Russia, Saint Petersburg.
Alexander Colonna Walewski, Foreign Minister of the French Second Empire, finally arrived in Saint Petersburg after nearly two months of arduous travel.
Though it was the frozen season, had Alexander Colonna Walewski chosen the sea route, he would most likely have reached Saint Petersburg in around twenty days.
But Alexander Colonna Walewski wished to follow in his father's footsteps and personally experience what the French Army had felt back then.
Thus, he chose the land route. In truth, quite a few French did the same, but most chose summer—while he had chosen winter.
Alexander Colonna Walewski's party lost its way several times in blizzards, and eleven beasts of burden froze to death alive.
Before reaching Saint Petersburg, he first went to Moscow.
Amid the blizzard, a party of travelers struggled onward. The road ahead had long been buried beneath snow deep enough to reach one's waist, while goose-feather flakes continued to drift down from the sky. If anyone fell into the snow, within minutes he would be completely covered by the snowfall, vanishing into this snowy wilderness.
The wheels were sunk deep in snowdrifts, while the shaggy heavy draft horses exhaled thick white vapor. Heaven and earth were an endless white expanse; only the howling gale and the teeth-aching crunch of packed snow beneath wheels and hooves remained.
Alexander Colonna Walewski warmed himself beside a stove in the carriage, yet he still could not adapt to this hellish weather. It seemed his father had truly chosen the wrong season. This world of ice and snow was too terrifying. Forget marching into battle—he was about to freeze to death even inside the carriage.
A corner of the curtain was suddenly lifted, and the driver's voice poured in together with the roar of wind and snow.
"My lord, Moscow