After finishing breakfast, Albert I took Shire for a walk along the manor’s path.
The manor was very plain, and even the villa they dined in was only slightly bigger than a regular house, making Albert I seem more like a farmer than a king.
Of course, this was just his manor in Antwerp.
"I apologize!" Albert I said, "I couldn’t provide you with a sumptuous breakfast!"
"No, it was fine," Shire replied.
He was being honest; the steak was decent enough, and what else could a sumptuous breakfast offer? Pizza? Turkey? Caviar?
Albert I nodded, his tone growing heavier: "Believe it, that was the best we could offer you!"
At first, Shire didn’t understand what he meant, but as he followed Albert I past a wall, he saw a scene that explained it all: Albert I was using his manor to accommodate the people.
What met Shire’s eyes was a vast grassland, probably the manor’s pasture, now irregularly dotted with various tents. People were busy moving between them, and some guards were distributing food.
"They are my people!" Albert I said, looking at the crowd with thoughtful eyes, "They could have fled abroad, even to the safer Britain, but they chose to stay and follow me. Taking care of them is my duty!"
Just then, someone called out, "Your Majesty, is this Shire?"
Albert I nodded, puffing out his chest and announced loudly, "Yes, this is the Shire who invented the tank and defeated the Germans. France sent him to , he is here to help us!"
This immediately stirred a significant commotion among the crowd. People stood up one after another, and those inside the tents also came out, gathering around them.
Albert I turned his gaze to Shire, smiling: "You are their hope, Lieutenant! They trust you!"
Shire was a bit puzzled: This was Belgium, and he had never been to this country before, nor had he ever met Belgians. Why did these completely unfamiliar people trust him and consider him their hope?
Albert reminded Shire: "Aren’t you going to say something to them?"
Shire froze for a moment, seeing the expectant eyes before him, but didn’t know what to say. He was worried about disappointing them, so he blurted out, "I will do my best, but my abilities are limited. If, I mean..."
"Your abilities alone are of course limited, Shire!" Albert I interjected, "But you are not alone in this, we will all support you! We will stand united!"
Then Albert I turned to the people, and his voice rose high and strong: "Tell me, will you fight with Shire?"
The people responded one after another:
"Thank you for leading us!"
"We will be with you; we fight for Belgium!"
Gradually, more and more people joined the chorus, soon turning it into a unified shout.
Shire was dumbfounded, originally intending to say, "If I can’t, I’d be sorry," but Albert I had successfully redirected them to another direction.
Shire looked at Albert I in confusion, and the latter raised his eyebrows, smiling and nodding slightly at Shire.
Albert I knew what Shire was about to say, and he could have let Shire continue.
But Albert I understood that in front of emotionally fragile people, one should not utter "discouraging words," but rather words that could boost confidence and morale.
Nonetheless, this did not deter Albert from liking Shire’s character.
Shire was neither boastful nor vain, and he genuinely expressed his inner thoughts, which was exceedingly precious to Albert I, who had heard too many grandiose words.
Those who brag often can’t deliver; their words do not match their hearts.
Shire could deliver, yet he always remained humble and cautious, which was the true, admirable "knightly spirit"!
At this moment, a guard leaned over to Albert I’s ear and whispered something.
Albert I nodded and turned his head to ask, "Want to witness your victory?"
"What?" Shire didn’t understand what he meant.
Albert I didn’t say much more; he waved to the crowd, then led Shire to the other side of the pasture.
What appeared before Shire was a huge balloon, gently swaying in the breeze, with a large wicker basket that could hold five or six people hanging below it.
Shire widened his eyes, his steps slowing. The King couldn’t possibly want to fly up in a balloon, could he?
Albert I turned back in confusion, looking at Shire.
Shire gritted his teeth: What the King used should be safe, right? Besides, he had flown over German blockades in airplanes, so what was a balloon?
However, the reality was that the balloon was more terrifying, especially during the ascent; it wobbled in the wind as if it were drunk.
Shire was so scared that his breathing became rapid and his face turned pale; shouldn’t there be safety belts on this thing? Or at least some parachutes!
Albert I, on the other hand, seemed unfazed, holding onto the ropes with one hand and observing the distance with binoculars in the other, fortunately, so he didn’t notice Shire’s fright.
The balloon ascended higher and higher, and the airflow seemed to stabilize at higher altitudes, allowing Shire to gradually relax.
Suddenly, Albert I pointed ahead excitedly: "Look, there they are!"
Shire took out his binoculars from their case and followed Albert I’s gaze, finally understanding what he meant by "witness your victory."
In the distance, two gigantic cannons were slowly approaching, pulled by horses. Even at a distance of over ten kilometers, the towering barrels were still clearly visible—they were the Germans’ "Big Bertha" heavy artillery!
Albert I took a signal flag from a side pouch and waved it back and forth toward the eager crowd below.
Cheers immediately erupted from below, with people clapping and some even embracing excitedly.