Arknights: Prime Minister of Kjerag — Chapter 86

Chapter 86: Just Laugh If You Want, I Can’t See You With Your Mask On

The biting winds of Kjerag finally softened as dawn broke over the Karlan Holy Mountain.

The Holy Hunt Ceremony stood as the absolute pinnacle of the year. To the people of this frozen nation, its weight was akin to the ancient rites of emperors offering sacrifices to the heavens and their ancestors. Its deep significance was etched into the very bedrock of their culture.

By nine in the morning, the violent blizzard from the previous night had ceased entirely, almost as if the heavens themselves had been brought to heel. Pilgrims and citizens began their arduous ascent up the sacred slopes, gathering at the Holy Stone Plaza to bear witness to the annual rites.

Yet, a subtle tension threaded through this year’s proceedings. The hierarchy had shifted. In years past, only the heads of the Three Great Families held the right to offer gifts to Kjeragandr. Today, the altar welcomed a new presence: Ernst, standing as the official representative of the Kjerag Government.

The figure seated upon the ceremonial chair to receive these offerings had changed as well. The Grand Elder, a fixture in the memories of countless Kjerag citizens since their childhoods, was nowhere to be seen. In his place sat Enya, the current Saintess of Kjerag, the legendary Miracle Interpreter herself.

Despite the suffocating aura of sacred tradition, the actual mechanics of the Holy Hunt Ceremony were rather straightforward.

Ernst, alongside the Saintess of the Karlan Temple and the leaders of the Three Great Families, would depart from the Holy Stone Plaza and venture into the designated hunting grounds. There, they would track down wild Splitbeasts and Packbeasts, ultimately returning to the plaza to present their quarry.

Following the hunt, the Three Great Families would offer the finest specialties from their respective territories to the presiding priest—formerly the Grand Elder, now Enya. She would then present these tributes before the Holy Stone, recite the Hymn of Kjeragandr, and pray for the goddess to shield their people from the bitter cold for another year.

Then, the ceremony would simply end.

To the discerning eye, a glaring disconnect fractured the ritual. The first half and the second half of the Holy Hunt Ceremony had absolutely nothing to do with each other.

During the hunt, it mattered little if a participant brought down a hundred beasts. The prey served only as a political flex, a bloody display of a family’s martial prowess or sickeningly good luck. The Karlan Temple did not accept the carcasses, and Kjeragandr certainly did not eat them. The Holy Stone remained entirely indifferent to the slaughter.

There was a singular exception. If a family hunted an exorbitant amount of game, they could host a grand banquet in the plaza under the guise of celebrating Kjeragandr’s blessing. But doing so meant feeding every hungry mouth in Kjerag that day, an endeavor that required a bottomless treasury and chefs with arms of steel.

In truth, the hunting segment was a hollow formality. They hunted simply because the event was named the “Holy Hunt.”

Ernst had always considered this a twisted joke left behind by whoever designed the ritual centuries ago. Though the original archival documents were long lost to time, he harbored a cynical suspicion: the founder deliberately structured the event to help convenient “hunting accidents.”

And right now, that suspicion was drowning him in dread.

Ernst valued his own pulse. To prevent a certain Snow Leopard from acting dishonorably and orchestrating an ‘accident’ that might prematurely end his political career, he made a resolute tactical decision.

“Sister, I’m just going to follow you.”

He wrapped his tail securely around Enya’s, offering a perfectly innocent smile.

Enya cast a helpless, sidelong glance at him. “Why don’t you go hunt something? Even a little snow beast? Kjeragandr will look down on you if you just stand there doing nothing.”

Her tone carried a chiding edge, but she made no move to push him away.

Enya possessed a well of empathy that Enciodes utterly lacked. Caught between her sacred duties and a simple request from her family, she would always quietly bend the rules to accommodate the latter.

Naturally, Ernst had no intention of making her look bad. He unslung the heavy backpack that was supposed to hold his hunting gear. Instead of a crossbow or traps, he pulled out several thick, cylindrical fireworks and a handful of firecrackers.

“A belated Harvest Festival gift,” he offered, pressing them into her hands.

Enya blinked, the cold wind catching her silver hair. She remembered the promise he had made last night after she gave him a gift. “But… what are these?”

“Fireworks. And firecrackers. I had Vina custom-order them from Lungmen specifically for this. The quality is absolutely guaranteed.”

