In Kjerag, only one absolute, untouchable bottom line existed: never betray Kjeragandr.
The great goddess had carved the nation of Kjerag from the unforgiving snowstorms, guiding the precursors through their pioneering, reproduction, and survival.
She had ignited this fragile lamp of civilization amidst the desolate mountains.
Therefore, she was Kjerag’s sole sovereign and the eternal deity revered by its people.
To disagree with this fundamental truth, regardless of one’s identity or towering status, was to declare war on the entirety of Kjerag.
But a bottom line was always just a bottom line, much like the ancient religions of old earth.
At its core, it merely preached belief in a single god.
Yet, as a church sought to ensure its long-term survival and consolidate power, it inevitably began to staple a myriad of rules onto that foundation.
Over time, it evolved into a systematic, suffocatingly rigorous process of faith.
If you do not believe in the god, you are a pagan.
We cannot see eye to eye, and I have nothing to say to you.
But if you do believe in the god, yet refuse to follow my specific bureaucratic process, then you are a heretic.
You actively harm my interests as the god’s sole mortal representative, and I will purge you with extreme prejudice.
This was precisely why heresy was always far more detestable to the clergy than paganism.
What the Karlan Temple did was fundamentally no different.
Kjeragandr created Kjerag, shielded its people from natural disasters, and then established the Karlan Temple to grant humanity the agency to decide their own future.
Did she truly want the Karlan Temple to rigidly freeze everything in time?
Ernst did not claim to know the intimate thoughts of divine beings.
However, he knew that if Kjeragandr was truly as benevolent as the ancient epics described, she had to be a goddess who wished for her people to live prosperous, happy lives.
Such a deity would certainly not deny the unstoppable tide of modern development, nor would she reject the absolute necessity of Kjerag’s reforms.
Unfortunately, all of this remained mere speculation.
Ernst could not divine the will of the gods.
As a pragmatic transmigrator who dealt in tangible results, he was not exactly a devout zealot of Kjeragandr.
And the moment he attempted to interpret her oracles and legends through a progressive lens, the inevitable heresy trial came knocking at his door.
“No land sales!”
“Kjerag belongs to Kjeragandr, not to you!”
“Bypassing the Three Clans Meeting, failing to report to the Karlan Temple, keeping the people in the dark…
Is the SilverAsh family trying to sell out the nation?”
The deafening clamor and venomous curses battered against the thin walls of the low-rise bungalow that served as his temporary office.
Prime Minister Ernst, who just a few days prior had been politely praised as a decent official, had seemingly transformed overnight into the public enemy of all Kjerag, branded with the ultimate mark of a traitor to Kjeragandr.
Struggling to find a gap in the furious mob outside, Aurora finally squeezed through the heavy wooden door.
Her face was pale with deep worry as she quickly secured the latch.
“Young Master, it is not safe here anymore.
How about we relocate?”
Ernst simply shook his head.
His relaxed posture in the leather office chair showed absolutely no sign of dejection or panic.
He offered her a reassuring smile.
“I am perfectly fine, Aurora.
A Prime Minister does not flee his post at the first sign of a tantrum.
Besides, I believe that since Arctosz and Ratatos are already sitting in this room, my physical safety is practically guaranteed.
Is that not right?”
He shifted his gaze across the dimly lit room.
Arctosz Paleroche sat heavily on the worn sofa, a massive pipe clamped between his teeth, exhaling thick plumes of smoke that added to the suffocating tension in the air.
By the frosted window stood Ratatos Browntail, her arms crossed over her flat chest, her sharp eyes gazing out at the agitated crowd as if calculating their exact political weight.
Arctosz looked up at the sound of his name.
He shot Ernst a look of unvarnished disgust and let out a dark, rumbling chuckle.
“That is not necessarily true.
For those who betray Kjeragandr, I never pull my punches.”
Her elegant, refined features remained perfectly composed as she delivered a single, clipped word.
“Reason?”
“To make money,” Ernst replied smoothly.
Ratatos furrowed her brow, clearly insulted by the flippant answer.
She pressed forward, her tone dropping in temperature.
“And then?
What is your grand reason for needing such an obscene amount of money?”
The Browntail family had always survived on the delicate art of checks and balances.
They lacked the overwhelming wealth of the SilverAsh clan and the brute military might of the Paleroche forces.
Yet, they maintained a firm, unshakeable position among the Three Great Families through sheer caution and political manipulation.
They also engaged in commerce.
Aside from the rare imported goods brought in by Karlan Trade over in Turicum, almost all other domestic commodities flowed from Browntail territory.
But Ratatos did everything with a calculated purpose.
She wanted to check the Paleroche family, restore order to the fractured Three Clans Meeting, and prevent Arctosz from swallowing her territory whole in the absence of a true competitor.
Therefore, the return of the SilverAsh family to the political table and the establishment of a Karlan Trade branch in Kjerag had both secretly enjoyed her backing.
Because of this, she absolutely refused to believe Ernst’s goal was merely lining his pockets.
Six hundred million.
That was a staggering, world-shifting sum of money.
Ernst fell into a heavy silence, seemingly avoiding her piercing gaze.
He could hardly confess that his true objective in making this money was to completely overthrow their archaic feudal system and establish a centralized, modern Kjerag government.
