Chapter 204: Brave New World (6)
Chapter 204: Brave New World (6)
Christmas Eve, December 24, 1793.
Whether or not there really was a God up there in the heavens, if one did exist, perhaps even He did not wish to decorate the final days of this turbulent year in dreariness. At any rate, snowflakes were drifting down from the sky one by one.
“Wow! Snow! Snow!”
“Mom! Can I go play with my friends?”
“Sigh. Don’t go far, all right? Just play right in front of the house.”
“Yessss!”
For the citizens who had spent a full year with aching hearts because of the war, the snow falling from the sky at just the right time became a fine plaything to soothe their gloomy spirits.
And that was not all.
Couples walked through the city arm in arm, only to be nudged from behind by opera performers in ridiculous costumes calling out to customers. Before they knew it, they were seated in the front row of a theater, helplessly watching a Christmas Eve commemorative opera.
“Ahem. Beautiful lady?”
“Me?”
“Of course. Is there any other beautiful lady here besides you? What do you say—would you care to spend some time getting to know Major Joachim Murat of the French cavalry?”
“Oh my.”
And beneath the glow of the streetlamps, new lovers were born.
“Murat! Murat! Where the hell did that bastard go?!”
“H-he was definitely in the officers’ quarters earlier…”
“That means he’s gone now, doesn’t it?! Are you screwing with me right now?!”
“No, sir!”
“Damn it, didn’t I tell you Colonel Grouchy was off duty today or not?! We’re already short on field officers, and if that man Murat is gone too, who the hell is supposed to handle the paperwork tonight?! Get out there and drag him back here immediately!”
“Yes, sir!”
And inevitably, in some places, raised voices could also be heard.
Paris was filled with many sounds that day, but if one had to pick the happiest people of all, it would naturally be the couple getting married on such a blessed day.
“Groom, François Mathieu.”
“Yes.”
“Bride, Anne-Josèphe Théroigne de Méricourt.”
“Yes.”
“Do the two of you swear before the Lord and the Holy Mother that for the rest of your lives, you will love and respect one another without change and preserve the peace of your household?”
As the officiant in priestly robes said this, the groom in his army lieutenant colonel’s dress uniform and the bride in her wedding gown turned to look at each other.
“‘Yes, we swear.’”
“Congratulations. The two of you are now officially husband and wife before God the Father.”
“Waaaah!!!”
Except for the fact that the man officiating was the current leader of the National Assembly and that few among the guests were people whose names had never appeared in the newspapers, it was like any other wedding.
The bouquet was thrown, someone caught it, and then the bride and groom walked arm in arm, receiving applause here and there, while thunderous clapping erupted from the guests in return.
Then again, most of the groom’s guests were military men, so perhaps it was no surprise that even clapping turned into a competition. The sound only kept getting louder and showed no sign of ever growing softer.
My hands hurt. My skull already felt like it was about to split open, and if I kept slapping my palms together to match those lunatics, I really felt like the bones would crack.
But my triangle-shaped heart would never allow me to rest my hands while my closest friend was getting married. Please stop stabbing me already.
In the end, I slipped through the crowd and stepped forward where the groom could see me clearly.
“Ahem.”
“Guillaume! You came!”
“Whose wedding is this? Of course I came. Here—your wedding gift. I put in plenty.”
“What wedding gift? You should’ve just come yourself.”
“You say that, but looking at how you’re taking it, your hands are more honest than your mouth.”
“And who exactly is giving it to me?”
“They say Santa won’t bring presents if your words and actions don’t match.”
“I think I’ve already received more than enough presents this year.”
Well, well. Look at that grin stretching all the way to his ears.
Fine. I lost. I lost. Ptui, ptui. Hurry up and get out of here to your bridal home already.
“What’s with that sour face?”
“I was engaged in deep reflection on where Guillaume’s wandering soul should go in this harsh modern society.”
“…Did something happen to you?”
“No. Nothing.”
“Looks like something did.”
Mathieu glanced away for a moment at the bride, who was happily talking with the guests, then spoke.
“We don’t have much time, so spit it out. What happened?”
“It seems a certain absolute monarch in the northern country has taken a verrrry dim view of me.”
Now that I said it out loud, the phrasing sounded strange. A northern country, and an absolute monarch… aside from not being a pig, it sounded suspiciously similar to a certain Kim family… ugh, my head.
“The north? Sweden?”
“Yeah.”
“You don’t normally trade with them anyway.”
“That’s exactly why this is giving me a headache. Looks like I’ll have to.”
“What do you need to import?”
“Iron ore.”
“Do you really have to get it from there?”
“That’s what the technicians said.”
Even as I said it, my temper rose. Did it not feel as though the whole situation was telling me, The answer is already set, so you just suffer like hell?
What sin had I committed that monarchs who ruled entire countries had to act like such petty bastards toward one mere individual?
If I were to act as my heart wished, I would board a ship at once, storm Stockholm, and bring back someone’s head. But I could hardly send innocent people into mortal danger just because they would not sell me a few chunks of iron, especially when this was not even a public matter but a private one of my own.
If a man mobilized the army and smashed everything up just because someone would not sell him goods, then he was not a human being. He was a pirate and a thug.
“So, do you have any brilliant idea?”
“If I did, would this handsome face of mine look this twisted?”
“What about Alsace-Lorraine? No good?”
Honestly, even pretending to listen would’ve been nice.
“No good, they said.”
“Then that settles it.”
“…It settles it?”
“Sweden won’t sell, and mainland France won’t work, right? Then there’s only one answer.”
Brother Mathieu held up a finger and said,
“The colonies.”
“Colonies… the sound of that is a bit unpleasant.”
