It had already been two days since Francisco had confidently announced himself.
And two days was more than enough time for the emperor to begin doubting Francisco’s claims.
Wasn’t it possible he had lied just to avoid being overworked?
Considering Francisco’s personality, it was a story that seemed all too plausible.
With that growing suspicion, the emperor had quietly abandoned any hopes and even set aside his interest in the Murattati—until at last, Francisco reappeared in the imperial office.
“Sorry, cousin… but it seems the new commander is a bit reluctant to show himself. I think his background might be a lot harder to accept than we thought.”
“His background, you say? Just how serious could it be, if even he is so wary of revealing it?”
“He seems to need reassurance. He wants to be sure Emperor Dragases will trust and appoint him.”
Francisco gave a awkward smile and avoided the emperor’s gaze.
The emperor, in turn, furrowed his brow and rested his chin on his hand.
Just what kind of background would warrant this much caution?
Given the nature of the Murattati, he had already considered the possibility that the man might have served under the Ottomans. But if even Francisco’s own soldiers reacted strongly, then surely the emperor’s subjects would know the truth too.
At that moment, it was only natural for suspicion to take root.
A trap?
The candidate’s unwillingness to appear in the palace—especially when he was almost certainly from Ottoman territory—was suspicious.
If the Ottomans had been able to detect the movements of Venice, then they had likely caught wind of the reforms in Morea as well.
Perhaps they saw this as a perfect opportunity for assassination. But even if it was a trap, it couldn’t be dismissed lightly. It could also be a rare chance to expose Ottoman agents already embedded in Morea.
Right now, with even the smallest amount of time being precious, anything that might delay the Ottomans was worth the risk.
The problem, of course, was that the price might be the emperor’s own life. But such speculation was valid only if the new commander truly was a spy.
It was also entirely possible that he simply had such a controversial background that he refused to set foot inside the palace. Either way, the figure Francisco had recommended was intriguing enough to spark the emperor’s curiosity.
“…Very well. But you’ll be accompanying me, cousin. It could be a trap.”
“I’d like to bring her with us, too… but I’m guessing that’s a no?”
“Ivania is out of the question. As you know, the backbone of our army lies with our non-commissioned officers.”
The emperor’s reply was firm, even to Francisco’s half-hearted request.
Given the severe lack of capable officers in Morea, the importance of the NCO corps had only grown.
With commanders unable to micromanage every detail, each unit needed the flexibility to respond to rapidly changing situations.
And right now, the only people capable of that were the mercenaries who had long served with Ivania. Some of them were even expected to serve as future instructors, responsible for raising a new generation of sergeants.
For that reason, Ivania had to pour all her knowledge and experience into her work in Morea.
Faced with this unwavering stance from the emperor, Francisco simply shrugged and replied with his usual nonchalance.
“I know, I was just saying. I only meant that going in alone could be dangerous.”
“From someone who’s about to become a commander? Are you saying you can’t vouch for the man you recommended?”
“I told you—he’s the type who chases fame. But whether that fame is as a commander or as an assassin… that’s the part I’m not sure about.”
“Irresponsible as always.”
“Then you’d better bring your sword, cousin. Just in case.”
The emperor silently moved his lips a few times, unable to bring himself to speak.
He clearly wanted to reprimand Francisco, but the knight had already placed a hand on his sword hilt with a casual smile.
He must have known, at least on some level, how ridiculous he sounded.
So, in the end, the emperor said nothing—and instead did as Francisco suggested and equipped himself.
“If I die there, you won’t be remembered as my cousin—you’ll be remembered as a traitor. Keep that in mind.”
“Come on, we made it through hell together. Don’t pin treason on me now.”
While the two exchanged their usual pointless banter, the emperor finished preparing.
He wore a simple, light outfit: a deep purple cloak and a single sword. No extravagant embroidery, no ornate engravings, not even a ceremonial crown adorned his head.
This plain appearance only highlighted his strong, warrior-like presence. Some might find it disappointing—but not Francisco. In fact, quite the opposite.
“Still sharp as ever.”
“I’m walking straight into what might be a trap. I’ll wait nearby for now—go alert the local troops. A fight could break out.”
“…Thoroughness is the greatest virtue of any soldier. Understood, cousin.”
With a smile and a bow, Francisco left the office ahead of him. Left alone once more, the emperor placed his hand on the hilt at his waist and fell into thought.
He was moving under the assumption that this could be a trap—but he couldn’t forget the possibility that it wasn’t.
“If it isn’t a trap… then what kind of person would need to hide their origins so carefully?”
Though it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say the emperor had a kind of “future sight” in this era, his knowledge was not absolute.
It was thanks to this broad but imprecise knowledge that the empire had gained a much stronger position than in recorded history—and that the Ottomans had been weakened.
