Chapter 2

Chapter 002

Four days. A period during which I was swept up in all sorts of worries, living like a recluse.

I tried to detect mana through meditation, something I had never done in my life, and even shouted out the status window in French.

"Status window! (fenêtre d’état)"

Only an empty echo reverberated through the office, so I tried in Korean, but it was in vain. After numerous attempts, all I saw were soldiers meticulously cleaning the corridor windows.

Behind the soldiers, Sergeant Fabien was inspecting, running his fingers over the windows and barking orders.

"Clean them thoroughly! What is this state of the windows?"

"Sorry!"

Seeing this, my heart was truly indescribable.

While scolding the soldiers, Fabien glanced at me and then continued to berate them. I couldn't bring myself to tell him to stop. Well, being clean is a good thing, right?

The second method was to fill the gap between neurons with delusions to create an extreme happiness circuit.

For example, imagining that this wasn't Earth-01 but Earth-03, where there was no imperialism and all countries were close friends...

But the next day, Earth-01 declared through the newspaper that such a notion was absurd, reporting the sinking of the Titanic.

The bubble of delusion that had filled my brain burst in that instant.

Our kind Earth-01 clearly announced that my life expectancy was two years.

So, the only remaining hope was to rely on the butterfly effect that Mr. Lorenz mentioned...

"Damn, I can't risk my life to verify it, can I?"

If I could confirm before I die whether the flapping of a butterfly's wings in France could cause a tornado in 20th-century imperialism, that would be a stroke of luck.

Ultimately, facing reality, I have two choices.

The first is to desert.

Since I am already serving in the military, I have been recognized as an heir. So, I could take some of my assets and flee to America. There's no extradition treaty, so I could probably hide out there.

But if I get caught, I won't even live out my two-year sentence. I could die in prison or be executed.

I will die either way.

The second is to bet on the odds.

There were about 8.6 million French soldiers in World War I, with around 5.6 million casualties...

"Hmm, roughly a 35% chance of coming back unscathed!"

It's just a rough estimate, but even so, 35% is significant. In the Republic of Korea, a 20-30% loss would be considered a mission failure, leading to total annihilation, but here it's 65%.

"Moreover, military service is four years at the military academy, two years in the unit, and four years in the war, so, hmm, ten years?"

It's doubtful that the military would immediately accept my discharge after the war.

"Ha ha, Earth-01, I already served for two years and four months in my previous life. Can't you recognize that?"

Feeling helpless, I shouted, but of course, there was no response.

"Indeed, I should have applied for a long-term position..."

Yes, this is the punishment the Republic of Korea military is giving me. For daring to be a slave-turned-fish and not applying for a long-term position, I tried to rise to freedom first.

If I had, I wouldn't have been beaten at the guard post or reset my time again.

Feeling so helpless that I was about to go mad, I couldn't think of any other way to describe my current state.

It has been three days since I was commissioned, and nothing has changed except my remaining lifespan.

I couldn't keep suffering in the office, so I forced myself to stand up.

Leaving the small office-like company commander's office and stepping into the corridor, I saw soldiers walking around.

They were clearly new arrivals. I grabbed one of the clueless ones and asked,

"Where are the other soldiers, or rather, the sergeants?"

"Um, the sergeants... sir?"

"Yes."

The soldier, whose eyes were wide with shock, swallowed hard and finally answered.

Hearing the answer, I walked in the direction he pointed. I could feel his unease from behind, but I had my own problems to worry about.

No matter how busy, the first thing a new second lieutenant should do is to get along with the squad leaders.

***

Sergeant Fabien.

Although he was the oldest in the company, he never disrespected the new second lieutenant.

This is the military. Relationships are determined solely by rank, so even if the new second lieutenant had a cold attitude, he was determined to support him.

Most importantly, Lieutenant Berger graduated from the elite Saint-Cyr Military Academy in France.

He was the type who could reach the rank of colonel just by breathing, so Fabien only hoped for his safety.

'He looks like a serious gentleman in uniform.'

