The Shadow of Great Britain

Chapter 1335: Chapter 184: The Mighty and Upright Judge

To govern a talented but undisciplined Russia, Germans are needed, lots of Germans!

——Tsar Nicholas I

The arrival of the mayor shattered the tense atmosphere, the air seemed to grow even heavier.

The officials of Druiysk filed in with the mayor, judges, inspectors, jurors, liquor inspectors, the village chiefs of each district of Druiysk, almost filling the small inn completely.

Their overcoats and formal attire fluttered wildly in the cold wind, and the breath they exhaled condensed into mist in the frigid air.

The small shop owner’s body shivered violently, his face turning from excitement to terror, and he almost instinctively took a step back, stumbling and nearly falling.

In the past, even one of these bastards could make him work for a week for nothing; today, so many came at once, they must be trying to bankrupt him.

At the same time, the police chief’s expression changed thrice, and he slightly lowered his head, ordering the shop owner in a low voice: “You, go prepare the bill first.”

As he spoke, he quickly stepped towards the mayor and his group.

“Ivan Mikhailovich?” Mayor Bakarjin mumbled discontentedly upon seeing the police chief: “You’ve arrived just in time, I heard from your men you weren’t on duty today? Why have you suddenly come here?”

At this point, the mayor suddenly figured it out: “Damn it! It was your father-in-law who sent you, wasn’t it? That old ghost, I knew he was up to no good!”

The police chief lifted his head proudly, showing no intention of backing down before the mayor. Grasping his sword, he strode over to the mayor and defiantly said: “Indeed, I did receive instructions from the higher-ups, but not from my father-in-law, rather from Colonel Hestingov. I imagine, in any case, he is concerned with the affairs of Druiysk.”

“Damn, I hadn’t even spoken, and you’re justifying yourself already… higher-ups’ instruction, Colonel Hestingov…” The mayor’s tone stiffened, suddenly realizing: “Colonel Hestingov? You’ve met him?”

The police chief stepped aside to reveal Arthur, sitting leisurely behind him, puffing on a cigarette, and bowed deeply: “This is none other than the Imperial Office Third Bureau Second District Constitutional Guard Special Commissioner, Sixth Rank Army Advisor, Colonel Arthur Agaresovich Hestingov.”

The mayor’s eyes instantly froze, his heartbeat seemingly paused.

The Colonel Hestingov before him was entirely different from his imagined officer figure.

The aura of the Special Commissioner of the Constitutional Guard from the Imperial Office Third Bureau under the Tsar weighed heavily, and this extraordinary position and status elevated Arthur to appear almost saint-like.

The dark tailcoat crafted on Jermyn Street in London was tailored to perfection, slender and sleek, with a fabric emitting an aura of luxury and refinement; even a magpie would see this outfit was made for an upscale society evening.

The tailcoat subtly raised, accentuating a vigorous yet elegant posture.

The snowy white shirt collar was pristine, with the pleating at the collar meticulously precise, adorned with an unobtrusive, exquisite golden cufflink, showing an unspoken authority in even the smallest detail.

Arthur sat at ease in the chair, holding the police chief’s pipe, exhaling smoke slowly.

The smoke drifted gently under the dim lights, as if time itself were being stretched.

Arthur was in no hurry to speak, his eyes glowing red as they swept over the mayor and the other officials present, scrutinizing them like a group of unwanted guests.

The pipe gently rocked, and the smoke merged with the surrounding air into an invisible net, engulfing everyone present.

In the silence, Arthur finally spoke, his voice low, magnetic, tinged with calm and intimidation: “Mr. Mayor, I’ve been waiting for you for five whole days; seeing you is harder than seeing Count Benkendorf.”

At the mention of Count Benkendorf, the Third Bureau Chief, the officials in the room were immediately thrown into disarray.

The mayor spoke timidly: “Sorry, truly sorry, I didn’t know you had already arrived.”

Seeing Arthur smoking, he hurriedly pulled out the triangular cigarette case from his pocket and offered it forward: “Please, please use it…”

Arthur used his fingernail to click open the cigarette case, refilled the pipe with tobacco leaves.

As he just lifted his head, he saw the mayor had already struck a match, bending over with a grin to light it for him.

Arthur was in no rush, he waited until the match almost burned the mayor’s fingernail before slowly moving the pipe forward: “Excuses like ‘I don’t know’ or ‘I’m not clear,’ Skornikov just used them earlier; you’d best come up with something new.”

“I…”

Arthur raised his hand, cutting him off: “I heard that when you arrive at a place, to see how it’s governed, you only need to look at what’s in the people’s bowls. I’ve stayed here for five days and eaten the local food for five days, the beef is as hard as bricks, there’s not a drop of oil in the vegetable soup, the tea is tasteless, and everywhere smells fishy. This shows you’ve governed Druiysk adequately.”

The mayor stammered as if his tongue was tied: “Sorry, truly sorry… I… it’s all my fault. What’s sold in our market is always inspected, fresh, quality beef, all brought in by the honest and reliable businessmen from Holmogorsk, who don’t drink and have excellent character. I don’t know where he found the kind of beef you just mentioned. If you’re dissatisfied here, you could… you could move to another place, and I guarantee you’ll see what the real Druiysk people’s food is like.”