Reincarnated as Selim III

Few days ago, I used one of the rooms in the Topkapi Palace for my project purposes. Well, it's a lot of haggles, although I am a crown prince. Aside from the allowance I was given, I need another source of income, especially with the project that I want to perform in the future, which is why…

"Finally, the materials are here. Let's get started," I murmured to myself, rolling up my sleeves.

I had approached the royal blacksmiths earlier, submitting detailed blueprints and specifications for a project that had consumed my thoughts for weeks.

"My Şehzade, this design... The perforations, the cylindrical body... Are you crafting a new weapon?" one of the blacksmiths asked, studying the blueprint with a furrowed brow.

"As sharp as ever, Master Yusuf. Yes, I aim to develop a new kind of weapon," I replied, a hint of excitement escaping in my tone.

The blacksmith murmured among themselves, in unison of nodding. "Would that be a new musket?" another ventured, scrutinizing the intricate details of the design.

"Not quite. It's a firearm, yes, but a far cry from the muskets we know."

The master smith's eyes narrowed as he examined the plans again. "This design… It's unfamiliar, even alien. Neither the French nor the British armies have fielded anything of this kind. How is it intended to function, Şehzade?"

"Well if I were to explain, it would a bit hard. When the prototype is ready, I'll demonstrate it myself. I assure you, it will be worth the wait." I smiled.

Also, the model that I want to invent are the bolt-action rifle of Lee-Enfield model. Of course, in the late 19s, it was the British who invented it. But to bring it earlier to this age, it would require a lot of effort. From the production to the risk of technology spying. 

"If that's what you said, then we shall oblige. We, the blacksmith, cannot wait to see your invention come to fruition." The blacksmith bowed back, and asked to leave for their work.

~~~

The decision to prioritize this rifle over the howitzer* wasn't made lightly. The looming war demands swift action, and the rifle, though simpler in design, offers an immediate edge in land warfare. Since Tayyib Pasha's tragic death, the already-tense relations between the Empire and Russia have worsened.

The Russians' appetite for expansion has turned ravenous, their sights firmly set on the Crimean Khanate. From what I've observed, the Azov region has exceeded its logistical and military limits—a pressure point the Russians will exploit unless we act decisively.

This rifle could shift the balance, at least on the battlefield. It's a step forward—a precursor to the broader innovations I envision for our forces. The howitzer will come next, but its development hinges on a breakthrough that Cemil, our lead chemist, is currently pursuing.

I handed Cemil a formula for nitrocellulose, a revolutionary propellant to replace traditional gunpowder. If perfected, it will not only enhance the rifle's effectiveness but also pave the way for advanced artillery and ammunition. The ability to propel projectiles farther and faster with greater precision could redefine warfare entirely.

Still, I feel the weight of time pressing down on me. Every delay, every misstep, risks ceding more ground to our enemies. This rifle must succeed—it is not just a weapon but a symbol of what we can achieve when innovation meets necessity.

~~~

Days passed as we worked tirelessly on the prototype. The workshop buzzed with the sounds of hammering, filing, and the occasional hiss of heated metal.

Suddenly, the door burst open. Cemil stumbled in, panting heavily, his face flushed with excitement. "My shehzade," he gasped, leaning against the doorway to catch his breath. "I've done it! I've finally cracked the formula for nitrocellulose—just as you envisioned. And it works!"

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, I simply stared. Then, a grin spread across my face. "Cemil-effendim, you've outdone yourself. I knew you had it in you!"

Cemil straightened, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. "Not just that, my shehzade," he said, holding up two small cloth bags. His hand trembled slightly, whether from fatigue or excitement, I couldn't tell. "I managed to produce these as well. This… this is our breakthrough."

I stepped closer, examining the bags in his hand with awe. The faint scent of the nitrocellulose was sharp, almost tangy, but it represented progress—a leap forward. "This is incredible, Cemil," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "You've not only solved the formula but brought it to life. With this, we can transform the battlefield."

I quickly took the bag, and start assembly the bullets and any left stage to do.

~~~

The day had finally arrived. After efforts of sleepless nights, and meticulous craftsmanship, the first model of the Lee-Enfield rifle was ready. Its polished steel barrel gleamed in the sunlight, and the wooden stock felt solid and balanced in my small hands.

Cemil and I stood at the edge of an open field near the palace, where an archery target had been hastily set up. The midday sun cast sharp shadows, and a light breeze rustled the grass around us. I couldn't help but feel a sense of pride—and a twinge of nervousness—as I held the rifle.

"Cemil-effendim, this is the moment we've been waiting for," I said, cradling the weapon as if it were a precious artifact.

Cemil nodded, his excitement barely contained. "Indeed, my shehzade. Shall we proceed?"

I took a deep breath, positioning the rifle against my shoulder as I had planned. My eight-year-old frame struggled to hold the weapon steady, but determination pushed me forward. Carefully, I loaded the cartridge and chambered the round with a satisfying click.

"Bismillah," I murmured under my breath, aiming at the target.

The moment I pulled the trigger, the rifle barked with a thunderous roar. The recoil slammed into my shoulder like a charging bull, sending me staggering backward.

"Oh, shit! I forgot I'm eight years old! and that hurt!" I exclaimed, nearly dropping the rifle as I clutched my throbbing shoulder. Cemil's eyes widened in shock before breaking into laughter.

"My shehzade, are you alright?" he asked, stepping forward to steady me.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," I said, brushing off the momentary embarrassment. "But I think it's safe to say this weapon isn't exactly suited for someone my size."

I handed the rifle to Cemil, who hesitated before taking it. "Your turn, Cemil-effendim," I said, wincing as I rubbed my shoulder. "Here's how it works: pull the bolt back, load the cartridge, push it forward, and lock it. Take your time aiming—this isn't a musket, and precision matters."

Cemil nodded, his expression serious as he followed my instructions. He adjusted his stance, took aim, and fired. The crack of the shot echoed across the field, and the target's center was obliterated.

Lowering the rifle, Cemil stared at it in stunned silence. "This… this is unlike anything I've ever used," he said, his voice trembling slightly. "The power, the precision—it feels like wielding lightning compared to the muskets. And the reload, its very fast, compared to reloading a musket, this is just a piece of cake!"

I couldn't help but smile at his reaction. "That's the future you're holding, Cemil. With this, we'll change the rules of war."

Cemil glanced at me, a glimmer of awe in his eyes. "My shehzade, you may be young, but your vision is far beyond your years."

"Perhaps," I said, gesturing for him to take another shot. "But for now, let's focus on refining it. There's still much work to be done."

As Cemil prepared for another round, I silently resolved to make this innovation not just a weapon of war but a symbol of Ottoman resilience.