Chapter 229: Grevy's Bitter Defeat
After wrapping up his practice with the revolver, Charles decided to try his hand with a rifle. As a newly promoted colonel, he knew he'd likely need to wield a rifle in combat, making it essential to get comfortable with the weapon. However, he quickly discovered that the Lebel rifle was not beginner-friendly.
The Lebel used a tubular magazine, which was an oddity compared to other rifles, where rounds were loaded vertically into the magazine. Here, they had to be inserted horizontally one at a time, forming a line. While the rifle could hold up to eight rounds, which seemed like a good capacity, this design made handling awkward.
Each shot subtly shifted the rifle's balance, causing it to feel like a different weapon every time he aimed. The ever-changing weight made aiming tricky, and despite his best efforts, Charles struggled to get a consistent feel for it.
Adding to his unease was the way the bullets were lined up end-to-end inside the tubular magazine. Every time he fired, he couldn't shake the worry that the bullets might collide and set off an accidental discharge.
"That's enough for today," Charles muttered, putting down the rifle with a sigh. Turning to his instructor, he said, "Thank you for your help, Dominique."
"Anytime, Colonel," Dominique replied with a warm smile. "I'm glad to help. It'd be best if you returned tomorrow for more practice. We could use the consistency."
"Understood," Charles responded, waving farewell as he left the range.
After Charles had left, Dominique took out his own revolver. Inspired by Charles's shooting technique, he adjusted his stance, clasped the gun with both hands, and tried firing a few rounds.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
To his amazement, each shot hit the bullseye.
"Good Lord!" Dominique gasped, a mix of excitement and disbelief lighting up his face. "This feels incredible! It's faster than before!"
He adjusted his grip, practiced the stance a few more times, and murmured to himself, "This two-handed grip should be taught to the whole army—it's so effective!"
A few slow claps echoed through the shooting range. Dominique looked up and saw Grevy, a fellow officer and former classmate, approaching him with a smile.
"Hello, Grevy," Dominique greeted him, a hint of surprise in his voice. "What brings you here?"
"I just came to check in on an old friend," Grevy replied, strolling over casually. "How's everything with you, Dominique?"
"Quite well," Dominique replied, loading his revolver with fresh rounds. "Nothing to complain about."
Grevy's smile turned a little wry. "It's surprising to see the second son of the Saint-Étienne family here, content as a firearms instructor. And you even seem to enjoy it!"
"What else could I do?" Dominique chuckled, as he prepared for another round of shooting. "Everyone has their calling. Yours may be politics, while mine is guns."
Grevy's eyebrows rose as he watched Dominique repeatedly practice the two-handed grip. The technique seemed to be helping his accuracy.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Once again, all his shots hit the bullseye.
"Your shooting has really improved," Grevy remarked, raising an eyebrow.
"It's not my aim," Dominique explained, still excited. "It's this new shooting stance. It makes aiming faster and steadier."
"Oh? Was this your invention?" Grevy asked, feigning admiration.
"No, it was Charles who came up with it," Dominique replied, feeling a bit embarrassed. "It's incredible—I've been handling guns since I was eleven and never once thought of changing my stance!"
Hearing this, Grevy's smile faded. Just moments before, he'd been trying to charm Dominique with friendly banter, but now a quiet tension settled over him.
Noticing the shift, Dominique asked, "Do you… not like Charles?"
Grevy forced a tight smile. He knew Dominique was mostly out of touch with the outside world, entirely focused on his passion for firearms. It was clear that Dominique had no idea about the political tensions surrounding Charles and Grevy's opposition to him.
Instead of answering directly, Grevy offered a vague question: "Have you given much thought to your future, Dominique?"
"What do you mean?" Dominique replied, barely glancing up as he continued to practice, his focus still on perfecting his technique.
"Think about the future of the Saint-Étienne family," Grevy said slowly, lowering his voice. "And yours as well."
"Those are matters my father handles," Dominique replied, aiming at an imaginary target off to his left. "I don't worry about them."
"You may not be aware," Grevy said, "but your father is now in business with Charles. He's following Charles's lead and even agreed to a fifty-fifty profit split."
Dominique paused mid-aim, turning to look at Grevy, his expression darkening.
"I imagine you've noticed something's been amiss," Grevy continued, "like the hand grenades, mortars, and that small cannon. If this goes on…"
Dominique cut him off sharply, "Is that why you came here, Grevy? To drive a wedge between my family and Charles? Or to make me dislike him?"
Grevy fell silent, visibly taken aback. Having known Dominique since school, Grevy knew that once Dominique believed in someone, he rarely changed his mind. Grevy realized he was too late to sway him.
Grevy raised his hands in mock surrender, stepping back with a shrug. "Forget I said anything. Someday you'll see…"
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The loud gunshots interrupted him. Dominique's shots were accurate as ever, each one landing in the bullseye.
"I'd advise you to leave now, Grevy," Dominique said, a steely edge to his voice. "Otherwise, you might be the next target."
Grevy raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Suit yourself."
This confrontation had left Grevy feeling utterly defeated. Back in school, he'd always been able to position himself as Dominique's trusted advisor through clever manipulation. But now, his attempt to sway Dominique had ended in humiliation.
As he walked away, a few more shots rang out behind him, causing Grevy to quicken his pace.
Dominique looked at the target in confusion; one shot had missed the bullseye. Distracted, he'd misfired—not because of Grevy, but because of the memory that had resurfaced.
He recalled a moment at the officers' club when a young lieutenant had stepped in to defend him, taking his side and saying, "That's enough. Give him back his letter!"
Just then, an instructor jogged over to Dominique. "Mr. Stede requests your presence at the Ritz Hotel."
Dominique frowned, nodding in acknowledgment. He hoped it wasn't another social gathering; his father knew he hated those events.
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