1885, I came to save Greece

Chapter 155 The Ship Heading to the Holy Mountain

The next morning, a statement released by the royal press office caused a minor ripple in Athens' political and high society circles.

"His Highness Constantine, Crown Prince of Greece, in gratitude for God's protection and to pray for favorable weather and the well-being of the people, will soon embark on a week-long private pilgrimage and retreat to Mount Athos."

Inside the Prime Minister's residence, the newly appointed Prime Minister, Tricoupis, held the thin proclamation in his hand, his usually meticulously groomed beard appearing somewhat disheveled.

He simply couldn't understand it.

Why would this prince, who always wished he could work 48 hours a day and even used royal power to suppress the parliament, suddenly think of engaging in such abstract religious activities? Right now, the port's industrial zone is developing rapidly, and the economic confrontation with the Ottomans is just beginning to emerge. It is precisely the time when he needs to be in charge.

"What exactly is he trying to do?" the old prime minister muttered to himself. He even approached King George I and subtly expressed his concerns. But the king simply patted him on the shoulder, telling him not to worry, his words revealing complete trust in his son.

Inside the British Embassy, ​​Sir Charles Harding tossed the announcement onto the table, a playful smile playing on his lips.

His keen political sense sensed something unusual. But he also couldn't understand what kind of charade a prince could possibly have through his religious activities.

"A prince educated in Prussia, going to learn from those mountain monks?" Sir Harding chuckled to his young military officer. "It seems the troubles at Reeves are bigger than we imagined. Let him go, let him cry to God; it's better than him continuing to meddle in the country's industrial development."

He always felt that this young Greek prince wouldn't do something that seemed meaningless without a reason. But this announcement just happened to cater to his deep-seated prejudice against this nation—that in crucial moments, they habitually retreat into mythology and prayer.

"Send someone to keep an eye on him. I need to know everyone he meets and every word he says," Sir Harding ordered.

The happiest person was none other than Muradbey, who was far away in Smyrna.

When the news arrived, he was in his mansion, enjoying a performance by a newly acquired Caucasian dancer.

"Pilgrimage? Hahahaha!"

Muradbey burst into laughter, his enormous body causing the silk couch beneath him to groan.

His aides joined in with fawning smiles: "Master, it seems our 'black honey' has taken effect! This little prince is completely exasperated and at his wit's end, so he's run to God to cry!"

"Exactly! What can a ruler who can't even control his own workers do besides pray?"

Muradbay waved for the dancers to leave, picked up a glass of scarlet wine, the color of which resembled the lifeblood of the drugs he sold.

"Naive. Does he think prayer can make addicts pick up their tools again?"

He shook his head dismissively and gave the order to the steward.

"Increase the dosage! Let more 'black honey' flow into Piraeus! I want to turn all of Athens into a city where people lie in bed and daydream!"

He was completely unaware that his self-righteous mockery was tightening the noose around his own neck.

Late the night before departure.

Constantine secretly summoned Stavros Vlahopoulos, the leader of the trade union, in a secluded meeting room in the palace.

"Your Highness!" The lame old soldier tried to kneel down on one knee as soon as he saw Constantine, but Constantine stopped him.

"Stavros, sit down and talk."

Constantine did not reveal his full plan; he knew that the less he knew, the safer he was.

"I assure you, soon a power from God will help you to cleanse the port of those disgusting cancers."

Constantine's voice carried a convincing power. He gave Stavros a task.

"From now on, use all the connections in your 'Workers' Welfare Association' to secretly contact the families harmed by 'Black Honey'."

"I don't want empty stories, Stavros. I want names, dates, addresses. I want to know which child died because they couldn't afford medicine, which woman sold her wedding ring. Record their blood and tears, every single detail. The more, the more detailed the better."

"When the time comes, these will not be stories, but irrefutable evidence to judge the devil."

Stavros looked into the prince's fiery eyes. He didn't understand the complexities of politics, but he could feel the overwhelming rage. He nodded heavily, his lame leg making a dull thud on the ground.

"Your Highness, rest assured! Even if I have to turn the port of Piraeus upside down, I will dig up this evidence for you!"

The next day, at dusk.

An unassuming private dock in the port of Piraeus.

The royal yacht, the "Seagull," has been quietly prepared. It does not fly the royal flag and looks like an ordinary luxury yacht belonging to a wealthy businessman.

Constantine forwent all lavish entourages, taking only Alexandros and a few royal guards disguised as sailors.

Sofia personally came to the dock to see him off.

The sea breeze ruffled her long golden hair as she handed Constantine a Bible, mostly copied in delicate handwriting. The cover was still new, the ink not yet completely dry.

"Connie." She looked up at her husband, her blue eyes filled with trust and expectation. "The words inside are from God, but every stroke of ink is imbued with the peace I wrote for you."

Constantine gripped the still-warm Bible tightly, and also his wife's hand.

"Wait for me to come back."

He turned and stepped onto the gangway without looking back.

The yacht untied its mooring lines, and without sounding its horn, silently glided into the twilight-shrouded Aegean Sea.

Constantine stood at the bow of the ship, letting the salty sea breeze flutter the hem of his clothes.

He looked back.

The myriad lights of Athens, on the distant land, converge into a dazzling sea of ​​stars. The lights of the Faliro port district, in particular, shine like jewels.

But he knew that beneath this enchanting light lay an unseen shadow, like a malignant tumor, spreading wildly and devouring the flesh and souls of his people.

His eyes were calm, but deep inside, a fire was burning fiercely.

This trip, ostensibly a pilgrimage, was in reality a summons.

The person he was going to meet was the most unique and unpredictable ally on his future path of reform.

This war was fought without gunfire.

Its battlefield is neither on land nor at sea.

But it lies in the human heart, in faith.

The bow cleaved through the dark blue waves, resolutely sailing towards the Athos Peninsula, a mysterious, ancient, and secluded religious land known as the "Garden of the Virgin Mary."