EMPIRE REWRITTEN [Isekai ? Alt-History ? Strategy]

Chapter 34: The Price of Defiance

Murad nodded slowly. "And what of resistance? These changes do not sit easily with the old families."

"Indeed, my Sultan," Halil replied. "Many among the former nobility chafe at their loss of power. The cadastral survey—necessary for our revenue—has further strained relations. Some peasants, unwilling to register and face increased taxes, have fled into the mountains. Others are influenced by their lords, who whisper of rebellion. It is said the rural areas are not yet fully under our control."

A shadow crossed Murad's face. "Do they dare defy the might of our Empire? The mountains offer no refuge. The very stones will betray those who oppose us."

Halil lowered his head. "Most of the peasants have submitted, my Sultan, but some of the nobility remains a concern. They still harbor dreams of power, despite their lands now serving the sipahis. Armed conflict is not out of the question, though isolated for now."

Another advisor, a grizzled bey with a scar running across his cheek, stepped forward. "The new taxation, my Sultan," he said, his voice rough but deferential. "It weighs heavily on the people. These burdens stir resentment."

Murad's expression remained impassive, though his eyes narrowed slightly. "They must understand that submission to the Ottoman state requires sacrifice."

Halil inclined his head. "Of course, my Sultan. Yet, we must tread carefully. The nobles may be weak now, but desperation could unite them with the peasants. A flame, if left unchecked, may grow into a fire."

Murad leaned back on his throne, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the armrest. "Then we shall ensure that the flame is smothered before it can burn. Increase patrols in the mountains. Ensure the sipahis are firm but fair. Those who submit to the Crescent shall prosper; those who rebel will face the sword."

He paused, his tone softening slightly. "The Sanjak of Albania is a vital link in our dominion. It is not the Albanian peasants or even their lords that concern me—it is the Venetians and their meddling. Their pope may be new, but their ambitions are old. Let us not forget their covetous eyes linger near our borders."

The court nodded in agreement, the weight of Murad's words settling over them like a heavy cloak.

Before more could be said, the heavy doors at the chamber's far end groaned open. A herald entered, his voice ringing through the room. "My Sultan, a messenger has arrived with urgent news from the Morea. Turahan Bey has returned."

A ripple of curiosity spread through the chamber. Turahan Bey was known for his swift victories and ruthless efficiency. His return, however, seemed premature.

Murad's brow furrowed slightly. "Summon him," he commanded, his voice echoing with a hint of displeasure.

The herald bowed and departed. The court was abuzz with speculation, whispered guesses and quiet exchanges filling the air. Murad's gaze swept the room, his face unreadable.

"Turahan returns from the Morea," he said, his voice breaking through the chatter. "Let us see what tidings he brings from Constantine and his schemes."

The court fell silent once more as they awaited the arrival of the general.

Moments later, the doors opened again. Turahan Bey entered the chamber, his armor still dusted with the grime of travel, his cloak torn at the edges, and his gait betrayed a limp. He moved to the center of the court, kneeling before the Sultan.

Murad studied him for a moment, his expression impassive. "Rise, Turahan," he commanded. "Speak. What brings you back from the Morea so swiftly?"

"My Sultan," Turahan began, his voice rough. "I bring grave tidings from the Morea."