1885, I came to save Greece

Night fell like a giant black cloth, ruthlessly shrouding the port of Piraeus.

Normally, this time of day would be the busiest time in the port. The sailors' drunken songs, the noisy chants of loading cargo, and the unspoken whispers of customs officials and merchants would all blend together to create a chaotic yet vibrant symphony belonging to Greece's largest port.

But tonight, this place is deathly silent.

The gaslights on the dock flickered in the damp sea breeze, casting long shadows on the empty stone path. Replacing the lazy customs patrolmen of the past were squads of men in black uniforms, their faces grim. In groups of three, they moved silently between the shadows of warehouses and cranes in standard combat formation. The cold Mauser carbines in their hands reflected a deadly glint in the lamplight, their muzzles silently proclaiming that this place had changed hands.

The Port Authority Building, a symbol of the highest authority in the Port of Piraeus, is brightly lit at this moment.

The director's office on the top floor remained as luxurious as ever. The mahogany desk, imported from France, was so solid it reflected one's image. Oil paintings depicting ancient naval battles hung on the walls, and a Persian vase almost as tall as a person sat in the corner.

Constantine did not return to the royal palace in Athens. This was his temporary command post in the port of Piraeus, at the very heart of the storm.

He reached out, his long, slender fingers tracing the surface of the large mahogany desk, his fingertips clearly feeling the dried wine stains and fine layer of cigar ash. The air was thick with the pungent smell of expensive Cuban cigars mixed with cheap perfume and musty documents, creating a nauseating odor of decadent power.

His gaze fell on a pure silver ashtray on the corner of the table, filled with stubbed-out cigar butts. Each of these cigars cost enough to support an average Athenian family for a month.

This money should rightfully belong to the country's national treasury.

The office door was pushed open silently, and Costas walked in, his black uniform still carrying the salty smell of the harbor.

"Your Highness," he reported in a low voice, "all floors of the port building have been emptied, and all filing cabinets and safes have been sealed. The thirty-seven customs officials and port authority employees arrested are all being held in the temporary detention center at Pier 1, where preliminary screening is underway."

"Where's Mavromie Harris?" Constantine asked without turning his head, his voice calm.

"The Port Authority Director is throwing a tantrum in his lounge, yelling that he wants to see the King, and that... Prime Minister Zaimis is his cousin." Costas's tone carried a hint of barely suppressed glee.

Constantine turned around, his face expressionless.

"Very well, let him call. I'll see him soon."

……

At the same time, in Athens, at the Prime Minister's residence.

"Bang!"

With a crisp crack, a blue-and-white porcelain vase from an ancient Eastern country shattered into countless fragments in Zaimis's hand, which crashed heavily onto the expensive Persian carpet.

"Useless! A bunch of useless trash!"

Zaimis's chest heaved violently. His face, which usually wore a gentle smile, was now contorted with rage, turning a deep liver color. His eyes, behind his gold-rimmed glasses, were bloodshot.

"Why didn't you stop him?! Why did you let Parliament pass that damn bill?!"

His roar echoed through the magnificent drawing room.

Before him, several core members of the oligarchic group stood frozen in fear, their faces pale. Among them were the representatives of shipping magnate Sigros and banker Stretter.

Just hours before, they were celebrating in the gentlemen's club, laughing at Constantine's foolishness and suicidal thoughts. But now, with the port of Piraeus completely blockaded and news arriving that dozens of their own men had been taken away like livestock by an unidentified armed force, they felt a real, chilling fear for the first time!

That's not a political game!

That's flipping the table!

That young crown prince doesn't play by the rules at all! He used a seemingly crazy gamble to gain everyone's trust, and then revealed his mud-covered, sharp fangs!

"Your Excellency Prime Minister...we...we all thought he was bluffing..." The representative of shipping magnate Sigros, a portly member of parliament, was trembling with fear. "Who would have thought he would actually dare to make a move..."

"What do we do now? Mavromie Harris has been arrested! The port's ledgers must have fallen into his hands too! If he leaks those things..." The banker Stretter's representative's voice was already trembling with tears.

The atmosphere in the reception room was as tense as a string about to snap.

