Chapter 9

Chapter 009

The military is a place where only time and rank matter.

Lieutenant Pascal, grinding his teeth, finally granted me leave.

For the first time, I left the base and headed toward the place I call home.

The memory of home was vivid, yet there was a sense of unfamiliarity. But I didn't pay much attention to it.

The only identity I have left in this world, the Mohel family.

Although the aristocratic system had long disappeared, various families still existed in France.

The Mohel family was similar in this regard.

As a prominent family in the Orléans region, they chose to observe the changes of the times leisurely in the countryside rather than jump on the rapid industrialization bandwagon.

The city of Orléans, the capital of the Loiret department, has everything you could want, but it's not too bustling, being 130 kilometers away from Paris.

The family's mansion was located on the outskirts of Orléans. It was a rural area, yet it had its own connection to civilization.

It wasn't possible to reach Orléans from Arras, near the Belgian border, in a single day.

I had to take a train from Arras through Amiens to Paris, and then from Paris to Orléans.

Somehow, I arrived in the city of Joan of Arc, Orléans, spending a night in each city along the way.

Wearing my uniform and carrying only one suitcase, I stepped out of Orléans station and faced a quiet and peaceful small town.

Unlike Paris, where politics and economics dominate and various incidents occur daily, this place seemed truly peaceful.

After getting a carriage from the street, I slowly headed home.

"Truly peaceful... This is exactly what I wanted."

How nice it would be if I could stay in this city just like this.

After all, Orléans would likely remain unchanged even during the Great War.

In reality, it would probably only serve as a logistics hub for the rear, and the enemy's boots would never reach here.

While lost in these thoughts, the carriage was already heading toward the mansion, where every window was brightly lit.

"Good work."

I gave a few banknotes from my wallet to the driver and got out of the carriage.

It seemed they had already heard I was coming, as I saw a familiar face—more accurately, a face from my memory—at the mansion's main gate.

"Frederick."

"Have you been well?"

"I've been well."

"You should rest and recover first."

"Sure."

The first face and conversation were as plain as could be. I was both glad and awkward.

After taking a bath, I came out wearing casual pants and a shirt, not in my uniform.

Unlike the days in the base where I counted down my remaining days, the war that would break out next year felt like someone else's story upon arriving at the mansion.

The world seemed to be functioning well without me. I felt that only my days were serious, while everyone else was doing their own thing.

But now, I too had returned to society.

"Indeed, this is what a leave is."

Would I go to a bar and drink heavily, or wander the streets looking for women?

Just peace of mind. This leisure is what I wanted.

A time where I could choose what to do at every moment, not a fixed schedule. This small thing itself confirmed that I was free.

Leaning against the window, I poured a glass of Burgundy wine and brought it to my lips, closing my eyes for a moment.

To savor the taste and enjoy this feeling.

Knock. Knock.

"Come in."

My reverie was not long.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, but we don't have much time, so I'll start now."

"Sure."

I had almost forgotten, but this leave wasn't a real leave.

I had come out to handle matters that couldn't be dealt with inside the base.

Frederick held numerous documents in his hand.

"Sigh."

A sigh escaped me, but what could I do? It was all my doing.

"Before that, there's one thing you need to clarify."

"What is it?"

"I've managed the family's assets until now, but I've never done more than that. What you're about to do is far beyond asset management."

"That's true... The Mohel family isn't a company or a business."

We have assets and land, but that's it.

We've only managed to maintain them without collapse, not seeking more, like medieval nobles.

"If you want to do various things in the future, you'll need to establish a company."

"..."

Frederick David, who studied law, is indeed competent, but I can't entrust everything to him alone.

"Where should I start? Wine. Frederick, when do you think cheap wine is consumed in large quantities?"

"You mean the wine warehouse we established?"

Has there ever been a time when the best grapes grew near Orléans? We've only made vinegar-like wine.

So, most of the available wine is cheap or low-quality, yet I established a wine warehouse in Orléans.

"There could be various reasons. A new trend could emerge, or the government might provide support..."

"Not that. When will there be a consumer who can finish all this wine at once?"

Frederick, stroking his chin thoughtfully, looked at me with a doubtful expression.

"Is a military base being established nearby?"

"Even more than that."

"...War."

"Exactly."

The 21st-century military, where drinking is impossible, is not the case. The French military, filled with men who need a bit of wine to boost their vitality, is different.

Soldiers, who don't know when they might die, will seek wine daily.

The French military, where low-alcohol wine isn't even considered alcohol, will actively distribute wine to the soldiers.

"Frederick, war is coming."

"..."

War, a word that all French politicians shout and that ignites the hearts of young people.

