Chapter 73
Chapter 73
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Translator: Wjin
Chapter: 073
Chapter Title: Rome vs. Rome (4)
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As the trap at Zile Pass sprang into action and the Tatar cavalry literally evaporated into thin air, the Ottoman forces in the Balkans were left blind and deaf.
In truth, it took them five full days to even realize their cavalry had been completely wiped out.
"Have you ever seen such idiots! How does a raiding force of over two thousand just vanish overnight?!"
"According to the survivors' report, they dug elaborate traps and lured us right into them. As if they knew we'd search near the Morava River first..."
"Of course they'd...! No, the Morava River and the valley are critical to our supply lines, but setting up traps that thorough means they were damn sure of it?"
"Could there be a traitor feeding them info?"
It was entirely plausible.
No, considering this was the very outset of the war, if not for betrayal, there was no way the cavalry's movements could have been so thoroughly exposed.
"Request reinforcements from the Crimean Khanate immediately! Without Tatar cavalry, we can't scout, let alone check on Banja Luka!"
"That's... the Russians are attacking them right now, so they can't spare any troops."
"This is insane."
Ahmet Pasha could scarcely believe the situation unfolding before him.
His mission was to defend Niš, the key stronghold in Rumelia—no matter what it took.
Originally, the Ottoman plan relied on the Tatar raiders to keep disrupting Austrian supply lines.
That way, even if they lost battles, they wouldn't lose both Niš and Banja Luka at once.
And as long as one city held, they could shake the Austrian supplies, march north, and retake what was lost.
Yet in less than a month, the entire plan had gone to hell.
"...If the Crimean Khanate can't help, request reinforcements from the homeland. And warn them there's a chance of leaks—make sure they know."
If—and God forbid—both Niš and Banja Luka fell, and the Austrians completed their supply line, then Sofia, the heart of the Balkans, would be in enemy range.
If Sofia fell? Bulgaria would be breached, putting even Greece at risk.
"No, no, that won't happen. Sofia's commanders must know about this crisis by now."
So far, only the Tatar raiders had been crushed. The real war hadn't even begun.
At worst, their eyes and ears were blinded, links to Banja Luka were shaky, and the Austrians had secured the Morava Valley supply route... Damn it, we're screwed.
"The Austrians just scored a big win, so they'll solidify their supply lines and squeeze us slowly for a while. We prepare to buy time, reorganize when reinforcements arrive from the rear, and we can counterattack!"
BAM!
The moment Ahmet Pasha slammed the table to steel his resolve, a thunderous roar echoed through the tent.
No matter how hard he struck, it shouldn't have made that sound... This was more like a cannon blast.
BOOM!
"General! The Austrians are attacking!"
"What?! That's impossible... You mean they came straight down from Zile Pass?!"
His eyes wide in shock, he finally grasped the enemy commander's intent.
With the raiders gone, no threat to their supplies remained.
So why not just charge down with the main force and smash them before they could react?
Yeah, you know we can't respond even if you do.
He swore he could hear the faceless enemy commander's mocking laughter in his ears.
"...Defend! Harden the lines! Bring every bow and howitzer you've got—disrupt their flanks so they can't encircle us!"
"It's impossible! They've lined up cannons from the riverbank to the hilltops. Any thrust will just cost us."
"Ha... Haha. This fast? What were those idiots back home predicting?"
The consensus had been that even if Austria attacked Niš, it'd be no earlier than mid-July.
Three weeks off in a war this urgent—what the hell?
"...Is this really the Austria I know?"
"We didn't lose! They just barreled down with no strategy or tactics..."
"No. They marched like this because they were certain we couldn't respond."
"General! The Austrians say if we surrender immediately and evacuate the city, they'll let the garrison retreat safely to the rear—no prisoners."
Coldly speaking, defending Niš was now impossible.
Any rational commander would regroup in the rear and aim to retake it later.
"But surrendering without firing a shot..."
"G-General! If that Leopold Joseph is as rumored... refusing means we all get bled dry!"
"What nonsense is that?"
"It's not nonsense! During the French war, he was accused of massacring every French soldier who crossed him! If he does that to fellow Christians, imagine what he'll do to us infidels!"
One adjutant cried out in a voice thick with terror.
"Executing nobles summarily? That's absurd. The last treaty explicitly states commanders and nobles are exchanged or released."
"B-But... if we resist and get caught in battle, they could claim we died in the crossfire. Joseph could do it!"
"...That bad?"
"I've heard it too. Austria has a descendant of Satan who bathes in enemy blood..."
"Tatar survivors testified. He filled a tub with the blood of slain soldiers and prayed for victory in it."
The sudden flood of testimonies shook Ahmet's resolve like a reed in the wind—even his half-hearted will to fight crumbled.
The prisoner exchange treaty existed, but as the adjutant said, it wasn't ironclad.
Claim stray shot or infected wounds, and it was done.
If the enemy commander was truly that mad, this "offer" might be code for "surrender or die."
