1885, I came to save Greece

Chapter 187 The Guide's Confusion

Stavros Vlahopoulos was in a good mood.

At the docks of Piraeus, the latest issue of the "Hellenic Workers' Welfare Association" newsletter had just been printed, with Dmitri Gunari's story on the front page. Stavros felt a deep sense of pride as he watched the young man he had personally recommended being surrounded by his fellow workers, who were praising him.

This was not only a success for Gunaris, but also proof that for the first time, these commoners, under the leadership of His Highness the Crown Prince, had truly taken control of their own destiny.

"President, an officer from the Thessaly branch has an emergency to report." An assistant rushed over, looking serious.

Stavros walked into the office and answered the phone. A young, angry voice came through the receiver.

"Guild Master! Here... here are some rumors about Lord Gunaris, saying that he... saying that he accepts 'gratitude fees' from farmers!"

Stavros's face immediately darkened, and he flew into a rage.

"Nonsense! This is slander! It's dirty water deliberately smeared by those old landlords who are unwilling to accept defeat! I watched Dmitri grow up; I know what kind of person he is better than anyone!"

He slammed the phone down, his chest heaving. In his view, this was absolutely a sinister attack by those old forces who had never given up their desire to destroy him, targeting their role models among the common people.

No, he had to go there in person to clear his brother's name and find those who spread rumors and caused trouble!

Three days later, Stavros arrived in Thessaly under the pretext of inspecting the local work of the trade unions. He did not inform anyone, nor did he go to see Gunaris. He changed into a patched peasant's old clothes, smeared some soot on his face, and dragged his signature lame leg to the home of an old comrade he had known from his days in the army.

"Brother Stavros, what brings you here?" The old farmer was both surprised and delighted to see him.

"Come and see how your land is growing," Stavros said with a smile, handing over a bottle of Uzo wine he had brought from Athens.

After a few rounds of drinks, they started talking.

"The land is good, but... sigh..." The old farmer sighed, hesitating to speak.

"Just say what you have to say, why are you being so polite with me?" Stavros poured him a full glass of wine.

The old farmer lowered his voice: "Brother, it's not that we don't believe you or His Highness. But this new Lord Gunaris seems... to have changed."

Over the next few days, Stavros visited more than a dozen villages.

One farmer after another tearfully recounted similar experiences to him.

An elderly woman with white hair pulled out a rejected loan application from her bosom. It was circled in red pen, the reason given being "incomplete materials." "I can't read," she said, "but I've had someone fill it out three times as they instructed, and it still didn't work. They said if I could offer a small token of my 'kindness,' they could help me 'complete' the materials."

A middle-aged man with red eyes told him that he could have been allocated a paddy field, but because he didn't have the money to bribe the servants of Gunaris, he was only allocated a barren dry land.

What terrified him most was the story told by an old comrade-in-arms.

"Stavros, I...I'm so sorry." The old comrade's voice was hoarse, filled with shame. "My family's unwanted hillside was suddenly included in the new irrigation district last month. Do you know why?"

Stavros's heart sank.

"Because...because of my daughter who just turned sixteen," the old comrade clenched his fists so tightly that his nails dug deep into his palms, "she...she was summoned to the manor by the steward of Gunaris and 'served' him all night..."

Stavros's wine glass crashed to the ground with a loud bang, shattering into pieces.

He felt no anger, only a chilling cold that shot from the soles of his feet to the top of his head.

That night, the darkness was as black as ink.

Stavros refused his old comrade's offer to stay, and alone, dragging his crippled leg, he walked step by step toward Gunaris's residence.

The mansion, perched atop the highest point in town, stood in stark contrast to the surrounding low farmhouses. Inside, it was brightly lit, a scene of revelry and celebration. Faint, languid French tunes mingled with the laughter and chatter of men and women drifted out.

Stavros stood in the shadows outside the wall, able to smell the expensive Cuban cigars and French perfumes wafting from within. This scent, so different from the familiar smell of manure and hay in the surrounding air, made him nauseous.

He quietly approached a window that wasn't fully closed and peered inside through the crack.

With just one glance, he felt as if he had been struck by lightning.

In the hall, Dmitri Gunaris, whom he had once placed high hopes on and regarded as the pride of the common people, sat in the main seat, his face flushed. He had a scantily clad dancer on his left arm and a glass of amber brandy in his right.

Surrounding him were not peasant representatives or union officials, but rather the old landowners and their henchmen whom Stavros hated and despised most! They clinked glasses, addressed each other as brothers, and their words were filled with sordid deals and obsequious flattery.

Stavros watched as Gunnaris laughed, poured a glass of wine into the dancer's mouth, then pinched her chin and kissed her on the cheek.

In that instant, Stavros felt his soul being torn apart alive.

This is not anger.

This is an emotion more terrifying than anger.

This is the chilling, bone-deep sense of betrayal, like being stabbed in the back by your most trusted brother with a red-hot knife.

He leaned against the cold wall, barely able to stand. Everything before him was spinning, and his stomach churned. He had always believed he was paving a bright path for the common people, and Gunaris was the first monument on that path.

Now, this monument has crumbled before his eyes, turning into a pool of foul-smelling mud.

He recommended him.

He trusted him.

He regarded it as his pride, as a better version of himself.

As a result, he turned into the very thing he hated most.

The next day, before dawn.

Stavros did not return to Piraeus; he didn't even say goodbye to anyone. Exhausted, he boarded the first train back to Athens.

The train arrived in Athens at dusk.

He did not go home or to the union headquarters, but went straight to the palace gates.

The royal guards on duty all recognized the lame union leader; he was a meritorious official of His Highness and a frequent visitor to the palace. They were about to step forward to pay their respects.

However, what happened next stunned everyone.

Stavros Vlahopoulos, a tough man who had shed blood on the battlefield, never bowed his head at the negotiating table, and never belied any powerful figure, knelt heavily on both knees on the cold, hard stone pavement in front of the palace gates.

He bent down and pressed his dusty forehead tightly against the ground.

A hoarse, broken voice, filled with endless pain and regret, squeezed out of his mouth.

"I, Stavros, have failed Your Highness's trust and request an audience!"