Arthur in Berlin

Signor Bronte, that conniving little snake, was thriving in Washington, his pockets undoubtedly bulging. Meanwhile, Arthur and John, two genuine American ruffians, were far away in the gilded cage of Germany, awaiting an audience with the formidable German Kaiser Wilhelm II.

Indeed, the sheer, brutal, technological marvel of the Tank's arrival had driven Wilhelm II to a frenzy of almost childlike excitement, a pathological obsession. For this, he even specially set aside some precious time to meet Arthur and John from America, two men he likely considered glorified barbarians, simply to express his imperial approval, his royal blessing.

At this very moment, in the heart of Berlin, Germany, a city of steel and ambition.

"Click!"

Arthur, with a practiced, almost insolent flick of his wrist, struck a match with the sole of his worn cowboy boot, the rasping sound cutting through the crisp Berlin air. He lit the cigarette at the corner of his mouth, its tip glowing orange, then, with a casual disdain, flicked the still-burning match into the pristine river in front of him, and, for good measure, even spat into the shimmering water, a defiant gesture.

His rude, utterly uncivilized behavior caused a nearby German noblewoman, draped in silks and furs, to glare at him fiercely, her face contorted with profound disdain, as if he were a particularly offensive piece of refuse.

In this era, Europe, despite its pretensions, was not yet as environmentally conscious as portrayed in certain romantic writings; the main reason this woman disdained him was primarily because of his crude cowboy attire, his very presence a stain on her refined sensibilities.

Perhaps such attire was perfectly normal, even fashionable, in the wild, untamed American West, but in Berlin, one of Europe's top-tier, most sophisticated cities, it was a rare, almost shocking sight for someone of such a demonstrably lower status.

Wearing clothes of a lower status and acting precisely like a person of lower status, a common brute, made the German noblewoman, who considered herself high-born, a paragon of virtue, extremely disdainful of his personal conduct, his very existence an affront.

John, who was beside him, ever the loyal, if equally crude, companion, glared back at the woman, a silent, menacing challenge in his eyes, then, with a defiant smirk, flicked his own cigarette butt into the river in front of them, a twin act of rebellion.

They had been here for three whole, bewildering days and still hadn't adapted to the city's overwhelming prosperity, its dizzying pace.

Yes, prosperity. A dazzling, almost terrifying, display of it.

Although they were shocked, truly dumbfounded, when they first saw Saint Denis, that sprawling American metropolis, they had adapted quickly, its wildness still familiar. While Saint Denis was also a large city, its internal construction, its various hard indicators of progress, and its surrounding environment still gave one a feeling of being firmly in the West, not completely detached from the rugged Western layer, its soul still wild.

But in Berlin, it had completely transformed into another layer, another dimension entirely.

Skyscrapers, impossibly tall, stood like silent, stone giants, reaching for the heavens. Carriages and automobiles intertwined in a chaotic, yet somehow organized, dance, their sounds a symphony of progress. Various newsstands and small shops, bustling with activity, were already indistinguishable from modern society, a glimpse into the future.

They even saw something called a telephone in some shops, a magical device that could be used to talk to someone miles away by just picking it up, a voice from the ether.

All of this, this bewildering display of advancement, made them feel like true country bumpkins entering a grand, overwhelming big city, utterly unable to understand or integrate, their minds reeling.

For three whole days, they wandered outside, their mouths agape, and even now, they hadn't adapted to the city's dizzying prosperity, its relentless march forward.

Of course, what they couldn't adapt to the most, what truly grated on their outlaw sensibilities, was that they couldn't just pull out their guns and shoot in this place, couldn't settle disputes with lead; in fact, they couldn't even bring guns into many shops they wanted to enter, leaving them feeling naked and vulnerable.

This made them feel very insecure, profoundly uneasy.

Although German gangs were not very famous, not like the notorious American outfits, they did exist; in these three days, they had seen gang groups committing crimes on the streets twice, brazenly.

One time was a brutal gang shootout, bullets flying, and the second time was a brazen act of extorting protection money from a terrified shopkeeper.

However, this was also normal; in an era where technology was not yet fully developed, where communication was slow, the inherent weakness of regulatory enforcement was undoubtedly the biggest aid for criminals to proliferate, to thrive in the shadows.