"...The Austrians appoint lunatics like that to command?"
"Everyone knows Christian hypocrites are all talk."
"General! There's no chance of holding this place—not even a speck. Strategically, we retreat now and retake it later. A tactical withdrawal..."
"Y-Yeah? Rationally, preserving our forces here makes sense..."
With his men united in their pleas to live, he couldn't stay unmoved.
In the end, eight hours after the surrender demand, Ahmet Pasha raised the white flag and opened the gates.
"A wise decision."
"...You're Leopold Joseph?"
The Austrian host swarmed the city gates.
A man at their forefront strode straight toward the disarmed Ahmet Pasha.
"As promised, your garrison will retreat safely."
"...Understood."
Bracing for some maniac, he was surprised to find the Austrian commander surprisingly ordinary—young, but ordinary.
No... barely past thirty, yet in this position? Definitely not ordinary.
And they say true madmen don't show it on the surface.
Imagining bloodlust and violence lurking beneath those calm, rational eyes sent chills down his spine unbidden.
Someone like that could strike from behind anytime. Better butter him up.
"Though enemies, I must commend your sharp judgment and tactics. If not too rude, may I ask your age?"
"Turned thirty last year."
"Ha... Haha... My son's about your age... Impressive."
"The real credit goes to the one who promoted a green rookie like me. Without His Highness Franz, there'd be no General Leopold Joseph here."
Franz Stefan? One of the names buzzing most in Ottoman circles lately, alongside Prussia's Friedrich.
A son-in-law wielding Habsburg power like an imperial viceroy.
"...I heard your mentor was Prince Eugene?"
"I learned warfare from Duke Eugene, but my spirit from His Highness Franz. It's no exaggeration to say every young man in the realm wants to be like him."
...So Franz Stefan elevated this berserker to a key post, unleashing his madness.
Ahmet had lost Niš, but gained valuable intel to take home.
If Joseph idolized Franz to this degree, Franz himself must be obvious.
A ruthless tyrant reveling in blood, screams as lullabies.
The true bloodstained puppetmaster behind this killer general—undoubtedly him.
In a way Franz himself could never have imagined.
Thus, Franz Stefan's name began exploding through Ottoman military channels.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ The politics of the Holy Roman Empire divided into four main factions.
First, the pro-imperial faction centered on the Habsburgs.
Second, the Wittelsbachs of Bavaria and the Palatinate.
Third, the North German faction led by Prussia and Hanover.
Finally, the medium and minor electors.
Of course, that was years ago. Since Friedrich and I started our secret pact, the old power structure was already meaningless.
But few knew that, so most still analyzed imperial politics through that lens.
So, which faction did this future Peter III hail from, visiting Vienna?
"...Could I possibly meet Your Highness Wilhelmina, sister of His Highness Friedrich?"
The North German faction, naturally.
This kid's fate as a hardcore Friedrich stan was sealed from birth.
"Of course. We'll all dine together when time allows."
"Th-Thank you! For your attention... I'll study hard in Vienna and repay this kindness—whatever it takes!"
No. Too eager, and you might get deposed. Dial it back.
Especially by your own wife.
Avoid that disgrace, and I'll profit forever.
Anyway, future Peter III—Karl Ulrich—was exactly as I'd predicted.
He idolized the strong and lacked backbone. For such types, appearing overwhelmingly great works best.
With the Ottoman war raging, perfect excuse to stoke his admiration.
"So, you're interested in military matters?"
"W-Well... Father told me to ponder what true strength really is."
"Wise words. The essence of power is worth deep thought."
Perfect—I'd been mulling how to redirect his Friedrich obsession my way. Let's dig in.
"Most think strength means raw force. Unrivaled power as the measure. But blindly smashing isn't always best."
"...Even in war?"
"Good question. War reveals strengths intuitively. But victory isn't always from winning battles. Breaking enemy will without needless risk—that's the mark of true dominance."
Ulrich looked baffled, as kids do, but he'd get it in time.
Eugene and I planned to crush their cavalry upfront, seize Niš on that momentum, then strangle Banja Luka.
Only one pitched battle: pulverizing the cavalry.
One win snowballs into stealing key points. Show this kid true strength, he'll learn.
"Your Highness! Urgent news! Our two generals on the field won great victories!"
Nice timing.
I turned leisurely, exuding total control, to the panting messenger.
Go on—recount how my generals elegantly reclaimed the cities.
No need to smash like Friedrich; we radiate overwhelming presence...
"General Joseph's force entered Niš bloodlessly! And General Moritz's allied army swept 20,000 defenders and reinforcements with brilliant tactics."
"......"
Wait. Wasn't Banja Luka supposed to be strangled?
I set down my coffee calmly, chuckled, and nodded.
"...But true strength crushes easy foes outright. Only then do they never rise again."
"Ooh! Exactly!"
Ulrich's eyes sparkled with pure admiration.
...Perfect. Natural as could be.