I transmigrated as a french soldier during XVIIIth century

Adam watched as the sharp blade approached his throat. Slowly, it slid across his skin, removing the small hairs and the foam that resembled whipped cream. The barber, a simple soldier from the third battalion, was very focused on not nicking his client. Adam didn't move an inch, barely daring to breathe.

The barber had started at the ears and gradually worked his way down, following the curve of the jawline. Then he moved to the space between the nose and mouth, and finally, to the most sensitive area, the neck. More than once, Adam had cut himself trying to do it alone.

In no time, Adam had a smooth face again. A childlike smile formed on his lips as he rediscovered his clean chin in the small mirror that was presented to him.

He knew what he looked like, but he always had trouble getting used to it. Physically, he had nothing in common with François. He was taller, had a slightly lower chin, a slightly broader forehead, a slightly shorter nose, icy blue eyes, and chestnut hair with beautiful reddish highlights.

There was no apparent way that he could be a distant descendant of François. This seemed even truer if his hypothesis about his time travel was correct. According to him, François had died at Hastenbeck, and his soul, for some obscure reason, had traveled to this place.

It was just his little theory.

"So?," asked the soldier, holding up the small mirror in front of Adam's face.

"It's perfect. Thanks again for your help," replied Adam as he left the chair.

"No problem," said the man, putting away his tools. "Feel free to come see me if you want another shave later, sir."

"Certainly."

Adam walked away, and his good mood immediately fell. He had been like this for two or three days, as the 6th of February was approaching.

It's tomorrow... My birthday.

"Ah..."

A long sigh escaped his mouth as he dragged his feet back to his friends. Since joining a different company, he only spent meals with them. Like his friends, he was very busy with his duties. As a corporal, he had to stay with the company at all times and be present for all training sessions.

His own exercises had been incorporated by the captain into the program for the other soldiers, so every morning their company started the day with a run around Magdeburg. Over the weeks, their men had become disciplined and resilient enough to maintain formation for long hours.

While Captain Gilbert was very satisfied with this progress, the ordinary soldiers, including three new recruits, weren't necessarily as happy about it.

Jules, Jean, Louis, and P’tit Pol were sitting on stone steps near the Elbe River, which was completely free of ice. Behind them was an imposing stone fountain producing a very relaxing sound, and in front of them, on a large island, stood the citadel of Magdeburg.

The river was very high this season, and the current was strong due to the melting snow upstream. During the summer, it would be much lower, or even unnavigable if the region were hit by a prolonged heatwave.

Charles wasn't with them because he had been selected for picket duty, meaning he was on guard duty. It wasn’t fun, but everyone had to do it for the good of the army. Fortunately, this role, which nobody wanted, didn't last more than a day.

Tomorrow, he would be back with them.

"Ah, here he comes! All handsome and clean! Well, almost clean," joked P’tit Pol.

"I'll take a bath tonight," Adam replied a bit coldly, drawing the attention of his friends.

"Are you okay? Is something wrong?" Louis asked with concern.

"You can tell us anything, you know?" said Jules, moving closer to him.

Actually, no, I can’t! Damn, I can’t take it anymore! It’s so hard not being able to tell anyone!

"Ah," said Jean as if he had figured something out, "it’s because of a woman. She turned you down, didn’t she? Hahaha!"

Louis lightly smacked Jean on the head.

"Hey, what?! What did I say wrong?"

The looks from his friends made Jean realize it was better to keep quiet. P’tit Pol turned to Adam, a small flame of concern in his eyes.

"Tell us, François. What's the problem? If we can help, you know we’re here for you."

"I know, but I don’t think there’s anything you can do. I’m just feeling down, that’s all. And it’s not something I can talk about with you guys. Sorry."

They all took on serious expressions, as this was the first time they had seen their friend in such a state. Sometimes, especially last summer, he would get a bit down, but never to this extent. And if he didn't want to share his problems with them, they really had no idea how to help.

"If you want to talk to someone and you’re afraid of being judged, maybe you could see a priest?"

"A priest?!"

Adam was the most surprised, as he had never been religious. In fact, he had never even been baptized. With all the scandals he had heard about on TV or the internet, he didn’t have a high opinion of those people, though he was aware they weren’t all like that.

"It’s a good idea," said Jules, nodding. "Go see a priest and ask to confess. I’m sure you’ll feel better afterward."

M-me? Confess? Me?! Shit, they’re serious!

"I… Alright, I’ll try."

