Arknights: Prime Minister of Kjerag — Chapter 75

Chapter 75: Ernst’s Speech

The Harvest Festival.

It was one of the few major celebrations in Kjerag, and perhaps the only festival within this deeply religious domain that simultaneously offered praise to the goddess Kjeragandr and the tireless labor of the working class.

Late night had already fallen over the snow-capped peaks. Inside Kjerag’s modest government office building, the corridors were swallowed by shadows, the lights mostly extinguished. Both Ho’olheyak and Joyce had clocked out early, eagerly embracing the start of their holiday.

Yet, a solitary lamp still burned in Ernst’s office, casting a warm, golden pool of light across his cluttered desk.

He was still carefully drafting the speech he was scheduled to deliver at tomorrow’s grand prayer ceremony.

“The Great God Kjeragandr has shielded Kjerag, granting us a sanctuary untouched by natural disasters. Yet, the land itself remains vulnerable to the greed of mortals. In the belly of our distant northern neighbor, the Ursus Empire, lie the ruins of countless nations, broken and digested. To protect our home, the people of Kjerag have rallied their elite troops and brave generals, stepping forward to share the burdens of the Great God Kjeragandr!”

“The Great God Kjeragandr has blessed Kjerag, gifting us with fertile soil. But the earth does not sprout grain on its own. And so, the people of Kjerag learned to till the land. We sowed the seeds, watered them with the pure, melting snow of the holy mountains, and nourished them with the sweat of our brows. We filled our granaries to the brim, setting the Great God Kjeragandr’s heart at ease.”

“The Great God Kjeragandr has united Kjerag, gathering our different races under a single name, allowing us to march beneath a single flag. We are the devout, the pure, the fiercely passionate people of Kjerag! However, I ask you today—is this alone enough?”

“The benevolent Great God Kjeragandr has never demanded anything of us, but are the people of Kjerag truly content to remain forever as coddled children, sleeping safely in the cradle of the mountains?”

“I am not willing! And I firmly believe that any ambitious, spirited, and devout Kjeragian would not be willing either!”

“It is my deepest hope that today, we Kjeragians stand proud to be sheltered by a deity as benevolent, great, and broad-minded as the Great God Kjeragandr. And tomorrow, we will strive to make the Great God Kjeragandr even more proud to have protected us!”

The tip of his fountain pen lifted from the final, heavy dot of the exclamation mark. Ernst leaned back in his leather chair, admiring the flowing script on the parchment, and nodded with deep satisfaction.

Fairly speaking, the literary quality of this speech was probably on par with a high school student’s Monday morning flag-raising address. It was a pure, unadulterated, highly concentrated dose of motivational rhetoric. For the scholarly students over in Yan, it might even come across as a bit too simplistic.

But for the isolated people of Kjerag, it was absolutely perfect.

There were no obscure vocabulary words, no convoluted political theories that required a glossary to decipher. The entire manuscript hammered home two distinct concepts: First, what Kjeragandr had done for Kjerag. Second, what the people of Kjerag needed to do for Kjerag.

Whether he was referencing the Paleroche clan’s militia defending the borders or the commoners breaking their backs to grow crops, Ernst deliberately intertwined their mortal efforts with Kjeragandr’s divine will. He did this primarily because the fervent faith of the locals would reject any narrative that sidelined their goddess, but also to subtly reinforce the political promise that Kjeragandr was, fundamentally, a participating member of Kjerag’s society.

At the same time, Ernst heavily emphasized the agency of the people.

Phrases like ‘share her burdens’and’set her heart at ease’ were carefully chosen. Anything more aggressive or independent would trigger the conservatives. Since the populace possessed an unshakable belief in Kjeragandr, weaponizing the sheer fervor of that faith was the most pragmatic approach.

What devout believer wouldn’t want to earn the personal praise of their deity? Who wouldn’t want to ease their goddess’s worries?

Following that emotional hook, Ernst laid out his grand expectation. ‘Make the deity proud to protect me!’ It was a simple, rudimentary method of psychological provocation, yet it was guaranteed to ignite the most primal, burning impulses within the Kjeragian populace.

