Turicum Grand Hotel, newly built with investment from the Silverash family, was designed to host investors and tourists.
Since it was the only modern hotel in all of Kjerag, it carried grand titles with very little substance behind them—”Kjerag’s Number One Hotel,” “The Oldest Hotel in Kjerag,” and so on.
Of course, branding itself was just added value.
In reality, many of the hotel’s services lagged far behind even an average business hotel in an ordinary city outside.
Yet somehow, thanks to those titles and its reputation, it maintained a spotless record of zero negative reviews.
Anyone who stayed there not only refrained from complaining but would even defend it:
“Stay if you want, leave if you don’t.”
“In a place like Kjerag, having a hotel like this is already impressive.
What more are you nitpicking for?
Sure, foreign hotels are better—but are they in Kjerag?”
“As a neutral party, I think we should be more patient with Turicum Grand Hotel.
Yes, it has flaws, but as visitors who appreciate Kjerag’s culture, we should accept them and encourage improvement.
These negative reviews are just malicious attacks.
Are you trying to ruin Kjerag’s tourism industry?”
The tone of these praises felt oddly familiar, giving Ernest a strange sense of déjà vu.
Still, considering that even basic things like Originium heaters were rare in Kjerag, he figured maybe those people genuinely meant well.
That said, as the saying goes, amateurs watch the spectacle, experts see the details.
The hotel might fool ordinary tourists, but for someone like Luther Magnus, a Columbian business magnate, its shortcomings were obvious at a glance.
“So Kjerag isn’t very developed.
Looks like Prime Minister Ernest really needs this loan.”
He calculated silently, already forming a plan.
“I might be able to leverage this during the meal—perhaps secure a bigger contract.”
After waiting for a while, Ernest and Enciodes finally appeared in the corridor.
Ernest handed his coat to Lara, giving her a reassuring look.
Then he turned back, his expression instantly shifting into a warm, spring-like smile.
He stepped forward and extended his hand.
“My apologies for the wait, Mr.
Magnus.”
“It’s no trouble,” Luther replied, shaking his hand, then greeting Enciodes as well.
The three of them entered the private room one after another.
Once both guests were inside, Ernest closed the door with a polite smile and returned to his seat.
The moment he sat down, he spoke:
“We’re all on the same side here.
Let’s close the door and speak candidly.”
Both Enciodes and Luther instinctively adjusted their posture, sitting up straighter.
When they realized it, they exchanged faint looks of surprise.
Luther, in particular, was taken aback.
Since arriving in Kjerag, this was the third time Ernest had surprised him—and by far the most striking.
Politics was a discipline, one that required time and experience.
Yet despite his youth, Ernest carried himself with none of the awkwardness of inexperience.
He was methodical, quick-witted, adept at smoothing over situations, and his grasp of official rhetoric and unspoken rules felt as natural as that of a seasoned veteran.
Even something as simple as closing the door before speaking—many so-called “politicians” in Columbian dramas spent a lifetime trying to master that subtle gesture.
Enciodes, on the other hand, was far less shaken.
Though he was also surprised, he quickly regained his composure.
He had some resistance built up.
Recognizing that his brother was about to begin his performance, he quietly prepared himself to play along.
Sure enough, after a brief pause, Ernest glanced at the two men and began:
“To be honest, Mr.
Magnus, this position of prime minister… I more or less picked it up along the way.
I didn’t contribute much myself.
I owe it to my brother Enciodes, and to my sister, the Saintess of Kjerag.”
“In the end, being an official is about making money.
My brother earns from foreign trade, my sister earns from religion.
As for me, I’m thin-skinned and junior in rank.
I can’t compete with them.
After thinking it through, I’ve only found one way to make money.”
Luther raised a brow and leaned forward slightly, intrigued.
“And what would that be?”
Ernest stamped his foot lightly on the ground and said:
“Skimming a little off the land.”
