The Grand Elder felt that he had reached the pinnacle of his life.
Not physically, but spiritually.
As an old man who had stood at the summit of power for decades, he believed that during his years leading the Monastery, he had long since grown indifferent to the rise and fall of worldly affairs.
If nothing unexpected happened, he would have continued like this until the day he died upon his throne.
But as everyone knows, on the land of Terra, if you think nothing unexpected will happen, then something unexpected is almost guaranteed to occur.
First, the Silverash family, once exiled from Kjerag, returned to the Tri-Clan Council with the backing of the Browntail family.
Then came Enciodes Silverash, who began aggressively expanding “trade” within his territory, using the name of the holy mountain Kjerag to amass great wealth, with signs of even further expansion.
And now, they had gone so far as to establish some absurd “Kjerag Government and People’s Assembly,” attempting to take administrative authority out of his hands.
What was this, if not rebellion?
Although the agreement of the other two clans in the Tri-Clan Council left the Grand Elder without an immediate opportunity to retaliate, that did not mean he was willing to yield.
His calm demeanor, his detachment from worldly affairs, all of it existed only because he stood at the peak of power.
If someone tried to take his crown, then he would take their head.
And now, that opportunity had arrived.
Kill one, warn a hundred.
“Ernest Silverash, do you admit your guilt?”
On the Sacred Stone Plaza, the Grand Elder’s voice rang out.
The early hour and the thick blanket of snow did nothing to dampen the crowd’s enthusiasm.
The plaza was packed with onlookers.
Arctosz Paleroche, Ratatos Browntail, and Enciodes Silverash were seated below the Sacred Stone platform in specially prepared chairs, while the Saintess Enya Silverash sat behind the stone itself, watching Ernest and the Grand Elder face one another from opposite sides.
Militia from the Paleroche family surrounded the area, maintaining order.
In this sacred place and solemn occasion, the people of Kjerag temporarily restrained their anger, waiting in silence for the great Kjeragandr to pass judgment on Ernest’s actions.
Standing opposite the Sacred Stone, facing the Grand Elder who already seemed ready to condemn him, Ernest shook his head firmly.
“I am not guilty.”
The Grand Elder’s brows shot up as he barked:
“You sold Kjerag’s land without the approval of the Tri-Clan Council or the Monastery.
You have desecrated the blessing granted by Kjeragandr to this land.
Is that not a grave sin beyond measure?”
But Ernest was not shaken by the accusation.
Instead, he calmly replied:
“First, I need to clarify a misunderstanding that has been circulating.”
“I did not sell Kjerag’s land to the Columbian Magnus Bank.
What I conducted was a loan.
The term is ten years, the amount is six hundred million Columbian gold certificates.
These details are clearly recorded in this year’s fiscal report, and have already been publicly posted on a blackboard outside my office.
The fact that no one read it or cared is another matter.”
“The undeveloped land northeast of Turicum was merely used as collateral for the loan.
As long as I repay the principal and interest within the agreed period, that land will remain Kjerag’s.
Therefore, the claim that I sold Kjerag’s land is nothing more than a rumor.
I will hold Gulo accountable for spreading it.”
Ernest paused, his gaze drifting toward Gulo in the crowd below.
The surrounding people also turned to look at him.
It was clear that most of Kjerag’s citizens, just as Ernest had said, had never paid attention to the core issue.
They had simply listened to Gulo’s claims and followed his lead in directing their anger.
Most of them did not even understand what a loan was, so they naturally turned to Gulo for explanation.
And Gulo?
As a hot-tempered Ursus man raised in the Paleroche domain, it was obvious that he didn’t understand it either.
“What loan?
What collateral?
You’re just using fancy words to fool us!
Today you say a loan isn’t selling land.
Tomorrow, what if you say it is?
Where are we supposed to argue then?
You’re just taking advantage of the fact that we don’t understand!”
At his words, the crowd snapped back to attention, quickly echoing him.
That’s right.
What Ernest said sounded reasonable, but since they didn’t understand any of it, wasn’t he just using complicated terms to confuse them and claim innocence?
Ernest could only sigh inwardly.
A Sacred Stone Trial was a trial, not a classroom.
He neither had the time nor the ability to patiently teach everyone what loans, financing, and investment meant.
Those were things to be learned in schools, to be understood through modernization.
As Ernest fell silent, the Grand Elder’s expression turned smug.
Lowering his voice slightly, he said:
“Still don’t understand?