Zaimis paced back and forth, panting heavily. The shards of porcelain on the ground scraped against his leather shoes with a harsh screech.

After a long while, he finally stopped.

He forcefully suppressed his furious rage. He reverted to being the shrewd and calculating politician he always was.

"What's the panic!" he growled, his voice hoarse, but it invigorated everyone present.

He walked to the liquor cabinet, poured himself a glass of brandy, and downed it in one gulp. The pungent liquid slid down his throat, completely calming him down.

"Look closely, what is he doing right now?" Zaimis's voice regained its usual composure, carrying an analytical calm. "He's arresting people, blockading the port, and seizing the ledgers!"

"What does this mean?" He looked around at the crowd.

"This shows he has absolutely no idea what to do! He's a complete political novice! A fool who only knows how to use brute force!"

Zaimis walked to the map and pointed heavily at the location of the port of Piraeus.

"What is the Port of Piraeus? It's not just a warehouse, not just a dock! It's an ecosystem! A complex network comprised of countless shipping companies, freight forwarders, dockworkers' unions, banks, and even foreign trading firms!"

"His brutal intrusion and use of force to block everything will only result in one thing—" Zaimis's voice was filled with certainty, "that is, completely paralyzing the trade of the entire port!"

"No ships will dare enter the port, no goods will dare to be unloaded! Commercial activity will come to an instant halt! Those ledgers he seized will become a pile of worthless paper! His promise to double tariffs will become a huge joke!"

The oligarchs looked at each other, their initial panic gradually replaced by thoughtful consideration.

“So,” Zaimis turned around, his eyes flashing with a venomous light, “we don’t have to do anything.”

"Nothing at all?"

"Yes, we don't need to do anything. Just let him do what he wants. We just need to wait."

A cruel smile crept across Zaimis's lips.

"We even need to 'help him,'" he ordered his secretary. "Immediately send people to spread the word that the port of Piraeus has been completely paralyzed due to His Highness the Crown Prince's 'reorganization,' and all commercial activities have been suspended indefinitely. Let all the foreign merchants and factory owners waiting to receive their goods panic!"

"In less than three days, the entire Greek business community will regard Constantine as their mortal enemy!"

"He thinks he has the upper hand? Ridiculous! He's just trapping himself in that tiny harbor!"

"We'll wait and see how he explains himself to the entire Greek people three months from now, with a tariff report showing zero figures!"

……

Port Authority Building, Command Center.

Kostas reported the latest intelligence from Athens to Constantine.

"...Your Highness, our intelligence inside the port indicates that the dockworkers' union, controlled by the Skopelos family, is secretly colluding. They are inciting the workers, saying that we are here to take their jobs and that the port is about to close. The workers are very agitated, the atmosphere is very strange, and a large-scale riot could break out at any moment."

Constantine listened calmly to the report and walked to the huge floor-to-ceiling window.

Outside the window, there's a panoramic view of the port of Piraeus. Lights, like scattered stars, adorn the vast docks and warehouse district. In the distance, the Mediterranean Sea stretches out, as black as ink.

He could hear suppressed curses and shouts coming from the distant dockworkers' quarters.

He could smell the salty, fishy sea breeze mixed with the smell of coal smoke wafting from the warship's smokestacks.

He could even sense the immense energy, like volcanic lava, about to erupt beneath this moment of tranquility.

He turned around, looked at the worried Kostas, and gave a playful smile.

"Let them make a scene."

His voice wasn't loud, but it carried an unquestionable command.

"The bigger the commotion, the louder the noise, the more interesting it is."

Kostas was stunned.

Constantine offered no explanation; he picked up the phone on the table and cranked the handle.

The call connected to the royal secretariat.

"it's me."

"Inform Professor Andreas to bring everyone from the Royal Economic Advisor's Office to Piraeus Port immediately to see me."

After hanging up the phone, he gave Costas his second order.

"From now on, Professor Andreas and his men are my eyes and brain."

"Their safety is more important than my safety."

Although Kostas was puzzled, he still straightened up abruptly.

"Yes, Your Highness!"

Constantine looked out the window again at the deep night.

The actors are in place, and the stage is set up.

The real show is just beginning.