The Shadow of Great Britain
Chapter 295 - 295 193 Chameleons are the Badge of Politics 4K4

295: Chapter 193: Chameleons are the Badge of Politics (4K4) 295: Chapter 193: Chameleons are the Badge of Politics (4K4) Dusk had fallen, and lights blazed brightly throughout the Apsley House, number 1 London.

Although no name resounded more loudly in Britain than that of Duke Arthur Wellesley of Wellington, the number of guests at today’s banquet was not particularly large.

Perhaps it was because the Duke had invited only a few, or perhaps everyone was simply too preoccupied with distancing themselves from the former Prime Minister who had resigned over opposition to the parliamentary reform bill.

In any case, the number of attendees seemed rather sparse compared to the grandeur of the banquet hall.

Arthur stood before the window, observing the raindrops dyed pitch-black by the night, their size comparable to fingertips causing the street lights to wobble unsteadily.

Watching a solitary pedestrian cross beneath the streetlamp, their boots splashing in puddles and scattering mud, the figure soon vanished into the curtain of rain with no end in sight.

The Red Devil stood just behind Arthur, whispering softly, “Arthur, do you see?

Even shadows are absent on a rainy day.

So, if you don’t wish to be forsaken, remember to always walk in the sunshine.”

“Why bother wading into this mire?

Your reputation is on the rise within the Whig Party; associating with Wellington now does you no favors.

Is the position of Director of the London Police Intelligence Bureau not enough to win over your heart?”

Arthur, upon hearing this, merely glanced at the Red Devil, “I’m just here for a meal, Agares, why so concerned?”

“Is that so?” The Red Devil raised an eyebrow, “You should know that your actions today may influence the next ten years of your life.

Not everyone possesses a generous spirit, especially concerning the Whig Party, who are returning to power after thirty years of absence.”

Arthur simply murmured, “If it’s just a position you seek, you could go straight down one path.

But to accomplish something, you need to balance relationships.

Britain is not France, where fallen factions are pulverized and scattered to the winds.

Even in France, such factions return before long, be it in ten or twenty years, but they certainly won’t vanish from the world just because someone says ‘I dislike it.’ Not even God can do that.

God abhors the Devil and yet, Agares, you’re still living quite comfortably, aren’t you?”

The Red Devil, hearing this, simply smiled lightly, “Very well, Arthur.

Since you insist, I shall not persuade you further.

But take care, lest you play yourself to death.

Many have thought themselves invincible, only to realize too late that they were in an inescapable predicament.”

“You may find it hard to believe, but the greatest love God has bestowed upon humanity is granting you all, these foolish creatures, the equal right to die.

Whether the most devout believer or the most heretic atheist, each has but one life, which is eminently fair.”

Having spoken, the Red Devil turned into a ripple of shadow and disappeared into the hall.

When Arthur came to his senses, he looked down to find the wine glass he had been holding was gone.

He shook his head, “All that talk, and it’s just for a bit of food?

So much for the Duke of Hell who commands thirty-one Demon Legions.”

No sooner had Arthur’s words fallen than the Great Dumas, who had been observing the desserts laid out for the guests to stave off hunger and boredom, also made his way back.

Accompanying Dumas was Victorique, who had bandages wrapped around his hand and had plotted to kidnap Dumas and take him back to his country just a few days earlier.

Victorique led Dumas to Arthur’s side and spoke in a subdued voice, “Let’s go; I’ve already informed Mr.

Talleyrand in advance, and he is willing to meet with you.”

Arthur nodded and walked alongside Victorique, asking, “Is there anything I should be aware of later on?”

After some thought, Victorique replied, “Mr.

Talleyrand is usually quite amiable, but there’s one thing—he doesn’t like it when people mention his lame leg.

However, even if you do bring it up, as long as you don’t use provocative language and just joke about it, Mr.

Talleyrand usually doesn’t take offense.”

Dumas responded with a twist of his mouth, “I suppose Louis XVI, Robespierre, Napoleon, and Louis XVIII all thought the same back in the day.”

Victorique stood outside the entertainment room door, one hand on the doorknob and the other patting Dumas’s shoulder, “Enough, Alexander.

They’re all dead, so why talk about them?

But you must understand, Mr.

Talleyrand is still very much alive.

And I must say in all fairness, compared to those you’ve just mentioned, Mr.

Talleyrand is considerably easier to get along with.”

With that, Victorique knocked on the door, then pushed it open to introduce, “Your Excellency, Mr.

Dumas and Mr.

Hastings are here to visit.”

Arthur stood at the doorway looking inside.

He had expected these European giants to be holding wine glasses and discussing momentous matters, but the scene in the entertainment room left him somewhat puzzled.

All he saw were several old men seated around a card table, engrossed in a game of poker.

Had it not been for their opulent attire, they could easily have been mistaken for the elderly chess players one might find in the park in a previous life.