I Became a Plutocrat in World War I: Starting with Saving France Chapter 748: Very Willing to Serve You

As the twilight of the setting sun illuminated the 16th district of Paris, Clenceau returned to his villa, exhausted.

He felt severely overdrawn.

Not just because he didn’t sleep well, but also due to the internal struggles and the process of adapting after switching allegiances.

From now on, am I a supporter of Shire?

A bitter smile crossed Clenceau’s mind as he walked into the living room and sat heavily in the rocking chair by the window, allowing it to sway back and forth, hoping it might help him relax.

The butler rushed in and swiftly pulled the curtains closed, his tone filled with command and warning: "Please stay away from the window, sir."

Clenceau realized sothing, muttered an "Uh-huh" and imdiately got up to walk towards the sofa, but halfway there, he changed direction and sat down at the dining table.

The sofa was also in view of the window, even though the curtains were now drawn.

At that mont, he faintly heard several "clank" sounds, like a hamr striking pipes.

...

High atop the water tower, hidden in the grey canvas camouflage, Lucia lay on the tower’s lid, holding a rifle equipped with a silencer and scope, aiming at the window opposite the villa.

In the aperture of the scope, an assassin wearing a beret lay in a pool of blood, with a similarly silenced rifle beside him, albeit without a scope.

"This is the difference between you and ." Lucia said with pride: "I have Shire."

...

"Since when?" Clenceau asked, watching the butler grinding coffee beans.

"What?" the butler replied absentmindedly, continuing with his task.

"Please, Baptiste." Clenceau intensified his tone: "You know what I’m asking!"

The butler hesitated for a mont, then answered: "Sorry, sir, if you’re asking when I started serving Shire, I can’t pinpoint exactly when it began."

Clenceau looked puzzled.

The butler shrugged and explained:

"Let think, roughly a year ago, when Shire first saved Antwerp."

"It was then that I believed Shire was the only hope for France, and at that ti, I decided to stand by Shire’s side and serve him."

"It was only three months ago that I truly got the opportunity."

"I’m very fortunate, aren’t I?"

Clenceau felt a bit irritated; he hated betrayal and even more disliked the feeling of his life being in soone else’s hands.

"How much did he pay you?" Clenceau asked, his eyes locked on the butler.

However, the butler wasn’t nervous at all; he lifted his head to et Clenceau’s gaze, his tone filled with sarcasm but his eyes shining with pride:

"Money? Is money all you see, sir?"

"Do you think any amount can buy my life?"

"A thousand francs? Ten thousand francs? Or more?"

"No, no amount is enough. I serve Shire voluntarily, without any reward, not even a penny!"

Clenceau was shocked by the butler’s words.

"No, that’s impossible." He said.

He couldn’t imagine anyone voluntarily serving without compensation, risking their life.

The butler smiled indifferently: "Believe it or not, I know you can’t comprehend this."

Clenceau stared blankly at the butler for a while, eventually believing his words.

Clenceau knew there were such fools.

He recalled visiting soldiers in the hospital as a representative of Briand, and one soldier who had gone blind from poison gas held his hand, anxiously saying: "Commissioner, please heal my eyes, I need to return to the battlefield, Shire needs , I want to do sothing for him!"

Another soldier who lost his right leg to a shell, equipped with a prosthetic, walked with precision and perford tactical moves, he too wanted to return to the battlefield and fight alongside Shire.

At that ti, Clenceau thought it was just a performance, or an unwillingness to accept their disability, not wanting to be cast aside by society.

But now, seeing the butler after listening to his words, Clenceau suddenly realized this might be the truth.

Unbeknownst to him, Clenceau felt fear.

If the butler was like this, does it an there are many others like him?

God, Shire’s intelligence system has developed because of this.

Many people believe he is the savior of France, thus willingly serving him, in every field, without end.

Wait, why am I feeling uneasy?

Am I not also Shire’s man?

Hmm, thinking of this, Clenceau felt much better.

"Sir." The butler cautiously handed Clenceau the freshly brewed coffee, aningfully saying: "From now on, only the food I provide can be consud."

Clenceau’s recently settled heart was once again in suspense.

...

A maid walked out of the kitchen with a tray of food.

Approaching her was the governess Rosa: "Hey, Cloey, let handle that. You go and prepare so fruit."

"Alright, thank you!" The maid gratefully handed over the tray.

However, just as she turned away, the governess quickly placed the tray on the table and swiftly choked her from behind.

...

"You know too many secrets." The butler said to Clenceau: "Your existence is a threat to them."

"Yes, I know." Clenceau nodded slowly: "I hope my choice is right."

"You’ll never know that." The butler responded calmly.

"What?" Clenceau didn’t understand the aning of this.

The butler explained: "I an, if you’ve chosen wrong, I will ensure you die painlessly, as a reward."

Clenceau stood with his mouth agape for a while before replying: "Really? Thank you very much, you’re very kind to !"

The butler elegantly bowed slightly to Clenceau: "You’re welco, sir, happy to serve you!"

The butler turned to leave, but as if rembering sothing, he turned back to remind: "Oh, right, sir, please be sure to inform every ti you go out."

...

A truck was parked by the roadside outside the villa, the driver had a disheveled appearance and a resolute look in his eyes, he gnawed on bread haphazardly, staring at the villa entrance.

A month ago, he learned he had a terminal illness, after which soone asked if he would take on this task.

He thought this was the best end for himself, after all, it could bring so benefit to his family.

Suddenly, soone patted his car door.

He rolled down the window and looked out, a beggar extended his hand: "Give so food, buddy!"

"Get lost, you bastard!" He refused without hesitation.

However, just as he rolled up the window, he saw the beggar magically pulling a pistol out of his ragged clothes.

A pistol with a silencer.

Two muffled shots, and the driver fell into a pool of blood, his life ending prematurely.

His body and the truck would be sunk into the lake, possibly never to be found.