Arknights: Prime Minister of Kjerag — Chapter 45

Chapter 45: A Provocation from Karlan TradeYou're reading this on the wrong site. This chapter was translated by Elysian Reads and posted for free at elysianreads.com — if you're seeing it anywhere else, it was copied without permission. Read it at the source so the people who actually did the work get the credit.

The Columbia-Kjerag border, Terra Wilderness.

The heavy transport bus bearing the pristine Rhine Lab insignia ground to a halt, its tires kicking up a thick cloud of arid dust. The driver squinted through the windshield, assessing the lone figure mounted on a sturdy Sumpter Beast blocking their path. He rolled down his window, pulling out a megaphone.

“Are you the messenger?”

“Yes, yes!” The young man called back. His skin was deeply tanned from the harsh wilderness sun. He flashed a bright, easygoing smile, dismounting to present his identification. “I’m looking for Mr. Ernest. He’s on this bus, right?”

The driver inspected the tags, then nodded. “Hold on a second. I need to ask the boss.” He stepped out of the cabin, making his way down the aisle to where Ernest and Nasti were seated. “Boss, we’ve got a messenger outside looking for Mr. Ernest. ID checks out; he’s not one of those Rust Hammer lunatics.”

Nasti gave a brief nod, turning to Ernest. “We should let him board. Messengers have a brutal enough time out in the wastes as it is.”

Ernest agreed, gesturing for the driver to open the doors.

Here on Terra, where the Nomadic City Network served as the only lifeline between isolated civilizations and a true global internet was a pipe dream, messengers were the lifeblood of information. Thousands of them braved the treacherous wilderness every single day—crossing perilous highlands, handling toxic swamps, and dodging bandits to deliver intelligence to countless households. It was a profession with a mortality rate second only to frontline soldiers.

They were the true unsung heroes of this fractured world. Out in the badlands, even a bloodthirsty Sarkaz mercenary scraping by would offer a passing messenger a canteen of water. Since this one was specifically looking for Ernest, turning him away was out of the question.

The pneumatic doors hissed open. The dark-skinned, athletic young man stepped aboard, his eyes immediately locking onto Ernest.

“Young Master Ernest,” he greeted, his tone warm and familiar. “It’s been a while.”

“Courier,” Ernest replied, recognizing him instantly.

Courier—one of the three trusted confidants serving under his elder brother, Enciodes. He was a few years older than Ernest, tasked with managing Karlan Trade’s logistics and underground intelligence network.

While Courier officially held a government-recognized messenger license, his status as a department head and Enciodes’s right-hand man meant he rarely delivered missives in person anymore. Seeing him out here in the dust was a surprise, one that brought a faint, nagging premonition to the back of Ernest’s mind.

Something massive was shifting in Kjerag.

Courier closed the distance, reaching into his coat to produce a sealed envelope bearing Enciodes’s personal wax stamp. “The Master instructed me to inform you that you must return to Kjerag immediately. You need to prepare for the arrival of foreign guests.”

“Foreign guests?” Ernest blinked, taking the heavy envelope.

Courier offered a single, affirmative nod. Without wasting another breath, his gaze swept over the other passengers, committing their faces to memory, before he spun on his heel. He vaulted out of the bus, remounted his Sumpter Beast, and spurred the creature back into the sprawling wastes.

The moment the doors sealed shut, all eyes turned to Ernest.

“What foreign guests?” Vina asked, leaning forward, her eyes practically sparkling with anticipation.

Ernest had promised her the position of Minister of Foreign Affairs in his newly minted government. It was a role she deeply cherished, eager to interact with the world and gather the experience she desperately needed. This letter likely heralded her very first diplomatic reception since taking office. How could she not be excited?

Ernest didn’t bother hiding the contents from the Rhine Lab engineering team sharing the bus. If anything, this sudden diplomatic flex was perfect use.

See? Kjerag is a rising power, highly sought after, not some desolate money pit. So don’t slack off on the infrastructure work.

He broke the wax seal, unfolding the thick parchment so Vina and Ho’olheyak could read over his shoulder. The message was brief, penned in elegant, sharp cursive:

To the Prime Minister of Kjerag, Ernest SilverAsh:

The inaugural railway line connecting Kjerag Pass to Tukalim Station has been completed. We cordially invite His Excellency the Prime Minister to attend the ribbon-cutting ceremony. For this momentous occasion, Karlan Trade has secured the attendance of a representative from Victoria, acting on behalf of Duke Windermere and her daughter.

My dearest younger brother, you are far too slow.

Enciodes SilverAsh, Chairman of Karlan Trade, your elder brother.and support the real translator.Read at elysianreads.com This is a stolen translation. You're reading this on the wrong site. This chapter was translated by Elysian Reads and posted for free at elysianreads.com — if you're seeing it anywhere else, it was copied without permission. Read it at the source so the people who actually did the work get the credit.

“Well, that is a letter dripping with provocation,” Ho’olheyak murmured.

She brushed a lock of hair behind her delicate ear, leaning in close. The faint, intoxicating scent of her perfume washed over Ernest as her ear lightly brushed against his. “Is this the boss’s grand rival back home?” she whispered, her voice a sultry, teasing purr that sent a pleasant warmth through the air.

Ernest pursed his lips, suppressing a sigh as he nodded.

