The convoy drove into a remote, uninhabited area and didn't stop until late at night.
"We'll rest here for a while, Mr. Riddle. Then the small planes will take all the goods to the UK, France, Germany, and Italy—there's too much to unload in just one country."
Pochis seemed relieved. It meant they'd reached a safe place.
Voldemort nodded, his gaze sweeping over the soldiers unloading the goods and the small planes constantly taking off and landing in the distance.
"Good work, Pochis. You'll get the reward you deserve," Voldemort said.
"It's my honor to have earned your approval."
Following Voldemort's gaze, he looked toward a place where lights flickered in the distance. "There's a village, sir. We needed manpower, so we chose this place."
"There won't be any trouble later?" Voldemort asked.
"No, sir. These things can't be brought into the open. Those people will clean up after us, because if anything goes wrong, they'll be in even bigger trouble."
After saying this, he carefully leaned closer to Voldemort's ear and whispered.
"I heard from Shashulin that they've already taken over four hundred tons. We only took a fifth of it, but they took much more."
Voldemort nodded. He remembered that in the end, those people had taken seven or eight hundred tons, maybe even more. In any case, they were even more afraid of being exposed.
"There probably won't be another time, right?" Voldemort asked Pochis.
"Yes, sir," Pochis said regretfully. "We made too big a move this time. They probably won't dare do it again themselves. There are too many loose ends left behind..."
Voldemort nodded, but he felt no regret.
That country had already begun to fall apart, and what he'd gained from it was worth more than this one robbery. There was nothing to regret.