Arknights: Prime Minister of Kjerag — Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Kjerag Saintess Enya Wants to Protect Her Brother

Contrary to popular belief, the towering summit of Mount Matterhorn—the highest point in all of Kjerag—is not the nation’s Holy Mountain. That sacred title belongs to another jagged peak, one nestled precisely at the frozen border between the SilverAsh and Paleroche territories: Mount Karlan.

As the absolute seat of power for the Karlan Temple, the mountain’s surrounding slopes and ritual hunting grounds fall under the strict jurisdiction of the clergy. The Paleroche clan merely acts as the muscle, patrolling the perimeter to ensure no ill-intentioned trespassers defile the holy grounds and offend the goddess Kjeragandr.

Under normal circumstances, scaling the summit to seek an audience with Saintess Enya inside the Karlan Temple would be an impossible feat—even for Ernst, the newly minted head of the government.

But politics always left room for exceptions.

Just hours ago, Ernst had been officially inaugurated as the Speaker of the Kjerag National Assembly and the Prime Minister. Enya had stood in attendance, witnessing the austere ceremony. Yet, if the new Prime Minister possessed enough piety to personally ascend the Holy Mountain and pay homage to Kjeragandr immediately after taking office, the Grand Elder would hardly bar the gates.

Unlike the pragmatic heads of the three great clans, the Grand Elder of the Karlan Temple was a man intoxicated by control. He was devout, certainly—he had never once strayed from Kjeragandr’s teachings—but beneath those heavy ceremonial robes beat the heart of a man violently unwilling to surrender a single fraction of his authority.

It was exactly why, in the original trajectory of this world’s fate, he had desperately tried to weaponize the Saintess during the Snow Mountain Incident, hoping to rally the faithful against Enciodes’s iron-fisted dictatorship.

Now, with Ernst propped up as a supposed puppet by the three clans—a puppet poised to siphon even more power from the temple—the young man’s active submission to pay his respects was a stroke to the Elder’s ego. He was more than happy to entertain the visit.

By the time Ernst finished his grueling, breathless ascent up the Holy Mountain, where all modern transportation was strictly forbidden, the Grand Elder was already waiting at the towering entrance of the Karlan Temple. The old man’s gaze swept over Ernst’s crisp, Victorian-style suit, a subtle furrow marring his weathered brow at the foreign attire. Still, he smoothed his expression into a mask of peaceful benevolence.

“Welcome, Ernst. Please, come in.”

Ernst did not miss a beat. He pressed his palms together over his chest, bowing deeply in a flawless, traditional Kjerag greeting.

This gesture worked like a charm. The Grand Elder’s frown melted away, replaced by a faint, satisfied smile. He gave a slight nod to the maid at his side, who stepped forward to push open the heavy wooden gates.

The interior of the Karlan Temple was a sanctuary of ancient, elegant woodwork, heavy with the scent of burning incense and aged timber. Relics and sacrificial offerings to Kjeragandr lined the dimly lit halls. At the very center of the main chamber rested an oval megalith, deeply etched with the goddess’s crest, resting upon a velvet cushion. Legend claimed it was a divine stone left behind during Kjeragandr’s last physical manifestation. Whether that was historical truth or mere religious romanticism, no one alive could truly say.

Deep within the Saintess Hall, Enya had just received word from her personal maid, Kjera, that her younger brother was on the mountain. She did not hesitate, immediately abandoning her duties to rush toward the main hall.

Enya adored her youngest brother. When they were children, left orphaned by their parents’ sudden deaths, Enciodes had been forced to shoulder the crushing weight of a declining house. He became cold, obsessed with external business, and entirely neglected the warmth of their family. During those dark years, it was always Ernst who stepped up, playing the gentle mediator to keep their fractured home together.

And when the political conspiracies closed in, when Enya was forced into the brutal, life-threatening trials to become the Saintess, Enciodes had chosen absolute silence. He had watched her walk toward potential death without a word. Only Ernst had fought for her. Only Ernst had screamed until his throat was raw, engaging in his first and most violent argument with their eldest brother.