"So, Arthur, you old dog, are we really going to meet the highest-ranking person in this entire country tonight?" John sat heavily on a cold stone bench, looking somewhat bewildered, his face a mixture of awe and disbelief.

He still couldn't imagine, not in his wildest dreams, that one day he would be involved with the leader of a country, and such a powerful, formidable empire as Germany, a nation that commanded respect.

"Don't ask me, John, oh, sh*t!, I'm still as unable to think as you are, my brain's gone to mush." Arthur also looked bewildered, running a hand through his hair, his eyes distant.

Although Dutch had told him when they came that he needed to meet the German Kaiser to discuss Dutch's grand issues, he found it hard to believe, almost absurd, when it was actually time to meet the German Kaiser , face-to-face.

"My goodness, Arthur, I never thought that we, these damn desperadoes, these common outlaws, could ever meet the leader of a country! We are completely different now, Arthur! Even when we previously occupied Saint Denis and sent troops to Mexico, I still felt it was just a carnival for us desperadoes, just small-time stuff, a glorified gang war. I never imagined we could reach this point, to stand on the world stage!"

John lit another cigarette, his hand trembling slightly, and muttered to himself, his voice filled with a profound, almost spiritual, awe.

It was the first time he had spoken such a long, coherent sentence, which eloquently showed how utterly shocked he was feeling at the moment, his mind reeling.

Foreigners, even the most powerful, also have a sense of status disparity; it's like they used to be local emperors in a county at most, ruling a small patch of dirt, and then two days later, they were going to meet the actual Kaiser, a true monarch.

"I remember you said that last time we sent troops to Mexico, John. Can't you say it differently, you dullard? Or do you have no more adjectives? The Silent One?" Arthur retorted, a wry, mocking smile playing on his lips, despite his own inner turmoil.

Although Arthur was emotional, deeply affected by their journey, he was clearly still very capable of retorting, his wit sharp as ever.

That one phrase, "The Silent One," a cruel jab at John's usual taciturn nature, made John feel a bit broken, his face falling.

"Damn it! Arthur, are you still unwilling to speak properly, you insolent brute?! Are you going to use this damn tone when you meet the German Kaiser tonight, you disrespectful cur?!" John hissed, his face reddening with a mixture of embarrassment and anger.

"Just make sure you don't howl like a wolf at tonight's banquet, Werewolf," Arthur calmly retorted, taking a long drag from his cigarette, a puff of smoke obscuring his face.

One sentence mocked John twice, hitting two raw nerves, and John's face turned a furious, mottled red with anger. He clenched his fists.

"I don't want to talk to you right now!" John snapped, turning his back on Arthur, his shoulders stiff.

The two of them were bickering again, a familiar, comforting rhythm amidst the alien grandeur of Berlin.

Time slowly passed, each minute stretching into an eternity, and finally, at precisely six in the evening, a luxurious carriage, gleaming under the gaslights, stopped with a soft sigh in front of the elegant hotel where the two of them were staying.

Arthur and John, with a shared, nervous glance, boarded the carriage, its plush interior a stark contrast to their rough lives.

The luxurious carriage, its horses clip-clopping softly, headed towards the German Kaiser's magnificent palace, a symbol of imperial power.

"Arthur, you old hound, what should I say later? Or how should I bow? Do I curtsy? My God, I'm going to make a fool of myself!"

The two had, predictably, reconciled again, their brief spat forgotten. John sat expressionlessly on one side of the carriage, his face a mask of feigned calm, but in reality, he was a bundle of raw nerves. He quietly, urgently, asked Arthur, his voice barely a whisper.

"I don't know, John, Dutch said a handshake would be fine, but I feel a handshake isn't quite proper, not for an Kaiser ." Arthur replied softly, his own voice tinged with apprehension, afraid of being overheard by the silent coachman in front of the carriage and being embarrassed, a public humiliation.

"Then what in God's name do we do, Arthur?!" John hissed, his eyes wide.

"Just follow what the people next to you do when the time comes, you idiot. Don't draw attention to yourself." Arthur, uncharacteristically, seemed a bit nervous himself, his usual bravado replaced by a subtle unease. He glanced out of the carriage window a few times, then let out a long, shaky sigh and said, his voice barely audible, "Alright, I admit I'm a little nervous now too. My stomach's doing flips."

He ran a hand over his face. "I'd rather rob a bank in Blackwater than attend this damn dinner, by God!"

