Chasing Time

“Next, we have the most noble recipient of the Order of the Garter, the Grand Cross of Saint Michael and Saint George, the Grand Cross of the Bath, the Victoria Cross and the lower grades of Knighthood, the leader of the anti-colonial movement, the bell-ringer of the East India Company, the hero of the Crimean War, a Fellow of the Royal Society, a lifelong dear friend of literary giants such as Dickens and Great Dumas, a steadfast supporter of scientific luminaries like Faraday and Darwin, having served as assistant under-secretary, deputy under-secretary, and permanent under-secretary in departments of the Home Office and the Navy Department of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, the inaugural Cabinet Secretary and head of the civil service, the first graduate and most distinguished alumnus of our school. Please welcome Sir Arthur Hastings to deliver a speech on the occasion of the fiftieth anniversary of the founding of the University of London.”
Arthur's gaze swept across the crowd before him, looking at the young faces and murmured, “Agares, what do you think I should say?”
The Red Devil's wraith hovered behind him, saliva almost dribbling from the corner of his mouth, “Look at these ignorant souls; they still worship you as a hero. Why not say something they'd like to hear?”
Arthur took a deep breath and let out a deafening roar, “Oxford is a bunch of whores' bastards!”
“Oh!!!!”
The audience erupted into thunderous applause.
“Cambridge is the same!” he added immediately.
The applause grew even more fervent...
(The protagonist, possessed by a devil, travels through 19th-century Britain in a world without magic)

The Shadow of Great Britain

On the second floor of the Golden Lion Inn, a larger bedroom had been cleaned up to serve as a temporary meeting room.


In the year Lexington fired a shot that sounded the horn of independence for the North American colonies.


However, half a century later, a gunshot in Liverpool had brought to the place over a hundred capable officers from Scotland Yard.


Sitting by the window in the meeting room, simply smoking quietly, one could hear the rustling of the officers' saber scabbards against their white riding breeches coming from downstairs.


From the street, in front of the not-so-wide Golden Lion Inn, groups of Scotland Yard officers could be seen smoking.


The passing Liverpool locals glanced curiously at this group of sudden Londoners. Setting aside each person's distinctive face, their uniforms at least, which showed not a single wrinkle from top to bottom, certainly looked far more dashing than those of the local security teams.


Chapter 307: The Royal Navy's Expert in Humiliating America