1885, I came to save Greece

Chapter 36 The Prophet Buried Alive by the Times!

At dawn, Constantine's study was still brightly lit.

Alexandros walked in heavily, respectfully presenting a thick stack of files and the overnight translation of the thesis to the Crown Prince's desk.

He hadn't slept all night, his eyes were bruised and dark, and his expression was a mixture of excitement after completing the mission and a deeper worry.

"Your Highness, the person... has been found."

His voice was a little hoarse. He paused for a moment, but finally couldn't hold back.

"But... Your Highness, please forgive my bluntness. What we have found may not be allies who share the same path, but rather adversaries who hate evil as if it were their enemy."

Alexandros carefully chose his words, trying to express his concerns more clearly.

"All the clues point to Andreas... he's utterly ruined. Arrogant, paranoid, and hateful of everything, everyone says he's a madman! He's offended the entire financial world and is seen as a plague by high society. Are we... are we really going to stake the future of the royal family on such a man? Will he indiscriminately transfer his hatred for the oligarchs onto us?"

Constantine did not answer.

His gaze, like iron filings drawn to a magnet, was fixed firmly on the title of the article on the table.

"On the Monopolistic Harms of the National Bank and Its Systemic Suppression of Greek Industrialization"

The title alone made him pause slightly.

He completely ignored Alexandros's advice, reached for the translation, sat back in the large armchair, and began to read it page by page.

The study was eerily quiet, with only the rustling of papers turning and the occasional crackling of firewood from the fireplace.

Alexandros stood to the side, his palms sweating, feeling even more uneasy than when he was rummaging through old papers in the basement.

The paper opens with a calm, almost detached tone, like a corpse on an autopsy table. There are no dramatic pronouncements, only cold, hard data. It details the flow of credit since the National Bank's inception, interest rate changes, the astonishing expansion of the major oligarchic families' businesses, and in stark contrast, the pitifully short average lifespan of emerging small factories in Greece.

These data, in Andreas's writing, are woven into a chilling noose around the neck of Greece.

Constantine's brows furrowed slowly.

Immediately afterwards, the paper took a sudden turn, with every word and sentence sharp as a drawn blade!

Andreas precisely analyzed how the National Bank of Greece, the nominal heart of the nation's finances, had become a private blood-pumping machine for land oligarchs and shipping tycoons.

They continuously provided long-term, low-interest loans to traditional land mortgage and maritime trade projects, while setting almost humiliating loan thresholds for emerging industries that represent the future.

"...They are not afraid of risk, but of the birth of a new class! The rise of a powerful, independent industrial class will fundamentally shake the absolute dominance of the old oligarchic groups over the national economy. Therefore, stifling the budding of industrialization and locking the entire nation's wealth into the two pools of land and trade is their systematic and well-thought-out national policy!"

As Constantine read this, his fingers unconsciously tapped on the armrest, the soft sounds growing faster and faster.

Every word is piercing to the heart!

This assertion fits perfectly with everything his soul, from the future, had discerned!

At the end of the paper, Andreas put forward a concept that at the time seemed like the ravings of a madman—to abolish the existing national bank’s right to issue currency and establish a true “central bank” that was completely controlled by the state and served the national industrialization strategy!

"...Only by wresting the sword of God—the right to mint coins—from the hands of a group of greedy private bankers and firmly grasping it in the hands of the sovereign, can Greece have a future!"

When the last word came into view, Constantine let out a long breath, a hot breath as if the pent-up fire in his chest had finally found an outlet.

He put down his paper and looked up.

Alexandros saw a light burning in the crown prince's eyes that he had never seen before—the ecstasy of a hunter discovering his prey, the excitement of a chess player finding the winning strategy to slay a dragon!

Suddenly, Constantine laughed, first a low chuckle, then a hearty laugh that echoed through the empty study.

The laughter sent chills down Alexandros's spine.

"Your Highness?"

Constantine stretched out his long fingers and almost tenderly traced over the paper, over those sharp and incisive arguments.

"A madman?" He raised an eyebrow and asked, "No, Alexandros, this is not a madman."

He stood up, walked to the window, and gazed at the Acropolis of Athens, which had just been bathed in the golden light of dawn. His voice carried a sense of wonder at the discovery of a rare and precious treasure.

"This is a prophet buried alive by the times!"

He turned around abruptly, his smile vanishing, replaced by an unyielding decisiveness.

"Prepare the carriage."

"Yes, Your Highness! I will arrange the royal procession immediately..."

"No," Constantine interrupted him, raising his hand. "No ceremonial procession, no guards, no royal insignia. Rent the most dilapidated private carriage from the smallest carriage shop in Athens, the more inconspicuous the better. Also, prepare two sets of servants' clothes, old ones."

Alexandros's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.

"Your Highness! You...you're going there yourself? To the Plaka district? No! Absolutely not!" He rushed forward, nearly losing his composure. "You are of noble birth, how can you step into such a place? It's the sewers of Athens! It harbors the scum and degenerates of all Greece, it's too dangerous! Let me go! Let me send someone to 'invite' him to the palace! I'll tie him up with ropes and bring him here!"

Constantine looked at him, sweating profusely with anxiety, shook his head, a hint of approval flashing in his eyes, but his attitude remained unchanged.

"Alexandros, remember this."

His voice wasn't loud, but every word carried immense weight.

"You can't 'invite' a wounded tiger with an iron cage. You can't wipe a dusty sword with silk. For a genius who is proud to the core, you can't 'invite' him."

Constantine's gaze sharpened.

"The only way to 'hunt' is with sincerity!"

He walked up to Alexandros and patted his stiff shoulder.

"Moreover, I also want to see with my own eyes what kind of eyes the person who can write such articles has. I want to taste the water he drinks and smell the stench of the quagmire he lives in."

"What right does a crown prince who can't even bear to witness the suffering of his own people have to talk about saving the country?"

Alexandros was stunned by these words, all his words of dissuasion stuck in his throat, and he couldn't utter a single word.

Looking at Constantine's young yet incredibly resolute profile, the anxiety he felt due to worry was instantly replaced by an even more intense surge of emotion.

He bowed deeply, so deeply that his head almost reached his chest.

"Yes, Your Highness."

He knew that an unprecedented "undercover investigation" was about to begin.