Over the past three days, Lieutenant Berger had quietly stayed in the office.

He occasionally checked the cleanliness of the unit or read the newspaper and cursed, but there were no major issues.

This made Fabien even more anxious.

"Damn, I hope the sergeants aren't idly playing around."

Surely not. He had warned them firmly from the start that he wouldn't tolerate any nonsense. How could they have relaxed in just four days?

He wanted to believe that, but his unease made his steps quicker. This was due to a conversation he had with a private in front of the office earlier.

'Um? Where did Lieutenant Berger go?'

'Well, um.'

'Why, what's the matter!'

'They asked for the sergeants' location and went to find them.'

Hearing this, Fabien threw the documents he was carrying and immediately set out to find the sergeants, leading to the current situation.

As soon as he opened the door to the barracks, he saw the scene on the drill field and despaired.

"Hey... Hey, you guys! If you want to rest, do it secretly. Playing openly is just asking for trouble!"

Even if they were his own men, now was the time to be careful about the smell.

Approaching, he saw that they had drawn a playing field on the ground and were preparing to play with balls.

This couldn't continue.

To prevent Lieutenant Berger's anger from reaching them, Fabien thought he needed to sternly reprimand them. He deliberately distorted his expression and approached them.

"You damn..."

"What's the matter?"

But Fabien's anger was cut short by the deep voice that followed.

"...Lieutenant Berger?"

"Yes, were you looking for me?"

"Well, um."

He was looking for him, but more importantly, the sergeants. Of course, in Fabien's mind, there was no scenario where Lieutenant Berger would be playing with the sergeants.

"Come here. This is interesting. It's a game called pétanque, popular in the south these days."

"..."

"Come on, don't hesitate. See that wooden ball? You need to throw this metal ball as close as possible to it or knock the opponent's ball away."

"Lieutenant, these aren't balls but training grenades..."

"Ah, but to me, they look like balls. Don't they look like balls to you?"

When Lieutenant Berger looked around for agreement, the sergeants enthusiastically responded.

"They look like balls, don't they?"

"Indeed, they are balls. Because Lieutenant Berger said they are balls!"

What had happened in just the morning? Before Fabien could fully grasp the situation, he looked at the ball in his hand.

Everyone around him was waiting for him to throw the ball.

This ball was not just a ball. It was an act of joining in during a time when they shouldn't be playing and following the commander's orders.

In other words, prioritizing Lieutenant Berger's command over regular discipline.

It might be an overinterpretation, but Fabien felt a slight smile on Lieutenant Berger's usually cold face, as if urging him to throw the ball and acknowledge it as a grenade.

Clearly, he needed to establish discipline and disband them, but he couldn't. Closing his eyes for a moment, Fabien, the training grenade, threw the metal ball.

Thud.

The ball landed on the sand. Surprised, the ball Fabien threw landed far from the wooden ball.

"Well, I need more practice, it seems?"

"Indeed."

Seeing Fabien's dazed expression, Lieutenant Berger prepared to leave. Soldiers can play, but commanders can't keep playing.

Before leaving with Fabien, Lieutenant Berger turned halfway and said to the remaining men,

"I have to leave first, so count this as my loss. I'll buy you beers later."

"Yay!"

The sergeants cheered at the promise of free beer. While most officers would consider beer as drinking, some might object to such a beverage, so the sergeants' cheers also contained a bit of relief.

Although his first impression was cold and intimidating, the company commander who showed some flexibility and approached to mingle with them was at least human.

Exactly as Lieutenant Berger intended.

***

Back in the office, Fabien handed me the disorganized documents, now neatly aligned.

"Here are the materials you requested. I've brought everything except the classified ones."

"Thank you."

I had asked Sergeant Fabien for information about the unit and a brief status report. Thinking it was part of the process for a field-deployed commander to learn about the unit, Fabien quietly waited in front of me as I read the documents.

Regardless, I flipped through them without much expectation.

A few minutes of silence, only the sound of flipping pages. I could already draw a conclusion without reading everything.

As expected, it was as I thought.

