Pacing through the freezing stone corridors of the Karlan Temple, Enya seemed entirely incapable of suppressing her curiosity.
The heavy scent of burning incense lingered in the frigid air, yet her attention was completely focused behind her.
She kept throwing glances over her shoulder at her younger brother, her pristine robes swishing with every hurried step.
“How exactly did you manage that?” she asked, her voice echoing softly against the ancient walls.
“I was absolutely certain the Great Elder would go out of his way to make things difficult for you.”
Ernest did not offer an immediate reply.
Instead, his gaze shifted warily toward the black-haired maid trailing quietly beside Enya.
The woman had remained entirely silent since they left the main chamber, deliberately keeping her head bowed and her presence suppressed to the absolute minimum.
Ernest had never crossed paths with her before today, yet the way she occasionally looked at him triggered a strange, lingering sense of familiarity.
It was the exact same expression his mother used to give him back on Earth, right before he stepped out the door for a stressful job interview.
It was a look brimming with quiet affection, layered with a heavy hint of expectation.
The emotion itself was harmless enough, yet finding such a deeply maternal gaze on the face of a mere servant felt entirely out of place.
Sensing the subtle tension and Ernest’s unspoken reservations, Enya paused and cast a fond look at Kjera.
She did not order the maid to step back.
Instead, the Saintess offered a sweet, reassuring smile.
“This is Kjera, my Head Maid,” Enya explained, her tone softening.
“She has lived within the walls of the Karlan Temple even longer than I have.
You do not need to worry about her overhearing us.
She is a completely trustworthy person.”
As if perfectly cued by Enya’s introduction, Kjera lifted her head.
The thoughtful, assessing gleam in her eyes vanished instantly, replaced by a perfectly measured, humble smile directed straight at Ernest.
She does not feel like a Head Maid at all, Ernest judged silently, studying the calm grace in her posture.
She gives off the distinct aura of an elder watching over her unruly children.
He decided not to dwell on the anomaly.
If his sister, the reigning Saintess of Kjerag, vouched for the woman’s loyalty, Ernest was willing to accept it for the time being.
He offered a casual shrug, the heavy fabric of his coat shifting against his shoulders.
“It was actually quite simple.
The Great Elder’s thought process is incredibly easy to predict.
He vehemently opposes any form of modern reform, true, but he also knows exactly how to focus on his enemies.”
Enya nodded slowly, the gears turning in her head.
“So, you laid out the primary contradictions Kjerag is currently facing, and he, being a man of traditional righteousness, saw reason and agreed to step back?”
To her utter surprise, Ernest rolled his eyes.
“Absolutely not.
I just reminded him that the person he desperately needs to deal with right now is our dear older brother, not me.”
Enya choked on her breath for a split second before bursting into a highly undignified fit of laughter.
The serene, holy aura of the Saintess shattered completely, leaving behind a young woman whose face was lit up with pure, unadulterated schadenfreude.
“You are completely right,” Enya managed to say between giggles, clutching her stomach.
“It is about time that guy got a taste of his own medicine.”
After laughing until the cold air stung her lungs, Enya finally regained her composure.
They arrived at the Saintess Hall, a grand room bathed in the pale light of the snowy peaks outside.
She settled gracefully into her high-backed chair, watching as Ernest took a seat in the wooden chair Kjera quietly brought over for him.
Her expression turned formal once more.
“The Great Elder is not someone who can be easily dismissed with a few clever words.
He has been deeply displeased with Enciodes for a very long time, but he simply lacked a suitable excuse to cause trouble.
I originally assumed his excuse to strike would be your sudden appointment.
How exactly did you convince him to point his spear elsewhere?”
The recent formation of the National Assembly and Ernest’s sudden ascension to political power were the direct results of a massive, grinding compromise from all sides.
This was an open secret to anyone in Kjerag who understood even a fraction of the nation’s political landscape.
The Karlan Temple deeply disapproved of Enciodes’s relentless activities abroad.
He had been operating under the official banners of Karlan and Kjerag, a massive overstep considering that, prior to the establishment of Karlan Trade, the Temple was the sole organization authorized to represent the nation.
Meanwhile, the Browntail Family and the Paleroche Family were furious.
All the staggering profits generated by Karlan Trade’s foreign operations were flowing directly into the private vaults of the SilverAsh Family.