If I say you’re guilty, then you’re guilty.
The moment you stepped onto this platform, there was no way you were walking away clean.”
But Ernest merely glanced at him, his tone laced with disdain.
“I am not guilty.
Kjerag has no law by which to judge me.”
To put it more bluntly, Kjerag barely had laws at all.
The rules that maintained social order were nothing more than customary practices and moral conventions.
A formal, codified legal system simply did not exist.
There had never been cases of land transactions in Kjerag before, let alone loans or collateral.
Naturally, there were no laws that could define Ernest’s actions as criminal.
Yet that calm statement only provoked the Grand Elder further.
His aged body trembled, his wrinkled face filled with arrogance.
“Law?
What is that?”
“In Kjerag, there are only divine decrees, not laws!”
Having said that, his expression suddenly shifted back to solemn authority as he raised his voice once more.
“You claim innocence, then answer me this: you mortgaged the land granted by the great Kjeragandr and took money from Columbians.
What do you intend to do with it?”
What do I intend to do?
Countless plans flashed through Ernest’s mind.
Roads, agriculture, a civil service system, dismantling the Monastery’s political dominance, importing machinery, building factories, advancing modernization, raising troops, acquiring arms, establishing a national defense force independent of any clan…
There was too much he wanted to accomplish.
But above all else, what he wanted most was education.
Schools.
Children.
A future generation that would not remain as ignorant as the present one.
In the end, all of it could be summed up in a single word.
Ernest’s answer was firm and unwavering.
But that word only drew ridicule from the Grand Elder.
“Reform… reform… I’ve heard that word far too many times.”
He turned slightly, sweeping his gaze over the countless citizens gathered around the plaza, and raised his voice:
“Kjerag has existed for thousands of years.
Through all that time, we have endured as the people of Kjeragandr.
And yet now, some claim our nation stands at the brink of crisis, that our days are numbered, that only through their so-called reforms can we be revived.
Tell me, then—reform what?”
He slammed his staff into the ground, his tone turning sharp.
Though his words seemed directed at Ernest, his gaze deliberately shifted toward Enciodes below the platform.
“You speak of imitating Columbia, of imitating Victoria.
Tell me, which of those nations has a holy mountain like ours?
Which has an institution like the Monastery that has endured as long?”
“I may never have left Kjerag, but that does not mean I know nothing of the outside world.”
He began listing what he saw as undeniable truths.
“Columbia was nothing more than a land of exiled slaves and commoners.
Victoria is a malformed state born from conquest by Sargon’s pashas.
In what way do they surpass Kjerag?”
“You people speak endlessly of reform, but have you ever considered what has allowed Kjerag to endure to this day?
Reform?
What you propose is chaos!
Do you think yourselves wiser than your ancestors?
Wiser than the great Kjeragandr, who established these traditions and safeguarded our survival!”
For a moment, silence fell over the plaza.
Then, as if a dam had burst, thunderous cheers and cries of support surged from all sides.
The waves of sound nearly tore through the fluttering banners in the cold wind, echoing all the way down to the town at the mountain’s base.
A victorious smile crept across the Grand Elder’s lips.
Seizing the momentum, he pressed on:
“Then, criminal Ernest Silverash—your actions have been heard clearly by Kjerag’s guardian deity, the great Kjeragandr.
Before the Sacred Stone, do you dare to accept Kjeragandr’s judgment?”
Ernest turned his head, his gaze sweeping across the plaza.
Arctosz Paleroche sat rigid and stern, his eyes filled with undisguised disdain, much like the crowd surrounding them.
Ratatos Browntail kept her head lowered, her expression unreadable.
Enciodes Silverash met Ernest’s gaze with steady composure, as unmoved as a mountain before collapse.
He glanced at his watch, then gave Ernest a faint nod.
At the edge of the plaza, a disturbance rippled through the crowd, though Ernest could not see what had caused it.
He withdrew his gaze.
Behind the Sacred Stone, out of his sight, Enya Silverash’s expression shifted again and again.
At last, she took a long, steady breath, her face settling into resolute determination.
Ernest spoke slowly, his voice steady.
“If the great Kjeragandr is truly watching all of this, then I am innocent.”
“So… let it begin.”
A faint, mocking smile flickered across the Grand Elder’s lips.
Together with Ernest, he turned his gaze toward the towering Sacred Stone.
Ten minutes.
That was the allotted time to await Kjeragandr’s judgment.
Ten minutes later, everything would be decided.