1885, I came to save Greece

Chapter 149 Nature's Gift

The reply from Athens, like an eagle with fiery wings, once again flew over thousands of mountains and landed at the camp in Devil's Canyon.

Zograves, his hands trembling, unfolded the fateful letter. When he saw the graceful arc on the back of the letter and the theory about "arch dams," his instinctive reaction as a traditional engineer was absurdity.

"Nonsense! This is playing with the lives of everyone in the Agrafa Mountains!" He slammed the letter on the table, his white beard trembling with rage. "Transferring tens of thousands of tons of water pressure to the mountain? If the mountain can't withstand it, the entire canyon will collapse! This isn't engineering; it's a poet's fantasy!"

He practically yelled it out.

Petrettis leaned closer and picked up the sketch. His eyes were captivated by the beautiful, simple yet powerful curve.

“Mr. Zograves,” his voice was soft but clear, “Since Your Highness dares to gamble, why shouldn’t we try? Look at this design, how beautiful it is… It’s like an open embrace, taking in the power of the entire river instead of fighting against it.”

"Beauty?!" Zograves laughed angrily, pointing to the roaring river at his feet. "In Devil's Canyon, beauty is the most useless thing! What we need is safety, absolute security!"

Petrettis did not refute. He simply stared at the sketch, at the curve, as if looking at a work of art.

He recalled his childhood growing up in the Pindus Mountains, and the mountain techniques that the noble officers from Athens considered "useless brute force." In their eyes, practicality was everything, and beauty was worthless. But His Highness's design made him realize for the first time that power could be so graceful. This was not just a dam; it was a mockery of all the "old powers" that only knew how to charge headlong into the ground.

For the first time, a fierce argument erupted within the exploration team. The old-school engineers, led by Zograves, couldn't accept this design that was ahead of its time. Meanwhile, the younger generation, led by Petrettis, were captivated by the revolutionary ideas contained in the sketches.

The team split up.

In the camp, the enthusiasm for collaborative work had vanished, leaving only an irreconcilable standoff between two opposing viewpoints. At dinner, the people sat clearly divided on either side of the campfire: on one side were Zograves and a few equally worried old buddies, and on the other side were Petrettis and those young men with shining eyes.

Zograves locked himself in his tent for an entire night. On the table, next to the arch dam sketch, lay a dozen or so sheets of draft paper covered with calculation formulas. He was frantically using all his knowledge to verify the feasibility of this "genius idea."

As dawn broke, he emerged from his tent, his eyes bloodshot but unusually bright. He approached Petrettis and handed him a brand-new calculation report: "Theoretically... it's feasible. However, the load-bearing requirements on the mountainsides on both sides are far more demanding than I imagined. We must..."

Before he could finish speaking, the sky in the distance had already darkened. A strong wind howled, whipping up sand and gravel that lashed against the tent with a crackling sound.

Immediately afterwards, large raindrops poured down, quickly forming a curtain of rain.

A once-in-a-century autumn downpour swept across the Agrafa mountain range.

Zograves did not seek refuge in the cave. Dressed in a raincoat, he stood stubbornly on the edge of the cliff, his eyes fixed on the precipice he had deemed "fragile," as if awaiting judgment upon himself. The murky yellow torrent, with the force of a thunderbolt, relentlessly pounded against the southern cliff face again and again.

The torrential rain lasted for a day and a night. When the sun pierced through the clouds the next morning, most of the surface of the cliff had been washed away, revealing the mottled but solid rock layers underneath.

"Not enough...not strong enough!" Zograves muttered to himself, the hope that had just ignited in his eyes dimming again.

The members of the exploration team and the mountain guards hid in the safety of the cave, looking at the apocalyptic scene before them, their faces all pale.

Just then, Petrettis came over with several mountain people, carrying several boxes of dark things.

"Mr. Zograves," he wiped the rain from his face, "His Highness added a sentence at the end of the letter, saying that if there is no miracle, we will create one ourselves. This is the latest 'Nobel dynamite' that His Highness secretly transported from Germany."

Zograves looked at the explosives, then at the cliff face partially cleared by the flood, and his breathing quickened. He understood. This downpour wasn't the end, but a signal—a signal that they could complete the final clearing work with minimal losses!

He snatched the engineering drawings from Petrettis's hands, his voice hoarse with excitement: "Calculate the detonation points! Quick! We need to peel off this last layer of 'skin'! Right here! Create our miracle!"

Almost at the same time, in Athens, a thousand miles away.

Colorful flags fluttered and the port of Farilo was bustling with activity. The second phase of the Farilo thermal power plant, constructed by British capital, was holding a grand completion ceremony.

Sir Charles Harding, the British Ambassador to Greece, stood on a red-carpeted stage and delivered a passionate speech.

"Today, the technology and friendship of the British Empire bring a stable and lasting light to Athens, to great Greece!"

Below the stage, cheers erupted from Greek dignitaries and citizens of Athens. Sir Harding was smug, basking in the glory of being a benefactor of civilization.

Unbeknownst to him, at the very moment he was giving his speech, deep within the distant Agrafa Mountains, a true source of light belonging to the Greeks themselves, one that would change the fate of Greece, had already found its most solid foundation.

On the terrace of the royal palace.

Constantine received the latest intelligence report from Devil's Canyon, delivered by Alexandros.

There were only two words on the letter.

"Divine revelation".

He looked up, gazing down at the city below, illuminated by the lights of the coal-fired power plants. That light was bright, yet fragile. It was a light bound by coal and debt.

Constantine turned and went back to his study, where he took out a top-secret, pre-prepared project authorization document from a locked drawer.

He picked up the pen and signed his name at the end of the document.

"Alexandros".

His intelligence chief appeared silently behind him.

Constantine handed the document to him, and it was sent out through the royal family's secret channels.

The command consists of only one word.

"Foundation laying".