As the Prince Intended, the Gates Opened
However, this did not mean that the prince’s wishes had been fulfilled. Through the open gates rode Murad, advancing slowly on horseback. Kneeling before him were the city’s elites—the very same people who had once stood face to face with the prince. The elites solemnly extended their arms, welcoming Murad with reverence.
“We bow before our lord, our ruler, and our protector, the Sultan!”
Murad looked down at them with a satisfied smile. The betrayal of Nemeapatre was inevitable. Dragases intent to establish a new ruling order in central Greece, keeping the native powers in check, had never been about coexistence. It was a demand for submission. The elites, unwilling to let their possessions be taken while fully conscious, chose to serve the Sultan instead.
Murad, in turn, was a man who knew how to show magnanimity and generosity to those who served him—along with how to neutralize his rivals. If Dragases sought to subdue them through authority, Murad would make them willingly offer their loyalty through his tolerance.
“I have heard of the hardships you endured under Dragases rule. Fear not. My army will not pillage Nemeapatre.”
“We are endlessly grateful for the grace and mercy bestowed by the Sultan!”
But Murad knew these words were meaningless. After all, wasn’t Dragases a meticulous man? No matter how quickly the Ottomans struck, Dragases would never allow critical supplies to fall into enemy hands. Replenishing supplies would inevitably mean demanding the city’s resources himself. Rather than forcing it, Murad had prepared the stage so the elites would offer everything willingly. His approach proved successful.
The elites of Nemeapatre were deeply moved and bowed their heads sincerely before the Sultan.
On the battlefield, all eyes were on Murad, gazing at him as their Sultan. From afar came the sounds of clashing swords, and Murad closed his eyes in satisfaction. Everything was prepared. The only task remaining was to seize Nemeapatre quickly and strike at the prince’s rear.
“Command the unit leaders to advance. Put the slave soldiers at the forefront to prepare for any potential resistance, and raise the banners to inform the citizens that I have arrived.”
The Ottoman soldiers followed the order without question. As thousands of soldiers marched in unison, it felt as if the earth itself trembled. Murad, momentarily lost in his reverie, opened his eyes and let out a faint laugh.
“Today will finally be recorded as the day the world changes.”
Watching his forces advance into the city, Murad resolved as such.
Yet the plan envisioned by the prince now turned into a trap, tightening around its own origin.
Three hundred members of the suicide squad were locked in fierce combat with enraged citizens. Though the citizens were poorly armed, their overwhelming numbers held advantage. Under the cover of night, with no clear distinction between friend and foe, the suicide squad struggled against the sudden ambush.
“You filthy looters! Dragases is no different! All he cared about was his own safety!”
The cries of anger said it all. Once, Dragases had deliberately incited the citizens’ discontent to open the gates and lure Murad inside, but now that strategy had backfired. The citizens acted as Dragases had anticipated—only the timing was off. The price for that error would be the annihilation of the suicide squad.
On the day the prince left Nemeapatre, the citizens, realizing they had been abandoned, grew even more furious. Hadn’t he driven them so harshly, claiming it was to resist the Ottomans? Yet he had been the first to flee. It was only natural for revolt to break out across the city. Even amid this large-scale revolt, the suicide squad had managed to endure solely due to their superior armaments and minimal unity.
But it was only a matter of time.
The clash of blades, the sound of spears scraping against chainmail, and the cries of anguish filled the air. Agonized screams were drowned out by the furious shouts of repressed rage, and headless bodies spurted crimson fountains, heralding the imminent arrival of the conqueror. The pounding of hearts pierced by spears became the drumbeat of a ruthless military march.
Watching the slain, the revolting citizens began to organize themselves, fear and frenzy compelling them to form ranks.
The sight forced the lieutenant leading the suicide squad to grit his teeth in frustration.
Has God truly forsaken the prince? Has He forsaken this land?
The lieutenant was faced with a choice.
Should they hold out until the Ottoman forces fully entered the city? Or should they initiate the fire attack earlier than planned? The lieutenant understood what was needed to win this desperate battle.
As the leader of the suicide squad, the prince had personally explained the plan to him in detail. Though initially horrified, the lieutenant had eventually nodded, burdened by the responsibility of knowing that the success of the fire attack could decide the empire’s fate.
The damage dealt needed to be catastrophic. But could they hold out until the right moment? The dilemma gnawed at him. The cries of fallen comrades hastened his decision. This was the torment of one who bore the burden of lives. Having resolved to die, the only concern now was the success or failure of the fire attack. But at this rate, the suicide squad would be wiped out before they could even attempt it.
The lieutenant made his decision.
