1885, I came to save Greece

Chapter 21: Won? No, just barely qualified to sit at the table.

The air in the reception room seemed to freeze.

"Your Highness, you have won."

Sir Harding's voice was dry, as if squeezed from a rusty iron pipe.

His gaze was complex as he stared at the young man before him. Arrogance and disdain had vanished, replaced by a solemn expression befitting an opponent of equal standing.

Constantine did not display any victor's demeanor; his expression remained calm, even carrying a perfectly appropriate hint of youthful frankness and confusion.

He didn't seem to understand the deeper meaning of Harding's words, and simply went along with what the other person said, continuing to play the role of the decision-maker who hesitated at the crossroads.

"Win?" Constantine repeated the word softly, then shook his head, a hint of self-deprecation in his voice. "Sir, you overestimate me. Everything I did was simply to keep Greece alive."

"Can a beggar who manages to get a piece of bread from two wealthy gentlemen be considered to have won?"

These words dispelled the last bit of resentment in Sir Harding's heart.

He finally understood that he was not facing an opponent who needed to be intimidated, but a negotiator who needed to be taken seriously.

This young man not only knows how to create threats, but also how to elevate himself.

Sir Harding slowly sat up straight, his tie, which had been somewhat disheveled in his anger, now meticulously straightened. Every movement he made restored the rigor and decorum befitting a British envoy.

His entire aura transformed from that of an enraged lion into that of a businessman preparing to make precise calculations.

He reassessed the entire situation.

The Russian threat was like a Damocles' sword hanging over the eastern Mediterranean, ready to fall at any moment.

The French bidding acted as a catalyst, causing the price of this previously unremarkable Greek commodity to skyrocket.

The calmness, skill, and decisiveness displayed by this young man, far beyond his years, made him realize that the era of solving problems with empty promises and hypocritical "moral support" is over.

Greece, or rather Constantine, needs tangible benefits now.

It is real money that can give this country a breather.

Sir Harding leaned forward slightly, and for the first time, a solemn expression appeared in his grey-blue eyes.

"Your Highness, I admit that I may have underestimated the severity of the difficulties your country is facing."

He spoke, his voice steady, without the previous oppressive tone.

This is a typical concession signal from the British; a seemingly understated "underestimation" actually represents a huge shift in their diplomatic stance.

Constantine's heart skipped a beat; he knew the most crucial moment had arrived.

But he maintained his composure, only encouraging the other person to continue with his gaze.

"Regarding 'moral support'..." Sir Harding paused, as if choosing a more appropriate word, "Perhaps... we can talk about something more practical."

"Something more practical?" Constantine repeated softly, like a patiently listening student.

"Yes." Sir Harding nodded, his gaze sharpening. "I will immediately send a telegram to London, in the highest-level encrypted form, reporting everything that happened here today, including... the whispers from the Neva, and the... 'generosity' from the Seine."

He deliberately emphasized the pronunciation of a few words, both to remind Constantine that he had all the information and to show him his sincerity in cooperating.

"Personally, I will make recommendations to Her Majesty's Government in my capacity as the British Ambassador to Greece."

He paused for a moment, allowing the full weight of his words to be revealed.

"It is recommended that the Queen's Government immediately consider providing the Kingdom of Greece with... emergency financial assistance to help your country stabilize the situation and overcome the current difficulties."

The difference between "moral support" and "emergency financial assistance" is vast.

This means that Britain's attitude has shifted from a superior "protector" and a "friend" offering verbal reassurance to a "collaborator" willing to spend real money.

This means that Constantine's days-long planning has finally yielded its first substantial reward.

He successfully pulled the British Empire, the world's most powerful beast, from an observer and a potential threat to his negotiating table.

After Sir Harding finished speaking, he said nothing more and simply looked at Constantine quietly.

His question has already been raised.

"So, Your Highness, what kind of assistance do you consider to be 'substantial'?"

This is a trap.

If Constantine were to make an exorbitant demand and propose an unrealistic figure, Sir Harding could accuse him of greed and thus gain the moral high ground in the ensuing negotiations.

If Constantine's demands are too low, it will make his previous threats and plans seem like child's play, and he will lose the initiative.

The reception room fell silent.

Sunlight streamed through the window, casting long patches of light on the floor, while dust particles in the air danced slowly within the beams of light.

Constantine did not answer immediately.

He stood up and slowly walked to the huge oil painting "Battle of Salamis".

His gaze fell upon the magnificent ancient battlefield. The Athenian fleet, with its inferior forces, was defeating the massive Persian fleet and driving it into a desperate situation.

"Jazz."

Constantine's voice came from in front of the painting, carrying a sense of historical distance.

"Look at this painting. More than two thousand years ago, our Greek ancestors used three hundred triremes to defend the civilization of the entire Western world. They were facing an enemy ten times stronger than themselves."

He turned and looked at Sir Harding.

"The victory in that war relied not only on courage, but also on the determination of the citizens of Athens to empty their pockets and raise money to build a fleet."

"Today, Greece is also facing a war. A war without gunfire, yet equally crucial to the survival of the nation. A war against poverty, against bankruptcy, against the fate of being partitioned."

His voice was calm, yet carried an undeniable power.

"The 'substantial assistance' I need is not charity, nor is it a huge sum of money for me to squander."

Constantine's gaze turned intense.

"What I need is for Greece to rise again and regain the resources to build its own 'triremes'!"

He didn't mention any specific figures, but instead elevated the issue to a whole new level.

He didn't want the fish, he wanted the fishing net!

These words surprised Sir Harding, but also filled him with admiration.

This young man was thinking much deeper than he had anticipated.

Constantine smiled and walked back to his seat, sitting down again.

He leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms in front of him, and struck a very relaxed pose.

The initiative is now firmly in his hands.

"Sir," Constantine's tone softened, "I believe that a stable, prosperous Greece, one that is benevolent towards the British Empire, a Greece that can be a reliable partner for your country in the eastern Mediterranean, is most in the global interest of the British Empire, isn't it?"

He threw the question back at him.

Like a top-class tennis player, he hit a beautiful backspin shot from the baseline.

"As for the specific plan... I think we can discuss it slowly."

"After all..." He glanced toward the side hall, where the French ambassador, Pierre, was "patiently" waiting.

"I still have plenty of time. And I have more friends in Greece than I expected."