Prosperity does not come easily.
Only lasting peace and unwavering trust can serve as its foundation.
There may be countless other factors, but without these two, the path to prosperity remains heavy and burdened.
And it was precisely for this reason that the prince had never anticipated what was about to unfold.
His envisioned battlefield had always been Morea.
The strategy required extreme patience—using the fortresses built across the mountainous terrain to wage a war of attrition, wearing down the Ottoman Empire’s strength until Murad was ultimately forced into negotiations.
Fortunately, this strategy had been executed without major deviation, successfully driving back Murad’s forces.
The price, however, was staggering.
An enormous number of soldiers had lost their lives. But in return, the blood they shed had secured Morea’s safety.
It was only natural that such actions had drawn attention to the prince.
Before the wrathful vengeance of the Ottomans, Bulgaria had been crushed, Serbia was ravaged, and even Wallachia, which had attempted to sow discord, was defeated.
In the path of war, all that remained was devastation.
Even those fortunate enough to escape the direct path of battle were not truly safe.
The Balkans had become so unstable that no one could predict when their lands might turn into a war zone.
Amidst this dangerous situation, the prince’s campaign stood out.
He had committed deeds that would forever stain his name. He had reduced the city of Nemeapatre to ashes—an act that would be condemned by future generations.
In an era where the concept of directly targeting civilians rather than pillaging them was nearly unheard of, his actions invited harsh criticism.
Yet, beyond Nemeapatre, there had been no sieges, no raids, and not a single act of plunder, except for Athens. This anomaly captured people’s attention.
It was precisely this reason that prevented them from easily condemning him.
Thanks to the prince’s meticulous war preparations, the Morean army had managed to secure its supply lines despite overwhelming odds.
Nowhere outside of Nemeapatre had forced requests taken place, further complicating public opinion about him. The devastation left by war was, in fact, strikingly limited.
Ironically, despite Central Greece being the primary battleground between the prince and Murad, much of the region had suffered only minor destruction.
And that was not all.
Contrary to the widespread expectation that Morea would collapse, the opposite had happened.
Despite many fears, the Ottoman army had not launched an invasion into Morea.
Mistra had not fallen. These unexpected results, combined with the prince’s previous actions, led to an unprecedented development.
“Forty thousand Albanians, you say?”
“Yes, Your Highness. The refugees are traveling south through Epirus, seeking your protection.”
“This is… impossible. That many people abandoning their homeland?”
And not just any land, but Ottoman territory.
Yet, instead of seeking Ottoman protection, they had chosen to risk the dangerous journey till here?
The prince could hardly comprehend, let alone believe it.
To the eyes of the world, his domain was a sinking ship. But such thoughts were his alone. The Venetian envoy, who had come in haste to deliver this startling news, shook his head at the prince’s reaction.
“Your Highness, you have long been called the empire’s last defender. But now, even that title no longer suffices.”
“Then what else could they call me?”
“Look upon the great feats Your Highness has accomplished. With nothing but the remnants of a decaying empire, you have achieved what no one else could.”
Sensing the moment was right, the Venetian envoy finally spoke the words he had long held in his heart.
“The Knights of St. John, who have waged war against the infidels for centuries, could not prevail against the Turks. The renowned kings and princes of the world failed as well. Some managed to repel them briefly, only to ultimately kneel in defeat.”
As he spoke, the envoy cast his gaze downward at the glass before him. The prince followed his eyes and saw the surface of the half-drunk wine trembling with faint ripples.
“No one has ever achieved this alone.
Your father, once hailed as the empire’s last hope, fought bravely against the Turks. But in the end, he was undone by the indifference of the capital and the infighting of his own kin. He was forced to kneel before the sultan.”
The Venetian envoy paused, his voice heavy with implication.
“And that was not the end. In a final, bitter irony, your father, a man who fought tirelessly to protect what little remained of the empire, was forced to destroy Philadelphia with his own hands—a city that had resisted the Turks until the very end, even as all of Anatolia fell under their rule.”
“…Are you here to insult my father?”
“How could I possibly disregard a man who fought so fiercely? To protect a thousand-year-old, crumbling capital, he abandoned those he was meant to defend. At first, I found it nothing but tragic. But now, seeing Your Highness, I realize that his choice was not in vain.”
At last, he reached for the glass with his fingers. Ting. A mere tap, yet the wine inside rippled far more violently than before. However, the prince could no longer focus on the trembling liquid—because the Venetian envoy’s face was steadily growing flushed.
“Your Highness, with only a handful of soldiers, you willingly courted death, stood against the Janissaries, and emerged victorious, proving both your martial prowess and that divine will favours you.
Not only that, but even while facing the sultan’s vast army, you succeeded in drawing us—and Genoa—into your cause.”
The prince had once been an hidden figure, known only to the Ottomans, who viewed him as a potential threat, and to Venice, which had been in contact with him for some time.
To everyone else, he had seemed like nothing more than a reckless ruler or a mere puppet.
But the war had overturned all those perceptions.
“Even the Senate, bound as it is to national interest, has softened its stance toward you, Your Highness. After all, you have driven back the sultan’s forces, who had long pressured us, and even granted us Thessalonica, fulfilling one of Venice’s long-held aspirations.”
“And despite such drastic measures?”
“At times, people listen to stories that stir their hearts more than those that promise mere profit. This is one such time. Anyone who understands the shifting tides of power can see that Your Highness has humbled that arrogant sultan. Do you still not understand why forty thousand Albanians have chosen you over the sultan’s protection?—You have become the undeniable proof that the Turks can be driven out.”
The storm of words that followed left the prince speechless.
What was he trying to say?
He could have simply stated his purpose outright, yet he was so impassioned that he left no room for the prince to speak.
And then, at last, the Venetian envoy retrieved a sealed letter from within his robes.
“Please accept this, Your Highness.
You who will liberate all persecuted Christians of Greece—
You who are the crimson spear of Christ, destined to break the sword of Islam—”
What absurd titles were these?
The prince felt as though he was witnessing the birth of an embarrassing chapter in his own history. Get rid of that nonsense immediately, he muttered in his mind.
“—His Holiness the Pope has sent you a letter.”
“What?!”
—Something entirely unexpected had arrived.
TL : You guys might not know, but in history most of the Crusades were initiated by the Pope, and people willingly joined them to receive divine blessings and forgiveness for their sins.
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