The Shadow of Great Britain

Chapter 1217: Chapter 141: The Fox of Gottingen

At the University of Gottingen, there stands a quaint little stone house, an activity venue granted by the school to one of the student clubs.

However, compared to other student club premises, this house possesses a distinctive feature that is rare.

Even though the furniture inside is simply arranged, the floor is neither carpeted nor sanded, but is directly covered with a layer of black paper on the white ground.

For those unaware of the secret here, they might assume this is some bizarre hobby of the homeowner.

But all members of the University of Gottingen’s ‘Pomeranian Sword Club’ know that the black paper on the ground plays a significant role in mystical rituals, and all new members must utilize it to complete the initiation ceremony before joining the club.

As per the initiation ritual, all applicants lie on the black paper floor, having their outlines drawn by senior club members. Each human-shaped outline is about four to five square feet and is framed with narrow black wood and hung on the wall.

From the outlines on the wall, it can be deduced that the ‘Pomeranian Sword Club’ isn’t sparsely populated, with at least over 100 members.

The orderly curves gradually taper to a common bottom, stacking layer upon layer like a pyramid; the majority of lower and mid-level outlines are mounted on white fir wood, while the scarce mid-upper level outlines are framed in hierarchy with walnut, mahogany, and oak, distinguishing club members’ ranks well—the Grand Master, Master, Division Commander, and Sergeant.

Seeing these names, anyone knowledgeable in medieval history can tell these amusing lads are emulating the organizational structure of the Teutonic Knights.

Though they have never been as wealthy as the Teutonic Knights nor owned a territory larger than this small house, they still make a show of decorating the third wall of the room with a pair of shining swords.

This pair of swords is crossed and fixed against the wall, as if proclaiming to all visitors: We members of the Pomeranian Sword Club are no pushovers!

A creaking sound is heard, someone pushes open the door, sunlight streams into the room through the crack, and the reflection off the swords is dazzling enough to make one nearly dizzy.

Entering is a tall and slim young man, though not yet fully developed, his weight meets adult standards.

His dressing style is completely out of sync with Gogentine’s current fashion; he wears a wrinkled jacket without a collar or buttons, seemingly faded. And his lower body sports particularly baggy trousers, iron-heeled boots with protruding boot spikes. His shirt tie isn’t tied but draped over his shoulders.

His hair covers his ears and neck, showing signs of a budding beard, though the beard’s color is unclear yet, resembling fuzz more than a beard; this is a prominent feature on his face.

Besides, a large sword is at his left waist, a holster at his right, with a huge signet ring on his ring finger for decoration.

He steps into the room, unbuckles his belt, takes off the handgun and sword hanging on it, throws them on the ground, unable to stop chattering to a friend trailing behind.

“Only here can I set aside my antics for a while and become somewhat rational. Although it’s a boring matter, this is about earning a reputation. Initially, as a fox who had been in Gottingen for merely three months, I knew no one but longed to make a name for myself here, introducing myself to the members of the Pomeranian Sword Club, only to find no chance of success. John, if such a situation happened to you back then, what would you do?”

John Motley shrugged at this friend who had just been elected as Gestapo President with great satisfaction: “I reckon you’d make friends with the Grand Master, ingratiate yourself with the senior club members, and let them give you a chance to showcase yourself.”

“That’s the American mindset, but here is Germany, your method won’t work.”

Bismarck snorted: “I publicly insulted them in the worst possible way. I broke a Division Commander’s nose, shaved off a Master’s upper lip and mustache, and didn’t greet others much. After I did that, everyone in the club admired my bravery; they yearned for such a gallant fighter, cheering as they voted to let me join.

I intend to lead my companions here, and in the latter half of my life, to be their leader. You can see how rational a person I am now. You’d barely recognize me as the man you ran into on the street half an hour ago, back when you encountered a blustering madman.

But I see this as a way to stand out. When I arrived at university, I decided, since my competitors are those indulgent, violent, eccentric people, and I must conquer them, my indulgence, violence, and eccentricity must be tenfold theirs!”

Motley couldn’t help but laugh when he heard Bismarck mention what happened half an hour ago.

No one present could forget that this fellow, younger than many freshmen, unexpectedly took his big dog named ‘Ariel’ on stage to publicly give a campaign speech. And not just his words, but even his gestures were so explosive.