This massive influx of wealth threatened to shatter the fragile balance of power, leaving the other two great clans entirely in the dust.
Through their combined political pressure, they had forced Enciodes to step back.
He had to surrender the lucrative position of being Kjerag’s sole political entity for external exchanges.
But Enciodes SilverAsh was not a man who took a beating lying down.
He naturally retaliated.
If he alone could not swallow this massive piece of meat, he would absolutely ensure it did not fall into the waiting mouths of the Browntail, the Paleroche, or the Karlan Temple.
Since the other factions were constantly screaming about doing things for the good of Kjerag, Enciodes called their bluff.
He proposed emulating modern foreign nations by establishing a formal government organization recognized by all parties.
This new government would handle Kjerag’s foreign relations and official trade, while Karlan Trade would step back to handle purely private transactions and logistics.
On the surface, the proposal was a flawless compromise.
It looked like a fair trade agreement offering equal opportunity and shared benefits.
In reality, it was a brilliantly vicious open conspiracy.
For thousands of years, the entirety of Kjerag had existed in a state of absolute isolation.
The concept of politics had never evolved past the level of tribal clan disputes.
The most intense political struggles usually involved running to the statues of Kjeragandr to complain, accusing rivals of betraying ancestral teachings and turning their backs on the Amen.
Foreign relations?
The great and divine nation of Kjerag, blessed by the goddess and rich in snow, had absolutely no need for such trivialities.
Under these archaic conditions, if a modern government agency were actually established, where on earth would they find the educated civil servants to run it?
Could the muscle-bound warriors of the Paleroche Family master the delicate art of drafting international trade documents?
Could the traditional merchants of the Browntail Family suddenly comprehend the staggering logistics of cross-border industrial trade?
Or perhaps the head of government should be a devout elder from the Karlan Temple, a man who would ignore financial reports entirely and instead consult Kjeragandr through bone divination to balance the national budget?
The answer was obvious.
The personnel required to run this new government would inevitably have to be pulled from the SilverAsh Family.
It would simply be the exact same Karlan Trade employees putting on the crisp uniforms of government officials.
The Paleroche and Browntail families clearly realized the trap, but the harsh reality of their own incompetence bound their hands.
They could force Enciodes to spit out the meat, but they lacked the teeth to chew it themselves.
And since Enciodes’s proposal was logically flawless, all the opposing factions could do was choose the cook who would boil the meat for them.
Just as they had once pushed Enya to become the Saintess in a bid to divide and weaken the SilverAsh Family, this time they nominated Ernest to play the role of the cook.
Yet, no matter how the situation was framed, this was ultimately the Three Great Families dividing a massive cake among themselves.
Not a single person in the room cared about the feelings of the cake’s original owner, the Karlan Temple.
The Temple was bound to retaliate.
“So, I simply handed the Great Elder a target and the exact method to execute his retaliation,” Ernest said, his voice calm and utterly devoid of guilt.
“My brother’s operations with Karlan Trade are not entirely clean.
Back when they were laying down the railways across Kjerag, there was a massive, undocumented surplus in the industrial steel they purchased from abroad.
I casually mentioned this discrepancy to the Great Elder.”
“Steel?” Enya murmured the foreign word, her brow furrowing in genuine confusion.
“I have never heard of this matter.
But what exactly does a surplus of metal prove?”
“It proves that our dear brother actively deceived the Karlan Temple and the Great Elder., it proves he deceived you, Sister Enya.
in the world of politics, deception of the sovereign authority is more than enough ammunition to start a fire.”
Ernest leaned forward, his tone turning earnest and sharp.
“Politicians are deeply paranoid creatures.
They are terrified of letting others know what they are secretly doing, but they are equally terrified of letting others think they are doing nothing at all.”
Enya nodded slowly.
She did not fully grasp the complex logistics of industrial steel, but she understood the mechanics of betrayal.
A faint, affectionate smile graced her lips as she reached across the space between them, gently ruffling Ernest’s hair.
“You are far too young to be spouting such deep, cynical reasoning,” she teased softly.
“Regardless, I am just relieved you are safe and holding your ground.
If you ever run into a wall you cannot climb, tell your sister.
I will do everything in my power to help you.”
