EMPIRE REWRITTEN [Isekai ? Alt-History ? Strategy]

At first light, Emperor Constantine's army broke camp at Bodonitsa. A small garrison of Byzantine troops and local volunteers remained behind to hold the newly won fortress, but the primary host now turned north.

Before the march, Orthodox priests walked among the ranks, swinging incense and sprinkling holy water. One gray-bearded archimandrite held aloft a gilded icon of the Theotokos, Mother of God, its painted face catching the dawn's glow. Soldiers and officers alike crossed themselves as the clergy chanted prayers for protection.

Constantine removed his helmet and bowed his head to receive a final blessing; the priest touched the icon to the Emperor's forehead and murmured, "May the Lord guard your coming and going." Thus consecrated, the army stepped forward, banners with the double-headed eagle unfurling in the morning breeze.

They entered the fabled pass of Thermopylae, the "Hot Gates" of legend. Steep slopes of Mount Kallidromon still pressed close on their left, while to the right the land slanted away toward reed‑cloaked marshes and the glimmering Aegean Sea. Time, however, had softened the choke point's grip: what once funneled ancient hoplites shoulder‑to‑shoulder had broadened into a rough roadway wide enough for wagons to negotiate, though the cliffs remained near enough for travelers to feel their stony weight. Centuries of mudslides and neglect had choked parts of the old road, forcing Constantine's engineers to labor at clearing fallen boulders and felling a few scraggly pines that blocked the way.

Warm sulfuric steam drifted from hidden hot springs, carrying the faint smell of brimstone. Many in the column grew silent with awe or curiosity; they all knew this was the hallowed ground where, long ago, a brave few had held off the hordes of an eastern invader.

Constantine rode near the vanguard, leading on horseback under the imperial standard. As hooves and boots trod the ancient earth, he found himself reflecting on those ancient heroes. Leonidas and his Spartans had shed their blood here against the Persians; now, nearly two millennia later, Greek soldiers marched again through Thermopylae to face another eastern empire. He wondered if the spirits of those warriors watched them now. Captain Andreas ordered a halt at one particularly tight bend where the cliffs loomed oppressively.

Scouts jogged ahead, eyes peeled for any sign of an Ottoman ambush. None came, the enemy had melted away from the pass. Still, Andreas directed a team of engineers to shore up a crumbling ledge so the cannons could be brought through safely. Men strained with ropes and levers to maneuver the heavy Drakos field cannons along the treacherous path, inch by inch.

Despite the difficulties, morale was high. Soldiers exchanged grins and remarks about how the Turks must be quaking beyond the mountains. Even the grizzled veterans admitted it felt as if God's favor was guiding their steps; each obstacle overcome in the Hot Gates was a victory in itself.

By midday, Constantine's army emerged from the northern end of the pass onto broader ground. The rugged defile opened into rolling terrain, and far ahead across a fertile plain they could see their next objective, Zetouni.

Known to the ancients as Lamia, this town and its fortress guarded the approach to Thessaly. Constantine paused at a rocky outcrop overlooking the plain. He raised an arm, signaling a brief rest while the columns re-formed. As men caught their breath and adjusted their armor, the Emperor gazed out at Zetouni's distant walls and the shimmering Gulf of Lamia beyond. That narrow gateway had once been a grave for heroes; today it had delivered the Byzantines into the heart of central Greece.

Behind him, the long line of troops and wagons snaked out of the mountain shadows, stirring dust under the midday sun. Constantine allowed himself one deep breath of the open air. The hardest part of the march was over, now the liberation of Zetouni awaited.