Enciodes’s motive was painfully transparent. It was a blatant show of force. While Ernest was out here in the dirt, scrambling to recruit talent and cobble together the bare skeleton of a functioning government, Karlan Trade was casually summoning the representative of a Victorian Grand Duke. Enciodes was using his corporate empire to flex his political muscle, proving exactly what he had written: he was moving fast, and Ernest was lagging behind.

Ernest rubbed his temples. If his stubborn elder brother would just pool their resources, Karlan Trade’s vast wealth and connections combined with Ernest’s modern strategies would make reforming Kjerag effortless. But Enciodes was practically the walking embodiment of a domineering CEO archetype. He would never compromise his grand, autocratic vision to cooperate with Ernest—not unless Ernest managed to utterly and decisively defeat him at his own game.

Until then, Enciodes clearly preferred this twisted dance of cooperation wrapped in fierce rivalry.

“But look on the bright side,” Ho’olheyak noted, her sharp eyes scanning the letter again. “At least this officially crosses one massive headache off our board.”

Ernest nodded in agreement. The Victorian Empire was currently the undisputed military hegemon of Terra. With their King hanging from the gallows, the nation was ruled by the iron fists of its Grand Dukes—a pure meritocracy of violence where the one with the strongest army dictated the law. To drag a Victorian Duke’s representative all the way to a snowy mountain railway opening was a terrifying display of soft power. In another timeline, Grand Duke Godolphin had completely ignored an international summit invitation from the Pope of Laterano himself!

Since Enciodes had already tapped into that formidable network, Ernest wouldn’t have to waste time figuring out how to court Victoria. It was a small, pragmatic consolation prize for putting up with his brother’s arrogance.

He turned to Vina, offering an encouraging smile. “Alright, Vina. Whether it’s you or me, this is going to be our first time hosting official diplomatic envoys. Let’s show them what we’re made of.”

Vina, however, was staring blankly at the floorboards. She flinched when Ernest spoke, her voice tight. “Ah… right.” She bit her lower lip, her fingers twisting the fabric of her skirt. “Um, Your Excellency… is it possible for me to sit this one out?”

Ernest blinked, completely derailed. “Huh? Why?”

“Because…” Vina stammered, her mind racing to fabricate an excuse.

How could she possibly tell him the truth? Duke Windermere was one of the key figures implicated in the execution of her father. The bloody riot that had slaughtered the Aslan royal family was orchestrated by the Londinium City Council, but everyone knew the Grand Dukes had tacitly allowed it to happen. Without their silent approval, the nobles would never have dared to rebel.

Vina vividly remembered seeing a portrait of Duke Windermere in the royal palace during her childhood. She recalled a tall, imposing woman with a scarred, blind eye, radiating the cold, ruthless aura of a veteran commander. What if the Duke’s representative recognized her? It wouldn’t just be her head on the chopping block; she could drag all of Kjerag into Victoria’s crosshairs.

Ernest stared at her, utterly bewildered. Wait, does Duke Windermere know her? Is she an old acquaintance? Or wait, is this runaway Londinium noblewoman actually a secret member of the Windermere family?

No, that doesn’t make sense. The letter said it’s the Duke’s representative and daughter. Does the Duke keep her mistresses a secret from her own family? Or… wait, is the Duke’s daughter Vina’s arranged marriage partner? Is she feeling guilty because she pulled a runaway bride routine?

Ernest’s imagination ran wild. He had no prejudice against same-sex relationships, but a Duke’s daughter? What kind of melodramatic, prime-time soap opera plot have I stumbled into?

He shook his head, violently clearing the absurd theories from his mind. Reaching out, he placed a firm, reassuring hand on Vina’s shoulder. “Don’t be afraid,” he said, his voice dropping into a serious, grounding register. “Whatever history you have with the Windermere family, you are the Minister of Foreign Affairs for Kjerag now. On our soil, absolutely no one can touch you.”

To lighten the heavy atmosphere, he patted his chest confidently. “Tell you what, when we get back, I’ll personally fetch you a protective talisman from Kjeragandr. If you ever run into danger, just scream: ‘Help me, Great God Kjeragandr! Kjeragandr will protect me!'”

Vina couldn’t help but let out a soft giggle. The suffocating panic tightening her chest instantly melted away by half. “Will that actually work?”

“Of course it will,” Ernest grinned shamelessly. “Kjeragandr is incredibly effective. She’s a goddess who can literally become my mother!”

Vina covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking with quiet laughter. She knew Ernest was likely just spouting local Kjerag superstition to comfort her, but the warmth in his words was real.

He was right. Running away wouldn’t change what Alexandrina had endured, and her past would eventually catch up with her regardless. She had accepted this mantle. There would be countless times she’d have to face Victoria in the future. Instead of dreading the inevitable, it was better to face the storm now—especially with Ernest standing right beside her.

Feeling a renewed sense of resolve, she mimicked Ernest’s earlier gestures, clasping her hands together and bowing her head in a mock-serious prayer.

“Praise Kjeragandr. Amen.”You're reading this on the wrong site. This chapter was translated by Elysian Reads and posted for free at elysianreads.com — if you're seeing it anywhere else, it was copied without permission. Read it at the source so the people who actually did the work get the credit.