One shouldn’t underestimate a phrase that essentially boiled down to, ‘Today I am proud of my school, and tomorrow my school will be proud of me.’ It sounded unrefined and cliché to a modern ear, but the first person to ever utter that structure was undeniably a linguistic genius.

The true power of the phrase didn’t lie in mere motivation. The moment a person acknowledged, ‘I am proud of my school,’ they subconsciously identified themselves as an integral part of that institution. It was the foundational building block of collective identity.

If one simply swapped the subject from ‘school’to’nation’or’race,’ the sentence instantly manufactured a potent sense of national identity and patriotic pride.

For the people of Kjerag, who had never been exposed to the industrialized motivational propaganda of the modern world, Ernst was supremely confident that this short speech would give them an unforgettable, blood-pumping ‘first time.’With this ideological groundwork laid, his upcoming urban development initiatives and the mass enrollment for the’Spark Night School’—a foundational talent-training program he had recently established—would proceed with far less friction.

He scanned the parchment one last time, ensuring there were no grammatical errors or semantic loopholes.

Ernst capped his pen, pushed his chair back, and prepared to call it a night. But the moment he pulled his office door open, he nearly bumped into two figures standing quietly in the dimly lit hallway.

Enya and Kjera.

Ernst blinked, genuinely surprised. “Sis? It’s freezing out there, why are you two wandering around so late?”

A warm, gentle smile bloomed on Enya’s face. She reached into the folds of her thick winter coat and produced a small, beautifully knitted hat, holding it out to him.

“I came to give you a gift. Happy Harvest Festival, Ernst.”

Taking the soft woolen hat, Ernst felt a sudden, genuine surge of warmth in his chest. He opened his mouth to thank her, but before a single syllable could escape, Enya’s sweet smile took on a dangerous edge. Her hand shot forward, her fingers locking onto his fluffy ear in a vice grip.

“Ow, ow, ow!”

“If I hadn’t wanted to surprise you, I wouldn’t have even known you were working overtime at this hour, you absolute rascal! What is wrong with you? Tomorrow is a public holiday, and you’re refusing to get proper rest. Do you plan on showing up at the holy mountain tomorrow looking like a walking corpse?”

“How would I dare, Sis? Ow! Please, spare the ear, I was just finishing up my speech!”

Ernst’s tail puffed up and went entirely stiff. He leaned sideways, bending awkwardly toward Enya to relieve the pressure, his face contorted into an exaggerated mask of sheer agony.

Enya would never actually use real force on her own little brother; her grip was entirely superficial. She knew perfectly well that Ernst was just putting on a theatrical performance to garner sympathy. She let out a soft huff, finally releasing his soft, fluffy ear—though she had to admit, the texture was incredibly pleasant.

The moment her hand retreated, Ernst miraculously recovered. He smoothly slipped the knitted hat onto his head, the pained grimace vanishing as he let out a dry chuckle.

“Alright, my ears are burning red from that assault. But for the sake of maintaining my dignified image as Prime Minister, I’ll graciously accept this hat. Just so we’re clear, this doesn’t count as bribery.”

“Who cares about your image!” Enya rolled her eyes, crossing her arms.

Her brother simply never missed an opportunity to run his mouth. Bribery? He said it with such a straight face. Who in Terra uses a knitted hat to bribe a high-ranking government official? Was he trying to test the integrity of the Kjerag administration with yarn?

Besides, even if there were a corruption trial, the judge would literally be either him or her. Who exactly was going to file the complaint against the Prime Minister when the Prime Minister was the Saintess’s brother?

Ignoring his glib nonsense, Enya naturally extended her open palm toward him.

“And where is mine?”

Ernst didn’t miss a beat. He reached out and gave her a crisp high-five.

Before Enya’s eyes could narrow into a glare, he quickly took a step back and raised his hands in surrender. “Sis, relax, of course I prepared a gift for you. And I guarantee it’s something you’re going to absolutely love!”

“What is it?”

