EMPIRE REWRITTEN [Isekai ? Alt-History ? Strategy]

Chapter 17: On the Sea

Three days into the voyage, the weather shifted, the once calm sea becoming restless under darkening clouds. We had made a stop at Corfu, a Venetian-controlled island, to resupply, but the sea north of Corfu was known to be treacherous, both because of the weather and the pirates.

I was in my cabin when I heard the shout, sharp and urgent, cutting through the air. "Pirates!"

I rushed out, the cold sea wind whipping my face as I joined Damianus and George at the helm. "Where?" I asked breathlessly, scanning the horizon.

"There," he said, pointing toward a fast-moving ship cresting the waves, bearing down on us with alarming speed. Its low, sleek hull identified it as a Dalmatian pirate vessel.

"Damn it," I muttered. I had known piracy was a risk, but facing it firsthand was something else entirely. "How close?"

"They're gaining," Damianus said, his voice tight. "They're preparing to ram us."

My heart raced. I had to act quickly. "Prepare the Drakos," I ordered, my voice shaking with both fear and exhilaration.

The crew moved swiftly, manning the cannons I had designed. This was it—the test of my innovations, of whether my modern knowledge could truly give me an edge in this brutal world.

"Fire!" I shouted as the pirate ship closed the distance. The first cannon roared, belching smoke and flame, but the shot missed, the ball splashing uselessly into the sea.

"Fire again!" I commanded, gritting my teeth. The second shot hit its mark, striking the pirate ship's hull with a thunderous crack. The crew cheered, but the pirates kept coming.

As they closed in, the next barrage of cannon fire struck home, splintering the pirate ship's side. The deck exploded in chaos as pirates scrambled to control their vessel, but it was too late. The Drakos cannons had done their work.

"Despot!" Damianus called out. "The ship is sinking."

I felt a strange thrill course through me, something primal and fierce. "I don't care," I barked.

"Fire again!"

"Again!"

As the pirate vessel slipped beneath the waves, I felt a heavy knot in my stomach. The thrill of battle had given way to a sobering reality. Lives had been lost by my command. It was necessary, but the weight of it settled upon me like a cold mantle.

The crew began to chant my name, "Constantine! Constantine!" Their faces shone admiring, but I could only manage a faint smile.

Port of Ragusa

Ragusa's towering white stone walls gleamed in the midday sun as the Kyrenia entered the busy harbor. With its blend of East and West, the city was as much a symbol of wealth and trade as it was a fortress against the ever-growing threats of the Mediterranean.

However, our arrival was delayed by Ragusa's strict quarantine policies, as was customary for all ships arriving by sea. Seven days of enforced isolation were not what I had anticipated, but the wait gave me ample time to reflect on our journey and plan for the challenges ahead.

It also gave me time to notice something—or rather, someone—who had been watching us closely throughout the quarantine. The son of the Venetian trade captain, a young and inquisitive man, had taken an unusual interest in the Kyrenia. From the moment we docked, his eyes had rarely left our ship. He approached me several times during the quarantine, his questions seemingly innocent at first—about the cannons, the ship's modifications for them, and our recent encounter with pirates.