Reaper's Due

[Moskva, Grand Principality of Moskva and Vladimir]

[25th May 1414AD]

Within the enclosures of Moskva's city walls, the heart of the Grand Principality, the unceasing tolling of the church bells echoed relentlessly.

Their resounding chimes bore no resemblance to the customary call to prayer or congregation, but instead, they cast an ominous note of distress.

An air of death and decay hung over the once-vibrant city, casting a somber pallor upon its streets. Along the thoroughfares, the lifeless forms of people spanning all ages lay strewn, their vitality extinguished.

What had transpired to bring about such a tragic scene?

The events had unfolded with unsettling speed and suddenness. At the onset of the first ominous symptom, a pervasive illness took root, rapidly ensnaring countless lives in its grip.

As the ailment's grip tightened, its effects grew increasingly dire, culminating in untimely deaths. The toll of casualties grew relentlessly, a mounting tally that first numbered in the hundreds, then swelled into the thousands.

Amid this unfolding catastrophe, a proclamation reverberated through the city, imploring its residents to remain within the confines of their homes.

This measure was aimed at curtailing the spread of the illness, yet the stark reality soon emerged – a significant portion of the city's populace lived in impoverished conditions, their dwellings offering little respite from the contagion's reach.

Priests wearing cloth masks were initially entrusted by their churches with the task of tending to the afflicted, only to eventually succumb to the illness themselves.

This tragic turn of events not only robbed the people of their healers but also imposed constraints on those seeking refuge within the sanctuary's protective walls.

The long-feared resurgence of this merciless scourge arrived once again, its impact less catastrophic than its initial onslaught but no less lethal.

Referred to as the Black Death or ominously labeled the Reaper's Due, this devastating pestilence had once more taken root in the Grand Principality, its origins tracing from the neighboring regions.

The initial reports of the plague's resurgence began with Ryazan, the unfortunate recipient of its virulence, after which it disseminated its grim presence across the expanse of the Central Plains, inexorably progressing to engulf the Pontic-Caspian Steppe.

In response, many cities swiftly enacted the forceful closure of their gates, thereby sealing their inhabitants within.

This drastic measure left the surrounding villages isolated and abandoned to their fates, as the specter of the reaper's return cast its ominous shadow once more.

Anna and her family found themselves forcibly confined within the walls of their castle, but it was a solitude that matched the distance that had always existed between them.

Separated by their roles and responsibilities, they each resided in their own quarters, an emblem of the societal norms that had long dictated their lives.

Quarantine within their rooms became a metaphor for the emotional isolation that had characterized their relationships.

Inside her chamber, Anna clung to the letters she and John had exchanged over the past months. These written connections offered a fleeting glimpse of a world that existed beyond her gilded cage.

Tears trickled down her cheeks as she navigated this uncharted territory, unable to fathom the depths of the challenges she now faced.

Amidst the suffocating uncertainty, those letters were her sanctuary, the sole threads weaving her to a reality that held promise and connection.

Yet, in recent weeks, their correspondence had faltered, the inked promises replaced by an unsettling silence. The plague's arrival cast a pall over the splendor she had known, unraveling the tapestry of her privileged life.

As the outbreak's tendrils tightened their grip, even Vasily's decree for a nationwide lockdown proved powerless against the relentless contagion.

The grandeur of her station couldn't shield her from the encroaching darkness that threatened to consume everything she held dear.

By her bedside, a glass window overlooked the city. The view was desolate, with only sporadic movements of carts shuttling back and forth, laden with lifeless forms.

A mere month prior, her days were filled with laughter and joy shared among her people. Now, the echoes of mirth had vanished, replaced by a haunting silence and a chilling absence of life.

All that remained were bodies, devoid of animation and warmth, a stark reflection of the sudden transformation that had befallen her world.

"Why must God judge the sins of my people not solely based on their own merits, but rather by the collective sins of the world? Is it to justify the use of these transgressions against my people, John? Was this the world you envisaged, one so disparate from mine?"

In her heart, she grappled with emotions, struggling to contain the profound sorrow that resided within.

