1885, I came to save Greece

Chapter 141 The Pact of Light and Shadow

Sophia followed Constantine's gaze and looked at the figure standing straight as a javelin at the door.

Alexandros Dimitriopoulos stood there quietly, awaiting orders. His presence was minimal, like a rock blending into the background, but the moment Constantine's gaze fell upon him, he instantly became the center of attention.

"Alexandros." Constantine's voice was calm, yet carried an undeniable force.

"Your Highness." Alexandros stepped forward, his voice brief and clear.

"Your first lesson is about to begin." Constantine shifted his gaze from him to the deep night outside the window. "Your teacher is the British Empire."

The next day, the sky over Athens was exceptionally clear.

The Greek government and the United Kingdom officially signed the cooperation agreement at the Zappion Palace, one of Athens' most magnificent public buildings, symbolizing the national image of Greece.

Sir Charles Harding, dressed in his most formal diplomatic attire, his chest adorned with medals, looked radiant under the flashing lights. He sat with the Greek Prime Minister at a long table covered in velvet and set with exquisite inkwells and dip pens.

Sir Harding's every move was imbued with a sense of ceremony. He picked up the pen and signed his name on the agreement, his handwriting elegant and powerful. He believed that this signature was like putting a stronger, more discreet bit on the Greek pony that was trying to break free of its reins.

After the ceremony, he raised a glass of champagne and saluted the reporters and diplomats around him.

"This is a new chapter in the traditional friendship between Britain and Greece!" His voice boomed, filled with the magnanimity of a victor. "An industrialized, prosperous Greece is not only in the interest of the Greek people, but also in the strategic interests of the British Empire in the Eastern Mediterranean. We are partners, partners forever!"

Pro-British journalists eagerly copied down the sentence verbatim. The next day, the front page of the Athens Messenger newspaper read: "A milestone in civilization: Anglo-Greek relations back on track."

The news of the signing of the agreement spread like wildfire, reaching every corner of Athens.

Following closely behind was another order from Constantine.

In the name of the Crown Prince, the Kingdom of Greece announced the establishment of a brand new agency – the "Royal Intelligence Agency".

The moment this order was issued, everyone was on edge. This was a powerful department unlike any in Greek history, directly responsible to the royal family, with a scope of authority broad enough to keep any politician up at night.

Who will wield this newly born sword?

Military leaders began to make their moves, senior nobles exchanged glances in salons, and even Venizelos-affiliated members of parliament were speculating about the Crown Prince's intentions. Most believed that Constantine would choose a highly respected figure in the military or politics to balance the power of British advisors and appease the various factions within the country.

However, Constantine's decision surprised everyone.

The official appointment letter issued by the royal palace contained only one name: Alexandros Dimitriopoulos, Captain of the Royal Guard.

This name was virtually unknown in Athenian political circles.

"Who? Alexandros?"

"Is that the attendant who's always following the Crown Prince around?"

"A captain? In charge of the General Intelligence Bureau? Is Your Highness joking?"

The news of the appointment caused an uproar in Athenian political circles. To them, it wasn't an appointment, but a farce. How could a young man in his twenties, an attendant with no experience beyond guard duty and relaying orders, possibly deal with seasoned British intelligence agents who had stirred up trouble around the world?

"He doesn't even know how to use a codebook!" an army general complained to his staff at his residence.

Inside the British Embassy.

On Sir Charles Harding’s desk was also a briefing about the appointment.

After reading the simple resume, he paused for a moment, then burst into uncontrollable laughter that echoed in the spacious office.

"Ha ha ha ha! A page! A young, loyal, but empty-headed page!" He threw the briefing on the table and raised his glass to his adjutant.

"Constantine has no one left to rely on! Aside from these guards on duty, he can't find a single person he can trust!"

The adjutant smiled ingratiatingly: "Sir, this is precisely our opportunity. A young man, a blank slate, is more easily molded into the shape we desire."

"That's right!" Sir Harding downed his drink, a calculating glint in his eyes. "Send our best advisors over there to teach him, flatter him, and make him dependent on us. In less than three months, this so-called 'Royal Intelligence Agency' will become our most sensitive listening device planted in Constantine's heart!"

He walked to the window, gazing towards the distant palace. In his eyes, all of Constantine's struggles were nothing more than the futile brawls of a caged beast. The young crown prince had ultimately returned to the chessboard he had drawn.

Late that night.

The royal palace, a secret underground chamber without any windows.

This place was once used to store the royal archives, and the air is filled with the smell of old paper and dust. Now, only a kerosene lamp is lit, its dim light casting flickering shadows on the stone walls.

Constantine stood in the center of the secret room, dressed in simple casual clothes.

Alexandros Dimitriopoulos stood opposite him, having changed out of his Royal Guard uniform and into a black training uniform without any markings.

In Constantine's hands lay a brand-new epaulette. It was pure black with a short sword embroidered in silver thread, encircled by olive branches. This was the insignia he had personally designed for the General Intelligence Agency.

He stepped forward and personally placed the epaulettes on Alexandros's shoulders.

The movements were slow and deliberate.

After putting on the amulet, Alexandros took a step back and, without any hesitation, knelt on one knee.

His hard kneecap struck the cold stone floor with a dull thud. He lowered his head, his right hand on his chest.

This gesture is not a subject's courtesy to his monarch, but a knight's oath to his faith.

He was born into a declining Spartan noble family, whose glory had long since faded. It was Constantine who single-handedly elevated him from an unknown nobody to his current position, giving him a new life and dignity. This kindness was heavier than life itself.

Constantine looked at the young man kneeling before him, the lamplight casting deep shadows on his face.

"Alexandros".

His voice echoed in the secret room, deep and clear.

"Your task is not to confront the British advisors. On the contrary, you must treat them as your most respected teachers."

Alexandros looked up, his eyes showing no confusion, only focused listening.

"Learn everything about them. Learn how they analyze a newspaper, how they find clues in pub gossip, how they develop an informant, and how they manipulate people's hearts with profit and fear. Learn their skills, their thinking, their organizational methods, and the ruthlessness in their bones that treats everything as a tool."

Constantine paused, then leaned down and looked directly into Alexandros's eyes.

"Then, using the skills they taught you, weave a net that belongs only to us, right under their noses."

"They are the light, the dazzling actors on the stage, attracting everyone's attention."

Constantine's finger pointed to the ground, where the two men's long, dark shadows were cast by the lamplight.

"You are the shadow."

"From this day forward, you are no longer Captain Alexandros Dimitriopoulos. You have no past, no family, no friends. You have only one identity—"

Constantine's voice was even lower, like a whisper, yet it carried immense power.

"My most secret knife."

Alexandros's breathing remained unchanged, but his raised eyes seemed to burn with flames.

He didn't utter any fancy vows; he simply nodded heavily with all his might.

One word came out of his mouth.

"Yes, ma'am."