1885, I came to save Greece

Chapter 101 The True Purpose of the Workers' Association!

Night falls.

The revelry in the port of Piraeus showed no signs of abating. The workers took out their newly received welfare money, bought wines they usually couldn't afford, lit bonfires in the port's open space, and sang and danced.

In a makeshift office in the port area, temporarily requisitioned and lit only by a kerosene lamp, the true protagonists of this grand event are having a conversation that will determine the future.

Constantine sat on the only wooden chair, while Stavros stood before him like a javelin, his expression solemn, his breath of alcohol and the noise seemingly shut out by an invisible wall.

"Please sit down, Mr. Chairman." Constantine gestured to a wooden crate opposite him.

Stavros' body trembled, but he did not move: "Your Highness, before you, I am always a soldier, and I have no right to sit down."

Constantine did not force him.

"Your name is Stavros? Do you know why I made you the chairman?" Constantine asked bluntly.

"Because I... I protected you?" Stavros answered somewhat uncertainly.

"That's only one of the reasons." Constantine stood up and paced around the small room. "I need someone absolutely loyal to the royal family and with enough prestige among the workers to wield this 'power.' You are the only choice."

"Power?" Stavros asked, puzzled.

Constantine stopped, the light from the kerosene lamp casting a deep shadow on his face.

"The Workers' Welfare Association, outwardly, is an organization that works for the welfare of workers. But internally, it has a more important mission."

He held up one finger.

"First, organize night schools. I will invite the best teachers from the University of Athens to teach the workers to read, write, and do arithmetic, as well as the most advanced skills such as mechanics and electrical work, free of charge. Greece's future needs industrial workers, not just manual laborers who can only sell their physical strength."

Stavros's breathing quickened. Learning? That was something he never even dared to dream of.

Constantine extended his second finger.

"Second, we will establish a labor dispute mediation committee. In the future, if factory owners dare to deduct your wages or arbitrarily extend your working hours, you will not need to strike or cause trouble. The association will negotiate with them. If the negotiations fail, I will stand up for you."

Stavros clenched his fist tightly. To speak to the bosses as equals? With the Crown Prince personally backing him up?

"Third," Constantine's voice deepened and hardened, "select a group from the most reliable veterans and workers to form a workers' picket line. They will be responsible for maintaining order in the factory area and workers' communities, driving away anarchists who attempt to incite riots, and exposing those spies who are secretly sabotaging us!"

"This association must not only bring benefits to the workers, but also knowledge, dignity, and order! I want it to become an independent, powerful workers' kingdom that obeys only the royal family!"

These grand ideas left Stavross dizzy and unable to process them for a moment.

He was stunned by this unprecedented blueprint.

This is hardly a welfare association! It's clearly an attempt to forge these disorganized "peasants" into an organized, knowledgeable, and armed army loyal to the Crown Prince!

With a "thump".

Stavros could no longer hold on and collapsed to his knees, his injured leg firmly supporting him on the ground.

"Your Highness!" His voice was hoarse with extreme excitement, "I, Stavros Vlahopoulos, have given you my life and my bones from this day forward! Wherever you point, the Association's sword will strike! I will never betray you!"

Constantine stepped forward and helped him up with both hands.

Stavros was the most important seed he personally planted in the working class.

Through him, royal authority will, like the roots of a plant, silently permeate every factory, every workshop, and every community in future Greece.

That evening, Athens newspapers were reprinted at an unprecedented rate.

Headlines like "Crown Prince Assassinated, Workers Save the Day" and "Guardian Angel of Workers: His Highness Constantine" spread throughout the streets and alleys of Athens.

Constantine's popularity soared to its peak among the lower classes of Greece in an instant.

at the same time.

Inside the Mavrokodatos family mansion in Kolonaki, the most secluded district of Athens.

The study was deathly silent.

As Alexius Mavrokodatos listened to his trusted subordinates' report on the events at the port of Piraeus, the signature gentle smile on his face vanished.

"...His Highness immediately announced the establishment of the 'Workers' Welfare Association' and appointed the lame old soldier who led the fight as its president. Now, his name is being sung throughout the lower classes of Athens..."

The voices reporting grew softer and softer.

Alexius remained silent, simply picking up a glass of red wine from the table and gently swirling it.

The scarlet wine, in the crystal glass, resembled flowing blood.

His meticulously planned assassination plot, which aimed to smear Constantine as "abusing royal power and creating unrest," a perfect script that could incite intellectuals and the middle class to resent the monarchy, was instantly rewritten by the other party and turned into a perfect personal show to garner popular support.

The foolish anarchist he sent not only failed to become a hero who "awakened the people," but instead became a stepping stone for Constantine to be crowned "the protector of workers."

"Snap!"

The crisp cracking sound was particularly jarring in the quiet study.

He crushed the crystal wine glass in his hand.

Sharp shards of glass cut his palm, and blood mixed with red wine dripped onto the expensive Persian carpet.

Alexius seemed oblivious to the pain; he simply stared at his bleeding palm, muttering to himself with a dangerous, enraged excitement in his voice.

He looked at his bleeding palm and muttered to himself...

"Constantine...you're much more troublesome than I imagined."

His thoughts drifted back to his childhood, to the ancient ruins of Athens, where his grandfather would take him to recount how the Fanar nobles, under Ottoman rule, painstakingly maintained the flame of Greek civilization through their wisdom and bloodline. That was a struggle for the elite, a noble struggle requiring sacrifice and strategy, not like now, where money is used to buy off a bunch of dirty, illiterate laborers!

He raised his head, his eyes devoid of any gentleness, only filled with the icy coldness of a viper.

"You want to be the god of the workers? Very well... then I'll make you the devil of all the nobles and intellectuals first. I'll show them that your so-called 'New Greece' is nothing more than a clay idol elevated to a pedestal by a mob!"