"While you embark on wars that lead to such catastrophes, can you truly ensure your safety from their repercussions? Can I, too, be immune from the aftermath?"

With a gaze fixed upon the sky, once adorned with birds but now veiled in smoke, she watched as the once-blue expanse turned ominous and foreboding.

-------------------------------

[Trajan Wall, Constantia Plain]

"What is this foreboding feeling?" John mused inwardly, his heart beating persistently, as if portending an impending shadow.

"I hope it doesn't relate to the upcoming trial. Perhaps it's just fatigue playing tricks on my mind; after all, this is a formidable ordeal," he consoled himself, seeking to fathom the enigmatic state of his thoughts.

After days spent immersed in planning and strategic considerations, the moment had arrived for the siege of the city of Constantia.

Before him, an assembly of 12,000 men stood united, facing the once-majestic but now dilapidated walls of Trajan, remnants of the Roman past.

Looming ahead were three imposing siege towers, steadily making their way forward, accompanied by the swift construction of palisades.

An unfamiliar contraption stood poised, its purpose about to be unveiled. Towering trebuchets stood in the background, primed to unleash devastation upon the city walls and its valiant defenders.

"Dmitriv!" he called out, and two figures approached – Dmitriv and Emil.

"Yes, Your Highness?" Dmitriv promptly saluted.

"What I need from you is this: after our initial assault, I want your men to swiftly clear the walls. To achieve that, we must first obstruct the defenders' line of sight,"

John's demeanor was grave, emphasizing the importance of his orders.

"Execute our planned strategy meticulously. Secure the key positions before moving to the next. Remember, the outcome today holds immense significance. Failure today would bring us perilously closer to disaster than triumph. I have a foreboding sense that failure today would only pave the way for a different kind of calamity in the days to come,"

John reiterated, his urgency palpable, underscoring the imperative nature of a successful operation.

"Yes, Your Highness... But, are you entirely certain that the contraption you've constructed holds any significance? I'm struggling to grasp its potential utility in our siege endeavors,"

Dmitriv questioned, his gaze directed towards the peculiar apparatus that John's men had erected and brought to the scene.

"Only time will reveal its true value. My hope is that we won't need to deploy it today, but rather reserve it for the impending battle. However, should circumstances take a turn for the worse, we may find ourselves with no alternative but to employ it,"

John responded, his unwavering focus fixed on the enigmatic contraption that now adorned the battlefield—an object with a history, though not exactly a new one.

"I comprehend that it has been crafted for use on the ground, but have you considered its feasibility atop the siege towers? My troops lack the necessary expertise to operate such machinery, let alone delve into its technical intricacies,"

Dmitriv inquired once again, his brow furrowing as he grappled with the continuous introduction of novel and unconventional elements by John.

As he posed his question, Dmitriv unconsciously scratched his head, his expression a mix of curiosity and mild bewilderment, as he sought to unravel the reasoning behind John's successive introduction of these unconventional elements.

"That you don't have to worry my friend, my men will operate the machinery while your men focused on assaulting the walls." John reassured with a smile plastered on his face.

The contraption he referred to was something that should have been present in the Far East, known as the 'hwacha.' These specialized devices resembled rocket launchers but utilized multiple arrows as rockets instead.

They possessed a devastating nature, both due to their penetrating impact upon launch and their explosive effect when powered by gunpowder.

Over the years, John had been amassing reserves of gunpowder for the empire, albeit in its raw form owing to its cost-effectiveness.

Sulfur and carbon, elements commonly employed in the production of Greek Fire, were readily accessible to the Romans. However, the acquisition of saltpeter posed a more challenging task.

At this juncture, organic saltpeter was primarily harvested rather than produced, making it a scarce resource. Fortunately, on occasion, merchants from the Orient would visit, offering this particular chemical in their trade endeavors.

Recognizing the importance of this issue, John accorded priority to securing such materials through trade, proactively placing substantial orders in advance.

Promptly, these materials became highly sought after in the Orient, particularly in Constantinople, where John himself acquired a substantial amount.

As a result of his purchases, numerous merchants embarked on trading these materials in considerable volumes, buoyed by the financial influx provided by John.

