There was a time when they had once shared the same faith, waiting together.
But the remnants of that bond were not enough to prevent conflict.
One who chose to believe until the end and one who ultimately abandoned their faith—this battle was, in the end, a fight between those who had split into two factions.
At the same time, it was also a struggle against the despair that had begun to settle heavily over the Balkans.
And above all, it was a trial to determine which path would lead to a better future.
That was why Paliotes could draw his sword without hesitation.
Bearing the weight of all the pain and doubts he had endured, he watched as the approaching female knight closed the distance.
The slight swell of her chest plate, hinting at her womanhood, was almost laughable.
What could a woman possibly achieve in a battle meant to prove the convictions of each fighter?
Especially one who spewed nonsense about being unable to forgive those who turned away from Dragases? Paliotes repeated these thoughts to himself, steadying his resolve.
All the while, the wind rushing past his ears grew fiercer. The faster their horses galloped, the shorter the distance between them became.
And when it became undeniable that a clash was inevitable, Paliotes prepared to strike.
So did his opponent, Ivania.
There was no need for unnecessary cries or war shouts—they would only break their concentration.
Among the thunderous sound of pounding hooves, the two maintained an eerie silence until they finally collided.
And just as their swords were about to follow their destined curve, Paliotes abruptly changed his intent.
—Clang!
A sudden, forceful impact. He nearly fell off his horse, saved only by his firm grip on the reins.
As he barely regained his balance, his gaze fell upon the scars now etched onto his sword.
The blade bore deep scratches, and the crossguard had suffered a significant wound. Had he not swiftly recognized the threat, those marks would have been carved into his body instead of his weapon.
Only then did Paliotes realize that all his earlier confidence had been for nothing.
“A monster, that woman…!”
He should have known ever since she impaled two men with a single thrust of her spear. But now that he had faced her sword directly, the fear was undeniable.
More than just brute strength, what sent shivers down his spine was her cunning technique. No matter how physically strong a woman might be, she should still fall short of a seasoned man.
Yet, she had compensated for that gap with relentless training.
There was a reason she stood on this battlefield. Even though she was just a woman, Paliotes couldn’t help but admire her skill.
Could he block her next attack? He wasn’t sure. More likely, he would meet his death. And along with him, the soldiers who had followed him would also be doomed.
Even so, no matter how formidable his opponent was, he could not retreat.
This was the path he had chosen to survive. The men following him had done so to carve a place for themselves in the new era promised by the Sultan.
If he fell here, there would be no place for their families in that future. Knowing this better than anyone, Paliotes turned his horse back toward Ivania.
At the same time, she was also turning her steed around.
Paliotes was not so foolish as to wonder why he was being targeted. He was the leader of this mixed army. If he fell, the battle would end in an instant. That was what she believed.
But such thinking was naive.
They were not merely facing him.
Spurring his horse forward once more, Paliotes repeated the Sultan’s command in his mind.
—Kill them all.
At first, he had assumed it meant to annihilate Dragases army. But when he clashed with them on the battlefield, it became clear that the one-sided slaughter was, in truth, a call for their own deaths.
However, it was only in the face of true death—just now—that Paliotes finally realized something he had been too tense to notice before.
“You dare—!”
Was it regret at failing to kill him in a single strike? Ivania’s voice roared as she charged again, her presence even more overwhelming.
Yet, rather than tremble in fear, Paliotes found himself smiling.
There had been countless moments when he had to make a choice.
And each time, he had chosen to protect his family and people. Even in situations where a single wrong decision could have led to complete destruction, he had chosen correctly.
So, how could he not smile?
—For he was a man who knew his choices had been right.
“Foolish Dragases!”
Even as the entire front line collapsed and defeat became an undeniable certainty, Paliotes could not help but mock at Dragases.
No, he had to mock not just him but everyone on this battlefield who had thrust their spears and swords at each other.
Every single one of them had been nothing more than mere chess pieces. The fact that he had only now come to understand the true meaning behind the Sultan’s command was laughable in itself.
Amidst these thoughts, the narrowing distance once again forced their blades to clash.
—Clang!
This time, his sword was sent flying.
Yet, Paliotes was still alive. Even though he had lost his weapon, even though he now bore the disgrace of defeat at the hands of a mere woman.
He no longer laughed.
What lingered on his face was not rage but empty eyes filled with bitter resignation. The female knight, fuming as she pursued him from behind, no longer concerned him.
For the last time, Paliotes lifted his head and looked toward the enemy’s camp.
A banner bearing the twin-headed eagle—the imperial crest and the symbol of the royal house. Beneath it, Dragases was surely leading his troops.
But now that he understood the Sultan’s true command, a final showdown with Dragases no longer mattered.
—Because the order to “kill them all” had never been meant for him in the first place.
Paliotes recalled the man who had stood by the Sultan’s side, gazing down at him with cold, detached eyes.
Turahan, was it? The leader of the Sipahis, a man armed with absolute logic, unwavering loyalty, and meticulous caution.
It had not been Paliotes whom the Sultan had entrusted with that merciless command—it had been him.
“Now that you’ve finally arrived, I curse you in my name.”
Paliotes spat a curse toward Dragases.
How could he not?
And yet, somewhere in the depths of his mind, the shadow of his father lingered.
Even in his final years, drowned in drink, the old man had always swallowed the words ‘one day’ without ever speaking them aloud.
That image consumed Paliotes’ thoughts.
The storm of emotions raging within him was so overwhelming that even the resentment of Wasn’t this too late? was swallowed whole.
For someone who had already abandoned the empire, to pray for Dragases would be absurd.
But for his father—for the man who had never let go of his faith—it was different.
Before turning his horse once more, Paliotes whispered a final prayer.
“…And in my father’s name, I pray, O Lord of Heaven, watch over him.”
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