Chapter 164: Celebrating the Victor's Return

Chapter 164: Celebrating the Victor's Return

A steady drizzle blanketed the small town of Davaz, where the usual peace was replaced by lively commotion. People moved through the streets with umbrellas and raincoats, busily preparing a welcome for Charles, who was expected home today. They had started getting ready over half an hour in advance, eager to celebrate his return.

This welcome was the idea of the mayor, who felt that if Paris held grand receptions for Charles, Davaz, his hometown, should do the same. Perhaps not as big, but certainly with more warmth and spirit.

However, before they could finish setting up, Charles's car unexpectedly arrived, throwing the preparations into chaos. Neighbors scrambled to shout and cheer; the person assigned to toss flower petals hadn't made it to the rooftop yet, and a few tables were toppled as people ran to greet him. Despite the disarray, people clustered around his car, eager to hand him bouquets, while guards tried to keep them at bay on either side.

"What are they doing?" Charles asked, waving back at the crowd in confusion.

"They're celebrating your victory, Lieutenant," Laurent replied. "But you're here half an hour early, which threw off their timing."

Charles smiled with a mix of amusement and resignation. He had intentionally left the headquarters early, sneaking out the back to avoid the crowds of reporters and admirers who would have overwhelmed his car with flowers and attention.

When his car stopped in front of his house, even more guards were stationed there, an entire patrol unit working to maintain order. Despite this, people pressed forward, nearly frantic with excitement as they called out and cheered for Charles.

Deyoka and Camille waited by the door, sharing an exasperated look—clearly, they hadn't asked for all of this either.

As Charles stepped out of the car, he spotted Teddy and his other schoolmates, waving flowers in their hands, their faces alight with admiration. This was also the mayor's idea. He had gathered Charles's friends to stand near his front door, hoping that it would get Charles's attention.

And it worked—Charles approached his friends, warmly shaking their hands and thanking them as they handed him bouquets. Soon, he had so many flowers that he had to hand a few over to Laurent to hold.

More flowers kept coming, along with congratulatory words from his classmates.

"Congratulations, Charles! You were incredible!"

"You really showed those invaders!"

"You're our inspiration, Charles!"

One of his friends even waved a military draft notice in front of him. "Charles, I'm reporting for duty in two days. I want to be a hero like you!"

Charles managed a warm smile, though his heart filled with unease. The friend was Michael, a year older than Charles, now old enough to be drafted. He had been one of the top students in their class, and now he would carry a rifle into battle, thinking he could become a hero like Charles…

Charles felt a pang of pity. One day, these young men might find themselves lying wounded on a freezing battlefield, watching comrades press forward as they lay helpless, accompanied only by pain, despair, and the endless fall of rain. In such a moment, they would likely curse the hope that Charles had once represented.

Suddenly, a strong hand clasped Charles's. Behind the flowers appeared a rugged, bearded face, and a voice urgently said, "I need to speak with you, Charles. My name is Cobbod…"

Startled, Charles tried to pull his hand free, but the man held on tightly.

"I mean no harm. I have an idea," the man said, speaking quickly and with a look of desperation. "Just a few minutes, please…"

Laurent recognized the man as a reporter from The Morning Post and quickly signaled the guards to pull him away. Charles chuckled to himself, wondering if reporters now needed to resort to such tactics.

He didn't dwell on it, though, and with a wave and a few words to his friends, he escaped the crowd and entered the house amidst their cheers and envious looks.

At dinner, Deyoka glanced out the window at the lingering crowd of neighbors and shook his head. "I think we've become celebrities ourselves."

"Yes," Camille agreed, setting a plate of apple tarts on the table. "We've had reporters here all week asking questions. They even want to know your favorite color and what fruits you like to eat!"

Despite her complaints, Charles could see a hint of pride in her smile.

Deyoka raised an eyebrow and, while Camille was back in the kitchen, said quietly, "Your mother loves telling them stories about you as a kid. She can go on for hours—she's even scared off a few reporters."

Charles froze, giving Deyoka a horrified look.

Deyoka chuckled, reassuring him, "Don't worry, she didn't mention that you wet the bed until you were twelve."

Charles blushed, recalling how that embarrassing fact had somehow spread at school and become a source of amusement among his classmates. He could only hope they wouldn't share it with the reporters. Being a public figure meant no privacy, and Charles was beginning to understand that frustration.

Sensing his discomfort, Deyoka tactfully changed the topic. "So, we still have informants in our factory?"

Deyoka had read about the Lafoux battle in the papers. If Charles had managed to deceive everyone and use that deception to trick the Germans, it meant there were no secrets—not even in their factory.

"Yes," Charles confirmed with a slight nod, quickly devouring a piece of apple tart and washing it down with milk. He hadn't had time for even a sip of water all day, and now he found himself appreciating Camille's cooking more than ever.

Deyoka frowned. "We hired too many workers from Francis's factory. It's not surprising if a few were bribed. The problem is…" Deyoka sighed, "Unless we have hard evidence, there's not much I can do."

Charles nodded, understanding. Firing workers or interrogating them without reason would damage morale and breed resentment, potentially pushing them straight into Francis's factory.

"So, how do we identify them?" Deyoka asked.

"We don't need to," Charles replied, his mouth still half-full of food. "All we need is to secure the train station and have more cars delivered."

Deyoka immediately understood. "I see."

By keeping everyone—including the porters—in the dark about what each car contained, it wouldn't matter who the informants were. The method Charles suggested was simple: just "bring in more train cars."

Once the goods were produced, they could be loaded into cars, sealed, and hooked onto trains as they arrived. If only a few people knew the contents of each car, it wouldn't matter who was watching or reporting back.

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