Isthmus of Corinth.
At this strategic natural chokepoint connecting mainland Greece and the Peloponnesian Peninsula, two forces clashed. But to any observer, the situation was unmistakably in favour of one side. The exhausted Morean army, worn down by a long retreat, now found itself trapped—its escape route already cut off by the Ottoman forces.
One more irony stood out: though they fought under different banners, it was a battle of kin against kin, wielding swords against their own people.
“So, it has come to this.”
Paliotes recalled the young sovereign he had once met in private. A man who had set an entire city ablaze to save his crumbling homeland.
Perhaps it was because he understood that ruthless decision, that unwavering devotion to his country, that the fury he had once felt upon hearing of Nemeapatre’s devastation had long since cooled.
How could he not feel sorrow?
The prince had fought all this way, refusing to surrender his resolve against the might of the Turks.
A struggle like that… could never have been driven by mere greed for the throne.
If only.
If only Dragases had appeared even a little sooner…
At that thought, Paliotes shut his eyes tightly.
He could not allow himself to waver.
To survive, he and his comrades had sworn loyalty to the Sultan. Abandoned by a homeland unable to protect them, they had chosen to obey the one who promised order and prosperity in the chaos of war and invasion.
The moment he had witnessed Murad’s cannons shattering the towering walls of Athens, his conviction had solidified.
This was the end of the era.
A disciplined army, a prepared leader, swords honed to razor-sharp precision—they were the new rulers of the world. Conquerors who would put an end to endless wars and usher in a brilliant age of prosperity.
A crumbling empire, already reduced to ruins, could not stand against such overwhelming might.
And yet… there were those who had chosen a different path.
Fools who still believed there was hope left in an empire that had been decaying for centuries.
Those who had been betrayed time and again, disappointed beyond measure, yet still decided to believe in it to the very end.
Paliotes and his comrades, seeing the promise of a new era in the conquerors, had taken up the Ottoman banner.
But the others, seeing the remnants of their old pride in their protector, had rallied under Dragases.
Two sides, living through the same age, sharing the same faith—yet now, they stood against each other, spears raised.
There was no room for hesitation.
This was the Sultan’s final mercy, his last act of tolerance.
Paliotes repeated the Sultan’s solemn command in his mind, over and over again. The cold, unyielding words spoken after he had been brought to his knees.
“Kill them all.”
—How could he not tremble?
—How could he not feel fear?
His once-bold resolve had shattered the moment he met the Sultan’s chilling gaze.
There was no room left for doubt.
To hesitate any longer would mean losing everything he had sworn to protect.
And so, he had pledged himself as the Sultan’s loyal servant.
Mercy would only be granted to those who submitted to the Sultan’s will.
To act otherwise would be foolishness.
There was but one way to survive the Sultan’s ruthless decree—To utterly annihilate the Morean army and prove his loyalty.
With his right hand trembling, Paliotes clenched his fist tightly and watched as the Morean army slowly formed its ranks.
So, they truly meant to fight.
Even though they knew they could not win, they were willing to lead every last one of their men into the jaws of death.
Between the two armies, now facing each other with only a short distance between them, the banners fluttered and swayed in the wind.
Which one would remain unbroken until the very end?
It did not matter.
This was fate, a story that would end here.
At last, after his long contemplation, Paliotes drew his sword.
To share in the prosperity of the new era brought by the conquerors, one must pledge loyalty to them.
The Sultan, who would bring order to those tired of war, desired only one thing from them—the chains of obedience.
“So, Dragases… If you truly care for those who follow you and the people of this land—”
Paliotes shut his mouth.
He had seen enough of the prince’s resolve to save his doomed homeland.
He had felt firsthand the depth of his devotion, strong enough to offer even his own life.
But what did he intend to do now?
What could he possibly achieve at this point, when everything was already over?
The country was already lost.
A homeland that everyone had abandoned.
The old pride, the past glories—those had long since vanished.
Paliotes let out a quiet breath, his voice mixed with tangled emotions.
“…Then fall here. So that we may carve out a place for ourselves in the new nation that will rise upon this land.”
Paliotes had made his decision.
But he was not the only one.
The thoughts held by countless others—
The last beacon, their final hope—
Had come far too late.
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