1885, I came to save Greece

Chapter 165 Blood Pact in the Bazaar

Footsteps sounded outside the door. A trusted butler pushed the door open and entered, his body stiffening when he saw the short curved knife in Muradbey's hand. That knife was passed down from Murad's father and was only drawn during the bloodiest family feuds.

"Owner……"

Murad didn't look at him, but instead used a piece of silk to meticulously wipe the cold, gleaming blade. Every movement was imbued with a morbid focus.

"Go and fetch Hassan." The name he uttered made the butler's face turn deathly pale.

Hassan, an Albanian who deals with snakes and jackals in the underworld of Smyrna. His name is always associated with disappearances, assassinations, and the annihilation of entire families. Asking him for help means there is no turning back.

"Go." Murad's voice was hoarse, short, and devoid of any emotion.

The butler dared not say a word, bowed, and hurried away. Murad was left alone in the study. He sheathed his short scimitar back into the hidden compartment behind the wall, then turned and walked to the large French windows. Outside, Smyrna's night view remained vibrant, the lights of the "Helios Shipping" offices in the distant port dazzlingly bright.

At that moment, Antonio Petaras launched the final blow.

The following morning, Helios Shipping Company published a public statement on the front page of major Smyrna newspapers. The statement was polite and elegant in its wording, but its content was like a resounding slap in the face to Muradbey.

Helios Shipping announced that, in good faith for the healthy development of the Smyrna shipping industry, the company is willing to acquire all of Mr. Muradbey’s vessels, docks, warehouses and related assets in their entirety at an “extremely generous” price.

This so-called acquisition is nothing short of a humiliation.

This was a most dignified way of announcing to the entire Smyrna region, and indeed the entire eastern coast of the Ottoman Empire, that Muradbay was bankrupt. He had lost everything, and now the victor was preparing a few coins to buy back his last shred of dignity.

The newspaper, like a verdict, was delivered to Murad's dining table. He stared at the bold headline, at Petaras's polite yet scathing statement, and his body began to tremble uncontrollably.

"Click—"

He bent the silver knife and fork in his hand. He then overturned the entire dining table, shattering the expensive china and the sumptuous breakfast on the floor.

"Petalas..." he spat out the name through gritted teeth, each syllable filled with venom, "I'll kill you!"

This "acquisition offer" became the last straw that broke the camel's back.

That night, Murad did not go home. He changed into the most inconspicuous civilian clothes and, alone, like a ghost, walked into the most chaotic and darkest "bazaar" in Smyrna.

This is the city's sewers, a corner where the sun never shines. The air is thick with the stench of cheap perfume, cheap tobacco, sweat, and the putrid smell of drains, creating a nauseating, sticky atmosphere. The narrow alleyways are teeming with shifty-eyed pickpockets, sallow-faced drug addicts, and desperate criminals from all over the Balkans.

Murad weaved through the noisy crowd, oblivious to everything around him. He finally stopped deep in the alley in front of an unassuming weapons shop. A rusty horseshoe hung on the shop door.

He pushed open the door.

The shop was dimly lit, with only an oil lamp flickering. A man sat behind the counter, wiping the bolt of a Mauser rifle with an oilcloth. He was burly, with a chiseled face, and a menacing scar running from the corner of his left eye to his chin, making his whole face look exceptionally fierce.

The smell emanating from him was the bloody stench of someone who had rolled in piles of corpses.

He was Hassan, the Albanian.

Hassan looked up and saw that the person who came was Muradbey. The muscles under the scar twitched, revealing an expression that could hardly be called a smile.

"Muradebai, what wind has blown such an important person as yourself into my rat hole?" His voice was like two stones rubbing against each other.

Murad didn't waste any words. He placed a heavy leather suitcase he was carrying on the counter and then opened it with a "snap".

The golden light instantly illuminated the entire dark shop.

A full box of gold bars, neatly stacked, gleamed with an insane light under the flickering lamplight.

Hassan's breath hitched for a moment. He lowered his rifle, his gaze fixed on the box of gold.

Murad's face, distorted by the golden light, was contorted with extreme anger and humiliation. He leaned forward, his voice low, each word sounding as if squeezed from the depths of hell.

