Lanterns of the Wise King
Chapter 1: The Weight of the Crown
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Power System: The Ascension Path
In this world, strength and wisdom are measured by the Ascension Path—a sacred system of progression recognized across realms. Every level comes with a unique trial known as a Tribulation, often in the form of storms, lightning, or even elemental beasts, varying in color and power.
Ascension Levels:
Novice (1–3) – Basic awareness of energy.
Student (1–3) – Foundational spiritual awakening.
Lord (1–5) – Capable of leading small armies, manipulating minor forces.
Overlord (1–7) – Commands territories, battles natural laws.
World (1–2) – Respected by nations, laws bend around them.
Planet (1–2) – Capable of shaping continents.
Galaxy (1a–7a) – Wielders of cosmic energy, one per era.
Unified One (1–3) – Mystics who hold balance across galaxies.
Blackhole (1–9) – Their power consumes time and reason.
Undying (1–10) – Death cannot claim them.
Tenth Conscious Order (1v) – Exist beyond mortal senses.
Emperor of Mata – Monarch of lost divine realms.
God Name Levels:
1: Lower God Seal
2: Moderate God Seal
3: Divine God Seal
Afterlife Regresser Path (1a–20a) – Masters of resurrection and reversal, defying fate itself.
Tribulations by Level:
White Lightning – (Novice–Student)
Blue Storms – (Lord)
Purple Flames – (Overlord)
Black Thunderclouds – (World–Planet)
Red Cosmic Bolts – (Galaxy–Unified One)
Voidfire Tempests – (Blackhole & beyond)
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Chapter 1: The Weight of the Crown
In the grand palace of Ziyuan, a kingdom nestled between jade mountains and golden rivers, King Lazrath stood atop the Sky Balcony. His sharp eyes scanned the fields far below, where farmers bent over parched earth and rice stalks wilted under a weary sun.
He whispered to his advisor beside him,
> "If I were to trust someone completely, I would not live another minute."
Behind his calm words lay decades of betrayal, alliance, and quiet endurance. Lazrath had risen from a discarded fourth son—an underestimated figure with no claim to the throne—into a king revered and feared. This was no accident. It was cultivation, strategy, and—if anyone asked—more paperwork than any man should bear.
Though born without a blessing mark or heavenly eye like the princes of old, he forged his way through study, battle, and pure force of will to reach Student Level 3. He was close to Lord Level 1, though his body warned him that his next Tribulation would be more than a flash of lightning.
But before the thunder, came silence. Before power, came pain.
In the streets of the capital, old women whispered legends of his past:
> "That King, ah... didn't he once tame a phoenix with just a tea cup and a sandal?"
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The kingdom was stable, but hunger whispered at the edges. Trade routes were disrupted. Bandits stirred in the east. Court ministers grumbled, nobles schemed, and distant lords tested their chains.
But Lazrath remained composed.
> "The world does not change with shouting," he often said, "only with action."
His first move was with family.
His daughter, Princess Zunze, was clever beyond her years—her words sharp, her eyes sharper. If this were a different story, she'd be the one poisoning emperors and toppling kingdoms with tea.
Lazrath, instead of restraining her spirit, encouraged it. He guided her gently. He taught her to balance heart and duty, reminding her that power without affection is tyranny—and affection without power is tragedy.
One day, she jokingly declared,
> "I'll marry the strongest man alive!"
He sipped his tea.
> "Then I suppose I'll have to arrest every decent suitor before they challenge the heavens."
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As crops failed and murmurs of rebellion rose, Lazrath implemented sweeping agricultural reforms. Channels were dug. Villagers given seed packs forged from imported soil alchemy. He personally toured the poorest districts, disguised in plain robes.
That night, meditating beneath a plum blossom tree, a White Lightning Tribulation cracked the heavens. It struck the branch above him.
> "He's breaking through!" shouted a guard.
Smoke curled from his slightly toasted beard. Lazrath stood, muttering,
> "I should've done that indoors."
He had reached Lord Level 1.
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Beyond the palace walls, political undercurrents stirred.
A rogue noble whispered to a masked guest,
> "He's getting stronger. If we wait, he'll reach Overlord before we act."
The guest, a shadowy figure known only as The Needle, replied,
> "Then we won't wait."
Plans were made. Blades sharpened.
The Festival of Lanterns was only days away.
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In a small shed at the edge of the palace, an elderly alchemist mixed colored powders while grumbling,
> "They want fireworks this year... do they think colors grow on trees? Hmph."
His apprentice sneezed into a glowing vial. The resulting puff exploded gently, dyeing them both purple.
> "Congratulations," said the old man, "you've invented royal fog. Now clean it before it becomes sentient."
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To Be Continued in Chapter 2….