This time, it was truly the last.
That thought came involuntary as he stood against the sipahis, his back to the remnants of a shattered enemy—still dangerous despite their collapse.
Reinforcements were on their way, an unexpected blessing, but what use were they if the battle ended before they arrived?
Thus, he had no choice but to entrust the rear to Ivania and a select few, while hastily forming an imperfect battle line against the sipahis.
Yet even if he managed to establish one, his exhausted soldiers would crumble under a single charge.
There was no room for arrogance—only grim realism.
The one sliver of hope lay in the caution the sipahi leader had displayed the previous day.
Even in this desperate moment, they had to make their foes hesitate for even a second, forcing them to question their attack.
Fortunately, the plan worked.
Rather than launching an immediate assault, the sipahis opted to wait, seeking an opening.
But there was no time for relief.
The Sultan’s elite forces would charge the moment their guard dropped.
This standoff only held because the sipahis anticipated greater resistance than expected.
He knew they were not hesitating out of weakness.
To test their defenses, the enemy sent out small detachments, looking for weaknesses.
The moment they found one, they would strike like wolves.
Then, at last, came a piece of good news.
For what felt like an eternity, he had watched the sipahis, waiting for their move.
And then, one of his greatest concerns was lifted.
He had entrusted the rear battle entirely to others, unable to check its progress, but now, the outcome became clear through the voice of a messenger.
“Your Highness, the enemy has been subdued. Sir Ivania is expected to join us soon.”
Still watching the sipahis, he questioned the situation in his mind.
Why?
Even though they had assumed a defensive posture, they had not even finished securing the rear.
If the sipahis had charged, they would have collapsed.
Moreover, by now, the reinforcements from the west should have been noticed.
Even if the enemy had somehow failed to see them, this moment had been their best chance to break through.
And yet, the sipahis had held their position.
What was holding them back?
A thought he had dismissed as mere wishful thinking was beginning to feel more plausible.
And soon, he was certain.
The Ottoman army was not incompetent.
They had crushed the Crusaders time and time again, proving their might.
They were the rulers of a new era, a force not easily swayed.
For such a formidable enemy to hesitate, there could be only one reason.
His heart pounded wildly.
It was almost too incredible to believe… but there was no turning back now.
Yet he could not afford to let his excitement show—his men might waver.
Even if he was certain, for them, it was still an uncertain hope.
They had to stay focused.
So, to those who had followed him through this desperate struggle, he offered only a single word.
“You’ve done well.”
All this sacrifice had been made in faith—faith that they could break the might of the Ottomans.
How much blood had been shed for this?
They had burned cities and abandoned soldiers, all to tighten a noose around Murad’s neck—to break the Ottomans’ momentum.
—And that noose had a name.
Murad’s brother, Mustafa.
The plan was simple: to enthrone the young Mustafa as the next Sultan, under the guardianship of his father, Manuel.
It was the very same strategy the co-emperor, John, had once devised.
And so, the question naturally followed—
Would they make the same mistake again?
This time, however, the approach had been different from the previous one.
Johns plan had been flawed from the start.
A rebellion in Greece—practically the Sultan’s personal domain—would always struggle to find supporters.
In the end, the rebellion had relied on foreign armies, but without internal backing, it had crumbled.
Anatolia, however, was a different story.
Murad’s meticulously planned coup had completely excluded the Anatolian beys from the Sultan’s succession.
And that had been his intention all along.
The Ottoman realm was divided—between those loyal to the Sultan and the unshakeable noble families.
From a Sultan’s perspective, the latter were a constant threat to central authority.
Thus, while eliminating his rivals, Murad had also severed most of Anatolia’s means to interfere.
Naturally, people aiming to gain power within the court saw no benefit in extending their friendship to Murad.
But they had remained passive for two key reasons.
Legitimacy and authority.
Possessing only one without the other amounted to nothing more than an empty cry.
In fact, it was nearly impossible for one to exist without the other.
Murad had understood this all too well.
Through his coup, he had focused on eliminating his rivals—those who could serve as legitimate alternatives to his rule.
Then, by securing a decisive victory in battle, he had cemented his authority.
This was why he sought overwhelming victories in the field rather than prolonged sieges.
Murad knew exactly what was needed to keep Anatolia in check.
And that was why orchestrating this rebellion had been so difficult.
No matter how much his father worked behind the scenes to rally support, there were limits to what he could do while in confinement.
In the end, everything depended on the Anatolian lords—how many of them would be willing to join?
If they failed to dismantle the Sultan’s authority, any rebellion was doomed from the start.
But who would dare challenge the Sultan’s might?
Who would risk standing against the Ottoman Empire itself, against the army that had crushed European forces time and time again?
…Yet, knowing that this was their last chance, someone had to bear this heavy burden.
If they could not halt the Sultan’s advance—if they failed to stall the Ottoman momentum—then the Empire’s fate was sealed.
Compared to their enemy, Morea was nothing but a handful of sand.
If they could not succeed, everything would be lost.
But if my suspicions were correct, the tide had now turned.
The moment Murad realized that defending Anatolia mattered more than crushing Morea, he would be left with only two choices.
Withdraw—or force a decisive battle.
“Murad… You’ve always been relentless, forcing choice after choice to make sure no alternatives remain.”
To overcome overwhelming odds, they had shifted the scales again and again, sacrificing tens of thousands in the process.
Now, at last, the blood-soaked cross had given them their answer.
There was no way they would back down now.
“But unlike you, I will not force your hand.”
Whether Murad chose to retreat or sought a final confrontation, neither path would be made easy for him.
And yet, he would find no battle to fight either.
That was why they had lured him here.
That was why they had prepared so thoroughly.
From the very beginning, this had never been a war against Murad’s army—it was a war against his authority.
And now that they had struck at Murad’s authority itself, they held the overwhelming advantage.
No matter how much he struggled, Murad would have no choice but to come to the negotiating table.
It was inevitable.
A formal war between states was never so easily waged.
—The moment Murad stepped into the noose, the war was already over.
TL : This chapter was a bit hard to process so basically Dragaš is using his fathers help to get support from Anatolia which is a major region in Ottoman Empire to set a rebellion to loosen Murad’s authority and put Mustafa as another contender for the Ottoman throne.
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