Pulling her hand back, she turned her attention to the quiet maid standing by the wall.
“You came here today to retrieve the historical ledgers recorded by the Temple, correct?
Those heavy old things are kept deep in the Sacred Record Hall.
You and Kjera can go together to fetch them.
I still need to prepare for today’s sermon, otherwise, the Elders’ Council will start nagging me until my ears bleed.”
The path to the Sacred Record Hall was a long, winding trek through the older, more isolated wings of the temple.
Kjera walked a few paces ahead, her footsteps completely silent against the freezing stone, while Ernest followed closely behind.
The architecture here was ancient and secluded, the air biting cold.
They did not encounter a single soul along the way.
Halfway down a particularly long corridor lined with frosted windows, Kjera suddenly turned her head.
She did not stop walking, but her eyes locked onto Ernest.
“Speaker,” she began, her voice smooth and polite.
“There is something I am deeply curious about.
Would you be willing to answer a question for me?”
Ernest had been staring out the glass, admiring the vast, desolate beauty of the snow-capped mountains stretching endlessly into the horizon.
Hearing her voice, he pulled his gaze away from the peaks.
“What do you want to ask?”
Kjera did not beat around the bush.
“Regarding the matter of the steel you just discussed with the Saintess.
Why exactly would the Great Elder be so furious about some hidden metal?”
Ernest tilted his head, genuinely puzzled as to why a simple maid would care about the nuances of industrial logistics.
“It is basic human nature,” Ernest explained casually.
“The Karlan Temple used to be the absolute leading institution in all of Kjerag.
Karlan Trade deliberately hid the acquisition of a strategic resource from them.
Of course the Great Elder would be furious.
Think of it this way: if the Saintess gave you money and asked you to buy candy for her, but you secretly pocketed one piece of candy for yourself every single time and never told her, wouldn’t she be angry when she finally found out?”
Kjera nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful as she processed the childish analogy.
Ernest watched her for a moment.
Then, a wave of exhaustion seemed to wash over his features.
He let out a quiet breath, dropping the simplified facade, and muttered his true thoughts.
“To put it bluntly, it just satisfied the old man’s desperate need for control.
I am the current Prime Minister of Kjerag, yet I still have to go out of my way to ask this relic of a bygone era for help with state matters.
It makes him feel important.
It creates a comfortable illusion that I am not a threat to his authority.
I just played with his fragile ego a little, and that was that.”
Kjera stopped walking.
She turned to face him fully, her eyes wide with a mixture of astonishment and deep disbelief.
It was as if she were hearing about this cynical, manipulative method of handling human affairs for the very first time.
The casual way he dissected the Great Elder’s faith and pride seemed to shake the very foundation of her worldview.
After a long, heavy silence, she finally recovered her composure.
The maternal warmth in her eyes was replaced by a sharp, piercing intelligence.
“I have one last question,” she said quietly.
Ernest was growing a bit bored of the cold corridor, so he simply nodded.
“Ask away.”
Kjera narrowed her eyes, the air around her feeling suddenly heavier.
“The matter of Karlan Trade secretly hoarding industrial steel.
The Great Elder did not know.
The Saintess did not know.
The Three Clans Meeting did not know.
There have never been any rumors of this nature circulating within Kjerag.
Enciodes is a careful man; he must have executed this operation with absolute secrecy.
So, Speaker, where exactly did you get this highly classified information?”
Ernest’s footsteps came to a dead halt.
Kjera noticed the sound of his boots vanishing.
She turned around, expecting to see hesitation.
Instead, the lazy, weary mask of the younger brother had completely vanished.
In its place was the sharp, confident smile of a man who held the entire board in his hands.
“After all, I am the Speaker of the National Assembly and the Prime Minister,” Ernest said, his voice dropping to a smooth, dangerous register.
“I have my own channels.”
Kjera held his gaze, refusing to back down.
“Are you not afraid of offending your brother by doing this?
I have heard from Enya that Enciodes is a truly formidable man.”
Ernest let out a helpless sigh, spreading his hands in a gesture of surrender.
How could he, of all people, not know the terrifying nature of the SilverAsh patriarch?
“So what if he is?” Ernest replied, the amusement fading from his eyes, leaving behind a cold, pragmatic resolve.
“Sitting in this position, everything I do is for Kjerag.”