EMPIRE REWRITTEN [Isekai ? Alt-History ? Strategy]

Constantine rode at the head of his column, the early sping sun casting long shadows over the dusty road from Glarentza. His cape fluttered in the breeze as he glanced back at the men following him. They had departed from Glarentza at first light, leaving behind the glittering Ionian Sea, and now every mile East felt heavier underfoot. Yet there was purpose in their steps. Constantine could sense it in the determined silence of the column and the way even the tired men kept pace. The Emperor himself bore an immense weight on his shoulders: the fate of a reborn empire rested on this campaign, and each stride took them closer to Ottoman-held lands.

As they passed the hill town of Chalandritsa, a small cheer went up. A contingent of local militia and conscripts waited by the roadside under a tattered banner. These were hardy men of Achaea, perhaps a hundred in all, eager to join the imperial army. Constantine raised his hand in greeting, allowing himself a faint smile. Their commander bowed stiffly, sweat beading on his brow. "Your Majesty, Chalandritsa sends what men it can," the man said, voice hoarse but proud. Constantine nodded in gratitude. "Every man counts. Join our ranks," he replied. The newcomers fell in line, earning claps on the back from the imperial soldiers.

Two days later, the column wound through the pine-clad hills toward Kalavryta. The sound of a distant horn echoed off the slopes as they approached the town's stone fortress perched above green hills. Suddenly, riders emerged from the gates, at their head Thomas Palaiologos, Constantine's younger brother. Thomas wore a broad grin beneath his helmet, and behind him trailed 800 troops in neat formation. When the brothers met, they clasped forearms tightly.

"It is good to see you safe, brother," Constantine said, voice warm. He looked Thomas up and down, noting the dust on his armor from riding. Thomas laughed lightly. "And you, Emperor. I wouldn't miss this fight for the world. Me and my men stand with you." He gestured back at his troops, roughly organized into companies of spearmen and light cavalry. Constantine's eyes shone with gratitude. He knew Thomas had marched these men quickly from their mountain homes to rendezvous here. "With your 800 and the others gathering, our cause grows stronger," Constantine replied. He lowered his voice, just for Thomas. "But your presence means even more to me. We fight together, as family—united." Thomas placed a gloved hand on Constantine's shoulder. "Always, my Emperor—always, my brother." The brief moment of affection passed, and both turned to the practical matters of merging their forces.

By late afternoon, the expanded army continued northward. Thomas rallying the newcomers with youthful enthusiasm, veteran captains coordinating supplies, and Constantine himself riding up and down the line exchanging encouraging words. With Captain Andreas to Corinth to prepare the way, Constantine relied more on his own presence to guide the men. He remembered a lesson from years past: an emperor must share in the hardship of his soldiers. So he paused often to walk beside the infantry, leading his horse rather than riding.

The Fires of Corinth

Four days later, the imperial army approached Corinth. As they trudged along the isthmus road, the Acrocorinth, Corinth's mountain fortress, loomed into view, crowned with fortifications glinting in the late sun. Below it sprawled the city of Corinth. The gates opened, and Captain Andreas dismounted and knelt briefly as Constantine came forward.

"Rise, my friend," Constantine said, also dismounting. The two clasped each other in a quick embrace. Andreas's armor smelled of forge-smoke and oil. "Welcome to Corinth, Emperor," Andreas said formally, then broke into a grin. "You've made good time. We've been busy readying things here."

The Emperor's arrival was greeted with cheers from the Corinth garrison and townsfolk lining the streets. New barracks of timber and whitewashed stone flanked the road, and hundreds of local troops stood at attention. Constantine raised an arm in salute as he passed. Reviewing the garrison, he noted their neat uniforms and their newly forged pikes and swords. These were not the tattered, demoralized Byzantines of years past, these were rejuvenated soldiers, chests proud, resolved to defend their empire. Pride swelled in Constantine's chest at the sight of them. Many were young men of Corinth and nearby villages who had grown up under the shadow of Ottoman raids, now finally given a chance to fight back.