But the emperor’s understanding was too basic. The only figures he knew by name were John Hunyadi of Hungary, Skanderbeg of Albania, and Vlad III.
Among them, the ones who had once served under the Ottomans were Skanderbeg and Vlad III.
However, Vlad III’s period of activity came much later—it was far too early for him to be appearing now.
And assuming the person to be Skanderbeg was too positive. Would someone who was once a Janissary and had been granted the position of lord truly abandon his domain and join the Murtati?
That sounded far too good to be true. Moreover, Skanderbeg’s fame hadn’t even begun to spread yet. If it were really Skanderbeg, the soldier under Francisco’s command wouldn’t have reacted that way.
The only thing certain was that he had to meet the man in person to find out the truth.
“…I suppose it’s time to move.”
It hadn’t been long since he sent Francisco out, but the emperor could no longer wait.
With everyone’s attention now fixed on the new commander candidate, there was no way he could focus on his paperwork anyway.
Instead, he quickly checked himself once more—already dressed and ready to go—rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, and walked out of his office without hesitation.
But even after leaving the imperial office and palace behind, preparations were not yet complete. There remained the issue of positioning the soldiers Francisco had dispatched, so they could storm in all at once if necessary.
Thus, it would take some time before the emperor and Francisco could regroup.
When Francisco returned with the soldiers, the emperor wasted no time questioning him.
“Where exactly did you agree to meet this person you mentioned?”
“At the training grounds where the Murtati train. The Murtati from all around Thessaly have been gathered there.”
“A place where, if we recklessly deploy troops, we might instead provoke organized resistance.”
“…Huh? You think so?”
Francisco blinked blankly, clearly caught off guard, and then his expression hardened. He hadn’t considered that possibility—understandable, given the difference in their roles.
Francisco was merely a cavalry commander, while the emperor had always fought with political considerations in mind, as supreme commander. Still, from this exchange, one truth became apparent.
“It seems, as you said, that the man does have some aptitude as a commander.”
“…So if you’re right, if we respond too forcefully, there might be an rebellion in the heart of Mistra?”
“And if an rebellion does occur, regardless of the reason, the Muslims now under Morea’s rule will not look upon it kindly. It would be a major blow to Morea. Even if all the Murtati are killed or wounded in the process.”
“If this is all deliberate, then they probably know full well that we’d want to avoid such a thing.”
At this, Francisco and the emperor locked eyes.
Was this truly someone simply reluctant to reveal his origins—or had the Ottomans set a trap with the intent of threatening Emperor Dragases himself?
The soldiers, brought here with little explanation other than “this is important,” now began to feel the weight of the situation as well. Meanwhile, the emperor’s gaze grew sharper.
“A commander capable of leading the Murtati… You said he served under a famous figure, didn’t you? Do you know who that was, Francisco?”
“Tch. If things have gotten this far, I suppose I can’t avoid saying it. He specifically asked me not to reveal anything until you met him yourself, but I guess there’s no helping it now.”
Scratching the back of his head with a troubled look, Francisco hesitated for a moment. But he soon remembered what truly mattered and opened his mouth.
“He didn’t give his own name. Instead, he said this—he’s the son of Evrenos Bey, a general of the Ottomans.”
“Evrenos Bey?”
“You don’t know him either, cousin?”
The name meant nothing to the emperor—he had never heard of it before. It made the man’s reluctance to reveal his lineage all the more puzzling.
But the real reaction came from the soldiers who had been dragged here. The moment “Evrenos Bey” was mentioned, a murmur rippled through them, growing louder until finally one soldier stepped forward, his voice trembling.
“Y-Your Majesty… Forgive my rudeness, but I must ask. Is it true? Is Evrenos’ son truly here?”
“You know who Evrenos is?”
“Your Majesty… Evrenos was once a general of the Empire, but he defected to the Ottomans, led the charge against the last crusades, and more than anything…”
The soldier faltered, eyes shut tight. He bit his lower lip repeatedly, unable to bring himself to say the next part. But he wasn’t alone—many soldiers were visibly agitated.
Only Francisco and the emperor, watching quietly, remained composed, waiting to understand the weight of the name “Evrenos.”
Their patience was rewarded moments later.
The soldier finally spoke again, his voice now subdued and grave.
“…He was the one who proposed the implementation of the devshirme system.”
At those words, the emperor and Francisco could only let out a simultaneous sigh.
TL : Devshirme system is what the Ottomans used to recruit people to become janissaries. Recruit might not be the correct word considering they forced mostly Christian boys in the Balkans to be their elite troops. They forcefully took boys from Christian families, converted them to Islam and trained them to the point where betraying the Ottoman didn’t even come as a dream.
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