1885, I came to save Greece

"We ourselves are the most solid, vibrant, and reliable guarantor of interests for the German Empire in the Mediterranean."

Constantine's voice echoed in Bismarck's study, each word like a precise rivet, firmly binding the future of Greece to the war machine of Germany.

Prince William was completely stunned.

Looking at Constantine, his younger cousin, he felt a sense of awe for the first time. The blueprint he had drawn up went beyond a simple marriage or alliance. He was using his own bloodline and that of his future wife to build an unbreakable chain of interests between the two nations!

The reception room was deathly silent.

Bismarck's hawk-like eyes darted back and forth between Constantine and the map several times. A slight tremor finally appeared on his usually granite-like face.

The old man slowly stood up, and at that moment, his tall figure seemed to regain the majesty he had displayed on the battlefield of Sedan.

He walked up to Prince William, without looking at Constantine, and delivered his final verdict to his grandson in his hoarse yet steely voice.

"William."

"Yes, Your Excellency the Prime Minister." William instinctively stood at attention.

"This marriage alliance," Bismarck's gaze swept over the tiny Greece on the map, "is advantageous to the German Empire."

A single sentence, and the decision was made!

The biggest political obstacle to this marriage was cleared away by the very founder of the German Empire!

Prince William abruptly turned his head, and the look in his eyes as he gazed at Constantine had completely changed. Gone was the scrutiny, gone was the arrogance; in its place was the excitement of discovering a kindred spirit, the appreciation of a worthy opponent, and even a hint of… a fanaticism he himself hadn't yet realized!

He strode up to Constantine, and this time, instead of patting him on the shoulder, he reached out and shook his hand firmly.

"Connie!" His voice was filled with barely suppressed excitement. "You...you're a genius!"

Having cleared away the biggest political obstacle, Constantine finally obtained the most important opportunity of his trip.

He met alone with his fiancée, Princess Sophia of Prussia.

The meeting place was not arranged in any solemn palace, but rather on a quiet garden path behind Sanssouci Palace. The warm winter sun filtered through the sparse branches, casting dappled light and shadow on the leaf-strewn path.

Sofia was still wearing an elegant white dress, her long golden hair tied up in a simple bun at the back of her head. She walked beside Constantine, maintaining a polite, neither too close nor too far, distance between them.

She was beautiful, as beautiful as a goddess from ancient Greek mythology. But that beauty was shrouded in a layer of cold aloofness.

Unlike her mother, Princess Victoria, she didn't delve into art and philosophy. She simply walked quietly, occasionally offering Constantine a few polite remarks about the weather and scenery. Every smile of hers was textbook perfect, devoid of any warmth.

Constantine knew that in the mind of this princess, who was deeply influenced by her mother's liberal ideas, he was nothing more than a rude stranger from the Balkans who had come to make a deal with political motives.

This silence is itself a form of silent resistance.

The two walked to a fountain. Sofia stopped.

She turned around, and for the first time, her clear blue eyes met Constantine's gaze directly. The politeness and aloofness in her eyes vanished, replaced by an unexpected sharpness and directness.

She didn't use German, but switched to fluent English, with an accent exactly like her mother's.

"Your Highness, please forgive my intrusion."

Her voice was clear and crisp, yet it also carried a chill, like ice flowers forming on a windowpane in winter.

"I have heard about your performance at the Chancellor's residence. My brother Wilhelm, and that Iron Chancellor, were perhaps impressed by the grand vision you painted. They saw the interests of the German Empire, and they saw the chessboard of the Balkans."

Sofia's gaze, like two precise scalpels, dissected Constantine's heart.

"But, Your Highness, I am not the German Empire, I am just Sophia."

"I only want to know one thing."

She took a step forward, closing the distance between them, her beautiful eyes holding an unyielding interrogation.

"As a future wife, I cannot marry a mediocre, incompetent husband who only knows how to talk big. A man who only uses grand words to build castles in the air."

