After a brief moment of thought, Manuel no longer dwelled on the futile contemplation of the enemy's strategy, instead rushing to the South City to continue dedicating his energy to resisting the enemy's offensive.
Upon arriving at the South City wall, it was surprisingly but understandably the case that many of the conscripted militiamen on the city walls wavered when facing their Armenian compatriots, who had been forcibly conscripted, below the city.
At this moment, their hands gripping their weapons trembled uncontrollably, and even the officers supervising them were affected, not daring to force them.
"If you don't want to end up like them, then hold this place!" A loud command from behind brought them back from their momentary hesitation.
Although there were even acquaintances and relatives below the city, they had to quickly escape their temporary grief and continue to defend the city to the death, facing the most likely outcome if the city fell.
The officers above them, hearing this sound, curiously turned their heads for a moment, then diligently urged their militiamen, no longer showing any softness or hesitation.
The source of this command was Manuel himself; his military order powerfully boosted the morale of the defenders, driving the South City's defense back on track.
After intensely taking direct charge of the city's defense for a quarter of an hour, he finally relaxed a little, stroking his short beard, and mused in his heart, "If the White Sheep continue this behavior, it will probably backfire."
The subsequent developments were just as Manuel had expected; the atrocities of the White Sheep Army instead ignited the Armenians' long-dormant spirit of resistance.
Facing the obvious outcome, these Apostolic Church believers were all filled with terror, but their determination to defend the city also grew stronger.
In front of the forcibly high-spirited defenders, the batch of Armenian Christians brought out by the White Sheep Army served no purpose other than as cannon fodder for venting anger.
But when Sheikh Hassan, the siege commander, dejectedly reported the progress to his father after five days of siege, the old Sultan was not much fazed by it.
"Indeed," Kara Osman rose from his wooden chair with some helplessness, "the effect of these infidels is just so-so."
Just as Sheikh thought his father was about to say something disheartening, Kara Osman's eyes suddenly flashed with a sharp gaze, "But after we take this place, there should be no more Christians trying to make any futile resistance, going against Allah's will."
This look sent a shiver down Sheikh's spine, and a moment later he understood the reason for his father's actions: if nothing unexpected happened, once Erzurum returned to the control of the tribal alliance, these Armenians who dared to help the enemy would inevitably suffer a fate similar to, or even more tragic than, these forcibly conscripted militiamen, or rather, their compatriots outside the city who could not even be called "soldiers."
This act of killing a chicken to scare the monkeys would undoubtedly intimidate the Christians under their rule for a long time afterward, preventing them from having any further presumptuous delusions, thereby stabilizing the Christian communities under their control.
However, if that were the case, the prerequisite was to be able to capture Erzurum.
In fact, would events really unfold as his father envisioned? Sheikh couldn't help but worry.
For the next month, the White Sheep Army continuously besieged Erzurum.
During this period, they intermittently drove varying numbers of Armenian Christians to serve as civilian laborers and militiamen for the siege.
Naturally, this fragile offensive yielded no noteworthy results.
However, the Armenians inside the city became increasingly worried because of this, and even Manuel noticed this, ordering an increase in the frequency of shifts for the conscripted militiamen.
One night in early February, Manuel, feeling increasingly uneasy, stood on the city wall in his armor and cotton clothing, accompanied by his attendants and friends, overlooking the densely packed enemy camps outside the city.
He couldn't help but rub his hands a little anxiously in the winter night, "Besieging without attacking, coupled with a hidden psychological warfare tactic.
If a few more months pass, these White Sheep Turks might really be able to take this place."
"Actually, they could have been even faster," Suleiman, standing beside him, sneered, "If it were me, I would probably send people to persuade surrender below the city first, to divide the defenders.
If it had no effect after more than a week, then I would drive the infidels to their deaths like them, to weaken the morale within the city."
Manuel also felt the same, "Indeed, militiamen are inferior to regular soldiers in all aspects; it hasn't been long, and the initial high morale has turned into an indistinct ebb and flow."
"That's not good to say.
If you see people who are similar to you in all aspects being forced to their deaths, and you have to kill them with your own hands, it would be demonic if your mind didn't have problems."
After adding this, Suleiman casually complained, "Also, can you Greeks not use so many flowery words when you speak? It's not like you're writing poetry or theological books."
"My apologies, my apologies." Manuel couldn't hold back and laughed a few times on the spot.
Once the other party's expression returned to normal, Suleiman looked directly into his friend and partner's dark brown eyes, seriously asking him a question he had been concerned about since joining the army, "So, Caesar, do you really have confidence in defeating these White Sheep Turkmens?"
"Are you talking about a simple field battle or this war?"
"Hmm, both, I suppose."
"In a pure field battle, I have absolute confidence that we will lose." His solemn and stern expression almost made Suleiman burst out laughing on the spot.
However, Manuel's next words immediately calmed the other party, "But I still have confidence in winning this war."
"I remember Erzurum was blockaded, right?"
"Yes," the young Caesar smiled, "but according to the information gathered from the Secret Department before the blockade, we will at least not lose.
Anyway, the food stored in the city is enough for us to last until March or April."
What kind of riddle was he playing now? All Romans were like this, right? Suleiman thought with a little impatience.
After Suleiman bid him farewell, Badars, who had been quietly standing by, stepped forward and asked his Caesar with some incomprehension, "Caesar, even if Lord Suleiman is close to you, is there really a need to discuss so much with him?"
"Suleiman is trustworthy for now," Manuel explained while comforting his Commander of the Guard, "and being besieged for so long, I feel a bit stifled if I don't say something…"
As Manuel rose and temporarily left the city wall, in the palace of Tabriz, the capital of the Black Sheep Dynasty, Jahan Bey, the Black Sheep heir, was holding an excited and nervous heart, receiving a personal imperial letter written by his Sultan father, who was still on an expedition in Shirvan, from the messenger sent by his father for his beloved son.