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ArabicArknights: Prime Minister of Kjerag — Chapter 54
Chapter 54: Let Some People Get Enlightened First, and Let the First to Be Enlightened Drive the Later Ones
The tens of billions in subsidies from the Duchy of Windermere finally hit the newly opened Kjerag account at Magnus Bank. With that massive influx of capital, the grand Kjerag infrastructure movement officially roared to life.
First came the basic building materials, rolling into Turicum via the newly laid railway constructed by Karlan Trade. Since the tracks could only reach so far into the harsh terrain, the cargo had to be unloaded and strapped to the broad backs of traditional snow mountain Sumpter Beasts. These hardy creatures trudged along the winding, treacherous mountain passes, carrying the heavy loads deep into the heart of the SilverAsh territory.
The purpose of this massive logistical effort was clear and undisputed. They were going to build the very first elementary school in Kjerag, a project Ernst had planned long ago.
Truthfully, Ernst had spent many sleepless nights agonizing over a fundamental contradiction in Kjerag’s development: should he focus on infrastructure or education?
If he pushed for infrastructure first, where would he find the workers? He could hardly expect a population of weathered old farmers and seasoned hunters, people who had spent their entire lives wrestling with frozen soil and wild beasts, to suddenly experience a divine revelation. They had no idea how to pave a modern road, how to mix the correct ratio of cement, or how to safely operate volatile Originium machinery.
Most of them probably did not even know how to apply industrial glue.
Hiring a massive workforce from the outside, or throwing exorbitant sums of money at large foreign construction firms, presented its own nightmare. The sheer cost was astronomical. Even worse was the deep-seated xenophobia of the Kjerag people. If a legion of outsiders suddenly marched in with heavy machinery, it was almost guaranteed the locals would riot and lay siege to the construction sites, just as they had done to the poor clerks at Magnus Bank.
That would be a catastrophic step backward.
But if he focused on education, a different logistical nightmare emerged. Building a couple of schoolhouses was the easy part; getting the public to actually attend was the real challenge. Ernst could issue government mandates or even try to force attendance, but for the commoners living out in the Paleroche Family territory, simply reaching the SilverAsh lands was an agonizing journey. It required trekking for hours, sometimes more than half a day, across rugged, freezing mountain trails. By the time a prospective student arrived, the sun would be setting. They would have learned absolutely nothing and would then have to risk freezing to death on the pitch-black hike back home.
It was pure torture. If he forced them through that ordeal even once or twice, the Kjerag people might not actively rebel, but Ernst would certainly curse himself for being a tyrant.
After weighing the impossible options, Ernst finally accepted the pragmatic counsel offered by Enciodes.
“It is entirely unrealistic to expect Kjerag to experience a complete, nationwide rise in such a short period of time,” Enciodes had told him, his tone measured and precise.
“Even if your personal prestige among the people is currently enormous, to the point where even the Paleroche and Browntail families are forced to bow their heads, you must remember one crucial detail. They obey you as an individual. They do not obey your so-called Kjerag Government.”
“The Three Clans Meeting has never been truly dissolved.”
Enciodes paused, letting the cold reality settle before adding pointedly, “For any politician, focusing on the absolute stability of one’s own base is the highest priority. Only when your foundation is unshakable can you even consider expanding your influence outward.”
Enciodes had phrased it with a touch of aristocratic diplomacy, but Ernst understood the underlying brutal truth perfectly.
Whether he wanted to pour concrete or print textbooks, he had to start in Turicum. The town already possessed a relatively high degree of civilization and openness to the outside world. He would build it up there, letting the people within the SilverAsh territory taste the immediate, tangible benefits of modern development. Once they grew wealthy and comfortable, they would become fiercely loyal supporters. Only then could he use that success to radiate outward, dragging the stubborn territories of the Paleroche and Browntail families into the future.
In other words, let a small fraction of the people get rich first, and let those pioneers drag the rest of the nation out of the snow.
It was a proposal bordering on fantasy, demanding an incredible amount of boldness.
Yet, Ernst could not think of a single better alternative. Winning the hearts of a nation could not rely entirely on the divine grace of Kjeragandr. If they maintained the current status quo, the populace would only ever revere the goddess and Ernst himself, leaving the actual government as a hollow shell. The moment he or the goddess stepped away, the entire administrative system would collapse into dust, entirely devoid of credibility.
“Then we will start by doing a thorough job of education right here in Turicum,” Ernst said slowly, tapping his fingers against his desk. “The traffic conditions in Turicum are manageable. We might not have proper asphalt roads yet, but at least the main thoroughfares do not turn into bottomless mud pits the second it rains., the influx of migrants moving into the town is increasing by the day. I think our best move is to focus on the construction of a night school.”
The concept of a night school was exactly what it sounded like. It was a crude, expedient measure born out of necessity, typically appearing during periods of rapid, desperate national industrialization when a country severely lacked educated talent.
Laborers would break their backs in the factories during the day, then drag themselves to the night school after dark to absorb basic literacy and mathematics. It was not deep academic study, but it was enough to transform a simple manual laborer into a functional skilled worker. During the day, the empty classrooms could be used to teach their children. This neatly solved the issue of unsupervised kids running wild through the snowy streets, while simultaneously elevating the baseline quality of the next generation.
