I Became a Tycoon During World War I - Chapter 164

Chapter 164: Celebrating the Triumph

The continuous light rain fell relentlessly, and the small town of Davaus was not as peaceful as usual. People, holding umbrellas and wearing raincoats, bustled through the streets.

Today was Charles's day off, and they wanted to be prepared for his welcome ahead of time, starting more than half an hour early.

This was the mayor's idea. He believed that since Paris had held welcome ceremonies for Charles time and time again, Davaus, as Charles's hometown, should hold an even grander one... Although, grander seemed unrealistic, at least it could be more magnificent and enthusiastic.

However, before they could get ready, Charles's car unexpectedly arrived.

This threw everything into chaos. Neighbors cheered in a flurry, while those in charge of scattering petals had not yet made it to the rooftop before the car passed by. A few tables were also knocked over by the crowd trying to follow.

Despite this, the crowd still surged forward in heaps, attempting to offer flowers to Charles, while the guards hurriedly blocked them on both sides.

"What are they doing?" Charles, sitting in the car, waved his hand in response, confused.

"They are celebrating your triumph, Lieutenant!" Laurent said. "But you're half an hour early today, which threw their plans off!"

Charles felt a bit helpless.

He had deliberately left half an hour earlier, or maybe he had secretly slipped out from the back gate of the headquarters. Otherwise, he would have been surrounded by crowds and reporters, and the car would have been filled with flowers.

The car stopped in front of his house, where there were even more guards. An entire patrol team had been assigned to maintain order. Yet, they could not block the enthusiasm of the people. They shouted and cheered wildly for Charles.

Djoka and Camille stood at the door, looking somewhat helpless. It was clear that they did not want this either.

When Charles got out of the car, he saw Teddy and other classmates, both male and female. They seemed to have gathered there, waving flowers and looking at him with eager, shining eyes.

This was a special arrangement by the mayor. He had gathered Charles's classmates at the doorstep, believing that it would catch Charles's attention.

The mayor succeeded. Charles had no choice but to respond to their enthusiasm. He stepped forward to shake hands with each of his classmates, thanking them and receiving flowers. Soon, he had too many to hold, so he had to hand some over to Laurent.

The flowers kept coming, and so did the classmates' blessings: "Congratulations, Charles, you're amazing!"

"You gave those invaders a good lesson!"

"You are our role model, Charles!"

...

Some classmates even waved their summons to Charles: "Charles, I report for duty the day after tomorrow. I want to be a hero like you!"

Charles smiled in response, but inside, he felt a wave of pity.

His name was Michael, a year older than Charles, and had reached the age of conscription. He was one of the best students in class, but now he had to take up a rifle and head to the battlefield. The most frightening thing was that he still dreamed of becoming a hero like Charles...

One day, when they lay on the cold battlefield, clutching their wounds, with their comrades stepping over them to charge at the enemy, the only company left would be pain, despair, and the rain falling from the sky, growing colder and blurring their consciousness... That was when they would hate the very Charles who had once given them hope.

Suddenly, a strong hand gripped Charles, and a bearded adult face appeared behind the flowers. The man urgently said to Charles, "I need to talk to you, Charles, my name is Kobdo..."

Charles was startled, trying to pull his hand away, but the man held it firmly.

"I mean no harm, I have an idea!" The man spoke faster, his eyes pleading. "Just a few minutes, please..."

Laurent recognized him as a reporter from Le Figaro and quickly ordered the guards to remove him.

Charles couldn't help but sigh inwardly. Were reporters now going to such lengths?

But Charles didn’t think much of it. He waved quickly at the remaining classmates and hurriedly ended the socializing. Amid their envious looks and cheers, he turned and walked into the house.

...

At the dinner table, Djoka glanced at the neighbors outside, who refused to disperse, and shook his head, saying, "I feel like we've become celebrities!"

"Yes!" Camille set an apple tart on the table, complaining, "Every day there are reporters asking this and that, they even want to know what color Charles likes and what fruits he eats!"

However, Charles saw a proud smile on her face.

Djoka raised an eyebrow and, as Camille went back to the kitchen, whispered, "Actually, your mother loves telling people stories from when you were a child. She could go on for hours. It scared the reporters away!"

Charles froze, looking at Djoka with wide eyes.

Djoka knew what Charles was worried about and reassured him, "Don't worry, she didn’t mention that you wet the bed when you were twelve!"

Charles felt embarrassed. Somehow, this incident had spread to the school and had become a joke among his classmates. He hoped none of them had leaked it to the reporters. As a public figure, there was no privacy, and Charles was beginning to experience that frustration.

Djoka skillfully changed the subject. "So, do we still have an inside man in the factory?"

Djoka had read about the Lafox incident in the newspapers. If Charles had painstakingly deceived everyone, and through "everyone" deceived the Germans, it meant there were no secrets, not even in the factory.

"Yes!" Charles nodded lightly, stabbing a piece of apple tart and chewing it quickly, swallowing it eagerly. He then grabbed a glass of milk and drank.

He hadn’t had a chance to drink any water since he woke up, and now, feeling both thirsty and hungry, he suddenly realized that Camille’s cooking wasn’t too bad.

Djoka furrowed his brow. "We’ve hired too many workers from the Francis factory. It's normal for a few of them to be bribed by him. The problem is..."

Djoka shook his head with difficulty. "Unless we have solid proof, I can’t do anything about them."

Charles nodded in understanding.

If Djoka randomly fired them or interrogated the workers as if they were criminals, it would undoubtedly affect morale and cause unrest among the workers. That could lead to a strike or even push the workers toward Francis's factory.

"Then, how do we find these people?" Djoka asked.

"We don’t need to find them," Charles mumbled with his mouth full of food. "We just need to isolate the train station and have them send more carriages!"

Djoka said, "Oh," and understood.

As long as everyone, including the dock workers, didn’t know what was being transported on the trains, it didn’t matter if they found the inside men.

The method Charles suggested was to "send more carriages."

Once the goods were produced, they would be loaded into the carriages and sealed. When the train arrived, the carriages would be dragged out of the warehouse and temporarily attached to the train... This way, except for the few people managing the carriages, no one would know what was loaded onto the train.

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