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ArabicArknights: Prime Minister of Kjerag — Chapter 6
Chapter 6: The Limits of Logic
Gnosis Edelweiss was in trouble.
The Paleroche Family was already the faction most deeply hostile toward Karlan Trade. In their traditionalist eyes, laying iron railways across the sacred earth near the Holy Mountain or allowing factory smoke to stain Kjerag’s pristine skies was nothing short of deep blasphemy against Kjeragandr.
Arctosz Paleroche had spent months searching for a pretext to tear into Enciodes. He had always lacked a solid justification, primarily because Karlan Trade—and the modern towns and factories it erected—were undeniably profitable. Even a significant portion of Arctosz’s own people had packed up their families and migrated to Turicum for better wages, leaving the clan leader grinding his teeth in helpless frustration.
But today was different. The Grand Elder of the Karlan Temple had just handed the Paleroche patriarch a perfect, gleaming weapon: the SilverAsh Family had secretly embezzled a massive shipment of industrial steel.
It was the sort of scandal that hovered perfectly between trivial and catastrophic, entirely dependent on how hard one chose to press the issue. Steel was not a restricted military asset like armor plating or originium weaponry. Arctosz couldn’t simply rally his troops and crush the SilverAsh Family over a few missing girders.
He could, however, use it to drag Enciodes into the mud, demanding public explanations and bleeding his political capital dry.
As for hard evidence? Arctosz didn’t care. The mere accusation was enough to achieve his goal.
When Gulo, dispatched as the Paleroche vanguard, planted his boots in the snow and repeatedly bellowed at Enciodes to explain the glaring discrepancy between the purchased steel and the actual inventory, the usually silver-tongued CEO found himself momentarily silenced.
Enciodes couldn’t answer because the accusation was entirely true. He had siphoned off that exact batch of steel to construct a classified, subterranean troop transport railway along the jagged borders of the SilverAsh territory.
Under normal circumstances, Enciodes could have spun a flawless web of deceit. He could have cited sudden spikes in international steel tariffs, catastrophic logistical losses during the mountain ascent, or claimed the materials were diverted for civilian housing. He possessed the sheer charisma to make any of those lies sound like obvious gospel.
The problem lay in his audience.
Gulo was a man built of muscle, frost, and absolute unreasonableness. He was operating on a single, rigid directive from Arctosz: No matter what Enciodes says, do not leave until someone is thrown to the wolves.
On one side stood a deep, calculating mastermind; on the other, a brick wall of stubborn ignorance. Enciodes suppressed a heavy sigh. It was the classic tragedy of a scholar attempting to debate a soldier—logic simply shattered against the armor of stupidity.
Someone had to take the fall.
The railway initiative was a monumental project sanctioned by the Karlan Temple, jointly monitored by the Three Great Families, and personally overseen by Enciodes as the chief director. A scandal of this magnitude couldn’t be swept away by firing some nameless temporary contractor.
If the Paleroche Family demanded blood for the missing steel, only two men held enough authority to bleed.
The first was the chief director himself. Enciodes could publicly confess to gross negligence, admitting that his oversight had allowed the materials to vanish. It would be the most convincing narrative, and simultaneously the most impossible option.
That left only the second man. The deeply unfortunate Technical Executive—Gnosis Edelweiss.
“General Gulo, we fully understand your doubts and your demands,” Gnosis began, adjusting his glasses. His voice was a frigid, measured drawl. “However, I believe this is merely a minor misunderstanding born of asymmetrical information.”
Gulo narrowed his eyes, gripping the haft of his axe.
“Steel is not a magical construct that can be purchased, dropped into the snow, and instantly form a railway,” Gnosis continued, his tone dripping with the condescension of a lecturer addressing a particularly slow child. “It requires extensive technical processing, thermal calibration, and structural adjustment. During this refinement process, a certain percentage of material loss is a natural, unavoidable physical reality.”
He took a step forward, his posture rigid. “The severity of this loss correlates directly to the local industrial infrastructure. Given Kjerag’s current, primitive level of industrialization, a massive margin of error is entirely foreseeable. In fact, had Mr. Arctosz Paleroche signed the blast furnace procurement application I submitted three months ago, this material degradation could have been mitigated entirely. We would not be having this conversation.”
Gnosis paused, letting the cold air settle. “Naturally, I am not accusing your patriarch of shortsightedness or manufacturing baseless drama. It is never too late to mend the fence after the hound has fled. Karlan Trade welcomes him to send representatives at his earliest convenience to discuss restarting the blast furnace initiative.”
It was a masterful deflection. Gnosis had attempted to bury a man with zero engineering background under an avalanche of technical jargon, pivoting the blame back onto Arctosz while simultaneously lobbying for a stalled industrial project that had absolutely nothing to do with the missing railway steel.
After enduring the lengthy, freezing lecture, Gulo’s meager intellectual reserves evaporated. He fell into a heavy, brooding silence. A moment later, his eyes lit up with the dangerous clarity of a man who had just bypassed a complex puzzle by smashing it with a hammer.
He raised his heavy axe, leveling the steel blade directly at Gnosis’s chest.
“I didn’t understand a damn word you just said!” Gulo barked. “But the gist of it is—you’re the one responsible, right?”
“I—” Gnosis’s composure fractured. A muscle feathered violently along his jaw. “Theoretically speaking, this falls under objective environmental factors—”
“No, no, no,” Gulo interrupted, wearing a triumphant sneer. “Didn’t you just say it was because of some ‘technical level’ garbage? To put it plainly, your Karlan Trade’s technology is garbage! And you’re the technical commander of this whole operation…”
“It is Executive,” Enciodes corrected smoothly from the sidelines.
