novelSusiti Chapter 202 The Priest and the Gun
Chapter 202 The Priest and the Gun
The smoke of battle, mixed with the earthy scent after the rain, filled the air above the St. Nicholas Monastery.
Metaxas dismounted, his boots crunching on the blood-soaked mud. In the courtyard, militia soldiers and their men were cleaning up the battlefield, piling up the bandits' corpses.
A militia leader, also a survivor, ran up to him and excitedly pointed to the silent clock tower.
"Captain! It's the clock tower! A bullet fired from the clock tower killed the bandit leader!"
Metaxas looked up at the clock tower, which appeared particularly solemn and majestic in the dim light of dawn. A strange premonition welled up in his heart.
Accompanied by two bodyguards, he strode into the cathedral and ascended the spiral staircase leading to the bell tower.
Mud and water stains remain on the steps, left by the elderly man as he struggled to climb them.
When he pushed open the slightly ajar door at the top of the clock tower, the sight before him made him stop in his tracks.
Father Gregorios, the old abbot, leaned quietly against the wall.
His monk's robes, soaked by the wind and rain, clung tightly to his emaciated body.
He was still clutching the old British-made hunting rifle tightly in his arms; the barrel was still warm from the recent firing.
His face showed no pain, no struggle, only a serene relief. It was as if he had simply accomplished a trivial task and then drifted off to sleep.
The wooden cross on his chest hung down onto the scorching hot hunting rifle.
Metaxas stood there silently for a long time before slowly removing his military cap and paying the highest military respect to the old man who had protected his faith and homeland with his life.
The news, as if it had grown wings, flew out of the valley washed by the torrential rain.
A messenger on horseback rushed into the nearest village and told the "Torchbearer" instructor there that "the bell tower fired a shot and the bandit leader was killed."
The instructor who was organizing the villagers to repair the fortifications stopped what he was doing and loudly recounted the heroic deeds of the old priest Gregorios to all the villagers.
A Daily Telegraph reporter, gathering information in a Larissa tavern, heard this story, tinged with myth, from a militiaman who had just been rotated off the front lines. He immediately rushed back to the newspaper and, as quickly as possible, telegraphed the report to Athens.
As the story spreads, it is constantly embellished, processed, and elevated.
The old priest's hunting rifle was said to be a sacred object bestowed by an angel.
That fatal shot was depicted as divine punishment delivered by God through the hands of mortals.
After hearing this story, a traveling poet who was somewhat famous in Athens drank an entire bottle of anise liqueur and wrote a short poem entitled "Saints and Spears".
The last line of the poem quickly spread:
"When the devil knocks on the temple door, my Lord, give me a sword, not scriptures."
"The Saint with a Gun"—this title spread throughout the streets and alleys of Greece overnight.
It is no longer just a story; it has become a symbol, a totem.
It perfectly answers the question that has troubled all Greeks: Is there a conflict between piety and the courage to defend one's homeland?
Father Gregorios gave the answer with his life.
When faith is challenged, when homeland is invaded, taking up arms is the most devout prayer! Fighting is the most sacred mass!
The national sentiment in Greece was like an oil drum tossed with high explosives, instantly detonating!
In a classroom at the University of Athens, a philosophy professor was lecturing on Plato's *Republic*. Suddenly, the quietest student stood up and closed his book.
"Professor, I'm sorry. I think that instead of building an ideal world in books, I should go to the border and defend our real country with a gun."
After saying that, he strode out of the classroom amidst the astonished gazes of his classmates and professors.
The following day, hundreds of university students petitioned the military, requesting to go to Thessaly and join the militia.
In the port of Piraeus, a wealthy shipping magnate finished reading the newspaper article about the "gun-wielding saint" in his mansion. He remained silent for a long time, then summoned his butler.
"In my name, donate 100,000 drachmas to the Thessaly front. Also, gather all the retired crew members in my fleet and tell them that if they are willing to go to the front, I will pay them three times the resettlement allowance."
Those gentry, merchants, and intellectuals who had previously held a wait-and-see attitude towards the war completely abandoned all hesitation and calculation at this moment.
Donations of money, supplies, and personnel... a wave of support for the front lines swept across the entire country.
Fueled by unprecedentedly high morale and a steady stream of supplies, Metaxus launched its final offensive.
He mixed the new army and the local militia into dozens of "hunting teams," which, like sharp combs, began a carpet-style cleanup of the entire Thessalian border.
The new army soldiers provided professional tactical and fire support, while the militia members, inspired by the spirit of the "saints," displayed an astonishing fighting spirit.
They knew the terrain well, they were unafraid of death, and they harbored the deepest hatred for the remaining bandits.
One by one, the hideouts of the bandits were discovered.
A series of clean and decisive encirclement and annihilation battles unfolded in the mountains and forests.
The remaining bandits were all wiped out from their hiding places by the combined efforts of the Greek army and civilians, with none escaping.
The "ghost war," which lasted for months, finally came to an end with a complete victory for Greece.
On the third day after the war ended, Father Callinicus arrived at the San Nicholas Monastery.
The area has been cleaned up, but the bullet holes in the walls and the blood-stained ground still tell the story of the tragedy that night.
Father Gregorios, the old priest, was buried beneath the altar of the main church, which is the highest respect for clergy in the Orthodox world.
Callinicus stood before the tomb without giving any lengthy speech.
He simply presided over a grand memorial mass.
Thousands of militia members and local residents who had come from all directions packed the venue. They looked at the "fighting priest" who had led them out of despair and given them meaning in their fight with fervent reverence in their eyes.
After this battle, Callinicus's popularity among the people surpassed that of any bishop in the Greek Church, making him the undisputed spiritual leader.
When Constantine, far away in Athens, received the report, his face remained expressionless.
He knew that he had won more than just a border war.
He had completely seized control of the interpretation of Greek faith. From now on, the Church's stance would no longer be determined by those conservative, stubborn old bishops, but by him—and Callinicus, whom he had supported.
Constantine put down the report, giving himself no time to catch his breath.
He picked up the phone and connected to the Royal Intelligence Service.
"Alexandros, that's me."
"Go and invite all the journalists in Athens from Britain, France, and Germany. Tell them that the Kingdom of Greece will arrange a special Thessaly trip for them, with all expenses covered by the Royal Family."
Alexandros Dimitriopoulos, on the other end of the phone, paused for a moment, understanding the Crown Prince's intention.
"Your Highness, where will the press conference be held?"
Constantine walked to the map and gently tapped the location of the St. Nicholas Monastery with his finger.
"Right there."
"A grand 'showcase' aimed at exposing the despicable acts of the Ottoman Empire to the world is about to begin."