Arknights: Prime Minister of Kjerag — Chapter 59

Chapter 59: Don’t You Know Our Daughter? She’s the Most Obedient!

Victoria, Duchy of Windermere, Lienkarden.

The Duchy of Windermere sat firmly on the northeastern border of Victoria, and the Nomadic City of Lienkarden served as its absolute vanguard. The massive treads of the city constantly skirted the jagged territorial lines of Leithanien. It prowled the borderlands like a cold-blooded viper eyeing the heavily guarded flesh of the Caprini, or a scarred lion relentlessly patrolling the edges of its vast domain.

This was Victoria’s premier military stronghold. It was the beating, armored heart of the Duchy of Windermere. When the name Lienkarden was spoken in the capital, high society pictured a stern, intimidating fortress of iron and artillery, devoid of warmth.

But that was only the armor. It was not the soul of the city.

For Delphine, for Kent, and especially for Duke Anfilia Windermere herself, this fortress held an entirely different meaning.

Behind the heavy blast walls lay shimmering summer lakes bordered by lush, peculiar foliage. There was the misty drizzle of autumn nights, where the city sliced through the rain, cloaked in a hazy veil of rising steam from the exhaust vents. Looking out toward the distant woodlands, one could watch late-returning Beastbirds descending to their nests at the playful calls of children. In those twilight hours, the roar of the engines faded into the background, leaving only a deep, insulated tranquility.

The warm spring winds would occasionally carry faint, melodious echoes of Leithanian music across the border. And when winter came, the heavy silver snow would quietly bury the hot blood shed by the frontier guards, nourishing the soil so that life might bloom again in the coming year.

For the Windermere family, and for the countless soldiers who lived within its steel walls, this imposing war machine had only one true name.

“Long time no see, home.”

“You haven’t been gone that long, Kent.”

Watching Kent Windermere walk into the command center alone, Anfilia’s famously stern, battle-hardened features softened into a rare, gentle smile. She stepped away from the tactical map.

“Is Delphine settled?”

“Mm.” Kent nodded, a heavy, meaningful exhaustion in his eyes. “This journey… all I’ve gained are surprises.”

Anfilia’s smile lingered, though her eyes sharpened slightly. “Would you like to share them with me?”

“Of course. Only with you.” Kent placed deliberate weight on the final words.

Anfilia understood immediately. She gave a curt, silent nod to the Sword Guards flanking the doors. The carefully trained elites of the Windermere family turned on their heels and marched out, sealing the heavy blast doors behind them. They steadfastly carried out every command of the Duke, never questioning the reason.

The command center fell into a heavy, insulated silence. Anfilia turned back to her husband, her face shifting back to the ruthless commander of the frontier.

“What happened, Kent?”

“Your Grace. I bring good news and bad news.”

“Let’s hear the good news first.”

Kent took a slow breath. “Delphine is safe.”

The invisible weight hanging over Anfilia’s shoulders vanished. The taut muscles in her jaw visibly relaxed, and she let out a quiet exhale. “There is no better news than that, Kent.”

“She is even safer than you can imagine,” Kent continued, stepping closer to the central console. “The legends of Kjerag are true, Anfilia. That frozen country in the snowy mountains truly has a Feranmut protecting it. And unlike the ancient entities recorded in Victorian archives, the Feranmut of Kjerag is incredibly active. It shows an extreme, almost irrational benevolence toward humans. It is completely different from its kind.”

“What?” Anfilia planted both hands on the edge of the holotable, staring at him. “A Feranmut that is benevolent toward humans? Kent, if this is a joke, you’ve spent too much time listening to Leithanian humor.”

Leithanian humor was, in itself, a miserable joke—anyone who had ever dealt with the Caprini casters knew that.

But Kent shook his head, his expression dead serious. “It’s true. I found it utterly absurd myself, but it’s the truth. I witnessed it with my own eyes. The Prime Minister of Kjerag, their ‘Saint Son,’ communicated directly with their deity. He used divine power to save three unfortunates who had met with a fatal disaster.”

Anfilia remained skeptical, her tactical mind looking for the logical explanation. “How do you know it wasn’t an elaborate Originium Arts trick prepared in advance?”

Kent let out a dry, self-deprecating chuckle. “Because one of those three unfortunates plunging to their death was me. And another was our daughter.”

Anfilia shot upright, her chair scraping violently against the metal floor. Pure, unadulterated fury spiked in her eyes. “What happened?”

“Let me finish the good news first. Calm down, Anfilia.”