"Me too." John nodded, still expressionless, but the tremor in his hands betrayed his true state. In reality, he was also extremely nervous, his heart pounding like a drum.

"Alright, no more talking now. I need to think about what Dutch told me to discuss with the German Kaiser . Damn it, I got nervous and forgot everything!" Arthur growled, rubbing his temples.

Silence, thick and heavy, fell upon the carriage again, broken only by the rhythmic clip-clop of the horses.

But not thirty seconds passed before John's voice, a nervous squeak, rang out again.

"What should I say, Arthur? What if I say the wrong thing?!"

"I don't know, damn it, say whatever you want to say, why do you have to ask me every damn second?!" Arthur roared, reaching out and gripping the edge of the carriage seat so hard his knuckles turned white, his patience wearing thin.

"But I can't just howl like a wolf in the palace, can I? That would be… undignified."

"Sh*t! You shut up! Can you let me think about what Dutch told me to discuss?! My brain's turning to mush because of you!" Arthur roared, his face contorted in frustration.

Peace, an uneasy, fragile peace, returned to the carriage.

Not thirty seconds passed.

"Arthur, where will I sit later? At the table? Or…?"

"Sit in the German Emperor's lap! Sit on his bed! Sit on his table! Sh*t!, Marston, shut up right now, before I throw you out of this damn carriage!" Arthur's voice was a strangled, desperate scream, his eyes wide with a mixture of exasperation and pure, unadulterated terror.

As they drew closer to the palace, its immense, imposing silhouette growing larger with every passing moment, both men grew increasingly uneasy and nervous, their bravado crumbling.

They now desperately wished for the road to stretch on infinitely, for this terrifying journey to never end, but unfortunately, it eventually, inevitably, came to an end.

At the grand, imposing entrance of the magnificent palace, a prominent, stern portrait of Wilhelm I, the previous Kaiser, was displayed, his gaze seemingly judging them.

As the carriage slowly, majestically, came to a halt, servants, impeccably dressed and silent, were already waiting at a small side door of the palace, their faces impassive.

As soon as Arthur and John disembarked from the carriage, their movements stiff and awkward, a servant, his posture ramrod straight, immediately approached them, his voice smooth as silk.

"Mr. Morgan, Mr. Marston, please follow me, gentlemen. His Majesty is already waiting for you two."

The servant, dressed in a European butler's attire, moved with exceptional grace and posture; even his every step was precisely measured, a silent, elegant dance, exuding an air of refined dignity in every action.

Arthur and John, feeling profoundly awkward and tense, followed closely behind him, their rough cowboy boots scuffing faintly on the polished marble. John, ever the mimic, even tried to mimic the servant's gliding walking style, hoping to make his own movements appear more gentlemanly, less like a lumbering brute.

Arthur's awkwardness was a little clumsy, a visible stiffness in his shoulders. He remembered being somewhat reserved, almost shy, when he first entered Henry Manor in Saint Denis to meet Mr. Henry, a mere local magnate. Now, in the heart of this imperial palace, he was even more so, his limbs feeling like lead.

He was as stiff as a duck, a wooden puppet.

The palace was towering and grand, its architecture awe-inspiring, yet it possessed the typical European architectural style; the high surrounding walls evoked a sense of profound oppression, a crushing weight, while the narrow pathways for walking made one feel constrained, confined.

All the roads inside the palace were meticulously illuminated by gaslights, casting long, dancing shadows, and at every intersection stood strangely dressed German Royal Guards, their faces grim, their uniforms immaculate, making the two feel even more oppressed, more like intruders.

After several turns, navigating the labyrinthine corridors, the three entered the palace, ascended a high, winding staircase, and finally stopped at the door of a grand room Arthur could no longer recall, his mind a blur of gilded opulence.

To their profound surprise, no one confiscated the firearms from their waists throughout the entire process, their revolvers still resting heavily in their holsters.

This was truly strange. Was Kaiser Wilhelm II really that bold, that trusting? Or simply arrogant?

"Creak…"

Amidst Arthur and John's apprehension and growing surprise, the servant, with a soft, almost imperceptible sound, pushed open the room door, then walked in and performed a deep, sweeping servant's bow to Wilhelm , who was seated inside, a figure of imperial authority.

As he bowed, Arthur and John saw the famous German Kaiser for the first time, a man whose image was known across the world.

