That night, before going to bed, Manuel vented his frustrations about the day's events to his wife, Barbara, recounting everything in detail. At the end, he specifically added, "Let me be clear, I'm not sparing Isaac because of some messy emotional factors. It's purely because, in this generation of our Gavras Family branch, he's the only male left besides me. To prevent the family line from dying out, I reluctantly let him go. Otherwise, we can't very well go to Moscow and invite back the descendants of those two failed granduncles to be heirs, can we?"
Barbara was noncommittal. "Forget it. Since he said so, I'll just obey him." After a moment's thought, she removed her outer clothing, leaving only a thin chemise. Then, she gently pulled Manuel close, and once he relaxed, she let his head rest on her fair thighs, giving him a comfortable lap pillow after several days of busyness. Soon, the weary Manuel fell into a deep sleep in his lover's tender embrace.
...
Soon, Sunday noon arrived, and the location for the execution by cannon was set at the city wall near the bustling market. Because the citizens of the city were all rushing to watch the spectacle, the execution site was noisy and chaotic, even requiring soldiers to maintain order.
The Gavras Family, along with some high-ranking officials, sat on a high platform, which of course included the brothers Manuel and Isaac. To observe his younger brother's demeanor, Manuel intentionally arranged their seats close together.
Soon, the execution time arrived. The 20 rebellious nobles, with wooden balls gagging their mouths, were brought to the execution ground. Then, their upper clothes were stripped off, and they were tightly bound with ropes to small-caliber cannons, their backs against the muzzles. One end of the rope was tied tightly to a wheel spoke, wrapped around an arm and knotted, then passed through the muzzle and wrapped around the other arm, finally tied tightly to the other wheel spoke, immobilizing them. Each person was assigned one cannon, with no one missed.
After confirming that everything was ready, the announcer on the execution ground signaled to the high-ranking officials on the platform and loudly ordered the cannoneers: "Execution commence."
Upon receiving the order, the cannoneers, as prearranged, lit the fuses, covered their ears, and retreated to the side.
The first to be blasted into fragments by a cannonball was Andrea Raus, the leader of the rebels. The moment the cannonball exited the muzzle, he had no time to react and was crushed and blasted into flying red flesh foam by the high speed, high pressure, and high temperature. Along with it flew bone fragments stained with blood and flesh.
For the condemned, this could be said to be barely painless, but for the onlookers, such a bloody scene caused many inexperienced common people to feel extremely uncomfortable. Similar to them was Isaac, who sat on the high platform. He initially maintained his composure, but after seeing Nikiforus Volor, who had once been closest to him, blasted into pieces in an instant, his face turned completely ashen. He lowered his head, his eyes wide, covering his mouth and nose with his right hand, using all his strength to regulate his breathing.
Seeing his younger brother finally show discomfort, Manuel leaned over. "No, look closely, Isaac. This is the outcome that came about because of you." Manuel chuckled gently into Isaac's ear.
After hearing his whisper, Isaac quickly collapsed to the ground, paralyzed by fear and lingering dread. Finally, he began to sob, no longer daring to look directly at the ongoing cannon executions on the execution ground.
The cannon executions were quick, finishing entirely in about half an hour. After the executions, the gathered crowd quickly dispersed, as did the high-ranking officials on the platform. Alexius had intended to comfort his two sons, but seeing Isaac's collapsed state, he could only sigh and leave on his own. In the end, only Manuel and a few trusted subordinates remained, preparing to escort the nearly broken Isaac to Saint Sofia Monastery.
After a long while, Isaac slowly recovered slightly and questioned his elder brother in a low, sad tone, "Why... did you make me come?"
"If you weren't my brother, you would have been down there just now," Manuel calmly told him the reason.
Upon hearing this, Isaac said no more, but lowered his head dejectedly, allowing the soldiers to escort him to the monastery.
Watching his younger brother's retreating figure, Manuel smiled bitterly in his heart, "Isaac, goodbye." ①
After seeing Isaac off, to alleviate the uncomfortable pain in his heart, and also to deal with the last remaining rebel force, Manuel quickly composed himself and returned to the temporary palace. Incidentally, after he was appointed co-ruling prince by Alexius, Alexius promptly entrusted all state affairs to Manuel and returned to the family palace to live a leisurely life.
Back at the temporary palace, Manuel reread and carefully considered the information regarding the Tatar part of the civil war. Tapping the table with his right index finger, he thought long and hard, finally deciding to initiate the first step of his malicious plan, which had previously only existed in his mind.
"Call Posadas and Balin for me; I have important matters to discuss," he ordered a servant beside him.
Three days later, in the gardens attached to the Mangup temporary palace, Muhammad Shirin, who had been under house arrest for more than ten days, was leisurely discussing post-war governance of Northern Crimea with Manuel and Orophin, the Patriarch or rather Metropolitan of the Cherson Diocese, at a banquet hosted by Manuel.
"So, Your Highness Manuel, conversion is impossible; there's no way I can lead my tribe to convert," Shirin stubbornly stated, cutting straight to the point. Facing this Christian who had directly or indirectly killed his father and brothers, had it not been for the circumstances, he truly would have wanted to cleave Manuel's head with a saber.
"Why not?" Manuel asked him, puzzled and somewhat regretful. "You can gain status you never had in the Golden Horde, and you can obtain titles you couldn't achieve even by striving your whole life; I can even grant you tax exemptions for 10, or even 20 to 30 years.
"As long as you convert to the orthodox faith, I can tolerate your nomadic lifestyle and permit your old customs. I don't even require you to use standard orthodox rites during prayer. It's just replacing the crescent with the cross, is that so difficult? I swear by the Holy Father, what I say is true."
Metropolitan Orophin, who was beside them, nodded repeatedly, indicating his willingness to vouch for Manuel's words.
Yet Shirin still showed no sign of compromise. "Your Highness Manuel, as I just said, I can accept paying slightly higher taxes, but I, and the people of my tribe, cannot accept conversion! We are Tatars, and we have no interest whatsoever in becoming the Romans you envision. ②"
"Please reconsider, Your Excellency," Manuel urged him in an almost pleading tone.
"Impossible!"
Although he had already guessed this would be the case, he still chuckled self-deprecatingly after confirming it directly from the other party's mouth.
"Indeed," Manuel quietly hid his face in the shadow of the sunlight, raised his wine glass, and murmured to himself, "Ultimately, gentle actions can't solve any problems. In the end, for stubborn things like you, extraordinary measures are necessary." He said coldly.
Noticing the change in the other party's tone, Shirin became nervous. "Your Highness Manuel, what are you saying?"
"'Let go of the urge to help, respect others' destinies.' That's all. I should have done this long ago. Do it." Manuel leaned back in his chair with a sigh of relief and directly smashed the wine glass in his hand to the ground, shattering it.
The instant the wine glass shattered, Muhammad Shirin was tackled to the ground by the hidden long-bladed guards at the banquet, and then dismembered into pieces of flesh.
Manuel merely smiled at this. "Since you don't want to be Romans, then all of you can just die!"