He certainly knew how to spout official, bureaucratic nonsense like ‘for the glorious construction of Kjerag,’ but such hollow platitudes were meant for public speeches on balconies.
When the heads of two Great Families had him cornered behind closed doors, feeding them political garbage would only convince them he was a complete idiot.
They might even slap him just to see if he was still playing the fool.
After a long, drawn-out silence, just as Ratatos’s patience began to visibly fray, Ernst finally spoke.
“For the future of Kjerag.
So I will not have any regrets.”
Ratatos’s already furrowed brow creased even tighter.
She knew he was aware that his words held no tangible substance, yet he still dared to say them to her face.
Was he mocking them?
Was he daring them to strike him?
“Damn it all!
Selling Kjerag’s sacred land to those Columbian bandits, and you still have the sheer nerve to claim it is for our future?”
Arctosz completely erupted.
He slammed his heavy pipe onto the wooden table with a violent crack, the embers scattering across the surface.
He stood up, his massive frame casting a long, intimidating shadow over the desk.
His rugged appearance, framed by a wild beard and muscles honed by decades of brutal mountain warfare, was enough to make even Enciodes tread carefully.
Now, he loomed directly over Ernst, his voice booming with absolute fury.
“I originally thought that putting you, a soft little leopard cub, into this prime minister seat would force that unconventional bastard Enciodes to quiet down!
I never expected him to stay silent while you started jumping around causing absolute chaos!
I am telling you right here and now, as long as I draw breath, as long as the Paleroche name exists, not a single inch of Kjerag’s land will be sold to those Columbian vultures!”
“To be entirely precise, I merely borrowed a sum of money, and the collateral for that loan happens to be a specific plot of land.
Nothing more,” Ernst stated slowly, his voice calm but laced with a dangerous edge.
“As for your self-righteous accusations, Arctosz, did you honestly not consider that such things might happen when you orchestrated this entire political theater?”
Ernst’s gaze snapped up, meeting Arctosz’s furious stare head-on, his own eyes burning with a long-suppressed, cold anger.
“You pushed me into this seat, intending to use me as a convenient warning to my brother because you lacked the strength to deal with him directly.
This cowardly method of checks and balances was certainly not born from your thick skull.
It had to be Ratatos’s brilliant strategizing, did it not?”
“How ugly and selfish.
The very second you learned about my loan, your first thought was never about the welfare of Kjerag.
It was sheer panic over the SilverAsh family instantly growing stronger, and raw greed regarding those six hundred million Columbian golden vouchers.
You are not conservative defenders of tradition; you are merely hypocrites who are perfectly happy as long as your own pockets are lined first.”
“But I will tell you this clearly.
This money was borrowed in the name of the Kjerag government, and I will not spend a single cent of it solely on SilverAsh territory.
I will distribute its use across every region based on population density.
Because this money is the actual future of Kjerag!”
Children were the future, and educating those children meant securing that future.
Unfortunately, a pure warrior like Arctosz could never comprehend such a concept.
He would rather every school curriculum consist entirely of physical education, teaching students how to hunt beasts in the freezing mountains, passing down a cycle of primitive survival generation after generation.
Seemingly having his deepest sore spot violently poked, or perhaps just blinded by sheer rage, Arctosz raised his massive hand to strike the prime minister.
But before the blow could fall, Aurora threw herself forward, unhesitatingly placing her own body between the towering warlord and Ernst.
Arctosz recognized her instantly.
She was a girl born within Paleroche territory, a true Ursus of the snowy mountains.
Yet now, she stood firmly on the opposite side of the battlefield.
Aurora was nowhere near as tall as Arctosz, but her posture showed absolutely no sign of backing down.
Instead, she glared fiercely at the lord of her homeland, her voice ringing with absolute conviction.
“Young Master Ernst is telling the truth!”
She believed Ernst unconditionally, because he was the only one who had ever allowed her to see the vast, incredible world outside these suffocating mountains.
Arctosz’s thick arm froze in mid-air.
His eyes widened in disbelief.
“Move aside, girl, or I will strike you both!” he roared, but his hand trembled, entirely hesitant to actually swing down on one of his own people.
Watching the chaotic scene unfold, the silent Ratatos slowly shook her head.
She looked at Ernst, her voice cutting through the noise with chilling precision.
“Ernst, I do not believe a single word you say.
But I think you deserve one final chance.”
“According to ancient Kjerag tradition, if we encounter a dispute that the Three Clans Meeting cannot resolve, we ascend the Holy Mountain.
We worship Kjeragandr’s Holy Stone in the plaza, and we request her divine will.”
“But you need to think very clearly before you accept.
You are still young.
If you admit your mistake right now, given your noble status, there is still room for political redemption.
You will step down in disgrace, but you will live to make a comeback in the future.”
“But once you step onto that Holy Stone Plaza and are denied by Kjeragandr…
you will have no place left in Kjerag.”
Ratatos’s eyes narrowed, her tone turning solemn and absolute.
“This is the true bottom line.”
Those rejected by Kjeragandr were unworthy of drawing breath on the sacred land of Kjerag.
This was the unadorned, inescapable reality for all of its people.
“Do you dare?” she asked.
Ernst met her gaze without a shred of hesitation.
“I dare.”
[Rhodes’s Note:
Enjoying the operation so far, Doctor?
(This daily grind literally pays the landship’s rent!
to use the links!)