Thunder of Cannon Fire

Early on the sixth day.

A thin mist descended over Constantinople, obscuring the boundless Ottoman camp below, vast as the sea.

The defenders looked far more relaxed, chatting idly as they forced down their breakfast amid the pungent scent of blood in the air.

By conservative estimates, the enemy had left behind thousands of corpses beneath the city walls yesterday alone.

The weather had now turned warmer. Experienced mercenaries believed that today, they could still smell only blood, but in a few days, the stench of rot would take its place. Those who could not eat now would find it even harder to eat then.

"Oh, no. If you can't even endure the smell of blood, you definitely won't live to see that day."

By noon, the mist had gradually dispersed.

The enormous siege camp reappeared before their eyes, and the relaxed expressions of the defenders once more turned grim.

Then came a thunderous boom.

A massive solid Stone Bullet hurtled toward Constantinople with earth-shattering force.

Bang—

The Stone Bullet struck the city wall, but the violent tremor was transmitted underground in less than a second. The section of wall it had hit remained solid, without even a crack appearing in its bricks.

Mahmud II, standing beside the great cannon, swept his cold gaze toward the Hungarian craftsmen nearby.

The craftsman named Urban hurriedly said, "It is the power of magic, Your Majesty. The Greeks embedded magical formations within the walls. That is why the Theodosian Walls have endured since their construction. But the power of those formations is limited. The Greeks have not produced a legendary spellcaster for centuries, and the craft of repairing magical formations has long been lost. As long as we keep bombarding the walls, they will surely break."

Mahmud II's icy voice rang out. "Urban,