I Became A Hidden Powerhouse Of The British Empire [EN]: Chapter 203

Became a Hidden Power in the British Empire Episode 203 (203/537)

The Battle of the Century

It’s not like they’re common street brawlers, but Bismarck and Marx, instead of just arguing, are suddenly talking about a duel.

Ah, the romance and lawlessness of the 19th century.

Isn’t this similar to Musk and Zuckerberg in modern times, getting heated during an argument and deciding to settle it with a mixed martial arts fight?

Frankly, even in modern times, there are plenty of cases where arguments over drinks escalate into fistfights.

Considering that, perhaps human nature hasn’t changed much from then to now.

Of course, as the saying goes, the most entertaining thing in the world is watching other people fight, so, while pretending not to, I subtly suggested a place for the duel to the two of them.

“If you go out to the backyard, no one will see you… Come to think of it, I believe a duel requires a witness? If you two are serious, I’ll be your witness.”

“I don’t need one. I just want to show this loud-mouthed, ignorant bookworm the true spirit of a German.”

“I feel the same. I’ll show this Junker [a Prussian nobleman or aristocrat], who doesn’t know the ways of the world, the fury of the proletariat [the working class].”

You’d think people who have learned so much wouldn’t act like this, but in reality, it was a very common sight for young people to duel in 19th-century German-speaking areas.

Bismarck apparently dueled whenever he had the chance in his teens and twenties, so it’s no wonder he’s so confident.

Besides, just looking at his appearance, Bismarck was a huge man with a commanding presence who would never be messed with on the street.

Originally, in a fight, size is king.

To beat an opponent who is much bigger than you, a considerable difference in skill is required.

Just looking at the difference between Marx and Bismarck, the skill difference would have to be at least between a pro and a decent amateur.

Unless Marx truly awakens as a Communist Demigod and uses demonic arts, he wouldn’t stand a chance.

I can see how it’s going to turn out, but I’m not sure what he’s relying on, but then again, he is Marx.

I’m sure he has something in mind, so I subtly asked the cooks to bring some food to eat in the garden.

You can’t have a fight without popcorn, right?

Since I get to see this battle of the century, I’m going to chew, tear, taste, and enjoy it to my heart’s content.

Still, for the sake of the two of them, who will later writhe in agony over their dark history, I took measures to prevent anyone except me from entering the backyard.

Oh, of course, I quickly had my personal painter come down to draw a picture for me to enjoy privately.

It’s okay since it’s a painting for personal enjoyment without external leakage, right? Of course, I would have had it drawn even if there wasn’t a duel.

“Now, let’s set the rules of the duel. As you know, since we’ve decided on a duel, remember that it shouldn’t devolve into a simple fistfight. And don’t forget to accept the results cleanly once they’re decided.”

“Of course.”

Bismarck nodded confidently and looked around.

“By the way, duels are usually done with Mensur [a traditional style of fencing common in German student fraternities], but we can’t get weapons here. I guess we’ll have to proceed with bare-knuckle fighting. But what about you sissies over there? Are you too scared to fight bare-handed?”

“Bare hands are fine with me. But if it’s bare hands, it’s overwhelmingly advantageous for you since you’re bigger than us. I’d like to believe you’re not deliberately trying to conduct the duel with rules that favor you, but I hope that’s not the case?”

You could say he’s talking out of both sides of his mouth because he’s scared, but Marx’s words were definitely true.

With a size difference of cruiserweight versus lightweight, Marx can’t beat Bismarck in a bare-knuckle fight no matter what he does.

If they really fight like this, it won’t be a duel, it’ll just be violence.

Bismarck couldn’t deny that fact either, so he scratched his head and grumbled.

“Then what do you want me to do? Are you going to get weapons and protective gear?”

“No. I said bare-knuckle fighting is fine. I’m just saying that bare-knuckle fighting is too advantageous for you, so I’m asking you to add conditions.”

“That’s no problem. I have no complaints as long as it’s balanced so that there are no other complaints, so tell me what you want.”

As soon as Bismarck agreed, Engels, who had been watching from the side instead of Marx, stepped forward.

“You’re at least a head taller than us, so we can’t compete in a fistfight. So how about fighting me first and then Marx?”

“You’re not going to gang up on me, but take turns fighting?”

“What kind of duel in the world has two people ganging up on one person?”

No matter how much size matters, there’s no match for being ganged up on.

Bismarck, who had flinched for a moment, carefully scanned Engels up and down after confirming that they wouldn’t attack him at the same time.

In fact, even I thought Engels looked more skilled at dueling than Marx.

He must have had quite a bit of dueling experience when he was a wealthy young master.

You could say he exudes the same confidence as a great protector guarding the leader of a not-yet-successful Demonic Cult.

But no matter what, it doesn’t change the fact that Bismarck looks much more advantageous.

“Okay. Since we’re fighting bare-handed, it’s fair to say that you two take turns fighting. So who’s going to attack first?”

“Marx, you rest here. I’ll take care of that self-righteous Junker first.”

“Good. I will correct the minds of you two, who are steeped in bizarre ideologies, on behalf of the German youth today.”

You’d think they were going to war or something.

It’s fine for them to have their own dramatic conversations, but at least they should wear minimal safety gear.

Although it wasn’t yet widespread, simple gloves with cloth wrapped around them to prevent injuries during fistfights existed in this era.

I asked a servant to bring the gloves and handed them to the two, giving them strict instructions.

“It’s fine to duel, but remember that this palace is where Her Majesty the Queen of the British Empire resides. If something goes wrong and someone gets hurt, it’s beyond what you can handle, so don’t take off these gloves. And since this is a duel, you must not kick the opponent when they are down, and you must not attack below the waist. Understood?”

“Understood.”

