1885, I came to save Greece

Chapter 158 Satan's Excrement

Callinicus did not rise. He simply sat cross-legged on the cold stone, his posture as solid as a rock, as if he had been there since the beginning of time. With his all-seeing eyes, he scrutinized the uninvited guest before him, from his dusty boots to his royal eyes that seemed out of place with his simple attire.

The only sounds in the entire stone chamber were the faint crackling of the oil lamp wick and the ceaseless sea breeze outside the window, which sounded like the wailing of ghosts.

This is a silent trial.

Constantine calmly met the gaze that seemed to rip his soul apart. He knew that in the presence of such a person, any pretense or politeness would be a foolish desecration.

He unfastened the leather satchel from his waist and gently placed it on the ground beside his feet. Then, with the same solemn posture, he mimicked the other man's and sat cross-legged opposite Callinicus. Between them lay three steps, and two entirely different worlds.

"Father," Constantine began, his voice echoing in the empty stone chamber, steady and clear, devoid of any princely majesty, sounding more like that of an ordinary believer, "I did not come for myself."

"I have come for the countless souls of Greece that are being devoured by the devil."

This opening remark caused the flames in Kalinikos's burning eyes to flicker.

Constantine did not immediately produce the incriminating file. He knew that for a lion, cold words were far less likely to ignite its rage than fresh flesh and blood.

He recounted everything he had seen in the café in Piraeus in a storytelling tone.

"...I met a mother, very young, but her eyes were already dead. Her husband, a strong dockworker, had squandered all their savings by touching something called 'black honey.' Her child had a high fever, but she didn't have the money to buy a single quinine tablet."

"I saw a group of workers who used to be able to carry heavy loads on their shoulders, but now they don't even have the strength to lift a cup of coffee. Their hands are trembling, their eyes are unfocused, like a group of walking corpses. Their only desire is the next sip of 'black honey'."

"I also met a lame old soldier named Stavros. He wanted to stop it all; he charged like an angry bull, only to find himself facing an invisible quagmire. He could only watch helplessly as his brothers sank one by one. He asked me, 'Where is God? Why does God allow the devil to run rampant in his harbor?'"

Constantine spoke slowly and deliberately, without embellishment, simply using the most plain language to depict a scene of hell.

The story was over. Silence fell once more in the stone chamber.

Callinikos's expression remained unchanged, but Constantine noticed that the veins in his hand, which rested on his knee and held the olive wood cross, were slightly bulging.

Constantine knew the time had come.

He bent down, opened the leather satchel, and took out the incredibly detailed file.

"And this is what that devil looks like."

He spread the file out on the stone floor between them and began to turn the pages one by one.

"The devil's name is Muradbey, an Ottoman merchant from Smyrna. This is his portrait, his fleet, and his business network in Smyrna."

"The devil's lair is here." Constantine's finger pointed to a photograph of St. George's Monastery. "An isolated island, a monastery built in the name of God. Drug ships unload their cargo here, the drugs are disguised as 'holy relics' and medicines, and then transported to the port of Piraeus by their underlings disguised as sailors and fishermen."

"This is the devil's ledger." He turned to a page recording the flow of funds. "The huge sums of money obtained from the transactions flowed back to this monastery in the name of 'donations from believers.' Here, dirty money was laundered into sacred 'offerings.'"

Constantine's voice remained calm, but every word was like a chisel, striking the mental defenses that Callinicus had built through asceticism.

He turned to the last page, where he found the most crucial photograph, taken at great risk by Alexandros's agents. The photo was somewhat blurry, taken at dawn using a high-powered telescope.

He pushed the photograph in front of Callinikos and read the text on the back of the photograph in a deep voice.

"...The target, the abbot of St. George's Abbey, poured a bag full of drug money onto a stone table beneath the statue of St. George slaying the dragon in the abbey's courtyard. Inside were gold coins, silver coins, and large denominations of drachma banknotes. He counted the money with the practiced satisfaction of a butcher counting his day's meat..."

When Constantine read this—

A sudden change has occurred!

Callinicus's eyes, which had been half-closed the whole time, suddenly snapped open!

Those two dark blue flames instantly surged, transforming into a raging inferno that burned across the entire world!

His hand, gripping the olive wood cross, made a sickeningly loud, teeth-grinding cracking sound from the excessive force. The hard olive wood seemed as if he might crush it at any moment!

"That's enough!"

Callinicus growled.

The sound wasn't loud, but it was hoarse, like two rocks rubbing against each other. Yet it made the entire stone chamber buzz, and even the flame of the oil lamp in the corner flickered violently, almost going out.

His anger was not directed at evil itself. Having traveled to the poorest corners of Greece, he had witnessed more evil than anyone else.

His anger stemmed from evil, which dared to don the most sacred cloak! It was from the devil, who dared to stand beneath the statue of a saint, counting the money earned from selling one's soul!

"They're not dealing drugs!"

Callinicus's voice suddenly rose, and a terrifying aura erupted from his gaunt body. He slowly rose from the ground, like a lion that had been thoroughly enraged, finally breaking free of all its shackles!

"They're selling tickets to hell!"

"They feed the lamb of my Lord the excrement of Satan as Holy Communion!"

His gaze was like lightning, fixed on the photograph. What burned in his eyes was a religious fervor and sacred wrath that could purify all the filth in the world!

Constantine watched him quietly, and he knew he had succeeded.

He didn't come to ask for anything, nor did he come to persuade anyone.

He came to point out a target worthy of being wielded and crushed by this "hammer of faith" that is loyal only to God.

Callinicus turned away, no longer looking at Constantine, nor at the evidence. He faced the deepest darkness within the stone chamber and opened his arms.

His shadow, elongated by the oil lamp, was cast onto the mottled stone wall, resembling a vengeful angel about to spread its wings and pounce on hell.