“If I tell you now, it ruins the surprise, doesn’t it? Just be patient. I’ll give it to you tomorrow morning when we’re standing in the Holy Mountain Plaza.”

Ernst was entirely confident in his choice. He knew his sister would thoroughly enjoy the custom fireworks display he had arranged—specifically, the firework designed to launch their eldest brother, Enciodes, high into the sky before exploding in a spectacular array of colors.

As for whether Enciodes would be satisfied with the arrangement… well, the man was going to reach the heavens. That was an aeronautical milestone even Kirsten of Rhine Lab hadn’t fully perfected yet. What could he possibly complain about? Would he really be upset just because he wasn’t flying up there under his own power?

Naturally, Ernst had prepared a very special, separate ‘gift’ for his older brother as well.

It was a complete, year-long tax welfare package. It included a dazzling array of tax reduction policies, government-backed support projects, and the heavy-handed expectation that Karlan Trade would burn mountains of cash—ah, excuse me, invest—into various local industrial sectors.

It was mathematically designed to save Enciodes at least thirty percent on his annual taxes, while simultaneously forcing Karlan Trade to increase its domestic investment expenditure by a staggering sixty percent! What an absolute bargain!

Such a conscientious, benevolent public policy. Just thinking about it made Ernst want to drool… no, it brought tears of joy to his eyes.

As Ernst basked in his own bureaucratic malice, his gaze drifted, finally landing on Kjera, who was standing quietly a half-step behind Enya.

The Head Maid maintained her signature, flawless smile. However, there was a distinct, almost powerful aura of doting affection radiating from her. She looked as though she was thoroughly enjoying—even feeling deeply ‘happy’ about—the casual, sibling banter between Ernst and Enya.

A spike of panic hit Ernst. He had completely forgotten to prepare a gift for her.

He offered an awkward, slightly stiff smile, his mind racing at lightspeed to conjure up some sort of impromptu present for the Head Maid. To his surprise, Kjera spoke up first, saving him from his internal crisis.

“Um, I am actually quite curious about what Lord Ernst has written in his speech. If it isn’t too much trouble, could you allow me to read the manuscript as my gift?”

She tilted her head, offering him a playful, mischievous wink.

“Of course, in exchange for this privilege, I will make sure to pray for you with extra devotion in front of Kjeragandr tonight. I’ll even pray one more time than Enya does.”

“Kjera!” Enya chided, though her tone lacked any real bite or annoyance.

Hearing the simple request, Ernst let out a quiet breath of relief. You scared me to death. Turns out you didn’t prepare a gift for me either.

The contents of the speech were going to be broadcast to the entire nation tomorrow morning anyway, so he had absolutely no reason to keep it classified. Since Kjera had graciously provided him with an out, Ernst smoothly took the opportunity, descending the metaphorical stairs she had built for him.

As for her joke about ‘praying one more time,’ Ernst simply brushed it off as the Head Maid politely teasing her employer.

He handed the thick parchment over. Kjera took it with both hands, her eyes immediately dropping to the text, reading with an intensity that surprised him.

After a prolonged, heavy silence, she finally looked up. She nodded at Ernst, her expression carrying a deep, overwhelming weight of emotion that he hadn’t anticipated in the slightest.

“It’s… it’s so beautifully written! What a good child, making Mom—making the Great God Kjeragandr so proud!”

Ernst scratched the back of his neck, feeling a sudden wave of awkwardness.

Kjera’s voice trembled. There was a distinct, almost sobbing nasal quality to her tone, as if she were fighting back tears.

“Go for it! The Great God Kjeragandr will absolutely support you! I’m going to go back and pray for you right this second! She will definitely hear you! She will definitely be so, so happy!”

Ernst stared at her. No, wait. If the big boss upstairs is happy, why are you getting this worked up?

Standing right here in this hallway was the literal Saintess and the acting Saint Son of the religion, yet the Head Maid’s explosive emotional reaction made it look like the two actual siblings weren’t devout enough.

Ernst and Enya exchanged a brief, knowing glance, sharing a silent, helpless smile.

Sometimes, dealing with the hyper-devout staff was just exhausting.