“We will engage in a fair duel.”

“Good. Then, may both of you engage in a fair match with your honor at stake!”

Announcing the start of the duel, I placed a chair in the shade and reached for the fried food the cook had brought.

Then, I asked the painter who was diligently drawing the two’s fight scene next to me.

“Who do you think will win?”

“The big nobleman is at an advantage, but since they have to fight in succession… it seems like it will be a close match. Still, I think size is important in a fight, so I think the nobleman will win.”

“Really? Then I’ll bet on the other side. If you win, I’ll give you 10 pounds, and if I win, we’ll have a special meal for dinner tonight. How about it?”

“Okay. That nobleman! I’ll do my best to draw you, so cheer up!”

As the painter started cheering for Bismarck, Marx, who was watching from the side, raised his voice so as not to be outdone.

“Engels! Show that Junker what you’re made of! You can do it!”

“Of course! You just watch from there!”

Engels confidently shouted and started the fight, carefully measuring the distance and not closing in on Bismarck.

Bismarck also took his time, testing the waters while making threatening gestures, unlike his earlier boasting about delivering a one-punch knockout.

“What is it? You were talking so confidently earlier, but are you scared now that you’re about to fight?”

“Are you scared of losing, even though you said you would teach us a lesson on behalf of Germany?”

“Ha! Then I’ll beat you to a pulp as you wish.”

Whoosh!

A fierce sound of air cutting through the air echoed as Bismarck began to throw punches in earnest.

Instead of blocking, Engels dodged and weaved, only occasionally throwing punches.

Even though he stepped up confidently, the difference in natural size was unavoidable.

Friedrich Engels, unable to come to his senses from the future Iron Chancellor’s onslaught.

This is also an interesting sight, but it’s definitely less fun since he keeps dodging.

I kept waiting for him to start counterattacking, but Engels kept dodging Bismarck’s attacks like a man who came prepared.

He kept dodging like that for almost tens of minutes, but eventually, stamina has its limits.

Thwack!

With a crisp sound, Engels fell backward and sprawled out on the soft grass.

“Cough!”

“Hoo, hoo. In the end, you were just a loudmouth. You kept running away, but you had nothing to show for it.”

“Hehe… For someone who’s saying that… you seem to be out of breath… Hehehe.”

Engels, who couldn’t get up from the ground, kept laughing while blood dripped from his nose.

Could it be that he wasn’t planning to win from the start, but was trying to wear him down?

As expected of the founder of Marxism. To come up with this strategy in such a short time.

And as I expected, Marx put on his gloves and immediately jumped in, as if not giving Bismarck a chance to catch his breath.

“I will not let Engels’ sacrifice be in vain!”

No, he has a nosebleed, but he’s not dead, so isn’t he too caught up in the moment?

Of course, regardless of that, Bismarck, who had been punching the air for tens of minutes and lost his stamina, couldn’t throw as powerful punches as before.

Even if he had dueled a lot, would he, as a Junker, have done systematic stamina training like a fighter?

Still, thanks to his size, Bismarck was able to counterattack to some extent, punching Marx while getting hit.

Thud!

“Ugh! You skinny sissy! Is that what you call a punch!”

Smack!

“Cough!”

“Hehehe, how is it? Why don’t you make yourself comfortable here like your friend over there?”

“Don’t talk nonsense! This isn’t just my fight!”

Thwack! Crack!

“Ugh! You, you vicious bastard!”

Even though they were wearing makeshift gloves, a fierce slugfest ensued, to the point where I wondered if one of them would get a concussion, and the two glared at each other with blackened eyes for a while.

Engels, who still couldn’t get up, desperately started cheering for Marx.

“Don’t fall, Marx! He’s a Junker! A Junker who oppresses us!”

Whether his friend’s support really had an effect or it was a coincidence.

Marx, who had been exchanging punches with Bismarck several times and whose legs were shaking, finally punched Bismarck in the face again.

“Ugh!”

Was it because he had spent too much stamina on Engels?

Bismarck’s body, unable to move due to the depletion of his stamina rather than the damage, collapsed to the ground, making a deflating sound from his mouth.

“Damn it… to use such a cowardly trick.”

“Hoo, hoo. Cowardly or not, the winner is the true victor as long as they don’t break the rules.”

Bismarck’s downfall may have been because he couldn’t find someone to shout ‘Get up, Bismarck, the opponent is a communist! A communist who will kill your father… destroy the country!’ like Marx did.

Marx, desperately holding on to his legs that seemed about to collapse, raised both arms and let out a fierce roar.

“Woo-hoo! We won! This is not just my victory, but the victory of our proletariat! Junkers of the old era, fear the proletariat of the world!”

“Woo-hoo-hoo! We won!”

Engels, who was still lying on the ground and couldn’t come to his senses, also shouted while lying down and pounded the ground with his palms.

Wow, I didn’t expect them to actually win.

Actually, everything is fine, but strictly speaking, you guys aren’t the proletariat, but the bourgeoisie [the middle class].

I desperately swallowed the words that were about to leak out of my mouth and applauded the winner generously.

Looking to the side, I could see that the painting of Engels lying magnificently on the ground and Bismarck and Marx exchanging cross punches was being completed smoothly.

Good. In the distant future, I’ll have it decorated in the British Museum… no. The National Gallery.

It will become a must-visit tourist attraction for tourists visiting London in the distant future, right?

The title of the painting would be perfect as ‘Clash of Ideologies’.

I can’t stop laughing when I think about how this alone will attract a huge number of tourists.

Marx looked at me and clenched his fists, waving his hands enthusiastically.

“Your Highness! Did you see? I won! I won!”

What more can I say to him?

I just smiled and kept applauding.

Thank you, Marx! The National Gallery will surely thank you too.