Naturally, because a night school was not a full-time academic institution, the curriculum would be entirely utilitarian, tailored specifically to plug the technical gaps in their new factories. There would be no specialized academic subjects. It was a temporary, mass-production line for technical workers, entirely incapable of cultivating true, world-class talent.
“But that is more than enough,” Enciodes affirmed, his sharp eyes reflecting quiet approval.
Ernst nodded in agreement. “The impact of one or two isolated geniuses is vastly overestimated in nation-building. What will truly support Kjerag’s long-term development is a massive, overwhelming foundation of basic technicians.”
It was a brutally simple truth. Even if they somehow recruited a hundred brilliant minds like Aurora, or a dozen elite PhDs from Columbia, those scholars would not be out in the freezing wind paving bricks for a mountain highway. They would not be swinging pickaxes to carve a railway tunnel through solid rock.
Perhaps, when Kjerag’s first great highway was finally completed, it would bear the name of some famous architect or noble. But Ernst would always know exactly whose calloused hands had actually built it.
The Great Wall bore the names of emperors, the Forbidden City belonged to dynasties, but the true architects were the nameless masses. The only monument truly worth erecting was one dedicated to the common people.
“So, what shall we name this night school?” Enciodes asked.
“Hmm…” Ernst pondered for a long moment, staring out at the snow-capped peaks. “Let us call it the Spark Night School.”
It would be the faint, flickering light illuminating the dark road ahead. It was the very first spark struck to guide Kjerag out of frozen ignorance and into the warmth of civilization. And it was a spark destined to ignite a roaring prairie fire in the future, the first cluster of flames that would eventually spread the light of wisdom across the endless snowfields.
Its existence as a crude night school might be temporary, but the spark itself would never die.
Meanwhile, high above the mortal concerns of industry and education, the winds howled around the Karlan Temple.
This was the very first time Ho’olheyak had ascended the legendary holy mountain since her arrival in Kjerag.
The sheer piety and absolute awe the Kjerag people held for this frozen peak were staggering. Now that Kjeragandr had openly manifested her divine presence at the Holy Stone Plaza, the endless tide of worshippers making the pilgrimage had multiplied tenfold. The winding, treacherous mountain paths were so packed with fervent believers that Ho’olheyak could only sigh, marveling at how their sheer devotion seemed to flatten the rugged terrain into a smooth, paved road.
But she had not climbed all this way to bow her head in prayer to the local deity.
She was here on a much more personal mission. She was searching for the fragments of her own past.
“Hello there, Ms. Ho’olheyak?”
A gentle, distinctly cheerful voice drifted over from the side. Ho’olheyak turned her head. Strolling leisurely out from a side corridor adjacent to the grand main hall was Kjera, the Head Maid. The woman was an absolute visual contradiction. She had a vibrant, freshly bloomed rose tucked behind her ear, a shiny Kazimierz souvenir medal pinned haphazardly to her chest, and a pair of thick, old-fashioned black-rimmed glasses perched on her nose—accessories she had somehow acquired from gods knew where.
In her hands, she held a thick, open textbook. Squinting at the spine, Ho’olheyak managed to read the title: ‘Introduction to Mechanics.”Do the important figures of the Karlan Temple actually read this sort of thing? Shouldn’t you be reciting the Kjeragandr epic?’
Ho’olheyak thought, utterly bewildered. She masked her surprise and offered a polite nod. “Hello. I am here to look for some books.”
“Books?” Kjera blinked, her eyes wide behind the thick lenses. She snapped the heavy mechanics textbook shut. “Oh, but I haven’t even finished this one yet.”
“Not that kind of book,” Ho’olheyak said, shaking her head slowly. “I am looking for historical records.”
“History books?” Kjera paused, tilting her head as she curiously scrutinized the Kukulkan from head to toe. “Is this another one of Ernst’s special orders?”
“It is something he promised me,” Ho’olheyak replied, her expression perfectly smooth.
It was not a lie. Ernst had indeed given her explicit permission to browse the archives of the Karlan Temple if she needed to look up ancient information.
He was not the least bit worried about her stumbling across classified state secrets. After all, Kjerag possessed no formal national defense network to speak of, and it certainly had no political scandals worth hiding. Even if there were any dark secrets, they would all trace back to the Great Elder. If anyone wanted to file a complaint with him, they were welcome to try jumping off the very peak of the Holy Mountain.
Assuming they lacked the ability to fly, they would probably meet him at the bottom.
Kjera nodded in understanding. “Well then, you can just ask me directly.”
“Ask you?” Ho’olheyak repeated, her brow furrowing in confusion.
Kjera puffed out her chest, looking incredibly proud of herself. “Of course, ask me. As the Head Maid of the Saintess, I have personally read every single history book in all of Kjerag. I know every minute detail by heart.”
“You are bragging, aren’t you?” Ho’olheyak said, her tone dry and entirely devoid of politeness.
“Outsiders are always so terribly rude. I never lie,” Kjera huffed, immediately crossing her arms in a show of deep displeasure. “If you refuse to believe me, then fine. The Sacred Record Hall is straight down this corridor. Just keep walking until you hit the end, then take a turn.”
Without giving the Kukulkan a single second to change her mind, Kjera spun on her heel. She flipped her textbook back open, pushed her ridiculous black-rimmed glasses up the bridge of her nose, and marched briskly out of the main hall.
As soon as she was out of sight, a few drops of cold sweat rolled down the side of her face.
‘Oh dear… what page was I on just now?’