The German Kaiser was seated at the head of the massive dining table, which was already meticulously set with an array of food, and looked over with a serious, unreadable expression, his gaze piercing.

He possessed an imposing demeanor without needing to show anger, a natural authority that radiated from him, appearing somewhat gaunt, almost ascetic. He wore a black military uniform adorned with flamboyant, gleaming decorations, and his left arm, gloved in pristine white, rested stiffly on the table. He looked less like an Kaiser and more like a stern, unyielding military officer, a general in waiting.

"Your Majesty, Mr. Arthur Morgan and Mr. John Marston have arrived." The servant's voice was deferential.

The servant gestured slightly, a subtle invitation, and Arthur and John, standing stiffly outside the door, awkwardly walked in, their movements wooden.

John was half a step behind Arthur, a nervous shadow.

He watched Arthur bend over, somewhat comically mimicking the servant's earlier, elegant bow, a clumsy, exaggerated movement, and immediately followed suit, his own bow a stiff, awkward parody.

"Esteemed Wilhelm… Your Majesty." Arthur mumbled, his voice unsure, his brow furrowed, utterly unsure how to address the Kaiser, fumbling for the correct title.

"Mmm mmm mmm…" John, too, mumbled quietly, his own attempt at imperial address, synchronizing his sounds with Arthur's to achieve a unified, if utterly bewildered, effect.

Watching these two country bumpkins act like comical clowns, their attempts at formality so utterly inept, a rare, almost imperceptible smile appeared on Wilhelm II's face.

However, it was more like a sneer, a flicker of contempt, than genuine amusement.

"Mr. Arthur Morgan, Mr. John Marston, it is a pleasure to meet you. Please, have a seat." Wilhelm II's voice was cold, formal, devoid of warmth.

"Alright." Arthur nodded, a curt, almost dismissive gesture, glanced at John, and then both walked stiffly to the chairs opposite the long table, which the servant had already pulled out for them.

This was a very long table, stretching seemingly endlessly, with Wilhelm seated imperiously at one end and Arthur and John, two small figures, at the other.

Each person's food was individually placed in front of their seat, covered by silver cloches.

There was also high-quality red wine, its ruby liquid gleaming, even cigars and cigarettes, an array of luxuries.

"Don't be shy, gentlemen, tonight's banquet is entirely casual." Wilhelm II's voice was flat, ironic.

Arthur and John sat down heavily in their chairs, listening to the German Kaiser's words. John, his hunger outweighing his nervousness, couldn't help but pick up a gleaming dinner fork.

The servant immediately stepped forward and, with a flourish, opened the lid covering the food, revealing a visually appealing, aromatic, and delicious steak before him, its juices glistening.

"Thank you!" John was surprisingly polite at this moment, his stomach rumbling, even offering a genuine thank you to the servant, a rare display of manners.

Their utterly unsophisticated behavior greatly disappointed the German Kaiser.

He had initially thought that this so-called Mr. Dutch Van der Linde was an unparalleled genius, a strategic mastermind, but seeing the current, crude demeanor of his two subordinates, he surmised, with a dismissive wave of his hand, that Van der Linde was likely just a country bumpkin who occasionally stumbled upon a good idea, or perhaps had cunningly stolen someone else's invention.

This significantly diminished his desire for conversation and rendered his intended, carefully prepared words utterly unnecessary.

However, just because he didn't speak didn't mean Arthur wouldn't.

Arthur had been thinking about Dutch's instructions for a long, agonizing time on the way here, rehearsing them in his head. Now that he finally remembered them, and had actually met the German Kaiser , he certainly had to speak immediately, before he forgot again.

So Arthur, with a deep breath, stood up from the dining table, his movements stiff and awkward.

"Esteemed Kaiser Wilhelm," Arthur began, his voice a little shaky, his eyes fixed on the Kaiser, "Dutch, Dutch has something he wants me to tell you, something important."

His words were undeniably comical; who conducts a conversation like that, with such bluntness?

But as an outlaw from childhood, a man of action, Arthur could now speak and stand in front of an Kaiser, which was accomplishment enough. If it were Signor Bronte, he would probably be too nervous to even stand up, let alone speak.

"Ha!" Seeing his comical, awkward appearance, the German Kaiseractually laughed, a short, sharp bark of amusement.

