First Kill (1)
Senior Sergeant, Frontline Inspection Team, Inspection Coordination Office, Personnel Bureau, Ministry of Military Affairs. Audit of replacement troop operations….
"What does this mean?"
"Simply put, it means I'll be looking over paperwork near the front lines where you are."
Ah. I felt relieved.
Wait—why did I feel relieved? I shouldn't be relieved.
Why did I feel relieved?
He said he was going to the front lines, and just because Sergeant Müller said he was coming with me, I felt relieved?
You weren't this emotional, Chloe Winterland. Give affection to someone else and you're out.
Well, I've never given anyone affection and I don't plan to, but you never know. Maybe crawling into another body has made me needlessly sentimental.
I managed my expression with all the care I could muster.
In the meantime, Müller struck first.
"Is there anything you want to do?"
"…Pardon?"
"If there's something you want before we head to the front, say it."
The question came out of nowhere.
I sank into brief thought.
Something I want… nothing but yuryeol, really…?
Well, maybe I should indulge a little selfishness? Warm cocoa, expensive clothes, a clear and spotless mirror—those petty little wishes.
But once I'd locked in the concept of the emotionless sickly beautiful girl, I couldn't break it!
"Nothing in particular."
"…I see."
"Yes."
"When is your birthday?"
Another strange question leapt out.
"…My birthday, you mean?"
"Yes."
"Winter."
"I didn't ask for the season. I asked for the exact date."
"I don't know. I don't remember well. It isn't as if I ever received any special care for a birthday, so…"
"I see."
Sergeant Müller fell silent.
I'd only shown him a fragment of the mysterious, orphan-like things that had happened at the orphanage, and already the impact was this strong.
As expected, Müller was an adult who hit hard in the mind.
"Is something wrong?"
"I was just thinking. Greeting your birthday on the front lines… it's harder to endure than you'd expect."
"……."
"If it's this winter, you'll turn sixteen."
Sixteen… hearing this body's age from someone else's mouth made it feel freshly criminal.
Combined with my previous life I might be older than Sergeant Müller, but this body was only just turning sixteen.
Shells instead of cake. Bullets instead of candles. Artillery fire instead of birthday songs. Perfect.
I was starting to look forward to it a little.
"If you survive until winter, I'll prepare a gift."
"…Pardon?"
"Exactly as I said."
Cough.
Sergeant Müller pointed a finger at my pocket.
It was a signal to use the magic inhaler.
Sss, haah….
My breathing eased a little. White smoke drifted and scattered.
The departure written on the orders was two days later.
It was time to put on the military uniform again. Brace, cane, inhaler… compared to before, the list of things I had to bring had only grown.
Hmm. And if I go to the front, will I be able to handle a sniper rifle again? Even without the scope, I can still shoot, right? Heh heh.
At last, departure.
I boarded the train bound for the front and entrusted everything to the rocking of the carriages.
And Sergeant Müller… deliberately refused the privileges offered to officers and sat across from me.
Quieter than I expected.
Of course that didn't mean it was completely silent.
The wheels kept clattering against the rails, and the old passenger car creaked every time it swayed.
For no particular reason I found myself thinking of the ride from the recruit reception post to the training camp.
Back then I'd been riding in a freight car; looking back now, it had been a hair-raising moment.
Sergeant Müller was reading documents across from me. Being able to read paperwork even on a train to the front—as a former office worker, I felt a flicker of respect.
A human so relentlessly diligent it was almost vicious. That was why I liked him.
For a while I watched the empire's beautiful natural scenery through the window, then casually rummaged through my bag.
Two hard-boiled eggs and a little salt wrapped in paper.
The train-trip lunchbox I had packed myself.
I carefully cracked the eggshell with the tips of my nails. My nails still hadn't fully grown back, so it took a little struggle, but I managed somehow.
The shell shattered into fine pieces and fell onto my lap; the sensation was better than expected.
I dipped the egg lightly in salt and took a big bite.
Chew, chew.
My throat caught a little.
Ugh—I felt the urge to use the magic inhaler, but I managed to hold it down.
I'd packed hard-boiled eggs and forgotten water. My own mistake.
"Where did you get that…"
"I boiled them myself."
"I was asking about the salt."
Ah. Come to think of it, in the empire the price of salt had risen until it was classified as a luxury good.
…Even with sufficient salt-production technology, the special conditions of war and the naval blockade had given rise to that strange salt tax.
