I Was Mistaken as a Great War Commander

As soon as Hamtal revealed his name, two men dressed in suits entered the reception room.

Each of them carried a briefcase, and their presence exuded a strange sense of intimidation.

Observing them closely, Theobald noticed a black bird tattoo clutching a laurel branch imprinted on the side of their necks.

‘…A simple businessman, you say?’

Theobald withdrew his gaze from the men and looked at Hamtal with a meaningful glint in his eyes.

No matter how one looked at it, based on the aura he gave off and the subordinates he commanded, Hamtal seemed far more like the head of a mafia organization than a mere businessman.

‘But even so…’

The objective remained unchanged—he needed to secure funding.

Forcing himself to ignore the creeping sense of unease, Theobald maintained his business smile and completed the handshake.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you as well. I’ve prepared some refreshments. How about we sit down and discuss matters?”

Hamtal gave a calm nod.

With that, Theobald guided him to the sofa in the reception room and began his modest business presentation.

He explained that the textile factory produced not only civilian goods but also wartime supplies, ensuring a steady stream of work. Furthermore, the factory's mechanized production lines allowed for a significantly higher textile output than its competitors.

“…And on top of that, we’re on the verge of securing a government contract. Once that happens, Mr. Hamtal, you’ll be assured of stable returns on your investment.”

Confidently concluding his business pitch, Theobald grinned widely.

His explanation had been flawless, and his expression revealed his certainty that the man before him would open his wallet.

It seemed he wasn’t entirely wrong, as Hamtal nodded before raising a hand with a slight gesture.

At that signal, one of the men standing behind him stepped forward and placed a briefcase on the table.