He nodded, a slight inclination of his head, and said, "Very well, Mr. Morgan, I am very interested in Mr. Van der Linde's words, as long as they are not mere flattery, or some peasant's ramblings."

Arthur nodded, a quick, jerky movement, then stated directly, his voice gaining confidence: "Dutch wants to make a deal with you. He knows that you… Germany cannot contain its ambition for development, its hunger for power. Now Britain has become a stumbling block to Germany's continued growth, a jealous obstacle, so if Germany wants to continue developing and seize overseas interests, it will certainly move against Britain. And France has a deep-seated grudge against Germany, along with significant conflicts of interest, so it will definitely align with Britain. Furthermore, France and Russia have a military alliance, so ultimately, these three countries will unite to oppose you and Austria-Hungary. Perhaps Italy will join, but Italy is unreliable, a fickle ally."

Arthur paused, taking a breath, then continued, his voice unwavering: "Once the war begins, the colonies of various nations will be forced to send troops to join the war, swelling its ranks. Based on the current scale of European colonies, Dutch believes this war will become a world-level war, a global conflagration."

He leaned forward slightly, his eyes fixed on the Kaiser's. "And America currently has an excellent relationship with Britain. For its own national interests, America will certainly enter the fray. So Dutch believes he can make a deal with you."

Arthur spread his hands, a gesture of openness. "Open up trade between us. We will sell you various new weapons, our cutting-edge technology, and you will sell us various resources and grain, vital supplies. You can send people to learn our Tank and various new weapon manufacturing techniques, and in return, we can send people to learn your various factory machinery designs. This way, when you truly launch the war, Dutch will simultaneously launch a revolutionary war in the America, thereby reducing one opponent for you, drawing their attention and resources."

Arthur finished, his face earnest. "How about it, Your Majesty?"

"Pfft!" Arthur's straightforward, utterly blunt way of speaking almost made the German Kaiser spit out the wine he had just taken into his mouth, a sudden, explosive sound. He choked, sputtering.

No, Wilhelm II thought, wiping his mouth with a napkin, such extremely important conversation content was just spoken out so openly and directly, without any preamble, any diplomatic niceties?

All the various confrontations, the overt and covert struggles, the mutual suspicions, the delicate dance of diplomacy in between were completely omitted? Everything was laid out upfront immediately, like a deck of cards on a saloon table?

This straightforward, almost barbaric, way of negotiating made the German Kaiser unable to suppress his laughter, a harsh, incredulous sound that was more shock than mirth.

However, Arthur's words, though brief and crudely delivered, greatly astonished him.

This Mr. Dutch Van der Linde, what he said actually makes a lot of sense, a terrifying, undeniable logic!

Before a world war begins, no one truly knows it will be a world war; everyone assumes it will just be a small-scale conflict, a localized skirmish.

Although Wilhelm was the Kaiser, he was not omnipotent; no one could predict the true direction of events, the chaotic forces unleashed by war.

So hearing Arthur's words, besides profoundly shocking him, he was also astonished that Mr. Dutch Van der Linde's wild conjectures, upon closer thought, actually had a very high probability, a chilling prescience!

Kaiser Wilhelm's eyes narrowed slightly, and his expression became unreadable, a mask of cold calculation.

Mr. Van der Linde is very right, and for him, there's no need to determine whether they can achieve it or not. The ambition alone is enough.

They have ambition and want to replace America; that's what's most important, the shared goal.

Once the war begins, whether they win or lose, America will surely be tied down, embroiled in its own internal conflict.

So, no matter what, regardless of whether Mr. Van der Linde achieves what he said, this audacious proposal can be agreed to.

But with the discussion having reached this pivotal point, more greed suddenly surged within him, a fresh wave of avarice.

His gaze fell upon Arthur, who stood opposite him, a crude, yet surprisingly effective, negotiator. He was about to probe, to test Arthur's limits, but then he thought that these two bumpkins had no schemes whatsoever, no hidden agendas, so there was no need to play the upper-class game with them, no need for subtle manipulation.

So, it was best to speak directly, to lay out his own demands.

"Mr. Morgan," Wilhelm II began, his voice firm, authoritative, "Mr. Van der Linde's conjecture indeed has some merit, a strategic insight. We can cooperate deeply and form a wartime alliance, a powerful pact, but I think that's not enough. Not for the stakes involved."