“Commence the fire attack! Burn everything—everything!”
“But, sir…”
The soldier holding the torch hesitated. It was an unimaginably massive plan to burn down the entire city. It was impossible to estimate how many lives would be lost in the process. Understanding this hesitation, the lieutenant grabbed the torch from the soldier. Ignoring the startled cry of the soldier, the lieutenant approached the jar filled with Greek fire.
“O Lord, I rise for my faith, and now I throw myself into hell for the sovereignty and freedom of my family.”
Before the lieutenant could move the torch, flames had already begun to rise from the city. Other detachments, unable to hold out any longer, must have made the same decision. The lieutenant could not suppress the tears that welled up. How could the sight of sparks spreading far and wide from the flickering flames be so both beautiful and tragic? Soon, under the light of the flames, he saw citizens advancing and Ottoman banners marching beyond the barricade. Without hesitation, the lieutenant threw the torch into the jar.
A pillar of fire erupted instantly.
At last, the citizens faltered. And in that brief hesitation, the fire spread wildly, fanned by the wind, scattering sparks in all directions. These embers, which might have extinguished quickly if they were ordinary flames, became the citizens’ fatal mistake.
“F-fire! My body’s on fire!”
“Aaaaah! No! Aaaagh!”
The Greek fire devoured its victims in an instant. Neither water nor the strongest wind could put it out. In fact, the more water was poured on, the fiercer the flames became. Horrified, the citizens began to flee. Early attempts to extinguish the fire failed entirely, and the most critical stage of the flammable strategy was overcome. Before long, the flames that started near the barricades spread to the nearby homes.
Those who had followed the prince’s evacuation order early on survived. Those who refused met their end, screaming in unbearable heat. Amid this chaos, the Ottoman vanguard halted their advance.
“W-what is this? How could the flames spread this fast?”
The inferno consumed everything.
When they turned to retreat, they found their path already devoured by the ravenous flames. Soldiers who had rushed forward for glory now found themselves trapped, one by one consumed by the fire. It made no distinction between the innocent and the combatants. The determined detachment, prepared to die, the citizens who had risen up against oppression, and the Ottomans dreaming of a new world—all of them were consumed by the flames.
“Aaaaaah! Aaaaagh!”
The wind carried screams and the massive sounds of collapsing buildings to the survivors, who stood frozen in horror. They saw the writhing figures still trapped in agony, their burned skin offering no break from the searing heat. Their bloodied, burnt throats swelled, silencing even their screams. The fallen disappeared into the blackened smoke that swallowed everything.
“This… this is hell…”
Someone muttered as they watched the black smoke writhe and slither like a living creature, hungrily consuming corpses. Murad, who had been smiling with delight at the victory within his grasp, now wore a contorted expression. He appeared both sorrowful and regretful, yet a faint sigh of relief escaped his lips.
“…I see now. This entire city was a trap you set.”
He had anticipated that they might use Greek fire. But to use the city walls as a cage and burn the entire city to the ground—who could have foreseen such a strategy? The cost was horrifying: countless soldiers, unaware of the trap, met a gruesome death.
Yet it wasn’t just the soldiers who perished. The citizens, forced to sacrifice themselves for the plan’s success, and the soldiers of Dragases must have also met tragic ends in the flames. Truly brutal. Deeply heartbreaking and regretful.
At this moment, Murat felt pity for Dragases.
“Did you truly believe that this was the only way to protect what you hold dear? To throw away everything you vowed to safeguard, just to defend the empire?”
To save his dying nation, Dragases had thrown tens of thousands of lives onto the scales without hesitation. The conviction—and madness—of a man willing to burn everything for his homeland sent shivers down Murad’s spine.
“What is the worth of a thousand years? What is the worth of an empire?”
Was the millennial empire truly worth sacrificing tens of thousands of citizens? To risk everything for a homeland ruled by an emperor who had repeatedly endangered his life? Murad could not comprehend how someone with the ability to soar high, if they only abandoned the title of a prince of the millennial empire, could remain so shackled by the glories of the past.
“…I will set your soul, bound to the old era, free. I will end your stubbornness, trapped by the illusion of a thousand years. So, show me more. This cannot be the end. You, who were willing to burn tens of thousands to protect your nation, would not have staked everything on a single trap.”
The determination of someone who dared to burn tens of thousands to save the millennial empire. Dragases would not have been foolish enough to risk everything on one city. Grinding his teeth, Murad resolved.
“If the name of the millennial empire has bewitched you so thoroughly, then I will gladly destroy it myself.”
Standing before the burning city, amid the screams of its people and the horrified stares of his soldiers, Murad made his vow again and again.
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