This transformed the once-ordinary substances into their most lucrative commodity, rivaled only by the opulent trade in silk and earthenware, which had long stood as the most exotic treasures the Orient had to offer, both in antiquity and the present era.

Subsequently, John strategically enlisted chemists from across the empire and even beyond, with a particular focus on the flourishing field of chemistry in the Arab regions during that era.

His primary objective was to harness their expertise in the meticulous purification and production of gunpowder.

To safeguard the sensitive nature of this endeavor, he enacted strict limitations on its manufacturing, keeping the entire process confined within the boundaries of the cityscape.

For this intricate task, John meticulously selected the most reliable and esteemed chemists, ensuring their trustworthiness and dedication to this crucial mission.

The 'Hwacha,' however, was a distinctive innovation hailing from the Joseon Dynasty in the Far East.

This weapon stood as one of Korea's most prestigious inventions, foreshadowing the evolution into the rocket launchers of the distant future.

The hwacha boasted a structure akin to a handcart, featuring a mobile wooden launchpad atop it, accommodating 100 to 200 cylindrical apertures.

These apertures held igniters akin to those used in the sajeonchongtong cannons.

The ammunition, resembling ancient Chinese fire arrows, consisted of a 1.1-meter-long arrow. These arrows were further enhanced by the addition of a gunpowder-filled paper tube affixed to the shaft just below the head.

A volley could launch approximately 100 of these projectiles, capable of reaching ranges of up to 2000 meters.

An alternate iteration showcased 5 rows of 10 gun barrels integrated into the launchpad. Each barrel had the capability to fire a bundle of four arrow-like projectiles.

On the reverse side of the hwacha, twin parallel arms facilitated pushing and pulling by the operator. An upright strip provided options for linear attacks or firm ground-sentry positions.

The wagon-like wheels were typically secured using wooden pivots and iron axles. To mitigate friction between the wheels and axles, tar oil was ingeniously employed.

Hwachas were primarily crafted from pine wood, although some variations were fashioned from oak. Hemp ropes were commonly used for operational functions.

The Joseon army thoughtfully included siege engineers and skilled blacksmiths among their ranks. This inclusion ensured that the hwacha could be swiftly repaired in the face of damage caused by challenging road conditions, adverse weather, or the rigors of battle.

In contrast to the cannons or mortars employed in Western warfare during the Middle Ages and the 16th century, which necessitated the use of heavy iron balls, hwachas utilized slender and lightweight arrows.

This design choice rendered the hwacha a highly maneuverable siege weapon. The apertures within the hwacha's launching mechanism varied in diameter, spanning from 2.5 to 4 cm.

This design accommodated the firing of thin, bow-like arrows while also allowing for the insertion of cannon class igniters positioned at the rear of the firing board.

The sole drawback of this weapon lies in its impracticality during siege warfare. While not well-suited for offensive purposes, it becomes a formidable asset for defense.

In this context, it stands as a lethal armament, rivaling cannons in its potency. What sets it apart is its dual role as an efficient anti-personnel weapon, proving invaluable when repelling assaults from enemy forces.

"It's regrettable that I had to deploy it earlier," John murmured with a sigh, his voice laced with a tinge of disappointment.

"Nonetheless, it was imperative," he pressed on, his attention shifting back to the decaying remnants of the walls his ancestors had erected.

While the outer wall posed no significant challenge, the true concern lay with the second fortification enclosing the heart of the city. Aware of the perils posed by the potent and hazardous Greek fire grenade, he found himself compelled to seek an alternative strategy for breaching the defenses.

His quest for a safer method led him to devise the unique weapon, a decision born from necessity, and ultimately leading to the creation of the very tool he wielded.

"Demetrius, Giorgios, instruct your men to secure the rear. My intuition warns me that this battle could evolve into a two-pronged assault. The Ottomans might bring in reinforcements, the timing uncertain but the need for preparation pressing. Ensure that our forces are ready and that our siege weapons are put to effective use."

With these words, John directed his two commanders, his caution evident. His dedication to flawlessly executing the plan was unwavering, emphasizing the gravity of the situation.