1885, I came to save Greece

Zaimis's curse, like that of a vengeful spirit, still echoed beneath the dome of the council hall.

The guards finally dragged the completely insane man out. His maniacal laughter gradually faded away, but every word was branded into everyone's hearts like a hot iron.

Panic spread rapidly in another form after Zaimis was dragged away.

Especially those oligarchic senators whose names he had called out, their faces turned ashen, their bodies trembling uncontrollably. Zaimis had fallen, but the charge of treason hung over each of them like a dark cloud.

Constantine ignored Zaimis's final curse.

He knew that at this moment, stabilizing morale and dividing the enemy was more important than settling accounts with everything.

He stepped onto the podium that belonged to the prime minister, his gaze slowly sweeping over the anxious faces, his voice clear and steady.

"The crime of treason lies with the chief culprit."

"Upon investigation, it was found that this matter was orchestrated solely by the Zaimis and Skopelos families; the others were mostly coerced or misled."

Upon hearing this, the oligarchs in the audience seemed to have grasped a lifeline while drowning, and a glimmer of hope rekindled in their eyes.

"but!"

Constantine's voice suddenly changed, becoming sharp.

"Failure to report such information, or collusion for profit, is equally unforgivable!"

The newly ignited flame of hope was doused with a bucket of ice water.

"I hereby announce the immediate establishment of the 'National Industrial and Defense Development Fund'," Constantine said emotionlessly. "All families and individuals who have had dealings with Zaimis in this incident and 'unintentionally' profited must voluntarily pay 'atonement' to the fund within three days."

"The amount will be assessed by Professor Andreas's auditing team."

"Those who voluntarily pay will be pardoned. If they still resist after three days..."

Constantine didn't finish his sentence, but his cold gaze said it all.

A big stick in one hand, a carrot in the other.

This blatant and overt strategy of sowing discord and winning over others brought a long sigh of relief to all the anxious oligarchs.

Money can be earned back, but if you lose your life, you lose everything.

Looking at the excessively young prince on the stage, they felt an irresistible sense of awe for the first time.

Just as the council fell silent, a royal attendant strode into the hall and handed the speaker a decree personally signed by the king.

The Speaker unfolded the decree and, with a trembling voice, read it aloud:

"By the decree of His Majesty King George I: His Highness Crown Prince Constantine has rendered outstanding service in eliminating traitors and saving the nation from peril! Therefore, it is hereby authorized that the former 'Royal Tax Police' be formally expanded into the 'Kingdom Special Investigations Bureau'!"

"This bureau is specifically responsible for investigating and combating all smuggling, corruption, and acts of treason that endanger national security! It is directly led by His Highness Crown Prince Constantine!"

……

the next day.

Royal Palace in Athens.

Constantine held a grand "victory banquet" under the pretext of "eliminating the traitors and purifying the world."

All the oligarchs who paid substantial "atonement fees" within the stipulated time received an invitation. One by one, with trepidation, they entered this hall of power that they once saw as a place of absolute power, but which now suffocated them.

At the banquet, elegant ladies and beautiful women swayed in their finery, and melodious music filled the air.

But the atmosphere was eerily eerie.

The oligarchs huddled together, talking in hushed tones, but dared not make a loud sound. Their eyes would occasionally dart toward the young prince sitting in the main seat, chatting and laughing with several foreign ambassadors.

Halfway through the banquet, Constantine stood up.

Holding his wine glass, he walked up to Antonio Petaras under everyone's gaze.

Petaras immediately stood up nervously.

Constantine did not speak, but simply had his attendant hand him a document.

"Mr. Petaras," he began, his voice gentle, "you have rendered a great service to the nation by reporting a traitor. This is the transfer document for the golden shipping route that Zaimis took from you, and now it is returned to its rightful owner."

Petalas was so excited that he trembled and reached out to take it.

But Constantine took back half of the documents.

"However," Constantine said, still smiling, "the nation has suffered enormous losses and is in dire need of rebuilding. How about this shipping route? You personally own 50%, and the other 50% will be invested in the name of the nation, managed by the newly established Kingdom Special Investigation Bureau. What do you think?"

Petaras's excitement froze instantly.

