1885, I came to save Greece

Chapter 37 A Third Visit to the Thatched Cottage? No, this prince will only come once!

A simple, unadorned carriage stopped two blocks from the Plaka district.

The coachman was a complete stranger; there was no trace of royal connection whatsoever from head to toe.

"Your Highness, are you really...really going in?"

Alexandros made one last attempt to persuade him, his face turning pale as he looked at the alleyway in the distance, which resembled a scar on the city.

That's the other side of Athens.

It is a corner forgotten and abandoned by all the glitz and glamour.

Constantine had changed into a simple linen outfit, simple in style but of good quality, though he had deliberately made some wrinkles in it.

He glanced at his attendant, then at the alleyway entrance.

"Let's go."

Without further explanation, Constantine was the first to disembark from the carriage.

Two carefully selected plainclothes guards followed at a distance, their hands always in their coat pockets, gripping cold weapons.

The moment they stepped into the alley, an indescribable odor savagely filled their nostrils.

It's the greasy smell of inferior olive oil after repeated frying.

It smelled like sour, foul odor from the garbage piled up in the corner fermenting in the sun.

It was the musty smell emanating from the damp walls and tattered clothes that never dried.

All the smells mixed together to create an aggressive, poverty-inducing odor.

Alexandros nearly vomited on the spot. He covered his mouth and nose tightly with a handkerchief, feeling his stomach churning.

Constantine, however, seemed not to have smelled anything, and his steps did not falter in the slightest.

The alley was very narrow, only wide enough for one person to pass through at a time.

The roof was strung with ropes, hanging colorful pieces of cloth whose original appearance was indistinguishable, cutting the already limited sunlight into fragments.

The dark, murky sewage pooled into small puddles on the uneven stone pavement.

Several barefoot, filthy children were chasing and playing in the puddle, but they immediately stopped when they saw Constantine and his group of outsiders who were dressed impeccably.

They didn't run away; they just stood at a distance, staring at the uninvited guests with a mixture of curiosity, wariness, and numbness in their eyes.

It's like watching a group of aliens who have invaded your nest.

Constantine kept his eyes straight ahead, his mind racing as he compared the addresses on the file.

In his previous life, he had only seen such scenes in documentaries and historical photos, but when he was actually there, the dual impact of sight and smell was far more intense than any video footage.

This is his country.

These are the people he wants to save.

On one side are the lavish parties that last all night in the villas of oligarchs, and on the other side is the rotten life in the slums where the sun never shines.

A complete and utter rupture.

"Behind the red gates, meat and wine go to waste, while on the road, the bones of those frozen to death lie."

"What did Your Highness just say?" Alexandros asked, leaning closer.

"Nothing, are we almost there?" Constantine slowed his pace and turned to ask.

"It should be that building in front."

Alexandros lowered his voice and pointed to a dilapidated little building not far away.

That building looked more dilapidated than any other building in the alley, with large chunks of plaster peeling off the walls, revealing a blackened wooden frame.

It seemed as if even a slightly stronger gust of wind could completely disintegrate it.

As they went downstairs, an even stronger musty smell wafted out from the dark stairwell.

The stairs are made of wood, and they creak and groan when you step on them, as if they might break at any moment.

Alexandros and his guards were all on edge, their palms sweating.

In a place like this, anything can happen.

Only Constantine maintained a steady pace.

He walked at the front, step by step, treading the decaying stairs, until he reached the second floor.

Andreas's residence was located at the very end of the corridor.

That door was even more dilapidated than the main door downstairs; the paint had almost completely peeled off, revealing the original color of the wood, and there were several shocking cracks on it.

There was no nameplate or any decoration on the door, like a forgotten opening in the world.

Alexandros strode forward, about to raise his hand to knock on the door.

"I'll do it."

Constantine stopped him.

Under the astonished gazes of his attendants and guards, Constantine walked to the broken door himself.

He even straightened his actually neat collar, a subtle gesture that made it seem as if he were not meeting a down-on-his-luck madman, but a distinguished scholar.

Then, he raised his hand.

With his knuckles, he knocked three times on the wooden door that looked as if it would shatter at the slightest touch.

thump.

thump.

thump.

The dull knocking echoed in the deathly silent hallway, sounding unusually abrupt.

He could clearly feel the door panel vibrating slightly under his knuckles, and the rough wooden splinters made his knuckles ache.

There was no response from inside the door.

A deathly silence.

Alexandros grew impatient and was about to step forward again.

Constantine simply waited patiently.

A full half minute passed before a slow, dragging sound of footsteps came from inside the door.

The sound grew closer, accompanied by several suppressed, violent coughs, as if the lungs were about to be coughed out.

"Squeak—"

The door was suddenly pulled open from the inside, leaving a narrow gap.

An eye peered warily through the crack in the door.

Immediately afterwards, a face appeared behind the gap.

A face so pale it was almost bloodless, with high cheekbones that made the whole face look exceptionally thin.

His messy, gray hair looked like a clump of withered grass, and his chin was covered with bluish-black stubble, as if he hadn't groomed it in a long time.

He looked dejected and down on his luck, like a homeless person who was about to starve to death.

But those eyes, peeking through the dim crack in the door, shone with an eerie brightness.

It wasn't madness, nor despair, but a sharpness that pierced through everything, like an eagle, like a knife hidden in its sheath.

Who are you?

Andreas's hoarse voice squeezed out from the crack in the door, filled with vigilance and impatience.

He glanced quickly at the neatly dressed Constantine and Alexandros behind him, his eyes filled with undisguised disgust.

"roll!"

"I don't buy anything, and I don't need God's salvation!"

After he finished speaking, he didn't give the other person any chance to reply. He slammed the door shut with force!

Alexandros's heart tightened, and he instinctively reached out to block the door.

Just as the door was about to close.

Constantine spoke.

His voice was calm and not loud, yet it clearly penetrated the door and entered Andreas's ears.

"Mr. Kofinas, we are certainly not here to save your soul."

Andreas's hand, which was closing the door, paused.

A hint of surprise flashed in the eyes peering through the crack in the door.

The other party actually knew his name.

Constantine looked through the crack in the door and continued in a steady tone:

"We're just here to ask a question."

"That paper about 'the national bank being a private treasury,' that sword you thought could cut through the cancer in this country..."

Constantine paused, each word like a precisely thrown pebble striking the other's heart.

"Now, do you still want to wave it yourself?"