The Shadow of Great Britain

Capítulo 1284: Chapter 165: Pilgrims of the Land of Winter

Arthur slowly descended from the third floor of the theater, his hard boots making a faint creaking sound on the old wooden stairs, as if conveying his current mood.

The walls on both sides of the staircase were adorned with various hand-painted, lavish theater posters, their vivid colors starkly contrasting with his present state of mind. Arthur’s thoughts were heavy and complex, his brow clouded and his heart burdened with unresolved concerns.

He lowered his head, his gaze following his footsteps, as if each step was in contemplation of the arrangement of fate. Ever since entering this bustling theater, his heart had been plagued by an inexplicable anxiety.

As he passed the second floor’s resting area, the cheerful laughter there seemed so distant. Carefree university students were making a ruckus in a private box, drawing disapproving glances from some early audience members.

Finally, Arthur arrived at the first floor, but he didn’t rush towards the backstage. Instead, he surreptitiously directed his gaze to a distant smoking room emitting a faint glow.

The half-open door seemed to beckon him, carrying a hint of enticing tranquility. In times of trouble, this place was akin to Heaven for this old smoker.

Arthur gently pushed open the door, only to find none of the imagined swirling mists within. His luck was good; today, he was the first visitor here.

He pulled out his pipe, lit the tobacco, the flame flickering briefly in the dim environment. Smoke spread as Arthur inhaled sharply, then slowly, the smoke tangled in the air before reluctantly coalescing into clusters and gradually dissipating.

Leaning against the wall, he watched this serene little world through the clouds of smoke.

The walls were covered with dark velvet wallpaper, the intricate patterns made more solemn by the passage of time. The lighting was dim and a few classical crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling. In the center of the room were several leather sofas, the deep brown leather gleaming faintly under the light, while in the corners sat small round tables scattered with a few scripts and ashtrays with a small amount of unburnt tobacco.

Perhaps out of an old habit, Arthur’s professional tendency surfaced once again.

He muttered to himself as he stared at the round table: “Alexander was here; judging from the smell of smoke in the room, the scattered scripts, and the tobacco in the ashtray, it should have been about an hour ago, and he left in a hurry, probably pulled away by someone for final revisions on “Turandot”…”

Arthur suddenly patted his forehead, feeling a bit ridiculous, wondering why even at this moment he still wanted to deduce an irrelevant event through various minor details.

He recalled the words the Duke of Sussex had said to him not long ago.

Whether it was His Majesty the King or the Duke of Wellington, these big figures who wielded power in London all seemed to want him to abandon his old profession and take up a position more befitting his gentlemanly status in the Royal Navy and Army.

Arthur found it difficult to determine if this was merely an empty promise, because according to the ancient logic of the British political arena, military service was certainly a shortcut to politics.

Although Britain was a modern nation, many traditions inherited from the feudal era still hadn’t been abandoned.

After all, Parliament was initially composed of nobility appointed by the King, and those nobles became noble because they undertook military duties for the King. Although it’s not a strict requirement now, having a noble title doesn’t necessarily mean you must serve in the military, but for those determined to make a mark in history, joining the military remains unavoidable.

Nowadays, titles like Baron, Viscount, and Earl can be achieved without military merit, but if you want to become a non-royal Duke in Britain, you still need to produce classic battles that save Britain from peril.

The latest to earn this honor was the first Duke of Wellington, Arthur Wellesley, who defeated the Emperor of the French Empire, Napoleon.

And the predecessor was the first Duke of Marlborough, John Churchill, who defeated the ‘Sun King’ Louis XIV in the Battle of Blenheim.

Defeat the French?

Arthur took a depressing drag from his cigarette.

He did know someone good at this, though it wasn’t him, but that troublesome fellow from Gottingen, Mr. Bismarck.

If solely measuring by military achievements, perhaps Bismarck would be more suited to develop within the British military.

As for Arthur himself, he didn’t think joining the military was a good idea.

Firstly, he was already 24 years old this year, which might sound young, but for the Royal Navy, where it’s common to board a ship at eight or nine years old, he definitely qualifies as overage. Furthermore, the Navy’s training cycle is lengthy, and as Eld said, the Royal Navy is too rigid concerning promotions, and acts too unkindly.

Even those naval admirals who boarded ships from a young age need at least nine to ten years to climb to the rank of Navy Colonel, equivalent to the Commissioner of the Royal Greater London Police Department.

As for the Army, they are relatively lax concerning rank and appointment. Especially now in a time of peace, outside some colonial troops, there’s little to be gained, so donating for a Colonel position in a local regiment is much easier than during wartime.

But Arthur worried that if he knew these things, there’s no reason why the King and Duke of Wellington wouldn’t.