Kent raised a hand, his voice steadying her. “That Prime Minister, Mr. Ernst, communicated with the Feranmut using a divine token. He conjured a gale that caught Delphine and me at the foot of the mountain, safely delivering us directly into his office, healing our injuries in the process. No Originium Arts can accomplish such a thing. Not even Herkunftshorn could manipulate the world so flawlessly.”

Herkunftshorn. The Witch King. The man who had pushed the boundaries of Originium Arts to the absolute pinnacle of mortal achievement. To compare a mountain trick to him was a heavy statement.

“I bought his promise for thirty million,” Kent finished. “Delphine will remain under his protection in Kjerag. The absolute protection of a Feranmut’s chosen spokesperson.”

The blazing anger in Anfilia’s chest cooled into sharp, calculating approval. She nodded slowly. “The value of a Feranmut’s favor can never be measured by mere currency. To buy the promise and protection of its spokesperson for thirty million… Kent, your business acumen rivals that of Duke Normandy. You impress me.”

She paused, her eyes narrowing into dangerous slits as she returned to the issue that demanded blood.

“So what is the bad news? How exactly did you and Delphine fall off a cliff?”

Kent’s gaze turned glacial. He swept his eyes across the empty, secure command center before locking eyes with his wife.

“There is a traitor in the command center.”

Though Anfilia had suspected as much the moment Kent asked to speak in private, hearing the absolute confirmation from her husband’s lips felt like a bellows fanning the furnace in her chest. The fire roared back to life.

“Whose?”

She didn’t ask who the traitor was. If Kent knew the exact identity, he would have dragged the bleeding spy into the room by their hair. The fact that he had walked into the command center acting entirely normal meant only one thing—he was flushing the snake out of the grass.

Anfilia only had one objective now. Crush the dog, and drag its master out by the throat to crush them too.

“The one who attacked us was a Grey Hat,” Kent explained, his voice low. “The operative’s personal strength wasn’t exceptional. I can’t be certain if he was turned by a foreign spy, or if he had been lurking in the Duchy undetected for years. But to be able to plant an assassin directly into my personal guard… the betrayer’s rank is high.”

Kent pointed a finger directly at the tactical map of the Duchy. “The enemy is in the General Staff.”

“Caster!”

Anfilia spat the name like venom. If her murderous intent could be measured by a pressure gauge, the glass would have shattered instantly.

Without a second of hesitation, Anfilia turned on her heel and marched toward the blast doors. She was going to summon the Sword Guards and give the General Staff a very bloody, very intimate demonstration of Windermere internal affairs.

Before she could hit the door release, Kent grabbed her arm, pulling her back.

She glared at him, her patience entirely evaporated. “What is it, Kent? I am in a hurry to sharpen my sword.”

“Wait. There is one more piece of news,” Kent said.

Anfilia frowned, her hand hovering over the console. “You said one good, one bad.”

“Yes. But this final piece of news… I cannot easily classify it as either.”

Seeing the grave intensity in his eyes, Anfilia forced herself to take a slow, deep breath, wrestling her surging bloodlust down into a low simmer. “Speak.”

“I met someone,” Kent said, dropping his voice to a whisper.

Anfilia glared at him, entirely immune to his dramatic suspense. “Do not play guessing games with me right now. Be direct.”

Kent sighed, dropping the theatrics. “I met an Aslan.”

Anfilia froze.

“King Frederick III’s daughter,” Kent continued quietly. “Alexandrina. She survived the disaster.”

Astonishment cracked through Anfilia’s iron composure, quickly replaced by sheer disbelief. “The Aslan bloodline isn’t extinct? Victoria still has a legitimate claimant to the throne… hiding in Kjerag?”

Her eyes widened as the realization hit her. “And you left our daughter there? With the crown princess?!”

Kent held up both hands in a placating gesture. “Don’t worry. I repeatedly warned Delphine not to approach her, or even look in her direction. Don’t you know our daughter? She’s been perfectly obedient since she was little. You have absolutely nothing to worry about!”

Anfilia stared at him, entirely unconvinced by his assessment of their fiercely independent child, but she let the matter drop for the moment.

“The reason I am telling you this,” Kent said, his tone shifting into pure political strategy, “is to remind you that this information is currently known only to us.”

He stepped up to the tactical map, looking down at the glowing borders of Victoria. “You and I both agree that the current stalemate—the Grand Dukes keeping each other in check—is the best possible scenario for Victoria’s stability.”

Kent looked up, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous, calculating light.

“But if Duke Caster truly intends to scheme against the rest of us… if she is foolish enough to try and break the existing order…”

He tapped the map right over the capital.

“Anfilia, we now hold the ultimate trump card to destroy her.”