"Can you prove to me that you are worthy of your ambition?"

This direct, sharp, and even somewhat rude challenge caused Alexandros and the princess's lady-in-waiting, who were standing not far away, to hold their breath simultaneously.

Constantine laughed.

He looked at the beautiful, proud princess covered in thorns before him, his eyes showing no anger at being offended, but rather full of admiration.

Great.

This was the kind of empress he wanted. A thoughtful, proud, and courageous soulmate who dared to question him, not a submissive, smiling vase in the palace.

He knew this was the moment he had been waiting for.

He did not answer directly.

He simply extended his hand, making a "please" gesture, indicating that Sofia should sit down on the stone bench by the fountain.

"Your Highness, before answering your question, may I tell you a story?"

A hint of doubt flashed in Sophia's eyes, but she still sat down as instructed.

Constantine sat down on the stone bench opposite her. The winter sun shone on him, casting a soft golden hue over his dark casual clothes.

"This story is about a poor, weak, and bankrupt country."

His voice was calm, as if he were recounting an ancient history that had nothing to do with him.

"This country is plagued by oligarchs who control its internal affairs and powerful neighbors who are eyeing it covetously. Everyone believes it will die; it's only a matter of time."

"Not long ago, a crisis broke out in its neighboring country. Fanatical populism nearly dragged the country into a suicidal war from which it was doomed to fail. And its king and its prime minister were helpless."

Sofia listened quietly; she knew Constantine was referring to Greece.

Constantine's voice seemed to possess a magical power, instantly pulling Sophia back to Athens a few months earlier.

He described it vividly, with every detail as clear as if he had seen it with his own eyes.

He recounted how he debated with courtiers in the palace conference room, using a series of incredibly precise data to intimidate the fanatical generals.

He recounted how he set up a daring "political blackmail" gamble, forcing the haughty British ambassador, Sir Harding, to sit down at his negotiating table.

He didn't exaggerate his own brilliance; instead, he vividly described the dangers and power struggles of the negotiations. He recounted how he exploited Harding's arrogance, how he "accidentally" dropped the "family letter" from Russia, and how he skillfully brought in the French to disrupt things...

Every step was like a thrilling stage play.

Sofia listened intently.

The icy coldness in her azure eyes was slowly melting away. She could almost see, in that small reception room in Athens, how the young crown prince, gambling with the fate of his nation, was engaging in round after round of psychological warfare with the representative of the world's strongest power.

She could feel the suffocating pressure, the danger that one wrong step would lead to utter ruin!

"Finally," Constantine concluded, "we won. The British Empire, the most arrogant lion in the world, had to lower its noble head and guarantee the future of Greece."

The story is over.

In the garden, only the monotonous sound of the fountain remained.

Constantine stood up. He took a huge roll of blueprints from the black briefcase he carried with him.

He walked to the large, round stone table in the center of the garden and slowly unfolded the drawings.

"Splash—"

An unprecedented and vibrant grand blueprint unfolded before Sofia.

"Your Highness," Constantine's voice became extremely solemn at this moment.

"This is my betrothal gift to you."

The drawing is a hand-drawn plan by Constantine himself, titled "Greece's Industrialization Plan for the Next Ten Years".

There, on the surface, is a grand blueprint for the expansion of the Port of Piraeus, with dozens of deep-water berths embracing the Aegean Sea like outstretched arms.

A railway network runs through the entire Thessalian plain, like a dense network of blood vessels, continuously transporting minerals and food to the heart of industry.

There are design sketches for the Patras future shipyard, and plans for a brand-new smelting plant in the Labrio mining area...

Precise lines, detailed data, and clear German annotations combine to form a magnificent picture of a powerful nation on the drawing board!

Just then, the winter sun pierced through the clouds, its golden rays shining down on the drawing.

It's as if this blueprint drawn by mortals has been gilded with a sacred golden edge called "hope".