The French army in 1912. A former European superpower and a clear major power that still holds a strong position.

My impression of this army was:

'This is a mess.'

Thinking the army of a major power would be a strong force was an excessive expectation and a delusion.

The 21st-century Republic of Korea military was criticized for its primitive way of handling things? No. Compared to this era, the future Korea was at the pinnacle of progress.

'I understand the issues with weapons and supplies.'

Provision? The quality might be poor. With a conscript army, it's a rush to meet the numbers, so how could one expect good quality?

War weapons? The same applies. It's an era where direct-fire artillery is being phased out and indirect-fire artillery is being introduced. How could one expect high standards?

Being given a bolt-action rifle is a blessing.

I understand. I tried to understand everything.

'At least, there should be a will to fight.'

The French army has no will to fight.

Starting with infantry training, there's no answer. The training for young men over three years consists of various drills, memorizing military songs, doing work, and cleaning. That's it.

What is the role of non-commissioned officers and commanders? Yelling at the soldiers. Most importantly, the number of officers and NCOs to lead the conscripts is woefully inadequate.

Even if the soldiers only serve for three years, shouldn't there be more officers?

But the perception of officers is that they are the head, not the backbone of the organization.

'Really shocking. The army can be so unplanned and thoughtless.'

How can a Saint-Cyr graduate become a company commander in just four years? They don't know about gradual promotions.

Just because there are few people, I skipped three months of being a second lieutenant and became a company commander.

Even noble-born officers didn't start as company commanders.

The French army of this era is incredibly simple, almost single-celled.

They don't prepare for the future or set goals. They just exist.

The French government treats the army as a means to unite the people.

If there's any place that requires money, it's the navy building ships, which has made the army even more withered.

It's suffocating.

While Germany is planning the Schlieffen Plan—bypassing France's defensive lines for a quick decisive battle—what does France have?

'Nothing. Maybe the 17th Plan will come out next year.'

The 17th Plan doesn't have much detail. The 14th Plan, which had some potential, was scrapped, and the 15th Plan for the war against Germany was simplified.

'Just charge into Alsace-Lorraine.'

This one line can describe the plan that determines the fate of the nation.

While Germany plans its railway schedule to the minute, considering the deployment and training of the army, France offers a simple statement of will as a countermeasure.

"Maybe... I should desert now."

"Huh?"

It was so absurd that my thoughts slipped out.

Fortunately, Fabien, who looked at me as if I had found a problem, didn't seem to hear.

"It's nothing."

Honestly, my mind is torn. Should I desert or stay and aim for a safe return?

What patriotism do I have for this country to defend it from the ruthless Germans?

I don't plan to use the war as an opportunity to rise to fame or to help Korea, which is under Japanese occupation. I can't help anyway.

'Even if I don't know the exact amount, the Moehl family's wealth should be enough to live comfortably after the war.'

I don't have grand ambitions.

Survival and a comfortable old age. As Berger Moehl, my habits, speech, and attitude may have changed, but my essence remains the same.

My life as Chan-seok will continue as Berger Moehl.

I am a simple person who finds more happiness in lying on the couch than in commanding from a high place.

Even with Fabien in front of me, I couldn't hold back a sigh.

Finally, my hand moved to the document about the unit's organization.

Despite not expecting much, I felt disappointed, and my fingers lost strength.

The name of the battalion at the top.

Thinking it was one of the many battalions scattered across France, I was about to turn the page.

But my eyes were drawn to the name inked below the unit's name.

"Hmm?"

"Is something wrong?"

"Is our colonel..."

"Ah, Colonel Philippe? He is about to retire. Given his character, he doesn't care much about training or evaluations."

Sergeant Fabien confidently explained that the battalion commander was a 'general who gave up on promotion.'

"He respects the autonomy of each unit and acknowledges diversity..."

Fabien listed the advantages, implying that it would be easy with a battalion commander like Pétain, but I didn't hear a word.

In summary, he's a man who quietly lives in his office.

"Ha, ha ha."

The future Supreme Allied Commander, Philippe Pétain,