Even though the news of the co-emperor’s proclamation was shocking, it would still take time for the rumors to spread.
Constantinople was busy suppressing voices opposing the prince’s ascension as co-emperor, while the Ottomans, preparing for their campaign, were grinding their teeth in frustration.
Given the gravity of the situation, a careful observer would have noticed it immediately—but the prince’s attention was entirely elsewhere.
A prime example was Francisco, who had rejoined after the general pardon.
“I heard it was quite a fierce battle. You must have fought well. This will surely spread our cousin’s fame far and wide.”
“And you—who would have thought you’d be completely unharmed?”
“Well, I focused only on running away from them, so that was inevitable.”
Of the 400 knights Francisco had led, only about twenty had lost their lives—virtually no losses otherwise.
Francisco had avoided direct combat till the end, luring the enemy until they exhausted themselves, and once he realized the pursuit had ended, he made his way to Epirus.
Had Epirus’ army still been on standby, he had planned to join them before meeting the prince.
“But then I heard the young lord of Epirus had already made his move, so I took a short rest. I figured that even if I rushed in, I wouldn’t be able to intervene at a crucial moment.”
“A wise decision.”
“After the battle ended, the moment I heard about the general pardon, I immediately went around gathering the remaining men. I’d say about a thousand or so?”
Francisco shrugged as he proudly boasted of his accomplishment, and the prince couldn’t help but smile.
His characteristic bravado didn’t come off as arrogant but rather amusing.
Regardless, thanks to Francisco’s cleverness, they had managed to recover a force of a thousand men. No doubt these were troops deliberately left behind to deceive Murad.
Though he nodded along to Francisco’s exaggerated claims, the prince didn’t forget the tasks at hand.
He began reviewing the progress of various matters assigned to his retainers, starting with Ivania. The golden-haired, blue-eyed knight still maintained the same curt demeanor as before.
“…As Your Highness commanded, all those who opposed you have been purged.”
Ivania’s task had been to eliminate those resisting the empire’s growing influence.
Most of them were pro-Ottoman factions. However, since they were technically vassals of the Ottomans, it was impossible to openly attack them for their allegiance.
Instead, they were accused of “refusing to recognize the Ottoman delegate”—a charge of disloyalty. It was a flimsy pretext, but with the law rendered meaningless and only the sword dictating justice, there was no resistance.
Hearing Ivania’s report, the prince let out a sigh of relief.
“Good. You’ve done well. Since this matter is settled, you may take some rest.”
“…Urgh…”
“…Is there a problem?”
“…No, not at all. I merely follow Your Highness’ orders.”
Was it all just an act? Hoping that her attitude would remain at least somewhat the same, the prince simply watched as Ivania withdrew.
Even as she left, she kept glancing back toward him with an uneasy expression, but for now, he let it slide.
With that settled, the prince called in his other retainers to address matters one by one.
“Georgios Gemistos Plethon, have you successfully recruited the scholars you sought?”
“Many scholars gladly accepted upon hearing of Your Highness’ reputation. This is proof that the path you have taken is the right one.”
The elderly scholar Plethon had personally sought out and persuaded those branded as heretics, scholars who had wasted away in seclusion.
Most of them had questioned the necessity of religion or held knowledge of ancient pagan traditions.
It was an open secret that the Church’s wealth had become excessively grown, and the prince’s willingness to embrace these anti-clerical scholars aligned with that reality.
“Plethon, you are well aware that our empire is overrun with monasteries and churches.”
“Indeed, Your Highness. The Church owns nearly one-third of the empire’s land. This has left little room for independent farmers, yet only Your Highness and your late father, Emperor Manuel, have truly recognized this issue.”
“If all of them had been established out of pure faith, it wouldn’t be a problem. The real issue is those monasteries were founded solely to evade taxes and military service.”
When Manuel had once proclaimed himself Emperor of Thessalonica, he had taken the extreme measure of forcibly seizing monastery-owned lands in the region, earning the Church’s wrath.
That decision had undoubtedly affected his claim to the throne. The clergy, represented by the Patriarch of Constantinople, must have harbored deep resentment toward him for confiscating Church property.
But the prince was different.
He had already amassed enough power within his faction to threaten the capital itself.
If the Patriarch of Constantinople turned against him, he was prepared to establish an archbishop in Morea instead.
