xymnovel Chapter 18 Thames or Neva?
Chapter 18 Thames or Neva?
Constantine met Sir Harding's probing gaze with a bitter, almost self-deprecating smile.
He was like a gambler who had lost everything at the poker table, only to be pressed by his opponent to reveal what cards he still had up his sleeve.
"Sir," Constantine's voice was soft, yet like a stone thrown into a still pond, "a drowning man will grab onto any driftwood that comes his way."
His gaze shifted from Sir Harding's face to the untouched cup of herbal tea, as if it reflected the fate of Greece at that moment.
"Whether it comes from the Thames or... the Neva."
He uttered the last three words very slowly.
The Neva River!
These three words, like three red-hot iron spikes, pierced Sir Harding's ears.
His expression instantly turned extremely ugly; his gentlemanly facade could no longer be maintained, and a layer of gloomy anger enveloped his well-maintained face.
He lowered his voice, leaned forward, and almost squeezed out the words through clenched teeth.
"What did the Russians promise you? A loan?"
Sir Harding's voice trembled slightly with anger, carrying an undisguised warning.
"Your Highness, you must understand! They are devils who lend money at exorbitant interest rates! Every gold ruble they own is stained with the frost and poison of Siberia!"
"They will entwine you like vines, sucking your last drop of blood, until all of Greece becomes a governorate under their double-headed eagle banner!"
He wasn't exaggerating.
Throughout the 19th century, the British Empire was engaged in a bloody "great game" with Russia, this greedy bear, on a global scale. He knew better than anyone the greed and shamelessness of the Russians.
Faced with Sir Harding’s almost interrogative attitude, Constantine neither refuted nor defended himself.
He just let out a long, long sigh.
That sigh was filled with indescribable helplessness, exhaustion, and struggle.
He slowly stood up, not looking at Harding, but turning around and walking to the huge floor-to-ceiling window.
His figure, bathed in the afternoon sunlight, appeared thin and lonely. An eighteen-year-old youth, yet he seemed to be carrying the weight of a kingdom on the verge of collapse.
"promise?"
His voice came from the window, somewhat ethereal, as if he were talking to himself.
"No, Sir, they didn't give me any promises."
He paused for a moment, as if organizing his thoughts, or perhaps recalling a painful decision he had made.
"They simply... raised a 'possibility'."
"A possibility that we, who are already in dire straits, simply cannot refuse."
Sir Harding stared intently at the retreating figure.
He could sense that the final, and most fatal, move was about to be revealed.
The air in the reception room was as heavy as mercury.
Every second felt like an eternity.
Finally, Constantine slowly turned around.
The sunlight shone from behind him, casting his face in shadow and making it difficult to see clearly.
Only those blue eyes shone brightly in the shadows.
He looked deeply into Harding's eyes, a gaze that didn't belong to an eighteen-year-old boy at all; it belonged to a soul on the edge of a cliff, weighing the entire world.
"Jazz..."
Constantine spoke slowly, with a melancholic air, as if stating a fatalistic truth.
"A desperate nation will make desperate decisions."
He took a step forward, stepping out of the shadows and exposing his face to the light again. His expression was calm, but every word he spoke was like a heavy hammer blow to Harding's heart.
"If... our friends in the British Empire choose to stand idly by..."
He paused deliberately, letting the chill of his words fully infuse the air.
Sir Harding's breath almost stopped at that moment.
"So..."
Constantine's gaze sharpened, piercing Hardin's eyes.
"Perhaps... we can only seek the friendship of His Majesty the Tsar."
He watched as Sir Harding's pupils suddenly contracted, and then uttered the deadly line he had prepared long ago, a line that was enough to overturn the entire Mediterranean poker table.
Even if the price is...
He paused again, a cold smile curving his lips.
"...somewhere in the Aegean Sea, provide his fleet with a...warm wintering port."
Naval port lease rights!
boom!
These five words, like a bolt of lightning striking down from the heavens, struck Sir Harding's central nervous system with deadly precision!
His mind went completely blank!
Russian Black Sea Fleet!
That behemoth, locked firmly in the Black Sea by the Crimean War! That ultimate ambition that successive Tsars have dreamed of for centuries: to break through the strait and seize control of the Mediterranean!
A warm, ice-free military base located in the Aegean Sea!
What does this mean?
This means that the Russian fleet can bypass the Dardanelles Strait, which was controlled by the Ottomans!
This means their warships can be permanently stationed in the Mediterranean, directly threatening the most vital shipping lane of the British Empire, from Gibraltar to the Suez Canal!
This means that the strategic balance in the Eastern Mediterranean, which Britain has spent countless amounts of money and lives to build, will be completely shattered in an instant!
This is a direct challenge to the "Emperor on which the sun never sets" global hegemony!
This is a nightmare that London simply cannot accept!
"you--!"
Sir Harding suddenly stood up from the sofa, his movement so forceful that it knocked over the coffee table next to him.
"Clang!"
The black ceramic tea set was smashed to pieces on the ground.
That glass of "Gift of the Mountain God" from Parnassus, along with all of Sir Harding's arrogance and composure, was smashed to pieces.
He could no longer maintain that facade of an English gentleman!
He pointed at Constantine, his fingers trembling violently with excitement, his eyes filled with disbelief, shock, and overwhelming rage at being tricked!
"You're insane! Do you know what you're doing?! You're playing with fire! You're dragging all of Europe into war!"
He finally understood.
He was deceived from the very beginning!
The young man in front of them was not some greenhorn, nor was he a lamb to be manipulated at will!
He is an extremely cunning little wolf!
A hungry wolf that knows how to threaten the hunter with its own life, by taking him down with it!
Bankruptcy is a gun.
Russia is the bullet.
That warm military port was the finger that pulled the trigger!
The trap was set the moment he stepped into the room.
The oil painting of the Battle of Salamis on the wall, the cheap black pottery tea set, that damned financial report, that letter that "accidentally" fell to the ground...
Everything was for this final blow!
In order to tie the British Empire tightly to the sinking ship that is Greece!
Sir Harding was breathing heavily, feeling his heart pounding wildly in his chest, almost as if it were about to explode.
Looking at Constantine's young yet incredibly cold face, he felt a deep-seated fear for the first time.