Without further hesitation, the young man stood up and headed toward one of the many religious buildings in the city. The most imposing one was, of course, the Magdeburg Cathedral. It was located in the southern part of the city, literally facing the ramparts. Across from it, a large paved square allowed visitors to admire the building from a distance.

Nearby was the royal house where some of the Duke of Richelieu's officers were staying. The cathedral was so imposing that Adam had trouble imagining that ordinary people had built it with their hands. Not only was this edifice, erected to the glory of God, large, but it also featured numerous sculpted details. The main entrance, in particular, invited passersby to stop and admire the figures.

On either side, a tall square tower made of stone, blackened by time, seemed to stand guard.

Once on the forecourt, Adam hesitated.

Do I really have to do this? I’m really not comfortable. Do I even have the right to enter? And what if there are people inside?

The corporal looked around, and seeing that no one was paying him the slightest attention, he pushed one of the black wooden doors open. Everything was so silent that for a fraction of a second, he thought he had gone deaf. Strangely, it seemed colder inside than outside.

The door then slammed shut behind him, making him jump.

Fuck, that scared me!

He took his eyes off the closed door and looked more carefully around him. The place was immense, large enough to accommodate an army. A soft, colored light faintly filtered through the few tall stained glass windows, coloring the floor and the massive stone pillars, white as chalk, supporting an impressive vault.

Wow! It’s so beautiful! And so big!

All the religious buildings had been spared during the looting that immediately followed the capture of the city. It was fortunate because many sacred objects made of gold were visible at the back of the nave.

Without him noticing, a man approached him. Dressed entirely in black, he seemed very old and wise, mainly because of his long white beard. He held a small but very thick book in his hands, the plain cover of which did not reveal the title. He spoke to him in German with a calm voice, though one that betrayed a certain hostility, which was perfectly understandable given that his city was occupied.

"What can I do for you, my son?"

"Hello, uh, Father? I’m sorry, I’m not used to this. And I haven’t mastered your language yet."

The priest, Constantinus, looked with surprise at this young man who spoke his language relatively well, although one could clearly hear strange sounds from elsewhere in his accent. His gaze softened a bit.

"It’s alright. What can I do for you, soldier?"

"I just need to talk to someone. To confess, I mean."

The old clergyman simply nodded and gestured for the young man—fortunately, he had come without his weapon—to follow him to one of the confessionals. These were not just wooden booths but true works of art, carved with a finesse and precision that were eerily realistic.

Quickly, Adam found himself alone, kneeling on a small dark wooden bench covered with a small purple cushion. He was facing the small door through which he had entered, and to his left was a metal grille leading to the compartment reserved for the priest.

Constantinus entered it without making any sudden movements and positioned himself so that Adam could only see him in profile through the dense mesh of the grille.

"Alright, whenever you’re ready, we can begin."

"Ah, um, okay. Let’s do this."

The priest made the sign of the cross, and Adam clumsily imitated him.

"I… Um, I’ve never confessed before. I don’t know where to start. I-is there something I’m supposed to do?"

"You’ve… You’ve never confessed before?"

"Yes," Adam replied shamefully, strangely embarrassed by the situation even though it was extremely common in his original time.

"Normally," the priest began in his deepest and gentlest voice, "you would start by saying, ‘Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been so long since my last confession.’ But for you… Well, it doesn’t matter. Just say what’s on your heart. Speak openly, for God knows everything. What sins have you committed, my son?"

Adam looked at the priest’s figure through the grille for a moment, then turned his gaze straight ahead.

"Before I begin, can you confirm that everything I say will remain between us forever?"

"That is correct."

"Alright, in that case… I have… I have many regrets, Father. I didn’t do some things I should have, and I did others that weren’t good. And I’ve also done horrible things."

"Go on, my son."

"Lately, I’ve been led to do things… things I didn’t think I was capable of doing. Often, I had no choice, but sometimes I did, and yet I still did them. I’ve stolen, I’ve lied, I’ve hurt people, and I’ve killed."

"These are indeed terrible sins. War, my son, is a trial, and it is not easy to resist temptation. Sometimes, to protect oneself, it is necessary to do terrible things, but as long as it is not done with ill intent, God can understand, for God is good and merciful. Do you regret these things you did when you could have done otherwise?"

"Yes, Father. I regret them. But I also regret doing those other things. I could have fled, dropped my rifle… I mean, dropped my musket and left this war, which isn’t mine, far behind. I could have tried to find my way home on my own. But I didn’t. I was scared. I’m still scared."

"We all return home eventually, one way or another. Like the homing pigeon, even if it is days away from its coop, it knows it will return one day."

