What Is Advantageous, and What Is Disadvantageous?
Before heading into battle, this was a question that had to be carefully considered.
The numbers—either roughly equal or, more likely, in the Ottomans’ favour.
It did not take long to reach this conclusion. Having fought in numerous battles, they had developed an eye for estimating enemy strength.
But even if their numbers were similar, the Morean side was at a disadvantage.
They were exhausted from continuous retreat, and their morale was far from high.
Beyond that, the presence of reinforcements could not be ignored.
While Morea’s reinforcements were uncertain, the enemy had twice as many fresh troops approaching.
Murad’s absence here was clear—his banners and the Janissaries were nowhere in sight.
It was unlikely that he would attempt another scheme. Having used one before, he would know its effectiveness would be diminished.
That meant he was personally leading the main force, preparing to crush them in a single, decisive strike.
In the end, there was a pressing time limit to break through.
With numerical superiority and the passage of time both favouring the Ottomans, Morea’s only hope lay in a single factor—the presence of cavalry.
The knights who had held Morea through countless battles.
Even in small numbers, the difference between having cavalry and lacking it was immense.
Why did the Ottomans have none?
Was it concern over the loss of horses during naval transport?
Whatever the reason, this was the only viable path toward Morea and Corinth.
Yet, a hasty decision could not be made.
Only about three hundred knights remained.
To ensure their charge could break through, they needed a leader with both the courage to command knights and the composure to coordinate the infantry.
In the past, either he or Francisco would have taken on this crucial task without hesitation.
But as thoughts wandered to those who had once fought beside him only to depart, he could not help but clench his fists tightly.
Adrianos, and Francisco.
Men who had jumped into the jaws of death with faith alone, believing in their cause.
And they were not the only ones.
How many had perished just to bring them this far?
This battle had to be won.
A choice had to be made.
“Ivania, lead the knights and strike the enemy’s left flank.”
She had distinguished herself in the last battle against the Janissaries, leading the knights to victory.
If there were no flaws in her command, she had to be entrusted with this task.
More importantly, she was the only option left.
Among those still possessing both skill in combat and cavalry tactics, as well as command experience, only Ivania remained.
Perhaps she, too, sensed this reality, as she made no suspicious movements—only gazed at him with worry.
“Your Highness, please be careful. Do not forget how much you have already endured.”
“This rests entirely on you. Do not fail me.”
She hesitated, as if there was more she wished to say.
But there was no time for conversation.
In the end, Ivania closed her eyes briefly before departing, leaving behind only a short bow as she made her way toward the gathered knights.
Now, as he watched her retreating figure, it was time to consider his next move.
Of course, his options were extremely limited.
“Among the remaining soldiers, those wielding swords will follow my orders separately. Sword wielders will advance behind the knights’ charge and attack the enemy. Spearmen will remain with me to hold the frontline.”
The outcome of this battle depended on how much success the knights could achieve with their charge.
Only two thousand soldiers remained after consecutive defeats.
Deploying four hundred of them required significant resolve.
And yet, lingering doubts crept in.
What if their numbers were insufficient, and they failed to expand their gains?
Even so, diverting more forces was too dangerous.
If the frontlines collapsed, everything would crumble beyond salvation.
Once Again at a Crossroads
Should they focus on the offensive, or on holding their ground?
A risky balancing act continued—between annihilation and survival, a decisive choice to forge a path forward.
The answer came quickly.
The soldiers were already at their limit.
The longer the battle dragged on, the greater the chance for a fatal mistake from their side, burdened by accumulating fatigue.
And time was on the enemy’s side.
“…However, as an exception, the three hundred stationed at the center will wield swords instead of spears and charge alongside the knights.”
A choice made possible only because the enemy lacked cavalry.
Had the Ottomans even two hundred horsemen, a reserve force would have been necessary to counter their flanking maneuvers.
Ordinarily, leaving reserves would have been the safer option.
But now, things were different.
They had to crush the enemy as quickly as possible.
This was an all-out battle—they had to break through before Ottoman reinforcements arrived.
It was evident—the knights’ performance would determine the outcome of this battle.
Their charge would decide victory or defeat.
If he could, he would have personally led them into the battle.
But a commander’s role was not to stand at the vanguard and cut down foes—it was to organize the battlefield and steer it toward victory.
A commander must trust those who follow him.
With that belief, he silently observed the enemy’s movements.
They, too, must have realized that the knights were the key to this battle.
Any commander failing to grasp that had no right to lead an army.
As expected, when Ivania led the knights forward, changes rippled through the Ottoman formation.
But it was not the response he had anticipated.
Instead, an unsettling maneuver unfolded before his eyes.
Several detachments began breaking off from the main force.
They varied in size—some in the dozens, others in the hundreds—all grouping together on the enemy’s left flank at regular intervals.
It was almost like a type of square formation, but vastly different from any tactics Murad or the Ottomans had displayed before.
Something about it was unnatural.
And then, he understood.
He understood exactly who the Morean army—and he himself—was truly facing.
“…So it has come to this.”
For every man who resisted the tide of change, there were others who embraced it.
For those who believed in revival, there were others who deemed it too late.
Some had chosen the chains that promised prosperity over Rome’s fading name and the remnants of a thousand-year legacy.
And now, those who had abandoned their past and resigned themselves to fate were pointing their spears at him.
Bitter.
Frustrating.
But that was all.
If they threatened the sovereignty and freedom of those who followed him, he would strike them down without hesitation.
He had vowed as much the day he cut down the Janissaries, the day his armor was first stained red.
Their intent was clear.
By using multiple defensive squares, they sought to obstruct the knights’ charge as much as possible.
But to what end?
The answer became obvious the moment he looked beyond them—at the enemy’s main force, standing in perfect battle formation.
A total war. Both sides would stake their beliefs on this clash.
They would throw everything into the battle to prove the worth of their convictions.
Would his main force collapse first?
Or would their left flank crumble before that happened?
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