Moreover, beyond his military strength, he had earned significant religious influence through his efforts in restoring the Church of the Holy Virgin and reversing the transformation of mosques and Latin churches back into Orthodox sanctuaries.
Even so, he never donated wealth to monasteries or churches.
Even in Morea, church and monastery holdings were overflowing.
For the reforms he envisioned, a confrontation with them was inevitable. Thus, cultivating an anti-clerical faction was merely the first step in preparing public sentiment for the changes to come.
“Plethon, I do not think the Church is unnecessary, as you say. At least, not yet. So, I ask you to continue preparing for that distant future when, as you suggest, it may no longer be needed.”
In this era, where religion had come to replace national identity, rejecting the Church outright was unthinkable.
At the very least, such an attempt could only be made once the concept of nationhood was firmly established.
And to reach that point, all that needed to be done was to ensure the empire’s survival and the transformation of its people’s mindset.
“You have done well all this time. Now, you may hold the lectures you desire to your heart’s content. The Church’s opposition—I shall personally shield you from it. So do not hesitate to engage in open discussions with your disciples.”
“…I will never forget these brief moments by Your Highness’s side. Please, do not forget your resolve. The fate of this land now rests in your hands.”
With those final words, Georgios Gemistos Plethon, the leading figure of Neoplatonism and one who would later play a key role in igniting the Renaissance, departed from the prince’s side to return to his true calling.
While it was unfortunate to lose such a renowned scholar from the court, the prince quickly changed his mind—after all, Plethon had chosen to dedicate himself to a greater cause, something far more important than what he could accomplish within the court.
Next to be summoned was Demicleos, who had been fulfilling a role entirely different from his original position.
“Were there any major difficulties in establishing the Venetian trading post?”
“As long as we honored the treaty, the Venetians made no further demands, saying that maintaining a good relationship was in their interest. The terms Your Highness initially set were followed to the letter.”
“I heard they signed a non-aggression pact with the Ottomans, yet it seems they did not trust it completely.”
If they had truly believed in their treaty with the Ottomans, they would not have sought closer ties with Morea.
As expected from those attuned to national interests, they had likely seen through the Ottomans’ true intentions and reached out first. Since this was exactly what the prince had intended, he smiled with satisfaction.
“You have done well, too, Demicleos. It won’t be long before I require your services again, so take care not to overexert yourself.”
“I shall heed Your Highness’s command.”
Thus, while his loyal retainers were granted rest, the prince himself was forced to confront reality.
The Sultan had sent an order to unite the Genoese mercenaries with the Epirote forces as previously promised.
As a result, while his retainers rested, the prince alone found himself busier than ever—an almost comical turn of events.
Securing supplies for their deployment consumed two full weeks of his time.
And yet, even after this task was completed, he had no time to rest, as he had to bid a brief farewell to Thomas before he set sail.
“Do not overexert yourself, Thomas. No matter how much merit you earn in this campaign, it will ultimately only benefit the Ottomans.”
“I will keep that in mind, brother. Please, take care of yourself as well. And… you must also properly resolve matters with your wife.”
“…You are right.”
Now that the stabilization of central Greece had taken shape, the prince, too, had begun considering his return to Morea.
The exhaustion of his soldiers was one concern, but more pressing was the matter of the forty thousand Albanians who would soon arrive.
As he gazed at Thomas and the Genoese troops departing by ship, the prince fell into deep thought.
“I must face it after all.”
To stand against the Ottomans, the empire needed allies.
Serbia, being both an Orthodox nation and bound by marriage ties, was an obvious choice.
Yet, preoccupied with overcoming the empire’s crises, the prince had neglected to monitor Serbia’s internal affairs.
Strengthening ties with Sophia and increasing influence over Serbia was the correct course of action for a ruler.
“…Sigh.”
At some point, the prince had begun letting out deep sighs.
The moment when purpose and means became inverted—this was when unnecessary worries began to flood his mind.
Yet such doubts could not shake his resolve. Just as one’s position changes a person, so too do the expectations and faith of the people.
The prince had seen the faces of those in the capital.
A city drowning in despair and resignation, awaiting its inevitable doom—he had simply found that intolerable. Though his initial motivation had been trivial, after all, a spark often appears as if it will fade at any moment. And so it was with the empire.
—The empire had turned to ashes.
But like the phoenix, it would rise once more, reborn in a brilliant blaze of light.
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