Chapter 33: Great Cold Wave (1) January 20XX, Cheorwon GOP, Gangwon Province, Republic of Korea
"Who goes there! Password!"
"North Korean soldier. Fuck."
"Identity confirmed. Are you Corporal Lim Gichan?"
"Yeah, that's me. How is it today?"
"We're fucked. If I stand for ten seconds, it pierces through my long johns."
"Ah, quit your bullshit. Alright, handover's done, so don't get caught by the duty officer slurping ramen—go sleep."
"Yes! Good work, Corporal."
The two soldiers who had been manning the post saluted me, then hurried down the sloped path.
Once they were gone, only me and two junior soldiers were left inside the guard post.
"Hey. What did they say the temperature was today?"
"I believe it was minus forty degrees, sir."
Fuck. Is this really Korea? Even Moscow wouldn't be this cold. Seriously.
"Corporal Lim. Why do you look like you ate shit?"
"Because it's fucking cold. Cheorwon—what the hell is this temperature? Those North Korean bastards won't even have hand warmers—how are they not freezing to death?"
As I said that to the junior, I pulled out a hand warmer I'd stuffed into my ration pouch.
Normally I could hold out about five minutes after arriving at the post, but today it was so unusually cold that my cold-weather gear got punched through by the chill in under a minute.
"Ah, when it's this cold, I really crave a cigarette. Seriously."
"If you get caught by the duty officer, you know you're fucked."
"Maybe… maybe I can just smoke one, secretly."
"Just eat the gummy you've been hiding."
I tore open the wrapper I'd kept in my ration pouch, popped a bear-shaped gummy into my mouth, and chewed.
"What flavor is it?"
"Apple. Want one too?"
"Hey! Yeah, gimme one too."
"Huh?"
At the hand that yanked my shoulder, I turned around.
A man with second lieutenant insignia, wearing a duty officer armband, was glaring at me.
"Hey! Who told you to fool around while on watch!?"
"That is not true!"
Fuck—of all people, to get caught by that crazy bastard Napoleon, that damn fry—
"Huh? Napoleon?"
At some point, the second lieutenant in Korean digital camouflage disappeared, and in his place a second lieutenant in a stylish eighteenth-century French uniform threw his head back laughing.
"Hey! Guillaume! Why you lookin' at me like that!"
"Waaaaaah!!"
Fuck. It's been over eighteen years since I got discharged, and I'm still having army dreams. Eighteen years, damn it.
"That bastard Gudgeon must've thrown me into hell."
Leaving behind the sigh that burst out of me, I got up from bed and changed clothes.
The pure white light coming in through the window made my eyes ache, which had been shut just moments ago.
The window faced south to begin with, and with sunlight reflecting off the snow, it felt like there were two suns in the sky.
The whole world was white.
That was the first impression of everyone who saw Paris in January 1788.
The Seine River, which cut across Paris from south to north and fed water to the entire city, turned a pale, frozen haze, hiding its gentle flow deep within its belly.
The soaring spires of Notre-Dame Cathedral, which had served as a refuge for shepherds within the city, were studded with icicles, making it look as if beastly fangs had sprouted all over it.
Roads that until a few days ago people and livestock had crossed without trouble now formed sheets of ice everywhere, and countless accidents followed—people slipping and getting hurt, horses breaking their hooves.
"I never thought I'd feel winter weather like this in France again."
And of all days, this had to happen on our regular charity day. We'd been doing it for ages, so I couldn't back out now. I'm going to die. I'm going to fucking die.
When I finished getting ready and opened the door of the boarding house, a brutal cold blasted in.
"Aaaaah! Fuuuuck! This is Cheorwon for real!"
Ugh—my eyes are seeing the GOP guard post. PTSD. PTSD is hitting.
I hurried my steps toward the Ears of the Nation office.
"Pressing my face into your chest~ hohoho!"
After another fulfilling day, Marie, the cook at Ears of the Nation, was heading home humming.
And since she had now hit three years of service and been promoted—like the boss said—to something like an assistant manager, earning one more silver coin than others, the song she sang was filled with more joy than ever.
"Goodness… why is it so cold…?"
Pulling her collar tight against the cold gust blowing off the riverbank where she always did laundry, Marie muttered.
In all her fifty years, she had never experienced weather like this.