“Skimming land?” Luther Magnus stared at the young man in astonishment.
His eyes practically spelled it out: formidable youth, limitless potential.
‘Kid, you know your business.
Real estate is a proper gold mine.
To pick this path right away… this isn’t just thinking big, this is stepping straight onto a road to the top.’
Luther’s interest was instantly piqued.
He leaned forward, eager to hear more.
As for whether Ernest could actually secure the land, he wasn’t worried in the slightest.
As a seasoned banker, he hadn’t come to Kjerag unprepared.
Though the country’s isolation meant information was scarce, Luther had pieced together its internal power structure through various contacts.
Who held the most power in Kjerag?
The Saintess of Kjerag from the Monastery.
Who held the most wealth?
Enciodes SilverAsh, chairman of Kjerag Trade.
And Ernest had just introduced himself plainly.
The Saintess was his sister, Enciodes his brother.
In a small country like this, with both the most powerful and the richest as family, and himself the legitimate prime minister, carving out a piece of land was hardly a challenge.
If Luther had siblings like that, he’d build a Magnus Tower in every city across Columbia, from special zones to frontier regions.
Seeing Magnus fully engaged, Ernest didn’t rush.
He slowed his tone deliberately.
“There’s just one problem…”
“One problem?”
“The people of Kjerag.
They’re not easy to deal with.
They believe every blade of grass, every stone here is a gift from Kjeragandr.
So they don’t allow land to be traded freely.”
“Hah!” Luther let out a dismissive laugh.
He had expected something serious, but it turned out to be this.
Plenty of ideas, but lacking finesse.
Stubborn locals refusing to sell land?
That was hardly a problem.
“That’s simple.
Let me teach you,” he said casually, already treating Ernest like a junior.
“For those kinds of troublemakers, hire a few thugs.
Block their doors at night, sabotage their homes, or just set a fire when they’re away.
Make their lives miserable.
Once they’re scared and fed up, they’ll leave on their own.”
Ernest’s lips twitched.
Watching Luther speak so fluently, as if from extensive experience, he instinctively glanced at Enciodes, his eyes asking, Are all you banker and capitalists like this?
Enciodes looked equally innocent.
He hadn’t done anything like that, so why was he being dragged into it?
Ernest withdrew his gaze, coughed lightly, and cut Luther off with a helpless smile.
“Mr.
Luther, that won’t work.”
“Why not?” Luther looked genuinely puzzled.
Ernest gave him an answer he couldn’t refute.
“Because Kjerag doesn’t even have doors you can block… or sewers you can sabotage.”
Most homes in Kjerag were little more than wooden, thatched, and stone huts.
A few clustered together formed a settlement.
People lived in close proximity, seeing each other daily.
Locks were a luxury no one needed.
As for sewers, with so little farmland, even animal feed required fertilizing.
Natural fertilizer was far too valuable to wash away.
Luther clearly hadn’t anticipated this.
For a moment, all his “expertise” had nowhere to go.
A capitalist rendered powerless by a stubborn smallholder economy.
It was almost ironic.
At that moment, perhaps deciding it was finally his turn to speak—or simply unwilling to sit there in silence any longer—Enciodes stepped in.
“There’s still a way,” he said calmly.
“If force won’t work, we can take a softer approach.”
“Softer?” Luther didn’t quite follow.
“Just a change in wording.”
Ernest picked up the explanation.
“If we sell the land directly to someone like you, a Columbian, the people of Kjerag will never accept it.
If they protest and it reaches the Monastery, my sister will be put in a difficult position.
The deal will collapse, and I might even lose my office.
And if I lose office, how am I supposed to make money?”
He paused, then smiled faintly.
“So the land can’t be sold.”
Then his tone shifted, a hint of calculation in his eyes.
“But change the framing, and everything becomes simple.”
“Mr.
Luther, I can borrow money from your bank in the name of the Kjerag government.”
“And the collateral… would be that piece of land.”