A warm evening was slowly descending on a small Bulgarian village, lost among the hills. The air was filled with the smells of baked bread and herbs with which the housewives seasoned the dinner. Men were returning from the fields, children were running along the narrow streets, and the elders were gathering at the church, discussing recent rumors of extortions and raids.

But suddenly the silence was broken by the clatter of hooves. A detachment of janissaries was moving towards the village from the direction of the main road. Their pointed helmets sparkled in the rays of the setting sun, and green banners with a crescent moon fluttered in the wind. The villagers froze in anxious anticipation.

"Allahu Akbar!" shouted the rider at the head of the detachment. It was Aga, the leader of the janissaries, whose cold eyes searched the streets in search of prey.

The soldiers quickly dismounted. Several people headed to the headman's house, demanding tribute - grain, cattle and coins. But the worst was yet to come: devshirme - "blood tax". The Janissaries were looking for boys aged 7-12 to take them into the Sultan's army.

• No! This is my son! - the woman screamed, hugging the frightened child.

One of the Janissaries roughly pulled her aside, and the other was already holding the boy by the hand.

• You should be proud, woman! Your son will become a great warrior! - the warrior grinned.

A young peasant stood to the side, clenching his fists. He could not tolerate this injustice, but what could an unarmed man do against the seasoned fighters of the Ottoman Empire?

Soon the search of houses began. The Janissaries looked for hidden goods and resisting men. Those who dared to protest were subjected to cruel punishments.

But among the villagers there were those who were ready to flee to the forests, to the hajduks - the Bulgarian rebels. Their time had not yet come, but the fire of resistance was already smoldering in their hearts...