----- SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT -----
Hello, this is Valerian07. First of all, I am very sorry for the delay since I was busy with my activities, especially the Eid stuff and such. Well, I really appreciate to the audience once again, for supporting me, since we already arrive to almost 40+ chapters since Nov 2024. Honestly, I was wonder about the frequency or often to post the chapter, since it requires lot of inspiration and ideas. Not gonna lie, its pretty challenging to come up with. But as an author, I will try my best to keep updating chapters as much as possible, since right now I kind of know what we gonna do with our MC for Selim.
So stay tuned
And credit to.
- @Ayurbarwada, @Mustifa_89, @HRN_Dreadnought, @DaoistxL6bKL, @Yang_Aiwen, @Qafar_Jhon, @Syawal_Abizar, @GAME_PLAYER, actually there's more who comments, really appreciate of the supportive comments, power stones. May you all be blessed with a good life.
----- END OF ANNOUNCEMENT -----
10 Downing Street, British Empire — November 1770
The long oak table at the center of the chamber creaked under the weight of maps, scrolls, and silver-inlaid inkstands. A mild haze of tobacco smoke lingered above their heads, swirling lazily under the chandelier's soft glow. The room, though warm with firelight, was chilled by the tension of global ambition.
Lord Frederick North, recently appointed Prime Minister, leaned back with fingers steepled, listening intently as voices clashed over the Mediterranean.
"The situation on the Mediterranean is quite concerning," said Lord Weymouth, the Secretary of State for the Southern Department, his brow furrowed as he trailed his fingers over a naval chart. "Despite our trade volume increasing thanks to the war between the Ottoman and the Russians, we are still not able to penetrate the Middle East markets. And due to the fact that we are dominant in the Americas, India, and the Asian continentals, the Mediterranean Sea is yet to be actualized—thanks to the French, the Ottomans, and others. Technically, it is the only sea we are not dominant."
"Indeed," grunted Lord Sandwich, First Lord of the Admiralty, tapping a pipe against the table's edge. "And now, this damned Orlov Rebellion occurs—at Athens, of all places. This is our moment to help the Greeks, and in return, ask for Cyprus as our colony."
"We cannot," came the measured voice of Lord Hillsborough, Secretary of State for the Colonies. "Not unless there's a gap of opportunity. The French are still watching us—waiting for us to misstep."
"How in bloody bollocks can they do that?" barked Admiral Augustus Keppel, his temper igniting like powder. "We are, without a doubt, the most powerful navy on Earth!"
A heavy silence fell, broken only by the crackle of the fireplace and the distant call of hooves on cobblestone.
"Yes," Hillsborough continued, grimly, "and now, the Americans have shaken hands—uniting, of all things, with French encouragement. If we were to stretch ourselves into another theatre of war—aligned with the Russians—we may not be able to hold the colonies. Also, word from our informant in St. Petersburg suggests their navy at Taganrog has crumbled."
Lord North's gaze sharpened. "Crumbled?"
"A daring Ottoman operation," Weymouth replied. "Crucial installations at Taganrog were destroyed. The Russian fleet bleeds—crippled for a time."
A beat of silence, heavy with implication.
"There may yet be a sliver of fire in the Ottoman furnace," mused Sandwich.
"Ha!" laughed Keppel, thumping his fist on the table. "Cowards! If they had any spine, they'd meet us on open water. Let's sink them and be done with it! HAHA!"
"Settle down," Lord North said, his voice steady and final. "The King has not declared a course of action. What we can do now—quietly—is assist indirectly. We'll move through the East India Company. Let them bolster the Greeks."
Weymouth's eyes narrowed. "You mean to aid Athens? You know what that means. If we are caught, we are at war."
"And if we are?" Sandwich growled. "Who would dare oppose the might of the British Empire?"
North rose slowly, hands clasped behind his back. The fire flickered across his waistcoat and the gold trim of his coat.
"Gentlemen," he said, voice calm but firm, "we do not flinch from shadow nor storm. The world watches us—and the sun, as ever, shall not set upon the British Empire."
A hush fell again. Only the ticking of the wall clock and the flames whispered in reply.
~~~
Topkapi palace,
I rush to the shehzade chamber, where Cemil and Sahin are waiting. Utilizing, my current knowledge, in these wars, most nation are kind of indifferent, since countries like Prussia are focus on their own affairs, and most european nations, France are helping us but only diplomatically, while British are indirectly helping the russians in kinds of Naval knowledge, trade and funds, even military officers are send to assist. While in our side, only our vassal are assisting due to their obligation.
I opened the door, and both of them are doing their things.
"My shehzade, greetings" Both of them replied as I entered the room.
"Greetings everyone. Well we have good news and bad news, the bad news is 3 rebellions are happening in 1 time."
Cemil's eyes widened first, his pipe slipping from his fingers and clattering onto the carpet. Şahin muttered something under his breath and stood straighter, brows furrowed.
"Three?" Cemil finally said, his voice low with disbelief. "Three rebellions at once? Where?"
"Palestine, Egypt... and Athens." I said it flatly, letting the weight of the names settle. "Coordinated or coincidence, we don't know yet. But all three are moving fast. The longer we delay, the stronger they get."
Şahin exhaled, stepping toward the table and pulling over a map. "That's not a rebellion, that's a rupture. Palestine and Egypt? Strategic nightmares. Athens? That's damn near symbolic."
"Exactly," I nodded. "And here comes the good news. Or what passes for it—Father has approved the deployment of the 40th Orta."
Cemil blinked. "So soon? They've barely finished training."
"That's the point," I said. "They're the most prepared among the uncommitted Janissary ortas. And… we're going with them."
A beat of silence.
Şahin turned sharply. "We?"
Cemil let out a sigh, long and tired. "Don't tell me you volunteered."
"I didn't need to. My father insisted." I crossed my arms. "He said if I have the mind to move fleets and suggest deployments, then I should see firsthand what it means when orders become action."
Şahin's jaw clenched, clearly suppressing something more vocal. "And he expects you to survive this?"
"Apparently, yes."
Cemil sank into a cushion, rubbing his face. "We'll be marching into a multi-front mess. ambushes in the hills of Morea, desert heat and old grudges in Egypt, unpredictable tribes in Palestine. Your presence there… it could rally men. Or it could make you a target."
"I know. But for now, we are to handle Morea for now."
"And still, you're going?" Cemil asked, peering at me over his hand.
"I have to." I didn't bother with a dramatic tone. "If I'm to earn trust—of the men, the viziers, even my father—I need to prove that I'm not just a boy who sits behind maps and parchments."
Şahin stepped closer, his voice firm. "Then I'm not leaving your side."
"I assumed as much," I said quietly.
Cemil groaned, standing up. "Then I guess neither am I. If the 40th is marching, then I'll make sure their logistics don't fall apart in the first week."
A heavy silence passed, but this time it wasn't laced with hesitation. Just tired resignation.
"I'll speak with Muhtasin Pasha once we arrived Edirne," I added. "The 40th Orta will need to know their next objective. We'll start with Morea. It's the closest, and if we're fast, we might surprise them before they fully dig in."
Sahin nodded. "If this is what it takes, then we move."