1885, I came to save Greece

Chapter 251 A Kiss Amidst the Ruins

Amidst the clamor of the mountain people cleaning up the battlefield, a rapid, heavy, and uniform sound of horses' hooves, like rolling thunder, came from the eastern horizon.

The sound grew louder and louder as it approached, eventually transforming into a roar that shook the very earth.

Spiros turned around abruptly.

In the dim light of dawn, a royal banner adorned with a black double-headed eagle, like a drawn sword, tore through the thin mist on the horizon.

Beneath the banners stood hundreds of knights clad in black cavalry uniforms and gleaming breastplates. Formed in neat wedge formations, rider and horse as one, they surged towards the hospital camp like a black tide, kicking up clouds of dust.

The Royal Guard! His Highness Constantine's most elite cavalry!

Hours earlier, when the incoherent, almost unrecognizable distress telegram was passed through several relays to Larissa's frontline command post, Constantine was in front of the sand table, deploying the next phase of the offensive.

The instant he finished reading the telegram, he crushed the baton in his hand.

He didn't convene any military meetings, nor did he issue any orders. He simply grabbed his sword, rushed out of the command post, and gave the assembled royal guards his sole command: "Prepare for battle! Target: the rear field hospital! Full speed ahead!"

At that moment, when Constantine saw the devastated camp before him, which looked as if it had been looted, his face turned frighteningly cold, and his aura became icy.

"Your Highness!" Spiros, leaning on his cane, hurried to meet him. "The remaining enemy, numbering about seven or eight, have fled towards the southern mountains!"

Constantine's gaze swept across the battlefield.

He saw the Ottoman soldiers lying in pools of blood, as well as the fallen guards and ragged mountain people.

His voice held a suppressed volcanic rage about to erupt.

"Not a single one can escape!"

Without pausing for a moment, he pointed his whip at the mountains to the south and gave orders to half of the guards behind him.

"Chase!"

He personally rode his horse, leading over a hundred elite cavalrymen, like a black whirlwind, plunging headlong into the vast mountainous region without the slightest hesitation.

He wanted to use that scum's blood to wash away even the slightest bit of fear they had instilled in Sophia.

Half an hour later, as the gunfire of the pursuit gradually subsided in the distant mountains, Constantine handed over the task of mopping up the remaining enemy to his adjutant, Metaxas.

He then turned his horse around and charged back to the hospital.

He dismounted, his heavy riding boots thumping dully on the muddy, blood-soaked ground. Pushing aside the crowd, he strode towards the dilapidated operating room tent, cleaved in two by a saber.

Then, he saw Sophia.

She squatted on the ground, with the one-armed veteran who had died protecting her from a knife lying beside her.

Her face was covered in the soot from gunpowder and bloodstains from the enemy, and her skirt was covered in mud.

She didn't cry.

She simply used a clean white cloth torn from the hem of her skirt to carefully and gently wipe the blood from the face of the fallen soldier, and then gently closed his eyes.

She heard those familiar, heavy footsteps.

She slowly raised her head.

I saw him.

Constantine stood at the opening in the tent, the morning light shining from behind him, outlining his figure as a chilling silhouette.

His eyes were bloodshot, his chest heaved violently, and his knuckles were white as he gripped the sword hilt.

Eyes facing each other.

A thousand words, a thousand battles, all vanished in this moment, replaced by a silent gaze.

The next second, Constantine moved.

Instead of walking away, he rushed to Sophia and, under the watchful eyes of everyone around, pulled her up from the ground and embraced her tightly and fiercely.

The strength of that embrace was astonishing, as if it wanted to meld her into its very bones.

His body trembled violently from lingering fear and suppressed rage.

"Are you crazy?! Who gave you permission to come here?!"

His hoarse roar exploded in her ears.

Sofia nestled in his arms, feeling his heart pounding like a drum. All her strength, all her composure, crumbled in that moment. She was no longer the composed queen, but simply a woman who had just escaped the brink of death. Her body began to tremble uncontrollably, not from the cold, but from a belated fear.

She stretched out her arms and hugged him just as tightly, burying her face deeply in his chest, which smelled of gunpowder and dust. The tears she had suppressed all night finally soaked his uniform. After a moment, she finally looked up…

She smiled.

On that face stained with blood and ash, the smile was more radiant than any jewel at the Zappeong Palace ball.

"My 'king' is bleeding on the front lines, how can his 'queen' hide in the back embroidering?"

Before she finished speaking, Sophia stood on tiptoe and took the initiative to meet his lips.

All of Constantine's anger and fear melted away in that kiss. He took the initiative, deepening the kiss with an almost domineering manner.

In front of the tent burning brightly in the morning light.

On the ruins littered with corpses and weapons.

Under the watchful eyes of all the surviving soldiers, noblewomen, and civilians.

The Crown Prince and Crown Princess of Greece shared a passionate kiss on this land that had just been ravaged by blood and fire.

A war correspondent who had accompanied the Queen's medical team raised his heavy camera with trembling hands.

The spotlight came on with a soft click.

"Click."

This scene was frozen in time forever.

It spread to every corner of Greece and throughout Europe through newspapers.

It became the most symbolic image in this Greco-Turkish War.

It heralds not only the unbreakable love of this royal couple, but also the arrival of a new era in which the king and queen fight side by side and face the world together.

At this moment, Sofia Dorothea Ulrika Alice, with the blood of her enemies and her own courage, completed her true coronation from Prussian princess to Greek queen.