EMPIRE REWRITTEN [Isekai ? Alt-History ? Strategy]

Chapter 34: The Price of Defiance

The room seemed to hold its breath. Turahan straightened, though the weight of failure pulled at his shoulders.

"Constantine has grown strong, far stronger than anticipated. He has amassed an army equipped with weapons unlike any I've encountered before."

He paused, allowing the weight of his words to sink in.

"Weapons, you say?" Murad questioned, his voice laced with skepticism. "What manner of weapons could the Byzantines possess that would pose a threat to our forces?"

Turahan drew a deep breath. "Cannons, my Sultan. Powerful cannons with devastating accuracy. And firearms—weapons wielded by their foot soldiers that unleash a barrage of shots from afar."

"You say they had cannons?"

Turahan nodded cautiously. "Yes, my Sultan. Not merely those bombards we have encountered before. Their cannons were different, more precise."

Murad's eyes narrowed. "And these hand weapons you speak of?"

"They are small hand cannons, my Sultan," Turahan explained, holding his hands apart to demonstrate. "Devastating at close range. Their soldiers carried them in great numbers, firing rapidly and retreating behind their lines to reload. They lack the cannon's power, but their numbers were enough to break our formations."

Murmurs rippled through the court. Murad silenced them with a raised hand, leaning forward to study Turahan's weary face. "And what of their tactics? How did they use these weapons to such effect?"

Turahan swallowed hard, his gaze flickering to the floor as he carefully chose his words. "They fought like disciplined units, my Sultan. The cannons targeted our cavalry, breaking the charge before we reached their positions. The infantry, armed with these hand weapons, formed a second line of defense. When we pressed forward, they unleashed a relentless volley. They were fewer than us but fought as if they had double our numbers."

Murad's expression darkened, his fingers drumming against the armrest of his throne. "Constantine has done more than defend his fractured lands. He has prepared for war—true war. Such discipline and innovation are not the hallmarks of a desperate man but of a ruler who dares to dream beyond his means."

Halil Pasha stepped forward, his voice cautious. "My Sultan, if the Byzantines have acquired such weapons and learned their use, then they must have a source. Perhaps the Venetians or Genoese have supplied them. This weapons is not of their making."

Murad considered this, his gaze distant for a moment before snapping back to Turahan. "What else did you see of their weapons? Were they Byzantine forges, or do you suspect foreign hands behind this?"

"I could not determine their origin, my Sultan," Turahan admitted, his voice laced with frustration. "But it is likely they were imported. The Byzantines have long relied on Venetian trade, and these weapons are beyond their means to create unaided."

Murad rose from his throne, his figure imposing as he began to pace. The courtiers watched in tense silence, their heads bowed. He gestured to Halil.

"We must know more. Dispatch spies to the Morea. Let them learn the origin of these weapons."

Halil bowed deeply. "It shall be done, my Sultan."

Murad paused, staring at the map of the Morea unfurled on a nearby table. His fingers traced the jagged coastline and the marked defensive line of the Hexamilion Wall. "It is too late for a proper campaign now" he mused aloud. "Autumn will come too soon to assemble the forces I require. But next spring..."

He turned to the court, his voice rising with conviction. "Next spring, we shall march. Constantine and his cannons will meet the full might of the Ottoman army. We will not merely subdue the Morea—we will annihilate its resistance."

Halil bowed. "As you command, my Sultan. Shall we consider Constantinople as a target too? Their capital remains a thorn in our side."

"No." Murad's response was swift. "A siege of Constantinople would drain our coffers and our men, while leaving the Balkans vulnerable. Let Constantine revel in his small victory. Next year, we will crush him in his lair."

Turahan bowed low, his voice steady despite the weight of his shame. "I will redeem myself, my Sultan. I will learn from this failure."

Murad regarded him for a moment, his expression inscrutable. "You will have the chance, Turahan Bey. Until then, you will oversee reconnaissance of the Morea. Know its terrain, its villages, its defenses. You will redeem yourself by providing us the keys to its downfall."

Turahan bowed deeply, his relief palpable. "It shall be done, my Sultan."

Murad dismissed the court with a wave of his hand, but he lingered by the map as the room emptied. His fingers hovered over the Morea's jagged coastline, his thoughts shrouded in cold calculation.

"Constantine," he murmured to himself. "You've bought yourself time, but time only sharpens my blade."

As the heavy doors closed with a resonant thud, the chamber descended into silence. The faint crackle of oil lamps and the lingering scent of incense were all that remained.