"I don't care what method you use, kidnapping, assassination, or chopping him up and feeding him to the fish."

"I want that Greek man named Antonio Petaras to be wiped out of Smyrna forever!"

He pointed a finger at the box of gold, his eyes gleaming with madness.

"I want his head!"

Hassan's gaze shifted from the gold bars to Murad's狰狞 (zhengning - ferocious/hideous) face. He remained silent for a moment, then reached out a rough, large hand, picked up a gold bar from the box, and bit it.

The teeth marks are clear.

He grinned, revealing a set of teeth stained yellow from tobacco smoke.

"There's nothing I, Hassan, can't do in Smyrna's underground." He tossed the gold bars back into the box with a dull thud. "However, the other party is staying at the Imperial Glory Hotel and has British-sent bodyguards with him, so it's not easy to make a move."

"That's your problem!" Murad growled. "I'm paying you, you do the job! If you can't, I'll find someone else!"

"Don't rush, Lord Bey." Hassan slowly closed the box, as if the allure of the gold had vanished. "The price will be increased by thirty percent. And I need an opportunity, a chance for him to leave the hotel and get away from the crowd."

Murad's chest heaved violently. Finally, he gritted his teeth and nodded: "Alright! Thirty percent! I'll create the opportunity for you!"

He turned and left, not wanting to stay in that filthy place for even a second longer.

Hassan watched his retreating figure disappear through the doorway, his smile growing increasingly greedy. He patted the leather suitcase beside him and shouted into the shadows, "Someone, put this treasure away. Gather the brothers, we're in for a big job!"

He didn't know.

As he traded with Murad, a thin little boy shining shoes in a corner outside the weapons shop lowered his head even further. He seemed focused on polishing a pair of boots, but his ears caught every word coming from inside the shop.

As Murad's figure completely disappeared at the alley entrance, the boy quickly packed his shoe box and dashed into another, even darker alley.

He walked through three streets, bypassed two Ottoman soldiers' patrols, and finally arrived at the back door of a bakery. He handed a freshly baked loaf of bread, along with a small note hidden inside, to the bakery clerk.

The waiter then loaded the bread onto a carriage that supplied daily food to "Sun God Shipping".

Half an hour later, the note containing the keywords "Murad, Hassan, three-tenths, head" was delivered through multiple intermediaries to the head of Alexandros's intelligence station in Smyrna.

Radio waves pierced the night sky, transmitting the information back to Athens.

Imperial Glory Hotel, penthouse suite.

Petaras stood before the enormous floor-to-ceiling window, overlooking the brightly lit Smyrna cityscape below. He held a glass of red wine in his hand, his expression serene, as if admiring a painting that had nothing to do with him.

A figure appeared silently behind him, like a ghost. It was Alexandros's adjutant, a captain of the Greek royal guard disguised as his bodyguard.

The bodyguard handed over a newly translated telegram note.

Petaras took it and glanced at the words on it.

"The fish has taken the bait. His Highness instructs: Please proceed according to the original plan."

After reading the note, he walked to the fireplace and casually tossed it in. The orange flames instantly engulfed the note, turning it to ashes.

The prey had already laid a trap.

The storm that struck the second day came earlier than anyone had anticipated.

Through his secretary, Petaras announced publicly that, to celebrate the company's booming business, it had specially ordered a state-of-the-art steamship, the "Athena," from the UK. The ship, fully loaded with the latest machinery for upgrading port facilities, will arrive this evening. Mr. Petaras will personally go to Pier 3 to preside over the welcoming ceremony and inspect the new vessel.

The news spread like wildfire, reaching every corner of Smyrna through countless channels, both overt and covert, including newspaper reporters, hotel staff, and dock foremen.

Naturally, this also reached Hassan's ears.

"Pier No. 3?" Hassan spread out a simple port map and pointed at the location with the tip of a dagger.

One of his men leaned over and said, "Boss, it's far from the main port area, surrounded by abandoned warehouses. Even the patrols rarely go there at night. It's practically a perfect slaughterhouse!"

Hassan's face broke into a hyena-like grin. He slashed the map heavily with his dagger, as if he had already slit Petaras's throat.

"Tell the guys to grab their weapons."

"At sunset today, we will go to greet this generous Greek gentleman."