I Became a Tycoon During World War I: Saving France from the Start

Chapter 63: The Draft Notice

After his conversation with Grevy, Charles realized he had misunderstood the true nature of the "traditional aristocrats" of his time. He'd always thought of them as enforcing top-down, authoritarian control, much like the feudal aristocrats of the past. But he now saw they had evolved with the times. While they still upheld the system of elections, they were fervently opposed to industrialization.

The aristocracy's primary support base was the rural population, from whom they derived income through land rents or taxes. But when capitalists built factories, they turned peasants into laborers, stripping the aristocrats of their economic base and steadily diminishing their income.

Thus, the left-wing and right-wing battle was, at its core, a struggle by the wealthy for control over the working class and the peasantry.

Left-wing capitalists would call out to the peasants: "Come, become workers, and I'll pay you wages!"

Right-wing aristocrats would say: "Stay as farmers; I'll give you a better life!"

And the aristocrats weren't just talking—they offered farmers more favorable conditions and encouraged agricultural production. To them, industrial laborers were misguided, deceived by capitalists. They saw capitalists as exploiters, treating workers like sheep, shearing their wool again and again before slaughtering them, draining their sweat and worth at every step.

To the aristocrats, if a nation continued on this path, it was bound to face crises and eventual collapse. They envisioned a more agricultural society, with industry acting only as a supplement, fully controlled by the government. Production would be organized, orderly, and planned—not the current chaotic scene of competition.

Grevy had shared all this in an attempt to convince Charles to join their side, but it was destined to fail. Charles understood industrialization was inevitable, that the aristocracy would ultimately be sidelined, and that becoming an industrial powerhouse was the only viable future.

"You're wasting your time, Grevy," Charles said frankly.

If they were bound to become adversaries, there was no room for illusions.

Grevy, however, remained resolute. "What are you hoping to achieve, Charles? A powerful nation? Look at Germany—the empire is so strong, while our republic is struggling. But with your talents combined with the resources of the aristocracy, who knows what we might accomplish."

Charles shook his head, refraining from arguing further.

Grevy was a thinker, and he'd clearly devised an elaborate vision of his own. While Charles believed Grevy's vision was misguided, it was one that Grevy had likely scrutinized and tested against his principles, becoming deeply convinced it was right.

Trying to sway someone like that would be futile and, ultimately, pointless.

"Very well," Grevy said finally, giving Charles a resigned shrug. "Even if you don't agree with me, you'll always be welcome if you ever decide to join us."

It was just a courteous offer, though Grevy had already read the finality in Charles's eyes. The boy didn't believe a word of his vision and seemed more certain of it than anyone—almost as if he knew exactly how the future would unfold.

The look in Charles's eyes stung Grevy deeply, even making him doubt his own convictions. Could it be that a seventeen-year-old saw the world more clearly than he did?

Shaken, he watched Charles walk back to his car, his mind troubled as he muttered, "No… He's only blinded by money. Someday he'll understand."

As Deyoka turned the car around, he glanced at Grevy's dazed expression and asked, "What did he want to talk to you about?"

Charles answered with a slight smile, "He's a man of principles, Father. He has his ideals."

Deyoka raised his eyebrows, skeptical of a nobleman with genuine ideals.

On the way home, Charles mulled over something Grevy had unintentionally brought to his attention. If the traditional aristocrats and the emerging capitalists were natural enemies, constantly fighting for the hearts of the rural population, then…

Following the logic that "the enemy of my enemy is my friend," should he seek an alliance with a few of the emerging capitalists? By doing so, he wouldn't have to face the revenge of the aristocrats alone. After all, he wasn't certain that he could counter both of their powerful factions on his own.

But who could he trust?

At this point, Charles had no clear answer.

Lost in thought, he hardly noticed that they'd arrived home. Deyoka pulled the car up to the front, and they were both surprised not to find Camille waiting on the porch.

Usually, she would be there, knitting and glancing down the road toward the factory, rising with a smile and a wave when she saw their car approaching.

Perplexed, the two hurried into the house. Camille was sitting at the dining table, staring blankly, her face pale, as if stunned into silence. She clutched a piece of paper in her hand.

Immediately, Charles knew what it was—a draft notice. Gallieni had moved quickly, and it hadn't taken long for the draft orders to reach their doorstep.

Camille seemed dazed. After noticing their return, she suddenly sprang up and rushed to Deyoka, her words spilling out in a panic.

"Deyoka, take me to the recruitment office! They've made a mistake—they've drafted Charles!"

"Charles is only seventeen—they can't ignore that!"

"We… We must go to the recruitment office right away. Now!"

Deyoka and Charles remained motionless. They both knew there was no point in going to the recruitment office.

Camille looked between them in confusion, sensing there was something she didn't know.

After a brief hesitation, Deyoka decided not to reveal everything to her. "It's because of Charles's military potential, Camille," he said gently. "They believe he can be a great asset in this war, so they've enlisted him early."

Camille's expression turned furious. "They'd really send him to the front just because of some rumors? All of that talk is unconfirmed—it's all made up by the journalists…"

Charles took the draft letter, reading it over as he reassured her, "It's only to Paris, Mother. It doesn't mean going to the front. I'm supposed to report directly to General Gallieni, who will be watching out for me."

Deyoka nodded confidently. "Nothing's going to happen, I promise. Paris is perfectly safe, just next to L'Oise."

Though he tried to sound assured, Deyoka felt anything but. It wasn't the battlefield he feared—it was the traditional aristocrats.

They wouldn't likely stop with simply sending Charles to the army. And while Charles was clever and possessed a natural talent for strategy, he was still young and inexperienced in facing the scheming of those crafty nobles lurking in the shadows.

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