He leaned forward slightly, his eyes gleaming. "I believe we can form a deep-level military alliance. We will provide manpower and resources to help you build the American West, to industrialize your lands. We can purchase your oil, a vital resource, and after the war begins, establish a dedicated US-European maritime supply route, an unbreakable lifeline. In addition, after the war begins, I hope you help us delay the Mexican government and the North African colonies from joining the war, keeping them out of the conflict."

Wilhelm II spread his hands, a grand, encompassing gesture. "We can fully take responsibility for the main battlefield, the brutal, bloody heart of the war, but I hope you can also play a certain role in the peripheral areas, creating diversions, tying up enemy resources."

He paused, his voice gaining a messianic fervor. "The British Empire has occupied this world for too long. Their systems are outdated, their ideas are backward, and they are extremely hegemonic. Whether it's the future development of America or our Germany, we need to break its hegemony to achieve true rebirth, a new world order."

It must be said that Wilhelm II still had great strategic vision, a keen understanding of global power dynamics, or rather, what he said was extremely correct, undeniably true.

Regardless of the British Empire before World War I or the current America, the hegemonism of these capitalist powers is a common obstacle to the rise of all other countries, because capital likes to harvest, to exploit, and other countries are merely the targets of that harvest.

To truly be independent and self-reliant, to truly develop quickly and peacefully, these hegemonic nations must be completely dismembered; only then is true development possible, true freedom. Otherwise, if you don't obey, they'll drag the whole world into sanctioning you, crippling your economy, and if you do obey, they'll harvest you every few years, stripping you bare. What kind of development is that?! It's slavery!

This is also one of the reasons why he wasn't afraid of Mr. Van der Linde betraying him after he provided manpower and resources. It was a calculated risk.

Furthermore, the complex relationship between British, French, and American interests, the fundamental differences in ideology, and the disparate national structures, all points determined one thing: that Mr. Van der Linde could not, by his very nature, side with the British.

Whether from the perspective of the broader geopolitical situation or the intricate relationship between British, French, and American powers, there was no possibility of Mr. Van der Linde betraying Germany after receiving their support. It was a logical impossibility.

This was why he dared to speak these audacious words, to lay out his grand scheme.

"If Mr. Morgan cannot decide on this matter, then you can convey my words to Mr. Van der Linde. I believe he will ultimately agree, because this is a win-win situation, a path to mutual glory."

Wilhelm II leaned back, a smug smile on his face. "As the saying goes, 'when a whale falls, all things grow.' The old order is dying, and the order of this world should also change, to make way for the new."

Kaiser Wilhelm truly lived up to his title; even in simple words, there was an infinite aura of dominance, a chilling, imperial presence.

But to his profound surprise, Arthur, without a moment's hesitation, directly agreed with his words, his face grim but resolute.

"Yes! I mean, we can cooperate deeply, Kaiser Wilhelm. A mutual cooperation." Arthur said, his voice firm, his eyes unwavering. "Before I came, Dutch had already told me that he hoped for deeper cooperation with Germany, for a true alliance, and he welcomed your engineers to come and help us build our country, to share their knowledge."

Arthur spread his hands. "Dutch said he would bear the salaries of these engineers and all other expenses, every last penny. In addition, payment for weapons can be substituted with various equipment, with raw materials, with anything we need."

He gestured expansively. "We are now in a state of rebuilding, a grand construction, and everything can be put to good use, every resource, every skill."

Arthur now, surprisingly, had the demeanor of a gang's third-in-command, a seasoned diplomat; he directly took full authority to decide on various matters, even surprising the German Kaiser with his unexpected decisiveness.

This was a godsend for Wilhelm II. The deeper the two sides were bound, the harder it would be to separate later, their fates intertwined. When war truly broke out, their positions would naturally be consistent, and after the war ended, he could also achieve a certain degree of control over America by strategically withdrawing relevant professionals, equipment, and funds, leaving them dependent.

"Oh? That's wonderful! Absolutely wonderful!" Wilhelm II boomed, a genuine, delighted laugh escaping him, his face alight with triumph. "Hahaha, then, happy cooperation, Mr. Morgan?"

"Happy cooperation, Kaiser Wilhelm!" Arthur replied, a grim smile on his face, extending a hand to meet the Kaiser's, sealing the pact.