Enciodes had ruthlessly crushed Ernst’s rebellion with force, and Enya had been dragged away to the Holy Maiden selection anyway. But she had seen it. She had memorized every desperate thing Ernst did for her that day.

So, when she watched Ernst step onto the speaker’s platform earlier today, wearing that helpless, resigned expression as he was crowned the puppet Speaker of the Council, a white-hot fury had seized her. She had wanted to tear off her holy vestments, storm down the mountain, and smash Enciodes’s skull in with a ceremonial bell.

He had done it again. He had sacrificed his own blood to the altar of the so-called greater good.

But the years in the Karlan Temple had tempered her impulsiveness. Her maid, Kjera, had gently pulled her back from the edge. And Enya knew Ernst was not stupid. Placed on that precarious pedestal, he had not let the illusion of power blind him. He immediately recognized the fragility of his position and chose to play the weak, biding his time.

That realization brought her a sliver of comfort, but it only deepened her current confusion.

‘Why is he here?’

The Grand Elder despised the National Assembly for bleeding the temple’s authority. He would surely subject Ernst to endless psychological torment. Was Ernst coming to her for protection?

Just as she had felt isolated and terrified when forced into her holy seat, was her little brother climbing the freezing mountain just to find a safe embrace? The more Enya thought about it, the more certain she became. Ernst was only twenty-one, far too young to handle these venomous political waters alone. She was not a cold-blooded machine like Enciodes. She would protect him.

Driven by a fierce, maternal protectiveness, Enya shoved open the heavy side doors of the main hall, leaving Kjera a step behind. Then, she froze.

The scene before her completely shattered her expectations of a bullied, shivering Ernst. The young Prime Minister and the Grand Elder were seated comfortably on opposite sides of an ornate table. Their postures were loose, their faces adorned with warm, amiable smiles. Between them sat steaming cups of fragrant tea and a platter of half-eaten pastries. Their conversation flowed like a gentle stream, a picture-perfect display of intergenerational harmony.

“Ernst?”

Enya’s voice broke the comfortable atmosphere. The young man immediately set down his teacup, standing up with a bright wave.

“Sister Enya!”

The Grand Elder’s relaxed demeanor vanished the moment he spotted her. His face hardened into a mask of strict piety as he slowly rose to his feet.

“Saintess. What brings you here? You should be reciting the scriptures at this hour.”

Enya ignored him, her bewildered gaze fixed entirely on Ernst. ‘Aren’t you here to see me?’ her eyes demanded.

The Grand Elder caught the silent exchange, his tone dipping into a stern warning. “Speaker Ernst is visiting the Karlan Temple in his official capacity as the head of the National Assembly, not as a member of the SilverAsh clan. You need not concern yourself with this.”

Ernst smoothly stepped into the rising tension, his voice a soothing balm. “Grand Elder, Sister Enya, please don’t be upset.”

He offered the old man a respectful nod. “Grand Elder, didn’t you just mention that the temple’s account books cannot be lent to outsiders without the explicit consent of the Saintess? You had barely finished the sentence when Sister Enya arrived. Is this not a direct revelation from Kjeragandr herself?”

The Grand Elder’s rigid posture softened a fraction at the flawless religious flattery. Seizing the opening, Ernst stepped forward, executing a perfect, formal bow to Enya. As he lowered his head, he shot her a quick, conspiratorial wink.

“Praise Kjeragandr. So, Sister Enya… if you would please?”

Enya pursed her lips. She stared at her brother for a long, calculating moment, completely thrown by his smooth maneuvering. Finally, she gave a stiff nod, offered a brief greeting to the Grand Elder, and turned on her heel to leave the hall.

As the heavy doors closed, no one noticed the quiet, black-haired maid standing by the threshold. Kjera’s gaze lingered on Ernst’s back, a flicker of genuine surprise and deep curiosity dancing in her ancient eyes.