Ernst picked one up, retrieved a matchbook from his coat, and struck a flame. “Like this. You wedge it into a crack in the rocks, light the fuse, and it shoots up into the sky before exploding. They make all sorts of patterns.”

He touched the flame to the fuse. The firework let out a sharp, piercing whistle, tearing through the freezing air and leaving a thin trail of white smoke in its wake.

A crisp, thunderous crack echoed across the mountaintop. High above, the explosion bloomed into a massive, brilliantly colored face.

A very familiar face.

Ernst clicked his tongue, flashing a bright smile at Enya. Her eyes were already wide, reflecting the sparkling lights, utterly captivated by the display.

“Look, this one is Enciodes! He exploded!”

Enya covered her mouth, a deeply satisfied, euphoric smile spreading across her lips.

That smile only grew more radiant as the massive image of Enciodes’s face began to distort in the wind, the glowing embers collapsing in on themselves until his features were completely obliterated.

It was a beautiful smile. Almost terrifyingly so.

Ernst swallowed hard, subconsciously taking half a step back.

Right. Girls love setting off fireworks.

Though Enya seemed to be enjoying this particular display a little too much.

“Are there more?” Her ears twitched with barely contained excitement, a faint flush warming her pale cheeks. “I want more Enciodes ones. I want to blow him up again.”

“Uh…” Ernst looked down at the remaining cylinders in his hands. He hadn’t actually checked the designs. His eyes darted away. “These are blind boxes.”

“I told you it was a surprise, right? Completely random. That’s the thrill of it!”

Far below, at the foot of the Karlan Holy Mountain.

Ernst’s paranoia was entirely justified. He had accurately predicted the exact methods Enciodes intended to employ.

During the Holy Hunt Ceremony, the mountain was strictly sealed off. No ordinary citizens were permitted to wander near the sacred slopes. Because of this, both Ernst and Enciodes were forced to rely on foreign operatives to act as sentinels and observers.

This was precisely why the commander leading the elite Snowcap Patrol for Operation Blizzard was not the seasoned Courier, nor the steadfast Matterhorn.

It was Degenbrecher.

The Black Knight possessed zero large-scale command experience, but her martial prowess was absolute. She knew her role perfectly: her unit was the hidden blade in Enciodes’s coup. They were the unexpected variable meant to seize total control of the Holy Stone Plaza the moment the trap was sprung.

Timing was everything.

If she struck too early, the ceremony would remain incomplete. The net Enciodes had cast over the mountaintop wouldn’t be fully closed, allowing either Arctosz Paleroche or Ernst to slip through. The coup would shatter before it even began.

If she struck too late, Enciodes would have already initiated his political framing, leaving him exposed without military backing. Arctosz Paleroche possessed a notoriously volatile Ursus temper. If cornered, the massive clan head would likely try to tear Enciodes apart on the spot. Degenbrecher severely doubted that Matterhorn and Courier combined could hold back a fully enraged Arctosz.

The Paleroche family had survived in these brutal mountains for thousands of years by fighting. When it came to raw violence, they bowed to no one.

She had to move the exact second the signal flare broke the sky. No hesitation. No mistakes.

Degenbrecher stood motionless in the snow, silently forcing her mind into a state of absolute focus.

But fate, it seemed, had a twisted sense of humor. A scout from the Snowcap Patrol crunched through the snow and knelt beside her, delivering a quiet, damning report.

“Degenbrecher. We haven’t located Sciurus. Yukil is missing as well.”

“What?” A rare flicker of genuine shock crossed Degenbrecher’s stoic face. She quickly suppressed it, her jaw tightening.

Sciurus Browntail and her husband, Yukil, were the second-in-command of the Browntail Family.

Enciodes had carefully calculated the threat levels of his targets. Ernst was classified as extreme danger. Arctosz Paleroche was high danger. Ratatos Browntail, however, had been placed in a low-danger tier. Not because she was weak, but because Enciodes had a contingency.

By holding Sciurus and Yukil hostage, he possessed the use needed to force Ratatos into total submission.

And now, the hostages were gone.

“Are there any tracks? Any clues?” Degenbrecher demanded softly. “They didn’t attend the ceremony, and they aren’t in their territory. Where did they go?”

The scout lowered his head. “An informant spotted Sciurus running into the Kjerag Government office in Turicum late last night. She looked panicked.”

Turicum? Ernst’s territory?

