Constantinople

September 1, 1422, Constantinople.

At dawn, as the sky began to brighten, the sentries on the walls rubbed their weary eyes and peered outward.

Beyond the city lay an endless expanse of the Ottoman encampment, with dense clusters of tents covering the entire plain. The faint, chaotic din of human voices and the neighing of warhorses drifted on the wind.

"The enemy numbers are lower than last month; there are only about forty thousand left."

Vitus Palaiologos stood atop the tower, pulling out a small notebook to record his observations:

"I have been in this world for two weeks, and I suspect I cannot return. Today, the enemy has launched another large-scale offensive. Fortunately, there are still thirty-one years until 1453. The current Ottoman forces lack heavy siege artillery, possessing only a small number of light cannons, and they rely more on traditional counterweight trebuchets.

Constantinople is surrounded by the sea on three sides, so the enemy can only attack from the west. The western wall is tall and sturdy, featuring both inner and outer stone fortifications.

The inner wall is about twelve meters high and five meters thick. The outer wall stands eight meters high, with a wide moat beyond it. Barring any surprises, this city should be able to hold out."

As time passed, countless Ottoman soldiers pushed siege towers and heavy trebuchets, slowly approaching Constantinople.

A centurion walked up to Vitus. "Your Highness, the enemy is about to attack. I suggest you return to a safe place."

"That is unnecessary. Tend to your own duties and leave me be."

Hearing the young man's reply, the centurion felt he had fulfilled his duty. He left the tower, reminding the soldiers to prepare for combat.

Conscripted militiamen gripped their spears, watching the approaching army. Crossbowmen stooped low, one foot pressing against the stirrup at the front of their crossbows, pulling the bowstrings taut with both hands before slotting a bolt into the groove.

"Aim for those pushing the siege towers! Do not fire blindly!"

Lucas, the centurion, patrolled his section of the wall, checking the status of his men. Afterward, he turned and saw that Vitus remained standing at the top of the tower, pen and paper in hand, writing something unknown.

In Lucas's impression, Vitus Palaiologos was the fourth son of the Emperor, who had suffered a severe illness in his youth and had lived in seclusion for a long time.

It was not until this August that the nineteen-year-old youth suddenly left the palace and ran to the walls to watch this brutal siege. Vitus, experiencing battle for the first time, did not fear the scene. He had chosen a remote barracks, spending his days observing the defense and his nights busy writing, sometimes staying awake until the middle of the night.

"What a strange fellow." Lucas took off his iron helmet, scratched his messy short hair, and began directing the crossbowmen to fire at the Ottoman forces.

Meanwhile, the counterweight trebuchets outside the city reached their designated positions. A team of Ottoman soldiers strained to pull the ropes, slowly hoisting the massive counterweight box to its peak.

Following the commander's order, the box plummeted, causing the long arm at the other end to snap upward, hurling a circular stone projectile weighing dozens of kilograms. It whistled through the air, smashing against the outer wall and kicking up a cloud of stone shards and dust.

Four other trebuchets fired in succession; some stones struck the wall, others soared over it to land in the rear, and one struck the battlements with precision, sending fragments scattering and knocking down soldiers who could not dodge in time.

"Pah! Pah!"

Lucas spat out the dust in his mouth and cursed, "Where are our cannons? Why haven't they arrived yet?"

During the siege, Emperor Manuel II had sought aid from the West. Venice did not send reinforcements, but instead took the opportunity to sell various armaments, including a type of lightweight bronze cannon, about two meters long, named the "Serpent Cannon," priced at two hundred and eighty ducats.

(A ducat is a gold coin issued by Venice, worth 3.5g of gold, and was the common currency for Mediterranean trade during this period.)

After observing the artillery's demonstration, the Emperor purchased all twenty cannons and deployed them on the western wall to bombard the heavy Ottoman trebuchets.

The sector where Lucas was stationed was in the southwest of the city. He had his men request reinforcements. Before long, ten artillerymen dragged a cannon over with great difficulty. Lucas went to greet them. "Where is your officer?"

"He was struck by a stone fragment just now and passed out."

At this moment, Vitus hurried out of the tower and squeezed into the crowd. "Don't worry, I followed an artillery crew last week and have already learned how to operate the cannon."

He walked behind the battlements, held his right arm straight, raised his thumb, and used the thumb-ranging method common among later artillerymen to estimate the distance between his position and the trebuchets.

"About two hundred and seventy meters."

Vitus then took out his notebook and flipped to a page recording the firing ranges of the Serpent Cannon at various angles. "Ten-degree elevation, add a wooden wedge at the base, standard powder charge."

Hearing the order, the gunner used an iron hammer to drive the wooden wedge into the base of the carriage, used a long ladle to scoop gunpowder from a barrel into the muzzle, and rammed in a polished stone projectile.

Confirming everything was correct, Vitus ordered the gunner to ignite it.

BOOM!

A thunderous roar tore through the air, and the muzzle erupted with orange flames and thick white smoke. The stone projectile traced a parabolic arc, clearing the outer wall and the moat before smashing a crater into the ground.

Vitus adjusted the muzzle slightly and fired again, but still missed.

It was not until the third shot that the projectile struck the counterweight box of a trebuchet. Instantly, the earth and stones loaded in the box poured out like a yellow waterfall, burying an unfortunate soldier below.

Before the smoke had cleared, Vitus had the soldiers drag the Serpent Cannon to another battlement and repeated the process. After two more shots, another trebuchet was destroyed.

The Ottomans realized the threat posed by the artillery and maneuvered their trebuchets to bombard the battlement where the cannon was located. However, trebuchets utilized high-trajectory ballistics, resulting in extremely low accuracy; they could not fire with precision and failed to destroy the annoying bronze cannon.

The Ottoman officer was furious and dispatched archers to advance within a hundred meters. Enduring the fire of the Greek crossbowmen, they loosed a volley of arrows at the artillery position, forcing Vitus to huddle behind the battlements.

The rain of arrows whistled in, striking the armor of the gunners with a dull thud, sounding like a sudden hailstorm.

"Everyone crouch! The archers have limited stamina; they won't last long!"

Within a few minutes, the Ottoman arrow rain thinned. Most of the four hundred archers were killed or wounded, and the survivors dragged their injured comrades back to the rear.

Vitus carefully peeked over the battlements, calculated the distance to the trebuchets, and continued to direct the gunners to bombard the enemy until all five trebuchets were destroyed.

He intended to keep firing, but the barrel of the Serpent Cannon was already glowing faintly red and required cooling.

"Sigh, not satisfying enough." Vitus returned to the top of the tower to observe the defensive situation in the nearby sectors.

At this time, Ottoman soldiers used sandbags to fill the moat and set long ladders against the base of the wall, climbing up. Most were shot down, but a small group of lucky ones managed to reach the outer wall, only to be met by a concentrated volley from the inner wall's crossbowmen, preventing them from gaining a stable foothold on the outer ramparts.