Arknights: Prime Minister of Kjerag — Chapter 68

Chapter 68: The Art of Conversation

Kjerag, Karlan Temple, Main Hall.

Kjera always considered her capacity for learning to be quite exceptional, but the heavy textbook titled Mechanics currently resting in her lap was something she truly could not wrap her head around.

What did these bizarre symbols mean? What was the point of all these convoluted codes? And how in the world did these sprawling, endless formulas translate into anything practical?

My children actually read these things on a daily basis? They study this? How do their mortal minds even memorize it all?

The longer she stared at the dense pages, the more her vision blurred. Her divine spirit gradually flagged, and to her absolute dismay, she actually started to feel sleepy. It had only been a few decades since her last great awakening. By all natural metrics of a Giant Beast, she should still be in a state of boundless, buzzing excitement.

“No, I can’t keep reading this.” Kjera rubbed her temples, letting out a soft, exasperated sigh. “If I exhaust myself over this, Ernest won’t be properly taken care of. I’ll just… continue tomorrow.”

She mumbled the excuse to herself, closing the book with a heavy thud. Just as she set it aside, a distinct, familiar aura brushed against the edges of the Holy Mountain’s domain. It was moving fast, rapidly ascending the snow-swept paths straight toward the Karlan Temple.

Kjera raised her head in mild confusion, her gaze piercing through the heavy wooden doors of the main hall. What finally stepped over the threshold was not a human pilgrim, but a majestic, towering beast.

“Lion Lord?”

Kjera frowned slightly, watching the Golden Lion King slowly pace into the sacred main hall of the Karlan Temple.

The newcomer was, of course, Gawain—the guardian of the Aslan and the Beast Lord who usually resided in Victoria. The massive lion, sporting a dazzling, sun-lit golden mane, dipped his head in a slight nod toward Kjera. When he spoke, his rumbling voice carried a tone that was half-joking and half-sarcastic.

“I certainly didn’t expect a Giant Beast to waste her time learning human trivialities. Do you really care that much about that particular human boy?”

Kjera pouted, her expression instantly shifting into one of defensive displeasure, like a collector whose most cherished treasure had just been insulted. “Every single person in Kjerag is my subject,” she retorted, her chin lifting haughtily. “I treat everyone with absolute equality. I do not play favorites!”

“Oh?” Gawain bared his teeth, flashing a terrifying maw full of sharp, oversized fangs in what passed for a grin. “Is that so? Then tell me, when your Grand Elder knelt and prayed to you, begging you to punish Ernest, why did you offer absolutely zero response?”

“I—” Kjera’s voice caught in her throat.

Before she could formulate an excuse, Gawain cut her off.

“It was because he, the Grand Elder, and Enciodes were locked in an equal, three-way political competition. You simply didn’t want to tip the scales and break that delicate fairness.” The lion shook his heavy mane, wearing an expression that clearly said he had seen right through her. “So, admit it. You do treat the people of Kjerag equally and fairly now. But to borrow Ernest’s own phrasing, this is merely a ‘political stance,’ completely unrelated to the actual facts. For some people, it’s just about appearing fairer than fair.”

Kjera pursed her lips tightly. She desperately wanted to fire back a sharp retort, but found herself entirely out of ammunition. Left with no other option, she pivoted the conversation.

“So? Did you travel all this way just to mock my methods? Fine, I admit it, I do favor that child Ernest a little bit more. So what? I haven’t even settled the score with you yet for tossing that Victorian girl into my lap through that boy’s hands!”

Hearing the accusation, Gawain shamelessly plopped down on his haunches, sitting right in the middle of the sacred hall. He looked entirely unbothered, his posture practically radiating a smug ‘What are you going to do about it?’ energy.

“That’s right,” Gawain rumbled. “Vina was hesitant at first. I was the one who nudged her to finally make up her mind. Because I sensed your distinct aura lingering on that recruitment notice she was holding.”

Gawain vividly remembered spotting that crumpled recruitment flyer in the corner of a dusty Londinium bookstore. At the time, he hadn’t intended to reveal himself at all. Vina, carrying the royal bloodline of Aslan, wasn’t in any immediate mortal danger; she merely wanted to escape the suffocating political quagmire of Londinium. For a notoriously lazy Beast Lord like him, intervening hardly seemed worth the effort.

But then he caught a whiff of something highly unusual on that cheap paper.

It was the scent of flawless, eternal white snow. A vastly powerful lifeform had cast a brief, deliberate gaze upon that very notice.

“This is exactly why I said your affection for that child goes way beyond ordinary fondness,” Gawain chuckled, his deep voice echoing off the temple pillars. “You pay obsessive attention to everything he does. His belongings, his recruitment drives—you even cast your divine gaze upon every single person who picked up one of his flyers! You’re practically acting like an overprotective mother meddling in her son’s choice of a wife. Hahahaha!”