Adam's throat tightened, and a warm tear began to roll down his cheek. With a trembling hand, he wiped it away, but others kept coming continuously. His emotions, now that he had started to open up to someone, were becoming uncontrollable.

"In my case, I… I’m afraid I’ll never make it home. I would love so much to see my parents again, my sister, my cat and dog, and my friends too. Even if I didn’t get killed during this damn… sorry, this cursed war. That’s my other great regret, Father. Not being able to make things right with my family. I… I haven’t been a good son."

"Why do you say that? Have you also sinned against your family?" the priest asked in a reproachful tone.

"Yes."

"Have you lied?"

"Yes."

"Have you been disrespectful?"

"Yes."

"Have you been violent?"

"No. Never."

Although I did really argue with my sister a few times.

"Have you stolen?"

Adam was about to say he had never done that before, but then he remembered he was guilty, and for such foolish reasons! He recalled slipping his hand into his mother’s wallet and taking a few bills to buy soda and snacks between classes at the nearby convenience store.

"Yes."

"Do you regret it?"

"So much that it makes me sick and keeps me from sleeping."

"Then you are on the right path to obtaining God’s forgiveness. But first, you need your parents’ forgiveness."

"I-I’d really like that, but I can’t," Adam whimpered, his face now bathed in tears, twisted with sadness and despair.

"Why?" the priest insisted impatiently. "Are they with God?"

"No, Father."

"Then why can’t you ask for their forgiveness?"

"Because they don’t exist yet… They haven’t been born yet," Adam finally confessed.

The old Constantinus thought he had misheard and slowly turned towards the grille to observe his penitent.

"Pardon? What did you say?"

"Th-they haven’t been born yet," Adam repeated in a trembling voice, resisting the urge to turn towards the priest. "They won’t be born for another two hundred years, roughly. And neither will I. Maybe. I… I traveled through time while I was on a trip abroad without being able to say goodbye or tell them I loved them. It’s been… about eight months now that I’ve been stuck here, in this time. And I don’t know how to get home, or even if there’s a way. I have a little hope, but if it doesn’t work, I really don’t know what to do. I… I’m so scared of spending my life here, Father!"

"…"

"Father?" Adam asked with concern.

The old priest, hands clenched around his small prayer book, didn’t know how to respond, so he decided to remain silent for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Sorry. Yes, um… That’s… That’s indeed complicated."

Adam couldn’t even imagine what the priest must have looked like at that moment. Behind the grille, he must have been staring at him like a madman, or worse, and sweating profusely. Because of the barrier between them, he could barely see the old man with the long white beard.

"Even though I’ve made some good friends, I can’t tell them everything, I can’t share my problems. I believe—no, I’m sure—they won’t understand. How could they? They might even hate me. So I’ve kept it all to myself… and it’s eating me up inside. You’re the first person I’ve talked to about it since I’ve been here, Father. Thank you."

"Kuhum! Y-you’re welcome, I… I’m here for that. But, um, when you say you’re from the future, you really mean the future? That is, you know what’s going to happen?"

"Well, in broad strokes, yes. The time I come from is very different from this one. In fact, since I’ve been here, I realize how much the world has changed in just a short time over the past few decades. Here, there are places that don’t seem to have changed since the Middle Ages. But in my time, cities change very quickly. That’s because technology is evolving faster and faster."

Adam then began to describe the 21st century, and the more he spoke, the more excited he became. Conversely, the priest felt his strength leaving him. Adam spoke of strange enchanted carriages powered by invisible horses, others capable of flying high above the birds and clouds, ships without sails, some of which could even go underwater, magical messages that could reach the other side of the world in the blink of an eye, and many other things besides!

It all seemed unbelievable, but the more this young man talked, the more the doubt grew in the priest’s mind. It was so detailed, with so few hesitations, that the priest hadn’t had time to find a flaw in this ridiculous story. No one in the world could imagine such nonsense! Above all, there was no reason to invent all these things and events supposedly happening in less than two centuries.

Trembling like a leaf, his eyes wide and his breath short as if after intense exertion, he watched the young French soldier leave his compartment with a relieved smile. He barely heard him from his compartment, thanking him for listening for so long.

The priest didn’t even have the strength to react. When he finally emerged from his compartment, he looked like he had endured a torture session.

Stumbling, he made his way to a hard wooden bench where he didn’t move again. Slowly, he felt himself tipping to one side.

When they found him an hour later, he was already cold. He had taken with him all the secrets that had been entrusted to him over the decades, secrets that had proven too heavy to bear.