Did she figure it out?

A dull ache began to throb behind Degenbrecher’s temples.

Based on the intelligence Enciodes had provided—and meaning no disrespect to the woman—Sciurus simply wasn’t sharp enough to uncover a plot of this magnitude on her own.

It was Ernst. He saw right through it.

She had warned Enciodes. She had told him that his little theatrical display at the Three Clans Meeting was a mistake. He honestly believed a few hollow threats would force his brother to obediently surrender. Did he think Ernst was as easily manipulated as Gnosis?

Even pinning Gnosis down required both hands.

“This complicates things,” Degenbrecher murmured.

The operation hadn’t even officially commenced, and the pressure was already suffocating. Without her family as use, Ratatos Browntail’s threat level instantly skyrocketed. A fully unchained Ratatos could inflict far more political and logistical damage than a raging Ursus warrior.

Worst of all, Enciodes was completely blind to this development. He was up on that mountain, operating under the assumption that his net was secure.

If Ernst had truly dismantled the contingency plan, the bloodless coup on the snowy peak was about to turn into a slaughter.

“Degenbrecher, your orders?” the scout asked, his voice tight with anticipation.

She closed her eyes. She drew in a long, freezing breath, letting the icy air fill her lungs, then exhaled slowly. The turbulent rise and fall of her chest leveled out. When her eyes opened, the cold, detached gaze of the Black Knight had returned.

“We trust Enciodes. Until he fires the signal, we hold our position. Maintain the ambush.”

“Understood. Let’s hope everything goes smoothly for him up th—”

BANG.

The scout’s words were cut off by a sharp, whistling shriek.

Like a perfectly timed punchline in a dark comedy, a projectile tore into the morning sky above the peak. It detonated with a deafening crack, unleashing a blinding, magnificent burst of pyrotechnics.

The fireworks were a masterpiece. A legendary artisan in Lungmen, deeply favored by Wei Yenwu himself, had poured his soul into the chemical composition. The explosion demanded the attention of every single living soul on the Karlan Holy Mountain.

Vivid, lifelike, and utterly inescapable. As if Arturia had woven her Originium Arts into the very light, bringing deep joy to some and absolute despair to others.

The massive, glowing face of Enciodes SilverAsh hung in the sky for all to see.

Degenbrecher and the elite Snowcap Patrol watched in dead silence as the majestic face of their employer lingered in the heavens, slowly warping in the wind before collapsing into a shower of pathetic sparks.

The silence at the base of the mountain was so heavy it felt physical.

“What do we do now?” the scout asked, his voice hollow.

Degenbrecher slowly turned her head to look at the heavily armored soldier. Even through his tactical mask, she knew exactly what kind of expression he was making. It was the exact same expression she wore.

What do we do?

She genuinely wanted to ask him the same question.

Did this squad of newly trained recruits honestly believe that she—even with her three Major Knight Tournament championships—could storm a mountain fortified by two fully prepared Great Families, the armed monks of the Karlan Temple, and a waiting Ernst SilverAsh?

A dry, breathless laugh escaped her lips.

The Black Knight was strong, but she wasn’t the Blood Demon Grand Duke. She couldn’t carve through an army of prepared elites through sheer force of will.

Instructor Dobermann’s infamous tactical theory from Rhodes Island—that a thousand Beagles could eventually pile a Skyfire to death—was a terrifyingly accurate description of what would happen if she charged up that mountain right now.

“Just laugh if you want,” Degenbrecher said, her voice flat and indifferent. “I can’t see you with your mask on anyway.”

She raised a gauntleted hand, signaling the entire patrol.

“New orders. Operation suspended. All units stand by.”

She was faithfully executing Enciodes’s final command.

Though, if her instincts were correct, the actual signal flare—the one bearing the crest of Kjeragandr to mark the failure of the operation—would likely be detonating very soon.

Another thunderous BANG echoed from the peak.

Degenbrecher didn’t even flinch. She simply tilted her head back, staring up at the sky as the benevolent, shining figure of the goddess illuminated the clouds.

Years from now, when she looked back on this day, she knew she would deeply regret not returning to Kazimierz to buy a lottery ticket. Or perhaps tracking down the Leithanien noble who had once branded her a ‘defective product incapable of Originium Arts,’ grabbing him by the collar, and whispering in his ear:

Hey. You’ll never guess what my Originium Arts actually is.

Wish Fulfillment.