EMPIRE REWRITTEN

Chapter 28: Aftermath and Echoes

The sun, a cold and indifferent observer, rose over a landscape transformed. Where yesterday the plains had pulsed with the chaotic energy of battle, now a chilling stillness reigned. The silence, broken only by the croaking of ravens and the distant whinny of a stray horse, was more unsettling than the clamor of war. The air, thick with the metallic scent of blood and the cloying sweetness of decay, pressed down on Constantine like a shroud.

He stood on a slight rise, his figure a dark silhouette against the burgeoning light. Below him, the battlefield stretched out, a grotesque tapestry woven with the threads of victory and death. Ottoman bodies lay scattered across the field, their limbs twisted at unnatural angles, expressions frozen in grimaces of pain or the vacant stare of oblivion. Weapons, broken and discarded, glinted amidst the carnage.

Constantine's gaze swept over the scene, and he felt a shudder run through him. This was the price of victory, a truth he'd known intellectually but never truly grasped until now. He'd spent years reading historical novels, but nothing had prepared him for the raw, visceral impact of witnessing the aftermath firsthand.

He was no stranger to death; he'd seen it before. But this... this was different. The sheer scale of it, the casual brutality, the stark juxtaposition of life extinguished amidst the beauty of the natural world—it was a sight that tore at his soul.

Movement below caught his eye. A group of his soldiers were gathered around a fallen Ottoman, stripping him of his armor and weapons. Laughter, harsh and jarring, mingled with the clinking of metal.

"Did you see that Sipahi fly? By Hagios Demetrios, I've never seen a man go so high!" one soldier laughed, kicking aside a discarded Ottoman helmet as he bent to strip a jeweled dagger from its fallen owner.

"Those cannons, though! Like thunder from the heavens, they were," another soldier exclaimed, wiping sweat and soot from his brow as he rummaged through a saddlebag. "And those Pyrvelos! Heard the Akıncı squeal like stuck pigs when those shots rang out. They won't be forgetting Morea anytime soon."

Constantine knew this looting was customary, a brutal reward for victory, but he couldn't shake the feeling of unease that twisted in his gut. He averted his gaze, focusing instead on the distant horizon, where the first rays of the sun were painting the sky in hues of rose and gold.

A shadow fell beside him. He turned to see Captain Andreas, his face grim but resolute. "A decisive victory, Despot," Andreas said, his voice low and respectful.

"Indeed," Constantine replied, his voice flat, devoid of the triumph he should have felt.

Andreas followed his gaze to the scene below. "The men are eager for their spoils," he remarked.

"Yes," Constantine agreed, forcing a nod. But even as he acknowledged the necessity, the pragmatism of war, a part of him—the part that still clung to the ideals of a different world—recoiled.

"The scouts have returned, Despot," Andreas continued, snapping Constantine out of his contemplation. His captain's voice, rough but steady, was a grounding presence in the surreal landscape. "No sign of the enemy."

Constantine turned to face him, drawing a deep breath of the cold, crisp air. It did little to dispel the cloying stench of the battlefield, but it helped clear his head. "So they've fled?"

"Aye," Andreas confirmed, a grim satisfaction in his tone. "Likely back to the Hexamilion. Turahan Bey won't risk another encounter in the Morea. Not after this." He gestured with a sweep of his arm toward the carnage sprawled before them.

Constantine nodded, feeling a surge of pride mixed with a weary sense of relief. The victory had been a testament to the changes he'd implemented. He'd drilled the troops relentlessly, instilling discipline and tactical awareness. He'd introduced field cannons and the Pyrvelos, those rudimentary muskets that had taken so much time and resources to develop but had proven devastatingly effective against the Ottoman cavalry charge.