Already, some neighboring households had burned through all the firewood they'd stocked up, and people were going out to chop trees in this bitter cold.
Some had even lost a toe joint to frostbite, and some kept saying unpleasant things—like how the barley that was supposed to carry them through the spring hunger season would all die because of the cold.
"Even so—France is a land this vast. It's not like a few grains won't grow."
Sniffling and blowing her stuffed nose, Marie spoke.
After all, France had the world's finest plains. Even in the barbarian cold lands of Russia, wheat and barley grew vigorously—so starving in France because of a cold snap? What nonsense.
"And do you think the king would just leave us like that? People worry too much."
Even Marie, with her limited understanding, knew that much.
"Come get your bread! Bread!"
"Fill your belly on a cold day before you go!"
"Thank you so much, sirs!"
"Older brother Guillaume. Thanks again today!"
"Mr. Mathieu. We're always in your debt…"
Mathieu and I had emptied all the bread baskets we brought, and we were so tired we sat on the ground to rest.
Then Mathieu called out to me like he'd spotted something.
"Hey, Guillaume."
"Huh? What?"
"Who are those people over there?"
I turned my head in the direction he pointed.
"…Huh? What is this. Have you seen them before?"
"No. That's why I'm asking you."
Where our eyes landed, a beautiful noblewoman in her mid-thirties was wandering about with a basket of bread, accompanied by a little boy and a little girl.
Unable to contain our curiosity, Mathieu and I approached and asked.
"Ma'am, are you looking for something?"
"We'll help you."
At our words, the woman flinched, then spoke in French that was fluent but carried a slightly different accent.
"I-it's fine. More importantly, I came to hand out some bread today, but there aren't many people."
"Ah."
Because we handed things out first, everyone must have already gone home.
We unintentionally beat her to it.
"Maybe… it's because we already handed out food to people first."
At my words, the woman hesitated with a flustered expression.
Seeing her mother like that, the girl—about early elementary school age—snarled.
"Do you even know what you just did! How dare you do this cou—mmph!"
The woman quickly covered the girl's mouth and spoke apologetically.
"I'm sorry, gentlemen. My daughter is a bit… hot-tempered."
She's well-mannered. Not like those types who go, "What did my kid do wrong!?" She's on another level.
Then my eyes fell on the little boy—maybe five or six—his small hands trembling.
"Ma'am. The children look very cold. How about stopping somewhere warm for a moment?"
At my words, the woman looked at the boy's shaking hands, startled, then hurriedly nodded.
"Alright, let's try again. Call me 'oppa'—older brother—not 'mister,' okay?"
"Hmph! Even if you say that, you're a mister! This young lady's heart is firm!"
"Y-you… I'm not even twenty yet. Say it again—'oppa'!"
"Hmph. This young lady will never say it."
"Y-you…"
Older brother Mathieu and that little girl—those two were basically a comedy duo.
As I tossed another chunk of wood into the stove, I thought.
It had been about thirty minutes since we brought the woman and the two children to the Ears of the Nation office.
The boy was asleep in the woman's arms, and the girl—was her name Charlotte?—was putting on a comedy show with older brother Mathieu.
Even the woman, who had been wary of us when we first met, was now talking to me with a relaxed face. Of course, she kept her voice low so she wouldn't wake the prince in her arms.
"Did you say your name is Guillaume? You're a very warm person, young man."
"It's nothing. Someone has to do it. You don't need to flatter me that much."
"F-flatter…?"
"Ah—meaning, you don't need to lift me up like that."
At my words, the woman smiled softly, then turned to the window with a wistful look.
"It's been so long since I could rest in such a comfortable atmosphere…"
"Something… must be going on?"
At my words, the woman gave a bitter smile.
"…I was swindled. Even though I never did such a thing, someone used my name in a filthy place. The kind of thing I can't even bring myself to say."
"…That's awful."
"My husband believed it without question and got angry at me. Truly…"
Moisture gathered in her eyes.
"Ah, look at me. I've been out of the pal—no, out of the house for too long. I should go now."
She elegantly wiped her tears with her hand, then led the children out the door.
For some reason, her back looked faintly pitiful to me.
"Charlotte! I'm not a mister!"
"Hmph! To this young lady, you are a mister!"
So please stop ruining the mood.
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