novelSusiti Chapter 100 It is my honor to bleed for you!
Chapter 100 It is my honor to bleed for you!
The workers roughly parted to make way.
"Get out of the way!" A roar ripped through the crowd. Two dockworkers, their chests as thick as barrels, each grabbed one of the assassin's legs, dragging him like a lifeless sack of coal, plowing a trail through the ground. The assassin's head thudded against the gravel, completely unconscious. Finally, with a muffled thud, he was thrown down from the platform, kicking up a cloud of dust. One of the dockworkers still had his foot firmly planted on the assassin's back, his eyes scanning the surroundings fiercely, wary of any movement.
"Your Highness, the person has been brought!" one of the workers shouted in a muffled voice. One of his eyes was swollen from the fight, but he didn't care. Instead, he puffed out his chest as if he were presenting a trophy.
In the distance, a few reporters, hidden at the edge of the crowd, were snapping photos so hard that sparks were practically flying off their cameras.
"Oh my God! It's an assassination! The Crown Prince has been assassinated!" a young reporter exclaimed, frantically changing film reels.
"No! Look closely!" A seasoned reporter beside him whispered, his voice brimming with barely suppressed excitement. "They're not guards! They're workers! Workers are protecting the Crown Prince!"
"My God...they used their bodies to block daggers, and their money bags as weapons...this...this is the best news!"
"Write it down! Write it all down! I've even thought of a title—'The Loyalty of Piraeus: A Wall of Flesh and Blood for the Workers'!'"
"It's more than just the Great Wall! This is a bodyguard that the Crown Prince bought for 500,000 drachmas—a bodyguard more reliable than the entire Athenian garrison! The old era, the era of oligarchs and nobles, has come to a complete end today in the port of Piraeus!"
Constantine couldn't hear the reporters' whispers.
His gaze passed over the half-dead assassin on the ground and landed on the group of workers who had spontaneously formed a human wall.
He stepped down from the platform.
This action caused everyone present to hold their breath. The attendants and guards officers' expressions changed drastically, and they hurriedly followed, trying to protect him.
Constantine raised his hand to stop them.
He walked alone to the group of workers. They were still covered in dust and blood from the fight, their clothes disheveled, but each of them stood ramrod straight, their eyes fixed on him with fervent gazes.
Stavros Vlahopoulos was standing at the very front.
A long gash was oozing blood from his left arm, the cut inflicted by the dagger when he grabbed the assassin's wrist. Blood stained his sleeve, dripping onto the ground.
Constantine stopped in front of him.
Constantine didn't speak, but simply turned around and pulled a clean white handkerchief from the pocket of his still-shaken attendant behind him.
Under the gaze of thousands of eyes, he personally bent down, took Stavros's oil- and blood-stained hand, and gently and attentively bandaged the wound on his arm.
Constantine showed no disgust at the black grime congealed around the wound, nor did he care about the stench of rust and sweat. He simply focused intently on wiping away the blood, bit by bit, with the pristine white silk handkerchief that should have been worn at a court ball, carefully circling around the deepest part of the wound and tying a neat knot. That gentle movement contrasted sharply with the imposing authority he had displayed just moments before, as if he had sheathed all his sharpness and was tenderly soothing the pain of his people.
The handkerchief was made of the finest silk, while Stavros's hands were as rough as old tree bark.
The image is strikingly contrasting, yet surprisingly harmonious.
Stavros's muscles tensed, and he froze on the spot. He lowered his head, staring intently at the hands that were bandaging his wounds. They were the hands of a crown prince, clean and slender, unlike his own hands, calloused and studded with indelible grease and metal filings, as if they came from two different worlds.
He remembered the noble lieutenant on the battlefield, pointing his whip at him and calling him a "filthy beast"; he remembered fighting tooth and nail over half a loaf of dark bread after his discharge. Humiliation and numbness had long since formed a thick scab on his heart. But now, that white handkerchief, that focused gaze, that gentle touch, were like a drop of molten lava, instantly piercing through that hard scab, revealing the festering, oozing flesh beneath. An indescribable bitterness and burning heat surged from his chest to his eyes. This tough man, who hadn't shed a tear even when his leg was broken, felt for the first time that something was blocking his vision.
Constantine bandaged the wound and tied a neat knot. He didn't let go, but instead grasped Stavros's rough, large hand.
"Thank you, my friend." Constantine looked up and stared directly into his eyes. "I will remember the blood you shed."
This simple sentence struck Stavross's soul like a bolt of lightning.
He could no longer restrain himself. This lame old soldier, this insulted and abandoned hero, at this moment, used all his strength to straighten his back, his face flushed, and roared out:
"Your Highness! It is our honor to shed blood for you!"
"It is our honor to shed blood for you!"
This roar ignited the emotions of all the workers present, and they shouted in unison, their voices shaking the heavens!
Constantine released Stavros's hand, slowly turned around, and faced the boiling sea of people.
He opened his arms, letting the roaring sound wash over him.
He waited until the uproar subsided slightly.
Then, in an even louder voice than before, he announced to everyone:
"Did you see that!"
"This is the power of the people! This is the power of Greece!"
"Some want to divide us, some want to use conspiracies and violence to stop us from moving forward! But today, you have shown them through your actions that the Greek people, when united, are invincible!"
He paused for a moment, allowing everyone time to process what he had to say.
"However, courage and unity alone are not enough!"
"To protect the legitimate rights and interests of every worker, to mediate any potential internal disputes, and to unite all those who are fighting for Greece, so that we can speak with one voice!"
Constantine's voice reached its peak at this moment!
"I hereby announce the official establishment of the 'Hellenic Workers' Welfare Association'!"
The entire area fell silent as the workers tried to understand the meaning of this new term.
Constantine didn't give them much time to think. He turned around abruptly, grabbed Stavros's arm, pulled him to his side, and raised his hand, which was wrapped in a white handkerchief, high in the air.
"This association will belong to you workers yourselves! It will fight for your welfare, provide you with training, and solve your difficulties!"
"And its first president!"
Constantine's gaze swept across the entire room, finally settling on Stavros's face, which was contorted with excitement.
"This hero, who defended the dignity of the royal family with his blood and courage, will take on this role!"
boom!
If the previous cheers were a tsunami, then at this moment, the entire port of Piraeus is like an active volcano that has been detonated!
Cheers, shouts, and cries of joy mingled together, forming an unstoppable torrent that surged toward Athens and the whole of Greece!
The workers frantically tossed their hats into the air, hugged each other, and laughed and jumped.
Stavros, the limping veteran, became the brightest star in the entire arena at that moment!
He's been appointed president! These peasants now have their own organization! They have their own leader!
And all of this was bestowed upon them by the young crown prince before them!
Below the platform, the assassin, beaten beyond recognition, was dragged away by the guards. No one cared about him anymore. He was like a pebble thrown into lava, vanishing without a trace, without even causing a ripple.