Yet, it still feels too abstract and idealistic to be real.

Regardless, war is coming.

"Then, the wine warehouse..."

"That's just to create some work."

It's not a loss, but I don't expect great profits. It's just a warehouse to gather veterans.

Simple, with a clear employment creation effect, and I can call them back whenever I need.

So, the idea was to buy wine and store it in the warehouse. A truly simple and crude task.

"Back to the topic, Frederick is right. We need to become a company."

"Eventually, that's what will happen."

"Why, are you worried?"

"To be honest, yes."

In any era, it's common for local notables to sell their assets and start businesses, only to fail spectacularly.

"We can't liquidate all our assets. Since we started selling land, the land prices in Orléans haven't risen."

"It doesn't matter. Convert as much as possible to cash. We need to transition from assets to stocks."

What I want is to be a wealthy idler, not a pauper after the war.

"What will you do after establishing a joint-stock company?"

"Um, invest."

"..."

Frederick, who had been listening to my story seriously, now looked at me with a skeptical frown.

That look... It's like a father looking at a prodigal son packing his bags to leave home.

I realized I couldn't persuade Frederick calmly.

'But what else can I do?'

I don't intend to become a professional investor.

The future French companies I know? Renault is the only one. Add luxury brands like Chanel or Lacoste.

But Renault recently had a month-long strike involving 4,000 workers, making labor relations a mess? Oh, the sound of the stock market crashing in Paris can be heard all the way to Orléans.

How can I know when the future Renault I know will be worth investing in?

If I have extra money in the distant future, I might consider it, but not now, with war looming.

As for Chanel, I don't even know if it exists at this time. It might be registered... How would I know?

I can't suddenly start a factory with Frederick and hire people randomly to build a giant company. I don't want to do that either.

In the end, with some money, the only thing I can do is take advantage of the war boom.

"When war breaks out in France, the global stock market will fall."

"That's true. France holds 20% of the global stock market. Capitalists will dump everything they have."

Fortunately, Frederick regained his composure and responded to my statement.

Industry will decline. Productivity will lag. France, with a moderate population and land area and insufficient resources, has only one advantage: finance.

Holding all kinds of global bonds and stocks, France is the largest creditor to the United States, the enemy Germany, and the ally Russia. Britain? Of course, French capital moved in and established itself during its rise.

In this era, France is a country that lives by finance.

What happens when such a France goes to war?

In this era without circuit breakers, where is the appropriate price? The appropriate price is when the graph of fear-driven selling and crude buying collide.

"That's when we buy."

Frederick, who had been listening to me, nodded after some thought.

"It's possible and feasible. But the fundamental issue remains: will the war really break out?"

"Frederick... don't worry about that."

If the war doesn't break out? Then I'll be happy. Losing some money won't make me destitute, and can money compare to life?

'Please, I want the war not to break out and lose some money.'

Even a major ETF of a certain country is showing negative returns. The thought that it might not happen is fleeting; it's clearly impossible.

No matter how I look at it, my actions in France haven't even affected the Balkans, let alone caused a tornado.

After another fight in the Balkan playground, Serbia will call Mother Russia, the Austro-Hungarian Empire will cry and call the older brother from the neighborhood, and France will be dragged in by a friend saying "Hey, come on."

To me, it's already a predetermined sequence.

I even think it's right to be indifferent to the Sarajevo incident.

If the war breaks out at the time I know and the situation remains unchanged from the original history, my chances of survival will increase.

"The war will happen. So, focus on liquidating assets now."

"Liquidating all assets..."

"I don't expect that. Just the available assets that can be liquidated immediately."

"Understood."

Fortunately, Frederick agreed with me. He always trusts me, but I can't tell him everything.

'This is enough.'

Just five more years. After that, I can live comfortably here again.

Reading books quietly, enjoying leisure, and living each day meaningfully.

Thinking this, I finished the remaining wine in my glass.

***

"Huh?"

Why?

I was just at the mansion.

The clean Orléans station I saw recently. People hurrying to their destinations. Various noises from afar.

Ah, I see.

"Damn, it's already time to return?"

I was clearly out for 12 days.

"No leave? I want to extend my leave."

Unfortunately, there's no such thing in this era. If I don't return, I'll be treated as a deserter.

"Ha ha..."

The heavy sound of metal from the left side of the station.

The train to Paris arrived. The train that would take me to the distant Belgian border city roared to a stop.

Returning from leave. I, in this dog-like situation, have to face it again.

Just looking out the window on the way back, a myriad of emotions surge. I realize it again.

"Right. This is it! This is the military! Ha ha ha!"

Indeed, the answer is to escape from the military.