After the nitroglycerin developed by Manuel allowed for the successful excavation of the Panticapaeum iron mine, this information was immediately sealed off, known only to those involved and the high-ranking officials of the Principality. Both nitroglycerin explosives and Panticapaeum naturally became absolute secrets of the Theodoro Principality.
As for the unfortunate miners who became charred corpses due to careless handling, Manuel provided compensation to their surviving families.
But no matter what, after some time of processing, the Panticapaeum iron mine was ready for use, and the Theodoro Principality could finally attempt to be self-sufficient in ironware.
Of course, no one overlooked the nitroglycerin. Alexius, for example, tentatively asked Manuel if it could be mass-produced, as its immense power would surely make it excellent for sieges.
However, Manuel replied with some helplessness: "I'm sorry, I can't. Father, I also want to mass-produce it, but the raw materials required to make just one bottle of nitroglycerin are already considerable.
And to obtain the finished product, it needs to be refined and extracted from the liquid obtained from the reaction, which is very energy-consuming, expensive, and inefficient.
This time, to blast out the iron ore, I spent nearly seven days and a total of over 750 ducats worth of saltpeter and alum."
"Can't we hire a professional alchemist to help us with the production and improvement?" Alexius still wanted to struggle a bit.
"Then, Father, do you have any candidates? I certainly don't."
"How could I possibly have any? Our small Principality at best has a few master gunpowder makers; how could we possibly have alchemists?"
Ultimately, the father and son had no choice but to temporarily put aside the matter of finding an alchemist to help improve the production.
The following days were much simpler. Manuel lived a peaceful life of routine administrative tasks, legal code compilation, prisoner assignment, army training, and flirting with Barbara, while also vigilantly monitoring the movements of Haji Giray and his territory to the north.
Of course, some small "Byzantine-style conspiracies" were also indispensable, only they had not yet manifested.
But not everyone was as, well, let's call it leisurely as him. For example, Suleiman Karamanoglu, the Karaman Prince who had fled to Theodosia, was teaching common Turkic and doing odd jobs with his personal manservant, Ruta Oghlu, in the city to earn money for their survival.
"Alas." When a man is under another's roof, he has to bow his head. Suleiman deeply understood this principle.
But was he to work his entire life here in Theodosia, be an outsider citizen his entire life, then marry a local woman, convert to orthodox Christianity, and live a peaceful and uneventful life?
"I do not accept such an outcome. I still want to return to my hometown of Konya and depose that bastard uncle of mine, raised by the Ottoman," Suleiman thought bitterly.
To raise funds for himself and find a way out to contact high-level stakeholders in Karaman, he ultimately made a decision that was beyond ordinary people's expectations—to join the army.
According to what he currently knew, the treatment in the Theodoro Army, under the care of the Principality's Crown Prince, was not too bad.
Moreover, due to the suspected need to resist the Tatar invasion from the south, Theodosia's militia was expanding, and militia recruitment did not inquire about background, faith, or ethnicity; it only required quantity, not quality.
Looking at it this way, he had a chance, if everything went smoothly.
"A bright future awaits me… just kidding, I'll take it one step at a time." After joining the Theodosia militia, Suleiman smiled bitterly to himself, "I never thought that for the sake of my Bey position, I would actually join the Kafir army.
Forget it, at least Christians are considered People of the Book, so it's not like joining some 'Kafir' army that believes in Eastern paganism." At this point, he could only comfort himself this way.
After officially joining the militia, influenced by several colleagues, he became familiar with a tavern that frequently hosted soldiers and its owner.
One midday in the middle of this month, after drinking several cups of fermented grape juice, he inadvertently fell behind the others, remaining alone in the tavern.
Fortunately, there was no more work that day, so when the tavern owner came to clear a table next to him, Suleiman, feigning drunkenness, talked freely with the owner about the various landscapes of Theodosia.
During this time, Suleiman asked a question that had always bothered him: "Boss, by the way, do you know what kind of place the Kerch Isthmus really is?"