1885, I came to save Greece

The next morning.

Royal Palace, Cabinet Meeting Room.

The atmosphere was so oppressive it was almost palpable. All the cabinet ministers sat upright, even their breathing was deliberately suppressed, for fear of disturbing the deathly silence.

Prime Minister Deripus was summoned to the palace late at night and emerged looking ashen-faced. Overnight, the Greek political scene was turned upside down. The news spread like wildfire through Athens' upper echelons.

Those present were all shrewd individuals; they sensed the bloody scent of power.

The heavy doors of the conference room were pushed open from the outside by guards.

King George I entered with a somber expression, his face bearing an unprecedented majesty, his usually gentle eyes now frozen in ice.

Crown Prince Constantine followed closely behind.

He was still wearing his crisp, dark blue military uniform, his boots clicking firmly on the polished marble floor, each step seeming to strike the hearts of the ministers.

His gaze slowly swept across both sides of the conference table. All the ministers who met his gaze seemed to be burned, subconsciously lowering their eyelids and studying the texture of the tabletop in front of them.

The king took his seat in the main position.

Constantine did not sit, but stood silently beside the king like a drawn sword.

A royal secretary, carrying a document, walked to the center of the conference table with a solemn expression.

"By order of His Majesty the King, the Royal Mandate shall be read aloud."

He cleared his throat and read aloud in a completely emotionless tone:

"...In view of the current tense situation in the Balkans, and in order to safeguard the supreme interests of the Kingdom of Greece, it is hereby decided to grant His Highness Crown Prince Constantine Glücksburg the title of 'Plenipotentiary Representative'..."

Upon reading this, a soft gasp rippled through the conference room.

The secretary paused, then continued reading in the same tone:

"...in all diplomatic negotiations with envoys of various countries, he has the power to make final decisions on behalf of the King and the Kingdom of Greece..."

"...This decree shall take effect immediately, and all government departments of the Kingdom shall unconditionally cooperate in its implementation."

After the decree was read aloud, the meeting room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

Everyone was so shocked that their minds went blank.

This is not a temporary authorization; it is a near-complete transfer of power!

The king entrusted the entire diplomatic power of the country to this eighteen-year-old crown prince without any reservations!

George I's gaze fell coldly on Prime Minister Deriples.

Deriplis slumped in his chair as if his spine had been removed, unresponsive to the king's gaze, until the Chancellor of the Exchequer nudged him with his elbow, at which point he jerked as if waking from a dream.

"Your Excellency Prime Minister," the King's voice was flat and cold, "countersign it."

Under the watchful eyes of all his colleagues, Deriples stood up, trembling.

The distance from his seat to the center of the conference table was only a few steps, but he walked it as if he were trekking on the road to the guillotine.

He picked up a pen.

The hand that had once signed countless laws and determined the direction of the nation was now trembling so much that it could barely hold a small pen.

"Sizzle—"

The pen tip made a screeching sound as it scratched across the paper.

He signed his name, the illegible handwriting as messy and distorted as his already fragmented political career.

Signing complete.

Constantine stepped forward and stood before all the ministers.

At this moment, the ceremony of transferring power was complete. He was no longer the crown prince, but the sole helmsman of the wrecked ship of Greece amidst the raging waves.

"Gentlemen."

His voice wasn't loud, but it clearly penetrated everyone's ears.

"I know you are afraid, you are worried. You are afraid that our tough stance will invite intervention from the great powers and drag Greece into an abyss of no return."

He paused, looking at the uneasy faces.

"But I want to tell you! Dignity is not something you gain through the charity of others! Peace, even less so, is something you achieve by groveling!"

"Do you expect the goodwill of the British? Or the mercy of the Russians? Haven't we learned enough from history? Weakness and concessions will only embolden the wolves!"

"Only through struggle! Only by showing our fangs and making them feel pain can we possibly win what rightfully belongs to us at the negotiating table!"

His words were resounding and carried an undeniable power.

He certainly wouldn't tell these opportunists that he still held leverage and a blackmail plan against the British ambassador. He only needed to show them the side that would most ignite their passion.

Sure enough, flames ignited in the eyes of several young cabinet ministers, their fists clenching silently under the table. The older ministers, though still pale-faced, dared not show any further opposition.

Constantine knew that the group had stabilized for the time being.

He didn't linger for a moment after the meeting ended.

"In the name of the Royal Family," he ordered Alexandros, who was already waiting outside, "to send a formal invitation to the British Embassy."

He looked at Alexandros and said, word by word:

"His Highness Constantine, Crown Prince of Greece, cordially invites Sir Charles Harding to the Royal Palace at 3 p.m. tomorrow to exchange views 'frankly' on the current regional tensions."

He emphasized the word "frank," and Alexandros understood perfectly.

An invitation, worded neither servile nor arrogant, yet conveying an undeniable air of non-refusal, was swiftly sent to the embassy district.

The chess piece is placed.

Night falls.

Constantine stood alone on the highest terrace of the palace, overlooking the ancient city below with its scattered lights.

The evening breeze blew from the direction of the Aegean Sea, carrying the salty, damp scent of the sea, making the hem of his military uniform flutter.

Not far away, the Acropolis, under the cold moonlight, is nothing but ruins. The broken stone pillars and collapsed temples stand silently on the mountaintop, witnessing thousands of years of glory and humiliation.

The chessboard in China has been temporarily cleaned up.

The foolish prime minister was branded with shame, and the wavering ministers were temporarily silenced.

Tomorrow, he will face one of the most powerful players on the chessboard of this era.

He didn't go to beg, nor did he go to protest.

He went to play chess.

Using the fate of a weak nation to play a life-or-death game against the hegemony of the British Empire.

Constantine's gaze turned toward the location of the British Embassy, ​​a cold glint flashing in his eyes.

Sir Charles Harding.

You crossed the ocean with the arrogance of an empire, only to put a collar on a disobedient Balkan puppy.

But you'll soon find out.

You've entered not a doghouse, but a chess room that has been carefully decorated for you.

But I am the master of this game.