For a mere private first class who was also a little girl, the market situation for obtaining salt was rather strange.
Well, as for the salt…
Sergeant Müller stared at my egg for quite a long time.
"…Would one be all right."
"……."
I looked at him and began reconfirming inside my head whether I had heard correctly.
What did he just say?
A child's snack…?
He was just going to snatch one of the precious hard-boiled eggs belonging to a sickly beautiful girl whose body wasn't even whole from her injuries?
That such a wicked adult could exist in the world—and that it was Sergeant Müller of all people! My disappointment was profound.
"Mm."
"Here you are."
Well, how could a private first class refuse a request from a sergeant in the army?
I handed him the remaining egg, and he took it as it was.
"Thank you."
"Sergeant."
"What is it?"
"It's nothing."
"…You've gotten rather good at letting your feelings show."
Ah. Did it show?
Lately the mask had been feeling a little thin.
I should start focusing on the performance again.
Meeting too many people must have loosened my guard a little.
At the orphanage everyone had been orphans, so it had been fine.
Orphans aren't people, after all.
If I had to find a facility similar to an orphanage, wouldn't it be a zoo? The part where beasts are gathered is exactly the same.
"When we reach the front, I'll give you my snacks."
"…Thank you."
"There. Your expression's loosened up."
He seemed delighted to have discovered a childlike side of me. The corner of Sergeant Müller's mouth was slightly raised.
Hmph. That sort of expression doesn't taste very good.
I wanted to see that human's face twist.
…Why is he so good at peeling eggs.
He stripped the eggshell with remarkable skill. Even though his fingers were large and rough, the shell came off incredibly cleanly.
He looked at the salt resting on my thigh, then plunged his egg straight into it.
Chew, chew.
He looked satisfied.
The paper on my thigh was pressed into a round, egg-shaped dent. The center of the salt had vanished as if struck by a meteorite.
"It's been a while."
"The hard-boiled egg, you mean?"
"More precisely, a hard-boiled egg eaten on a train."
"Have you had them before?"
"A long time ago."
He said nothing more.
I didn't ask. I wanted to, but I decided it would be better not to.
His expression looked considerably complicated.
It needed a little more aging. I had to let it steep until he spoke of it himself.
Yuryeol is a battle of relationships and time. Longer. Deeper… a cherished meal has to be given enough time.
.
.
.
The train continued west. The scenery outside the window was slowly drying out.
Wasteland and withered trees, hazy ridgelines. Every time the train stopped at an intermediate station, soldiers got off and on in a repeating cycle.
The wounded to the rear. The new recruits to the front.
Inside a train, people were divided into categories according to direction. Those going back alive and those going to die; life and death sorted themselves out.
Sergeant Müller spoke to me while I was lost in thought.
"Inhaler."
"…Pardon?"
"Use it before the cough starts."
"I'm still fine."
"Your voice is cracked."
Detecting the abnormality in my body faster than I could myself—he must care for me a great deal.
A good sign.
I smiled inwardly.
I obediently took out the magic inhaler and put it to my mouth.
Sss, haah….
White smoke escaped.
Sergeant Müller, seated across from me, watched me steadily. A face whose thoughts I couldn't read only made the anticipation greater.
Humans like that always yield a deeper flavor in the end.
The train stopped around the time the sun was sinking.
The terminal station—and at the same time the last railway stronghold leading to the front—brought the train to a halt.
Around the station, supplies were piled like mountains. Crates loaded with magic stones and ammunition boxes, folded stretchers, field magic lamps were being moved this way and that.
The end of the rails.
…Hm? There are more rails, though?
Ah. A stupid thought.
Of course the rails continued.
If you go any deeper than this, you enter the enemy's range and line of sight, so they made this station the supply hub and terminal stop.
I took my cane out of the bag and forced my complaining right leg to support me as I followed Sergeant Müller.
"Are you all right?"
"I'm fine."
"…Just bear with it a little longer."
The place Sergeant Müller headed for was the cargo bed of a military truck.
Strangely, it was a place that reminded me of our first meeting.
I remembered the aptitude test I'd taken in a military truck.
Besides us, a few other soldiers were already riding in the truck; they kept glancing at me, which put me in an excellent mood.
A sickly beautiful girl with a cane—hardly an attribute you can simply walk past. Heh heh.
To be able to draw this much attention… desire recharged in an unexpected place…!