A true commander should always strive to shape the battlefield with victory in mind.
But to do so, the foremost requirement is none other than the strength of the state itself. A powerful army can only emerge from a healthy and thriving nation. And the empire had long since lost that vitality. How much strength could remain in a nation that had been in decline for centuries? This was why, despite his efforts to rebuild the military, the prince had no choice but to acknowledge that restoring cavalry power would not be an easy task.
This was the reason he had turned to Latin knights.
By granting mercy to the Latins who had once resided in Achaea, he had enabled them to live off pensions, later enlisting them in his ranks. He had also hired mercenaries, scraping together a force of a thousand cavalrymen.
Naturally, maintaining knights was an expensive endeavor—so much so that one-third of Morea’s entire budget was spent on their upkeep. Some might argue that it would be wiser to use these funds to supply gunpowder weapons in bulk…
But the prince understood the limitations of gunpowder weaponry in this era better than anyone. Not only from the knowledge of the future but also as a ruler of the present. Cannons, still made of iron instead of bronze, were prone to breaking under excessive use. Hand cannons took too long to reload, had poor accuracy, and were prohibitively expensive, making them impractical for widespread deployment.
The era of knights was nearing its end, yet it was still an age of knights.
One day, the age of knights would vanish entirely, consumed by the era of firearms and gunpowder. But for now, their power remained indispensable. Even now, without knights, there would be no way to counter the Janissaries. Moreover, knights possessed something that was rarely found among those who wielded guns—a deep and fervent faith. And to the prince, that faith was more valuable than anything else.
It would be a lie to say he did not find it bitter.
As he settled into his saddle, the prince surveyed the hundred knights who had chosen to follow him.
And it wasn’t just them. Many more had wished to stand by his side in this desperate war against the infidels. The promise of heaven for those who perished in the holy war, coupled with their desire for honor, had led them here. And to the prince, that was precisely what mattered—a strong army, prepared to embrace death without hesitation, whose morale would not waver even in the face of impending doom.
Gripping his lance tightly in his right hand, the prince finally spoke.
“Brothers in faith.”
They had come here for two reasons. One was the promise of payment, but the other was their hunger for honor. Their wages had already been secured—now, it was time to satisfy their thirst for glory. And what better opportunity than a holy war against the infidels, where they would stake their very lives? But to make full use of this, he needed to strengthen their bonds as men of the same faith.
“Our enemies stand before us because my homeland and my ancestors were too weak to defend it.”
At the same time, he introduced a subject that would stir their emotions—the Janissaries. On the surface, they were merely the Sultan’s elite guard, sworn to absolute loyalty. But those who knew how they were created could only grit their teeth in anger. The devshirme system.
To the Ottomans, it was an effective policy that both reinforced centralization and bolstered the Sultan’s power.
But to the Christians who were its victims, it meant something entirely different.
A human tax.
A cruel system that forced parents to surrender their own children as slaves to the Sultan.
The Janissaries were an army composed of those very children—boys who should have grown up under Christian parents, nurtured with love, but were instead torn from their families at a young age and raised solely to serve, stripped of all affection and indoctrinated with absolute loyalty to the Sultan.
To the prince, who had been educated with modern ethics, such a practice was nothing short of repulsive. But fortunately, he was not the only one who felt this way.
“The enemies we face are those who, barely weaned from their mothers, were taken by force and raised with nothing but the doctrines and warfare of the infidels. Before we step onto the battlefield, I wish to confess to my brothers the reason why such a tragedy came to be.”
For a moment, silence settled among the knights and the prince.
Then, the prince himself broke it.
“The reason they were taken as slaves to the Sultan. The reason the infidels have grown so powerful… It is because I—because my country—was weak and greedy.”
This was the harsh truth.
For centuries, the empire had been blinded by internal power struggles, decaying year after year. It no longer had even the slightest strength to protest such atrocities. Simply holding onto a handful of cities was already an overwhelming struggle. What could be a more fitting punishment for an empire that had basked in the glories of its past while neglecting its own people?
“It is only natural that God has forsaken us. How many times have we committed acts worthy of being abandoned? And yet, despite all these sins, I have come here believing that our merciful God will grant us one more chance. Brothers, I believe you stand here with me because you, too, hold that same belief.”
A powerless nation might as well collapse entirely.
Perhaps that would even be the better fate for those who lived within it. Accepting the unchangeable reality, compromising, and adapting to a new system might provide a more stable future. But not everyone thought that way. The prince knew that there were those who still believed change was possible, those who still believed they could endure.
What had begun as a small act of defiance, born from sheer stubbornness, had now swelled into a force capable of shaping the fate of the entire Balkans. Such a feat was not achieved by one man’s will alone. It was possible only because many had wished for it—because many had fought for it.
“I shall fall to my knees before the Almighty and beg. I shall plead for one last chance—one last opportunity for this nation to change. So, my brothers, know this: our battle is not merely a battle. It is a holy campaign to protect Christendom. It is a war to prove our worth in the eyes of Heaven. Etch this truth into your hearts, and remember my words.”
A fight to prove that destiny, history, and prophecy, no matter how inevitable, could be reshaped by human will. A battle to grant a fallen empire and failed people one last chance to reclaim ownership of their fate.
“Brothers, remember always that we are the lance that shall shatter the sword of Islam. We are the defender of Christendom, the ones who will strike down the schemes of the false savior and proclaim the beginning of true peace with the blood of infidels. Never forget that we are the Red Cross, stained with the blood of heretics, apostates, and unbelievers.”
The prince had chosen to bear the Red Cross upon his own shoulders.
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