Kjera’s face flushed a brilliant, furious red. She stood up abruptly, the hem of her elegant dress swishing sharply. She was far too annoyed to argue with this blunt, truth-spewing old lion, deciding it was better to just walk away.

Beast Lords were inherently troublesome creatures. Giant Beasts couldn’t truly kill them, and she was far too lazy to engage in a pointless brawl with Gawain inside her own temple.

Seeing her turn away, Gawain stopped laughing. He raised a massive golden paw, calling out to stop her. “Don’t go. Why are you getting so agitated? It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Who is agitated?! I am not agitated!” Kjera snapped, her voice pitching up in pure agitation.

Gawain shook his large, heavy head helplessly. “I didn’t come here to mock you,” he explained, his tone softening into something more genuine. “I just wanted to point out that we are of the same kind.”

He lowered his gaze to the stone floor. “I promised that Aslan I would protect his descendants. To this day, haven’t I always kept that promise?” A remarkably human-like expression of sorrow flickered across his beastly features. “Vina’s situation in Victoria was growing very dangerous. And I am a civil official, not some frontline brawler. If things truly went south, my only option would be to carry her in my jaws and run for it. That is far too tiring for an old fellow like me.”

He looked back up at the goddess. “So, I advised her to come here to you. Kjeragandr, I am not asking you to fulfill my promise for me. I only ask that while she remains in this snowy country, my duties can be just a little bit easier.”

“Heh. Easy for you to say.” Kjera rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. “Vina is Ernest’s Minister of Foreign Affairs now. If anything bad happens to her, Ernest would be worried to death, wouldn’t he? So of course I have to protect her!”

A glint of deep cunning flashed in the Beast Lord’s golden eyes.

Though he didn’t say a word, the trap was obvious. Even meatheads like Arctosz and Sciurus would have understood exactly what the lion had just pulled off.

Didn’t I just perfectly exploit your concern for Ernest’s feelings to get exactly what I wanted?

Lions were, by nature, cunning, shameless, and utterly roguish. Gawain hadn’t just worn his intentions on his sleeve; he had marched right into the temple and laid them out bare. The very first thing he brought up upon meeting Kjeragandr was this exact matter, steering her right into the admission.

Kjera’s mouth twitched as she realized she had been played. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll arrange a little ‘accident’ to make Vina legitimately disappear?”

“Oh, come now!” Gawain laughed heartily, entirely unthreatened. “The youngsters are doing quite well for themselves. Us old folks shouldn’t meddle too much! We should just focus on our health, drink some tea, read the daily newspapers, and occasionally try out whatever new gadgets the humans invent. We sit back and see what they can achieve. Then, only when they bite off more than they can chew, we step in to back them up!”

As he spoke, Gawain suddenly noticed a biting, unnatural chill creeping up his front legs. He glanced down.

At some point during his speech, both of his front paws had been encased in solid, unyielding blocks of absolute zero ice.

Gawain’s head snapped up, looking at Kjera in astonishment. “What’s going on?”

Kjera offered him a smile that was bright, radiant, and terrifyingly youthful. She tilted her head slightly. “We don’t have an age, do we?”

Gawain’s mouth twitched violently. He nodded so fast his golden mane whipped around his face. “Of course! Of course. I was merely joking.”

The moment the biting chill receded just enough to crack the ice, Gawain violently yanked his paws free. Without another word, the massive Golden Lion King turned and practically hopped his way out of the Karlan Temple, moving with a speed that completely betrayed his earlier claims of being a lazy old man.

He didn’t stop until he was halfway down the mountain. Only when he was absolutely certain Kjeragandr was no longer within visual range did he stop to preserve his remaining dignity. He turned back, glaring up at the distant peak of the Karlan Temple.

“Tsk. How old is she, and she’s still pretending to be a young maiden?” Gawain grumbled to himself. “I’ve seen plenty of mortals who want to live forever, but a Giant Beast who refuses to acknowledge her own age? That’s a first.”

Instantly, a violent, freezing wind swept directly down his spine. The cold pierced straight through his thick golden fur, chilling him to the absolute bone.

Gawain’s eyes widened, and he loudly cleared his throat, immediately changing his tune for the empty air. “Well! No matter how old a woman is, it certainly doesn’t stop her from being a wonderful, caring mother, right?!”

The freezing breeze vanished in the blink of an eye. The air returned to a gentle, natural current blowing through the mountain valleys, acting as if it had truly just been an accidental gust of weather.

Gawain let out a long, shaky breath, clutching a massive paw over his racing heart. He had almost been sent straight to the respawn screen.

But he quickly pulled himself together, puffing out his chest and displaying that signature spirit of Victorian optimism.

Good thing my reflexes are still sharp, he thought to himself, strutting down the snowy path. Why do people think Victorians are so elegant? Because we have mastered the delicate art of conversation!