“-I’m sorry, I lost them.”
As soon as Turahan dismounted, he knelt down and bowed his head.
Despite all the warnings and the relentless pursuit of the Sipahis, the Morean army had managed to shake off these hindrances and successfully fled westward to Epirus.
If the one leading the knights was indeed the Prince, he would soon merge seamlessly with the Crusaders. Given the grim news Turahan had brought, it was only natural for Murad’s expression to distort.
He had wondered what scheme the Prince had in mind that required him to stall for time. Now, Murad had to acknowledge him. The sheer cleverness of orchestrating the unexpected arrival of a Crusader army was indeed befitting of the empire’s so-called final beacon of hope.
Just how many reinforcements had the last hope of the empire managed to summon?
One thing was certain—the arrival of the Crusaders could prove fatal to the Ottomans. They had not yet fully subdued Morea, and preparing for a clash with the overwhelming forces of the Crusaders was reckless. They were already in a dangerous situation, having failed to secure a decisive victory. As Murad considered this, he felt as if heavy chains were binding his entire body.
“So, abandoning everything until now has paid off, Dragaš.”
How many lives had he sacrificed to drive a dagger into the heart of the Ottomans?
Dragaš’ original plan—to shift the battlefield from Morea to central Greece for a decisive battle—had already failed. Though his forces had been reduced to a state where even hoping for victory seemed impossible, the damage they had inflicted upon the Ottomans was far greater than expected. This was precisely why Murad could not afford to underestimate him.
Disasters that might have slipped past him had already unfolded. If he hadn’t thought of it the moment he heard of the suspicious movements of the Genoese and Venetian fleets, he would have made a critical mistake.
Murad was deeply impressed. Even while fighting against him for over half a year, Dragaš had managed to orchestrate a Crusade. Though he had never regarded him as an honorable foe, if everything had been for this one decisive move, it all made sense.
“But I do not intend to go down without a fight.”
Although they had narrowly escaped, a weary army could not have gone far. The relentless forced marches must have significantly drained their morale. Furthermore, there was an unexpected aftermath that even Dragaš had likely not foreseen—the power vacuum at sea caused by the movement of the Genoese and Venetian fleets. Though they had suffered a devastating defeat, with much of their fleet captured or sunk, the Ottomans still had around thirty ships remaining.
Until now, these had been used only for transporting supplies. Maintaining a stable supply route was crucial, but a larger reason was the uncertain response of the Venetian fleet stationed in the southern Aegean. However, now that the fleet had withdrawn in preparation for the Crusade, Murad felt an almost instinctive realization.
—A new path had opened to pursue Dragăș.
“Tell me how long until the fleet sets sail.”
“In two days, you shall see your fleet with your own eyes, O Great Sultan.”
The decision to regroup in Athens before embarking on the Morea campaign had been the right one. Dragăș could not have anticipated that Murad would exploit the power vacuum at sea to pursue him. It would be difficult for him to even notice. After all, how could the empire or Morea—completely devoid of a fleet—possibly detect the Ottomans’ movements in advance?
Murad unfolded a map of Greece and shifted his gaze to a single point.
The Isthmus of Corinth.
A natural strategic chokepoint connecting the Peloponnesian Peninsula to the Greek mainland.
If Dragăș was truly the one leading the knights, then it was clear he had deliberately drawn the Sipahis’ attention to himself, using his own life as bait in a desperate attempt to save even a fraction of his followers. Even if that weren’t the case, it didn’t matter. If the Ottoman forces could crush Morea’s main army and seize Corinth before the Crusaders arrived, they could buy precious time to face the Christian invaders.
To achieve that…
“Turahan, I shall grant you the chance to redeem yourself. Pursue the main force Dragăș left behind. However, your priority must be to drive them into the Isthmus of Corinth, ensuring they cannot escape easily.”
“I shall obey.”
“Of course, I intend to block their path ahead as well, so you must press forward without rest.”
“As you command, Sultan.”
“You have inherited your father’s passion, loyalty, and valor, yet you also possess caution. Do not burden yourself too much. Those wretched Christians are only struggling to survive today, but we have a future beyond this. Even if you fail, there will be no reprimand. Simply do your utmost to bring them to justice.”
Before the Sultan’s mercy and magnanimity, Turahan remained silent, bowing his head.
But soon enough, Dragăș, too, would bow before the Sultan—forced to pay the price for his sins.
Murad recalled one of the most horrific sights he had ever witnessed: wretched souls screaming as they were swallowed by raging flames, their bodies reduced to blackened ash.
“You set a city ablaze in an attempt to kill me.”
More than anything, he would avenge the innocent lives sacrificed under the cruel and bloodstained pretense of noble cause. He would ensure that those innocents who had perished in the name of the so-called ‘hope’ Dragăș had clung to would be justified.
He would remember the cities burned to the ground in the mad pursuit of restoring a thousand-year-old empire. And there was only one way to truly console their lost souls—Dragases death.
Murad recalled the oath he had once made—to become Dragăș ultimate despair.
And so, he whispered to himself, reaffirming his vow:
“I shall kill all who follow you to truly kill you.”
Here, in the Isthmus of Corinth—the place you believed to be your path to hope.
Here, where everything you struggled to protect will come crashing down.
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