The Shadow of Great Britain

Chapter 1143: Chapter 115: My Mentor Hastings

Garibaldi is brave, but lacks wisdom. He actually prefers to go to London rather than come to Berlin. You know, I just want to catch him, while Sir Arthur Hastings will likely put a price tag on him and sell him to Napoleon III.

—Otto von Bismarck

Bismarck’s reply made Arthur immensely satisfied.

He fished out a cigar case from his pocket, took one and stuffed it into Bismarck’s mouth, lighting it for him personally.

“Otto, you’re a smart young man, among the many youths I’ve met, you’re the smartest. It goes without saying, you’ll surely become a big shot one day.”

Bismarck felt a bit unhappy hearing Arthur speak to him in such a condescending tone. Although he could say a few insincere words for a school recommendation letter and scholarship, it didn’t mean he was willing to be anyone’s lackey.

After all, he was a Prussian Junker noble, and back at his ancestral estate, Schoenhausen Manor in Stendal, he was the one who spoke condescendingly to the peasants.

If he could best Arthur in a fight, he would certainly teach the brat a lesson.

Bismarck replied sarcastically: “Your Excellency, you talk like you’re an old wise man, almost seven or eighty years old, about to go into the grave.”

The Red Devil yawned while perched on the tree branch: “Kid, you’re pretty sharp at judging people, maybe you’ll really become somebody in the future.”

Arthur nodded in agreement: “Otto, do you know what I admire about you the most? Although you have some fantasies inherent to young people, I can’t see any ideals in you. Just from this alone, you’re already one step ahead of others.”

Bismarck thought Arthur was mocking him and disrespectfully spat on the ground: “You used to be a diplomat, and before that a cop. Did the folks you met in diplomatic circles or the thugs on the streets of London have any ideals?”

“That may very well be.” Arthur replied with a smile: “At least the French and Italians I’ve met carry ideals. I’ve made quite a bit of money helping them fulfill their dreams.”

“What do you mean?” asked Bismarck perplexedly. “Doesn’t making dreams come true usually cost money? How can you make money from it?”

Although Bismarck was curious, Arthur wasn’t planning to share his wealth-making secrets for now.

It’s well-known that when a job is profitable, insiders usually keep it under wraps. Only when it stops being lucrative do hordes of course sellers suddenly pop up.

Arthur naturally avoided this topic according to his market economic logic: “Otto, the University of Gottingen doesn’t offer courses in political economy, and besides, my identity is merely that of a professor of electromagnetism.”

Though Arthur didn’t spell it out, Bismarck, recalling the conversation between Arthur and Schneider, roughly understood the dirty trade they had engaged in.

He took a lazy drag on his cigar and lounged on the bench: “So political economy means: give them politics, then you improve the economy? I believe making me head of the Gestapo student association is the same logic. I remember you mentioned not only giving recommendations but awarding scholarships.”

Even though Arthur knew this kid was destined for greatness, it still delighted him how Bismarck gleaned so much understanding from merely a few words shared with Schneider.

Arthur nodded slightly and then corrected: “It’s the chairman of the University of Gottingen social activity enthusiasts and event planning organization. Otto, you need to watch your wording; calling it a student head is really unpleasant. Take note, this isn’t an autocratic organization but a democratic society; you have to be elected through student voting to rise up.”

Bismarck rolled his eyes: “Your Excellency, I came to see you today for this reason. Although I am confident in managing the student organization, as you know, my reputation at the University of Gottingen is utterly foul. Those petty bourgeois students dislike noble youths like me, and I dislike them too. If it weren’t for you persistently requesting, I wouldn’t mix with them at all.”

Seeing Bismarck’s indifferent attitude, Arthur had to appropriately address it: “Otto, that’s your issue, not mine. I’ve already provided my promised rewards; if you don’t become proactive, I can also give the scholarship and recommendation letter to someone else.”

Bismarck chuckled, sitting upright and speaking with a hint of provocation: “If you do that, I’ll start recalling some things better left unremembered, like the conversation we had mere minutes ago.”

Hearing this, Arthur replied with a bright smile: “Otto, if you act like that, I’ll immediately write to your mother and expel you from your studies. Afterward, whether you plan to go back to Prussia to farm or join the military, it’s entirely up to you. As for what you said… If you think a dropout student’s words can reach your old mentor Metternich’s ears, you’re showing the typical hysteria of young people, quite delusional.”

Bismarck’s face turned green upon hearing this, his previously confident demeanor vanished without a trace.

Just as Arthur previously mentioned, Bismarck was somewhat more mature than his peers; he could afford to be a bit more realistic.

Even if those words truly brought misfortune upon this new academic director, it wouldn’t change Bismarck’s inevitable fate of slinking back home to join the military or farm.