1885, I came to save Greece

Chapter 128 The Queen's Sweets

As the hustle and bustle of the groundbreaking ceremony subsided, construction of the Fenghuangshan Industrial Zone commenced in full swing.

The roar of steam-powered rammed earth machines shattered the millennia-old tranquility of the countryside. Under the direction of German engineers, the first batch of hired workers began clearing the surface shrubs and the long-dead olive trees. The empire on the blueprint was gradually becoming a reality.

However, the next morning, when the first horse-drawn cart full of workers headed toward the construction site, it stopped on the only road leading to the site.

The road is blocked.

Hundreds of villagers from nearby villages stood shoulder to shoulder, holding bright green olive branches, forming a silent human wall. Most of them were elderly people, women, and children.

They didn't shout any slogans, nor did they take any extreme actions. They simply stood silently, gazing at the steel structures and workers before them with eyes that held a mixture of sorrow, stubbornness, and fear.

This peaceful protest, which completely occupied the moral high ground, made Metaxas, who was in charge of security at the scene, feel that it was an unprecedented challenge.

He could order the rioters to disperse, but he couldn't raise his baton against these unarmed compatriots who were holding olive branches.

"Restraint! No one is allowed to clash with the villagers!" Metaxus issued a stern order to his guards.

He dismounted and attempted to negotiate with the village elders who were leading the group. But the elders simply shook their heads, repeating the same sentence with an almost martyr-like expression: "This is our ancestral land, and we, as 'Romans,' cannot allow it to be defiled."

The negotiations failed.

Metaxas stared at the silent wall of people and keenly sensed that this was no simple, spontaneous act. Behind these honest villagers, there must be a more cunning and ruthless hand manipulating everything.

He immediately dispatched a messenger on horseback to report the urgent situation to Constantine.

When the news reached the palace, Sophia was preparing lunch for Constantine. After listening to the attendant's report, she looked at her husband, whose brow was furrowed.

"It seems they've chosen the gentlest knife," Sofia said.

In the afternoon, an ordinary carriage without any royal insignia drove into the village surrounded by protesters.

Sofia changed into a simple cotton dress and wrapped a plain headscarf around her head. Accompanied by several female companions dressed similarly, she entered the village as a volunteer for the Royal Charitable Foundation.

Instead of arguing with the men standing in the road, she went straight into the villagers' homes.

In a dimly lit mud house, the air thick with the smells of dirt, sweat, and a faint musty odor, Sofia held the hand of a young mother as she listened to her worries.

She took doctors to see sick elderly people, distributed milk candies and chocolates brought from Germany to ragged children, and patiently taught the women in the village how to handle food in a more hygienic way.

Her beauty, friendliness, and generosity quickly won the favor of the women.

In a dimly lit mud house, Sofia held the hand of a young mother and listened to her tell her worries.

"...Madam, we don't want to block the way either, but the village elders say the factory will bring bad luck," the woman said softly, holding her thin, pale-faced baby. "And...and that respectable gentleman from the city promised that if we can drive the factory away, each family will receive fifty silver drachmas in compensation..."

Fifty silver drachmas.

For these impoverished families, this is a huge sum of money that would allow them to live comfortably for two years.

A glimmer of understanding flashed in Sofia's eyes. She comforted the woman for a few moments, left some medicine and food, and then left the village.

Back at the palace, she told Constantine what she had heard.

The truth has come out. The so-called protection of tradition is nothing more than a naked money transaction.

Meanwhile, at his mansion in the Fanar district, Mavrokodatos also received the news.

"Delaying the project is the only option?" He listened to his subordinate's report, a hint of impatience on his face. "What I need is not delay, but a halt! To send those Germans back to Berlin, and to stop the royal family from resisting our control."

He realized that while this peaceful protest might disgust Constantine, the project could continue as long as the crown prince didn't back down. He had to escalate the situation.

"Go, contact 'The Jackal' in Piraeus," he ordered a trusted lieutenant in the shadows. "Tell him I need some 'surprises.' Some 'surprises' that will frighten the Germans."

After the man in black withdrew, Mavrokodatos walked to the window and looked towards Phoenix Mountain in the distance. He wasn't unaware of the importance of industry, but he understood even more clearly that once that steel monster began to roar, it would spew not only thick smoke, but also a new order that would completely crush the century-old glory of the Fanar nobles.

"Constantine, do you think you are saving Greece? No, you are merely replacing the elegant order we have maintained for centuries with a cruder form of violence. Greece does not need blacksmiths and laborers to rule."

There was no anger in his eyes, only an arrogance and coldness that came from the very marrow of his bones.

"Jackal" is a notorious gang leader in the port area of ​​Piraeus, who employs a group of outlaws who do dirty work for others.

The order was quickly relayed.

It was late that night, dark and windy.

Several dark figures, like ghosts, bypassed the outer sentry posts of the construction site and silently infiltrated the core area of ​​the Phoenix Mountain Industrial Zone.

This place is filled with various precision equipment and instruments that have just been shipped from Germany.

The shadowy figures had a very clear objective. They didn't bother with the bulky boilers and pipes, as that would have caused too much noise.

They went straight to the German engineering team's temporary office—a hut built of wooden planks.

"Clang!"

The glass window was smashed by a crowbar.

The leader of the dark figures climbed inside and, by the faint moonlight, immediately spotted the instrument placed on a tripod and covered with a velvet cloth.

That was a precision theodolite that Hermann Schmidt valued more than his own eyes; it was the benchmark for all exploration, positioning, and construction on the entire site. Without it, the entire project would come to a standstill.

A sinister smile appeared on the dark figure's face. Instead of using a crowbar, he raised a heavy iron hammer.

"Bang!"

A dull, loud bang.

The precision lens, dial, and level were reduced to a pile of twisted brass and shattered glass under the heavy blow of the hammer.

But it's not over yet.

Another dark figure poured a packet of unidentified white powder into the construction site's only well. That was the source of drinking water for the workers and German engineers.

After doing all this, the several dark figures quickly disappeared into the night, as if they had never been there.

It's not very destructive, but it's extremely insulting.

This is a blatant provocation and a bloody warning.

The next morning, as a German engineer, as usual, lifted the cover of his theodolite to prepare for the day's work.

A scream in disbelief, mixed with anger and terror, in German shattered the tranquility of dawn on Phoenix Mountain.