novelSusiti Chapter 287 The Loudest Response
Chapter 287 The Loudest Response
Chapter 287 The Loudest Response
The next day, as dawn broke.
Before the Lancaster Hall Conference was to convene again, a message, like a thunderclap piercing the thick fog of London, spread instantly to every corner of the city via Reuters' telegraph network.
Belgrade News Flash: King Peter I of Serbia urgently summoned the Russian ambassador to Serbia last night and delivered a public speech.
The original text of the speech was short, but every word carried immense weight.
"The friendship between the Kingdom of Serbia and the heroic Kingdom of Greece was forged in blood through shared faith and the struggle against tyranny. This friendship is as sacred and unbreakable as Mount Athos! Any despicable attempt to tarnish this friendship with lies and conspiracies will be met with the most resolute and thorough response from our two peoples!"
This public, high-level, and named statement is tantamount to slapping a certain empire hard in the face in front of the whole world.
It declared in the most resolute way that the so-called "internal divisions within the Balkan countries" had not only not occurred, but that they were standing together in unprecedented unity.
Everyone understands that this is the loudest, most direct, and most ruthless response to the "small actions" of a certain country the night before.
Embassy of Austria-Hungary.
In the study, morning light streamed through the huge French windows, illuminating the dried, dark brown coffee stain on the carpet.
Count Carnogi had just finished breakfast. Holding a steaming cup of black coffee, he was making final preparations on how to put pressure on the French at the negotiating table that day.
A secretary rushed in, looking flustered, and placed a press release that had just been delivered from the telegraph room on his desk.
Count Carnoki frowned in displeasure.
He picked up the press release and glanced at the headline.
The next second, his hand holding the Meissen porcelain coffee cup began to tremble violently.
The scalding coffee spilled out, splashing onto the back of his hand and his expensive silk dressing gown.
He was completely unaware of it.
"Sacred—Unbreakable—"
He muttered the words on the telegram, his well-maintained face drained of color, becoming like a wet sheet of paper.
He'd been tricked.
He was fooled by the young crown prince who acted like a student in front of him, who was like a complete fool.
His scheme to sow discord, that carefully wrapped apple laced with the deadly poison of history, not only failed to poison the Greeks, but was instead passed on to the Serbs, becoming the most potent adhesive.
He personally guided two allies who were already wary of each other to a deeper level of trust.
He became the laughingstock of the entire London diplomatic community.
He could imagine how, at this very moment, in the French mansion, in the Russian club, and even in the British Whitehall, diplomats were mocking him, this "old hunter" from Vienna, with the most cutting words, as he was being manipulated by a "little fox" from the Balkans.
"Bang!"
The valuable Meissen porcelain cup slipped from his weak hand and shattered on the polished marble floor.
The meeting room at Lancaster House.
When the Greek and Serbian delegations walked into the hall side by side, all eyes were on them.
Constantine walked at the front, flanked by the spirited Venizelos and the composed Serbian ambassador.
They walked with their heads held high and their steps were composed, without the slightest hint of ostentation, yet they naturally exuded the aura of victors.
They came like an army that had just won a crucial battle, ready to receive their due glory.
A few minutes later, Count Carnoki appeared at the door.
He kept his head down, his face deathly pale, with dark circles under his eyes. He practically hugged the wall as he walked to his seat, avoiding eye contact with anyone the entire time. He kept wiping his forehead with a handkerchief, as if the cold, damp conference room was making him feel suffocated by the heat.
From his seat, the Marquess of Salisbury took in all of this.
There was no gloating expression on his face.
There wasn't a single moment of relief in his heart.
He simply watched quietly as the chasm clearly separated the proud Greeks from the dejected Austrians.
A chill slowly rose from the depths of his heart.
For the first time, he elevated Constantine from a "troublesome opponent" to a "dangerous variable."
This young man possessed far more than just good luck on the battlefield and unexpected eloquence at the negotiating table.
He possesses an even more terrifying ability.
A terrifying ability to accurately see through the essence of complex international relations, keenly grasp the contradictions, and then use the most ruthless and efficient means to turn crises into opportunities and transform the enemy's conspiracy into one's own power.
The Marquess of Salisbury leaned back in his chair, his long, slender fingers gently rubbing the small silver mallet in front of him.
He looked at the Greek crown prince sitting not far away, speaking quietly with Venizelos. The prince seemed to notice his gaze, looked up, and gave him a polite but emotionless smile.
The Marquess of Salisbury sighed softly to himself.
He originally thought he was playing against an impulsive player who was more skilled at chess.
He was wrong.
He now understood that from the moment the other person sat down at the card table, they had never considered him a pawn.
What he wanted was to become someone like him, someone who could set the rules and play the game.
This poker game in London is becoming increasingly interesting, and also increasingly dangerous.
He picked up the small silver mallet and gently tapped the table.
"Thump."
A crisp sound echoed through the huge conference hall.
"The meeting is now in session."