He looked into Constantine's smiling eyes and a chill ran from the soles of his feet to the top of his head.

Return half, invest the other half.

This was both a reward and a shackle! From that moment on, Petalas's fleet was completely bound to the royal family and the nation!

What else could he say?

"It's entirely up to... entirely up to Your Highness." Petaras bowed, straining to keep his voice from trembling.

Constantine nodded in satisfaction. He raised his glass, patted Petaras on the shoulder, and then looked around the room. His voice was not loud, but it clearly reached the ears of every oligarch.

"Mr. Petaras has done an invaluable job by eliminating traitors for the country and demonstrating great righteousness. I would like to toast him."

He drank the wine in his glass in one gulp.

"Gentlemen..."

His gaze swept across the face of the shipping magnate Sigros's representative and then landed on the banker Stretter's spokesperson.

"In the future, we should also do our part for the country, just like Mr. Petalas."

These words, spoken with a smile that concealed a dagger, were so venomous they sent chills down the spines of all the oligarchs present.

They finally understood.

The old era has ended.

The new master is a hundred times more terrifying than the old one!

At the banquet, Sir Charles Harding, the British ambassador, took a glass and walked over to Constantine.

He began by praising Constantine for removing a "political cancer" from Greece and clearing obstacles for future development.

Then, he changed the subject, speaking in a seemingly benevolent tone: "Your Highness, I have already sent people to verify Zaimis's insane words before his death. Your country's national archives did indeed suffer an 'accidental' fire last night."

A perfectly measured hint of regret appeared on his face.

"I fear that your country's national finances and land ownership will be thrown into great chaos as a result. To help our close ally Greece overcome this crisis, I have telegraphed London, and the Bank of England is very willing to provide your country with another low-interest 'national friendship loan'..."

Constantine looked at his face, which was brimming with "sincerity," and interrupted him with a smile.

"Thank you for your kindness, Sir."

"However, I believe that the Greeks can solve their own problems."

Late at night, the banquet ended and the guests left.

In the empty study, the old King George I found Constantine alone, standing in front of the globe.

He looked at his son, whom he could no longer understand at all, with an extremely complex expression.

There was an undisguised pride, and a hint of deep, barely concealed fear.

What he saw was more than just a complete political victory.

He witnessed the meticulously planned schemes at that hearing. He saw the precise manipulation of people's hearts. He saw the ruthless and bloody methods used against the enemy.

This doesn't seem like a prince.

This is more like a founding emperor who emerged from a mountain of corpses and a sea of ​​blood.

"Connie," the old king's voice was a little hoarse, "you did it. You did what I, and several kings before you, wanted to do but dared not."

"But..." He walked to his son and placed his hand on his shoulder, "I want you to always remember that the power you hold is for protecting Greece, not... devouring it."

This worried reminder from his father stirred a barely perceptible ripple in Constantine's heart, which had long been hardened by power struggles and intrigues.

This reminder from his father was like a fine needle, piercing the layer of ice woven from power struggles and intrigue that Constantine had been wearing. The taut string in his heart finally began to loosen slightly. Devour? Looking at his father's graying temples and the genuine worry in his eyes, he suddenly felt a deep weariness. He turned to the deep night outside the window, his voice hoarse without him even realizing it: "Father, to snatch prey back from the lions' jaws, one must first become a beast more ferocious than them. I only hope… when the land of Greece is free from internal and external troubles, I will still have the chance to become a human again."

Constantine stood alone on the palace terrace.

The moonlight, like water, fell on my body, leaving me feeling cool.

He looked down at the city below, which had returned to calm, yet was rife with undercurrents.

Political enemies have been wiped out.

In his hands lay enormous wealth extracted from oligarchs, an absolutely loyal Royal Tax Police force, and unprecedented, soaring prestige.

He won.

They won a glorious victory worthy of being recorded in history.

However, Zaimis's vicious curse lingered in his mind like a persistent dark cloud.

There are no land records, no tax records.

The so-called "wealth" that was confiscated instantly turned into an unverifiable mess.

The country's finances have become a huge empty shell.

He inherited a mess that was riddled with problems.

From this moment on, the path to rebuilding Greece and Byzantium truly revealed its most ferocious and arduous face.