“What’s wrong with colonies? If you insist, call them overseas territories. Anyway, didn’t you say France got a tremendous amount of land in America as war reparations this time? Some of my classmates say it hasn’t even all been surveyed yet.”
“…Well, now. Where did you pick that up?”
“Hey, some of our classmates stayed in the army, but others went looking for different paths. The Foreign Ministry, for example. Or the administration.”
America. America, huh.
I stroked my chin and rolled the word over in my mind.
“In any case, if the land is really that vast, isn’t it likely to have at least a few deposits of good-quality iron ore? Well, if it doesn’t, there’s nothing to be done.”
“Yeah. I get what you mean. Statistically speaking, how could there not be at least one in that huge stretch of land?”
I pulled two more envelopes from inside my coat and tossed them to Brother Mathieu.
“Hey, what’s this?”
“What else? One is for my sister-in-law, and the other is for the future nephew who’ll be born someday. I’m leaving now, so give my regards to my sister-in-law.”
“You’re leaving already? H-hey! Hey!”
Sorry, but a busy bee like me didn’t have time to loiter around.
Ah, bee, not honey. Anyway.
Back when I lived in the modern world, there was a protagonist in one of the computer games I had played.
That protagonist wore a green suit and slaughtered demons with a chainsaw and a double-barreled shotgun. As I recalled, whenever he faced demons that kept growing larger and larger, instead of shrinking back, he went wild with delight, shouting something like, A huge demon! Hah hah! That just means I can rip and tear even more!
Wasn’t that rather similar to my current situation?
If I remembered correctly, either China or India was thirty-three times the size of the Korean Peninsula, and the United States was bigger than China, so… in any case, it was fucking enormous.
If I thought of myself as that protagonist in the green suit, and this continent called North America as the demon I needed to slay, then with enough forcing, maybe I could make the comparison fit somehow.
But I was not insane. I could not even begin to estimate how many people I would have to shove into that vast continent in order to seize what I wanted.
The seven thousand men led by Dumouriez would not even come close.
Should I add another thousand? Ten thousand? A hundred thousand? Would about a million do it?
And then how was I supposed to secure those people? If I hired them and paid wages, I would go bankrupt. If I barked at them to abandon the homes and lives they built and leave France, then I would become the greatest bastard of the age.
“Please ask the Trade Bureau to find me someone.”
“Who should we look for?”
“Someone familiar with American geography. You’ll probably find one among people whose trade is the New World fur business. It would be even better if they can speak the language of the American natives.”
“Understood, sir.”
So it had to be a small elite force, each worth a hundred men. Perhaps I would even have to consider the possibility that I might inevitably need the help of others.
“Send someone to Colonel Grouchy as well.”
“What message should we send?”
“Tell him that if there’s any troublesome person in the unit, like when we recruited Nicolas Oudinot last time, he should send them over. Preferably someone overflowing with energy.”
“Yes, sir.”
Teacher Akali, the lord of the towers guarding Summoner’s Rift, always said, “Quick and nimble.” That must have meant that speed was important in every kind of work.
But if I wanted to strip America bare, ordinary speed would not be enough. I needed someone who could run until their heart burst and then run some more. Someone so full of energy that it spilled over into reckless bravado.
“Do you have any other orders?”
“Are Editor Saint-Just and Sade at their desks?”
“Yes. They are in the middle of wrapping up tomorrow morning’s issue of Maxim.”
“Please call them in for a moment.”
And was that all? I also needed people willing to head out voluntarily and develop the frontier. Passionate people who wanted to change their lives by carving out a new home rather than clinging to the stable life of France. I did not care whether they wanted a sudden fortune or simply wanted to escape a life in the gutter. To fill that vast land, every single person would matter.
“Your Excellency, have you summoned this Saint-Just?”
“This body, Sade, has come at your command!”
“I’m sorry for calling both of you back and forth when you must be busy.”
“Haha, not at all! We were just having a heated discussion on the subject of sadism and masochism…”
Sade, you bastard. Every time I saw you, I got dizzy.
“Good. So you’re both in excellent spirits, then.”
“Uh… w-well, not exactly.”
“Let’s put an advertisement on tomorrow’s front page. Put your heads together and come up with a slogan.”
“An advertisement?”
“Yes. A line so stirring that young hotbloods will be unable to resist and volunteers will come pouring out.”
Try to lure in some people with a thrilling New World expedition full of romance and adventure, danger and reward, you salary-thieving bastards.
“Colonel Grouchy, I can’t take it anymore! Either punish Major Joachim Murat, or strip me of my rank!”
“Lieutenant Colonel, could you not simply endure it a little longer?”
“Gyaaaagh!!”
Colonel Emmanuel de Grouchy, commander of the Dragoon Regiment, clutched his head. Back in his cadet days, the position of superior officer had looked so brilliantly glorious. In reality, however, it was a post filled with all manner of damnable responsibilities and very little fun.
He understood why the deputy commander was acting like this. On Christmas Eve, did the deputy commander not want to go out as well? But because he was a field officer, he had been forced to remain at his post, and then some pissant major beneath him went and sneaked off, got caught, and drove him into a fury.
It felt as though he had aged ten years in just over a decade since receiving his commission.
“…I hear they’re recruiting cavalrymen for the New World this time. If we send him there for a while as a disciplinary measure, perhaps he’ll come to his senses.”
“Thank you, Colonel! Thank you! Sob, sob!”
But Grouchy did not know.
[Dangerous journey. May be hot or cold. A long expedition lasting several months. Dangers may appear from anywhere. Safe return cannot be guaranteed. Success may bring glory and honor.]
[Ears of the Nation Headquarters]
“This looks fun. It suits this Joachim Murat perfectly!”
Contrary to the painful decision Grouchy reached after much agonizing, like sacrificing a beloved horse to save the army, this troublemaking cavalry major had already made up his mind.