light shimmered in his mind—and then unfolded into a massive 3D Map, alive and pulsing with detail.
It was his kingdom.
Every mountain, river, and city came alive before his inner eye. Clouds drifted across miniature skies; merchants moved through the streets; even a soldier's sweat glistened beneath the sunlight of this spiritual projection.
He could zoom in, see faces, hear whispers, feel the pulse of his land as though the world itself was his body.
Below the projection, lines of information materialized:
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 millionWealthy: 1%Commoners: 18%Poor: 71%Military Strength: 300,000 soldiers2 Origin Tier experts200 martial artistsComprehensive National Power: 345 (Minor Kingdom Level)
(Note: Since the player's country is at the Minor Kingdom level, the Empire Forging Map Game System is currently at Beginner Level. The player can only mobilize underground resources. As the nation grows stronger, more features will gradually unlock!)
Lucian's jaw dropped slightly. "This feature… it's unbelievable."
He could see everything without ever leaving the Imperial Palace—his entire kingdom laid bare to him like a living organism.
With this, no spy could hide, no rebellion could rise unnoticed. He could rule with precision.
"Now this… is a true Emperor's eye," he murmured, fingers curling into a fist of resolve.
Ideas began to spark in his mind, strategies swirling like pieces on a grand chessboard. He could rebuild the treasury, reinforce the borders, uplift the people—all while cultivating his own strength in sync with the kingdom's growth.
As he stood lost in thought, a voice echoed from beyond the chamber door.
"Your Majesty," a soft, aged tone called, "it is time to prepare for the morning court session."
Lucian turned. The man who entered was stooped yet dignified, wearing the ornate robes of a senior eunuch. His black hair had grayed at the edges, his expression gentle but alert.
This was Walton, an Origin Tier—Primal Level master and one of the few people Lucian could trust. He had served the previous emperor and had been tasked to protect Lucian after the old ruler's passing.
Lucian gave a small nod. "Very well. Let's begin."
Servants moved swiftly—drawing water for washing, laying out the Imperial Robe, and combing through his shoulder-length black hair. His purple eyes caught the morning light, calm yet gleaming with quiet determination.
When he finally stepped into the great hall, golden sunlight filtered through the tall lattice windows, bathing the marble floor in a warm glow. The banners of the Drake Kingdom—black and silver with a roaring dragon crest—hung proudly above the Imperial Throne.
As Lucian sat, the court erupted.
"Greetings to Your Majesty! Long live the Emperor! Long live, long live forever and ever!"
The shout of hundreds of officials shook the hall, but Lucian remained composed, his expression unreadable.
"Rise," he said coolly. "And speak freely."
"Thank you, Your Majesty!" they chorused, bowing low before straightening.
Lucian's gaze swept over them—ministers, generals, scholars. Each one wore loyalty like a mask. Behind those polite smiles hid ambition and greed.
Snakes and foxes, he thought. All smiling at me while sharpening their knives.
There were only two he could truly rely on: Thomas White, the Prime Minister with gray hair and steady eyes, and Eldric Bennett, the bald, broad-shouldered Grand General whose presence alone silenced most men.
Both had been sworn brothers to the late Emperor—loyalists through and through.
As Lucian met their eyes, the two older men smiled faintly and bowed again. There was relief in their faces—perhaps seeing the young emperor standing tall gave them hope that the kingdom wasn't doomed yet.
At the base of the steps, Walton's voice carried clear across the marble.
"If there are matters to report, speak now. If not, the court is dismissed."
Almost immediately, a robed figure stepped forward. It was the Minister of Rites, his face tight with unease.
"Your Majesty, this minister has a report. Envoys from the Ironforge Kingdom have come seeking an audience."
The words struck like a bolt of thunder.
The court fell silent. Even the air seemed to freeze.
Lucian's gaze hardened slightly. The Ironforge Kingdom—a neighboring state, also a Minor Kingdom, yet far stronger than theirs. Its armies were well-equipped, its economy booming, and its ambitions no secret.
Their borders had long been stained with blood. Skirmishes flared like sparks every few months.
And now—envoys.
Lucian's mind worked fast. They wouldn't come without purpose. A test? A threat? A demand for tribute?
Still, he didn't let a hint of doubt show on his face.
He leaned back on the Imperial Throne, his voice steady as polished steel.
"Announce their entry."
The courtiers bowed, and tension rippled across the room like the calm before a storm.
Lucian Drake sat unmoving, his purple eyes gleaming with quiet calculation.
He was the emperor now—and this was his first dance with the wolves.