1885, I came to save Greece

Chapter 150 The Empire's Venom

Inside the secret map room beneath the palace, the air is filled with the scent of ink and hope.

Constantine solemnly handed the authorization letter bearing the words "Foundation Laying" to Alexandros. The chief intelligence officer silently retreated into the shadows, as if he had never been there.

"It's done." Constantine turned around, his face showing the most relaxed expression he had in months.

Nicolas Dimitrios adjusted his glasses, the lenses reflecting the blue lines representing rivers on the map. He lightly tapped the location of the Agrafa Mountains with his finger, then drew a free-flowing arc across the Pindus Mountains, heading straight for the Thessalian plain.

"Your Highness, once the Agrafa hydroelectric power station is completed, we will not only be able to light up Athens, but we can build a power grid covering the entire country!" Dimitrios's voice trembled slightly with excitement. "From the factories in the port of Piraeus to the irrigation pumps in the Thessaly plain, electricity will become the new lifeblood of the empire!"

Constantine picked up a red pencil and drew a thicker line next to the blue line drawn by Dimitrios. "Not enough, Nicholas. Our gaze must cross the ocean."

His pen fell on Crete, and then on several key islands in the eastern Aegean Sea.

"Cables! We will lay submarine cables! Projecting the power of mainland Greece onto every inch of the land we call home. When the lighthouse of Constantinople is powered by electricity from Agrafa, the whole world will understand who the true master of this sea is."

This wild idea made Dimitrios hold his breath for a moment. Looking at the crisscrossing red and blue lines on the map, he seemed to see a behemoth made of steel and electricity slowly awakening on the sleeping map of Greece.

Just then, a series of hurried and heavy footsteps came from the stone steps, interrupting the futuristic conception in the map room.

Stavros Vlahopoulos, the lame veteran and leader of the Piraeus port workers, was rushing down the steps. His weathered face was covered in sweat and anxiety, and his once mountain-like body was now trembling uncontrollably.

He disregarded all court etiquette and, upon seeing Constantine, knelt down on one knee with a thud. His injured leg twisted painfully from the violent movement.

"Your Highness!" Stavros's voice was hoarse, as if it had been sanded clean, "Something's happened at the port!"

Constantine's expression instantly turned serious. He stepped forward and personally helped Stavros up. "Tell me slowly, what happened?"

"It's something... the workers call it 'black honey.'" Stavros's lips were pale, his eyes filled with uncontrollable fear and anger. "A black, paste-like substance that smells strangely sweet. I don't know when it started circulating under the docks."

"At first, it was just a few idle lazy men secretly using it. They said that the stuff could make people forget their fatigue and give them lots of energy. But not long after, things changed."

Stavros clenched his fist so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

"More and more people are getting hooked on that stuff. They're becoming emaciated, their eyes glazed over, caring about nothing but 'black honey.' To get it, they steal copper pieces from the docks, sell their wives' jewelry, and even use the money meant for their children's medical treatment to buy that stuff!"

"I witnessed firsthand how one of the best crane operators fell asleep while operating the crane, causing the massive boom to crash down and nearly kill an entire team of dockworkers! Now, the port's overall productivity has dropped by at least 30%! Half the seats in our night school are empty!"

"Your Highness, that's the devil's creation! It's devouring our workers, devouring everything you built with your own hands!"

Constantine listened quietly, his expression unchanged, but the atmosphere in the map room suddenly turned icy.

Black honey.

opium.

The timing was perfect, coinciding with the rapid development of the port industrial zone and the need for a large number of highly skilled workers.

The location happened to be Piraeus, the port city where his "Workers' Welfare Association" had the deepest roots and the greatest influence.

His target was precisely the working class, whom he relied on most and regarded as the cornerstone of social reform.

This is not a coincidence of the drug epidemic.

This is a precise, premeditated economic war targeting the very foundations of his rule. Someone wants to use the most insidious and vicious methods to undermine his industrialization plans, turning all his industrialization blueprints into castles built on sand.

"Alexandros." Constantine's voice was calm, yet carried a metallic coldness.

The chief intelligence officer reappeared from the shadows behind him.

"Order the Royal Intelligence Bureau to use all available resources to find out the source of 'Black Honey,' its sales network, and all the people behind it." Constantine's gaze fell on the map, on a city across the sea from Greece.

Smyrna.

"I don't care who he is, I'll dig three feet into the ground and find him."

Smyrna, Ottoman Empire.

The sea breeze carries the moist scent of the Aegean Sea into an exquisitely decorated seaside mansion. Velvet curtains, Persian silk carpets, and crystal chandeliers from France all showcase the owner's wealth.

Turkish tycoon Muradbey was reclining on a soft couch when a petite Armenian female slave carefully fed him a fig dipped in honey.

Before him stood a steward wearing a tight-fitting vest, bowing as he reported the latest news from the port of Piraeus.

"...Master, according to our informants, 'Black Honey' is extremely popular among the Greek workers. They call it 'the elixir of heaven.' Now, people are collapsing at the port every day from overdoses, and production has come to a standstill."

After hearing this, Muradbay let out a contemptuous laugh, his obese body trembling on the soft couch.

"Industry? Those beggars who built their nation on European handouts are not qualified to talk about industry." He spat out the fruit pit, took the silk handkerchief handed to him by the female slave, and wiped his greasy mouth.

"That young Greek prince thinks he can transform his peasant country by building a few factories? How naive! I can make all their skyscrapers rot at the root with just a flick of my little finger and a tiny bit of 'black honey'."

He stood up, walked to the huge floor-to-ceiling window, and gazed at the bustling harbor of Smyrna. Countless merchant ships, flying the Ottoman crescent and star flag, came and went.

"They can only dream of Byzantium forever. We, on the other hand, are the true masters of this sea." Muradbey raised a glass of wine and toasted it towards the distant direction of Athens.

"A toast to those sleeping souls."

Royal Palace in Athens.

The night was deep, but the study was still brightly lit.

Constantine saw off the worried Stavros and declined Dimitrios's request to stay and discuss the matter. He stood alone by the window, gazing at the scattered lights of the Fariro port area in the distance.

Some of those lights came from the newly built British coal-fired power plant, while others came from his workers' night school and dormitories.

Now, a shadow is swallowing the light.

Relying solely on the intelligence agency's covert investigations is passive. He needs to see with his own eyes, hear with his own ears, and feel with his own hands the true temperature of that shadow.

He turned around and saw Sophia standing quietly in the doorway, holding a glass of hot milk. She didn't ask what had happened, but simply looked at him with her clear blue eyes.

"I need to go to Port Farilo," Constantine said, his voice a little hoarse.

"Not as the crown prince, but as an ordinary engineer. A German engineer named 'Karl'."

He walked up to Sofia and took her slightly cool hand in his.

"Sophia, would you be willing to accompany me, the 'engineer,' to see the suffering our future people are enduring?"

Sofia gripped his hand tightly in return; her palm was warm and strong.

"Connie, I am not only your wife." Her gaze was gentle, yet incredibly firm.

"I am still your comrade-in-arms."