Gulo nodded sharply. “Right, the Technical Executive! Listen here. For us soldiers, if a battle goes to hell, it’s because the general’s strategy was trash. For you technical types, if the technology fails, that’s your fault, isn’t it?”
The words caught in Gnosis’s throat like shattered glass. He knew Gulo was entirely bypassing logic, but he couldn’t formulate a counterattack. Arguing with the man was like playing chess with a pigeon—no matter how brilliant the strategy, the bird would just knock over the pieces, soil the board, and strut around victorious.
After a suffocating silence, Gnosis finally lowered his head. His gloved hands clenched into trembling fists at his sides.
“Yes,” he forced the word out through ground teeth.
“Exactly! Why didn’t you just spit that out earlier?” Gulo puffed out his chest, immensely smug. “If your tech is garbage, then you shouldn’t be the technical commander. Honestly, this whole railway project needs to be shut down. Who’s to say the rest of your technology won’t just collapse and kill someone?”
Enciodes finally stepped forward, his expression an unreadable mask of calm authority. “The railway construction will not halt. As for Gnosis, I will see him disciplined. However, this remains an internal administrative matter of Karlan Trade, and it is not the Paleroche Family’s place to dictate our staffing. I will provide the parliament with a satisfactory resolution when the next All-People’s Congress convenes.”
Without waiting for a response, Enciodes turned on his heel. He grabbed the sleeve of the visibly vibrating Gnosis and pulled him away from the confrontation, completely ignoring Gulo’s stunned outrage at the sudden dismissal.
Karlan Trade’s elite security detail moved in perfect synchronization, forming a solid wall of shields and bodies across the main entrance. When Gulo tried to force his way forward, a towering Forte bodyguard stepped into his path, his massive shadow falling over the Paleroche vanguard.
“My Lord still has matters to attend to,” the Forte rumbled, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his weapon. “Please return to your territory.”
The heavy oak doors of the executive office clicked shut, cutting off the howling wind and the distant shouts of the Paleroche men.
“Well?” Enciodes smiled, settling into the plush leather chair behind his desk. He picked up a steaming porcelain cup of black tea, taking a slow, appreciative sip. “You lost the gamble, didn’t you?”
Gnosis stood in the center of the room, taking several deep, ragged breaths to forcibly lower his heart rate. He glared daggers at the man behind the desk.
Though it tasted like ash on his tongue, he had to admit his chances of winning had flatlined.
The missing steel could have been a fatal blow, but only if the other two Great Families and the Karlan Temple launched a joint, exhaustive investigation, and only if they possessed physical evidence of the steel’s final destination.
The brief, aggressive probing at the gates had confirmed one crucial detail: the Paleroche Family, and the Temple pulling their strings, had no actual proof.
This crystallized two terrifying facts. First, Ernst SilverAsh had successfully infiltrated the Karlan Temple and secured the Kjerag ledgers. He had achieved the impossible.
Second, Ernst either didn’t know where the steel was hidden, or he knew and deliberately chose not to hand that final nail to the Grand Elder. Ernst had orchestrated a brilliant political strike, bloodying Karlan Trade’s nose without breaking its spine.
‘You’ve been too prominent lately. Consider this a small warning.’
The phantom thought drifted through Enciodes’s mind, carrying the distinct, mocking tone of his younger brother. He paused, the teacup hovering near his lips. The last time he had been outmaneuvered and suppressed so flawlessly, he had been a student handling the venomous, aristocratic courts of Victoria.
He quickly dismissed the comparison. It had to be a trick of the mind. No matter how much Ernst had grown, he couldn’t possibly possess the predatory cunning of those ancient Victorian politicians. Could he?
Regardless of the truth, the damage was done. The positions of Head of Government and Speaker would remain firmly out of Gnosis’s reach until the political fallout of this scandal evaporated.
“You will step down from your position as Technical Executive for one month,” Enciodes declared, his tone light. “And, as per our wager, your department’s research funding for this cycle belongs to me.”
It was a rare treat to see his brilliant, arrogant friend so thoroughly cornered. Enciodes’s smile widened, his mood genuinely lifted by the sheer absurdity of the morning.
Gnosis, however, was not amused. A dark, swirling mixture of humiliation and fury churned in his gut.
“Hmph. What does it matter that he secured the financial reports?” Gnosis snapped, pacing sharply across the carpet. “Do we not know the reality of Kjerag’s economy? Reading those ledgers will only drive him to despair. Sitting in that seat, completely devoid of the necessary resources, manpower, and backing, he will achieve absolutely nothing. When the time comes, he will have no choice but to obediently surrender the position!”
“You are entirely correct.” Enciodes nodded, setting his teacup down. It was the most logical, inevitable outcome. Had this conversation taken place a week ago, Enciodes might have felt a pang of pity for Ernst’s impending failure. But now, looking at the shifting board, a spark of genuine anticipation ignited in his chest. “But… what if?”
He leaned forward, resting his chin on his steepled fingers. “I have a lingering feeling that my dear brother is preparing to hand us an even greater surprise.”
Gnosis scoffed, his face twisting into a mask of pure skepticism.
Enciodes chuckled softly, unbothered by the hostility. “Then how about we make another wager? This time, we set the board for three months.”
Gnosis stopped pacing. He adjusted his glasses, his icy eyes locking onto Enciodes.
“You have a bet.”