The series of reforms proclaimed by the Prince finally concluded with the last of his military restructuring policies.
“We will select volunteers from those unable to be knighted due to a lack of proper equipment, as well as from among the Albanians, and form them into cavalry. They shall be known as Stradioti and will follow the same organizational structure as the Paramonai-Alagia.”
The Stradioti envisioned by the Prince were not vastly different from those found in actual history.
After all, given Morea’s financial state, it was questionable whether they could even afford to maintain Cataphracts—fully armored cavalry.
The existing Pronoia system was already straining the treasury just to sustain the soldiers, and with Latin knights about to be fully integrated into the military, a significant portion of revenue was being drained.
Thus, it was inevitable that the Stradioti would function as light cavalry.
However, there was one major aspect that was completely left out from the Prince’s reforms—the reconstruction of the navy.
It was not because he underestimated its importance.
Rather, the immediate priority was assembling an army capable of fighting the Ottoman forces on land.
Moreover, constructing a fleet demanded an enormous expenditure of national resources.
There was a reason why a single decisive naval battle often determined control of the seas—such was the nature of naval warfare, where fleets required an overwhelming concentration of power to be effective.
The Prince, having a rough understanding of how difficult fleet-building would be, simply opted to focus on what was achievable rather than spreading resources too thin.
Time passed.
And at last, the Prince met the envoy from the capital.
“Your Highness Constantine, congratulations. You have been designated as the next co-emperor.”
The one delivering the news was none other than Demetrios Kantakouzenos, who had once visited the Prince before.
With a gaze that was anything but pleased, he conveyed the formal message with proper etiquette.
It was easy enough to guess why someone from the Kantakouzenos family had been sent for this task.
This was an announcement that could have been made by any ordinary envoy, yet the capital had chosen to dispatch someone of significant standing.
The Prince let out a self-deprecating murmur before speaking slowly.
“It took quite some time.”
Nearly two months had passed since the Pope sent his letter offering to conduct the coronation. Not to mention, the news of his designation as co-emperor had already reached him long ago—through other sources.
Surely, he had the right to ask why the delay had been so long.
As if anticipating this reaction, Kantakouzenos responded with a calm demeanor.
“No one denies that Morea’s successes have been extraordinary. Please do not misunderstand. What you have achieved is something no one else could have accomplished so easily. And yet, for the sake of this empire’s future, we had no choice but to worry.”
“Worry? About what?”
“…Are you truly asking because you don’t know, or are you merely testing us?”
Kantakouzenos’ gaze carried a sharp disappointment, but the Prince remained silent, his expression cryptic—one that could be interpreted in multiple ways.
Perhaps sensing this, Kantakouzenos eventually lowered his head, turning away before continuing.
“The more victories Your Highness wins, the deeper the divide grows between Morea and Constantinople. Surely you must be aware of this.”
That single remark revealed the true reason behind the capital’s opposition to Emperor John designating the Prince as co-emperor.
The empire, now little more than a shadow of its former glory, had long lost its authority.
The government’s influence had withered to the point where the only remaining tie between Morea and the empire was the blood relation between its rulers. The very structure of the state was collapsing.
Under normal circumstances, there would have been no hesitation in appointing the Prince as co-emperor.
But what if the Prince had become a rallying point for Morea’s separatists?
Since the days of Emperor Manuel, Morea had become the final defender where the last of the empire’s resources were gathered for a final stand against the Ottomans.
Now, Morea had a capable ruler at its control.
If it ever declared independence under his leadership, what could the empire—reduced to a single city—possibly do?
That was the reason for the excessive scrutiny and opposition from the capital.
This was a state barely holding itself together.
They could not afford to lose anything more.
That sense of desperation was etched into the minds of everyone in the capital.
“That is why we opposed you, Your Highness. No one could say for certain whether this appointment would serve to unite Constantinople and Morea—Or if it would be the final step toward tearing the empire apart.”
There was nothing Morea lacked anymore.
If he wished, the Pope of the Western Church would personally conduct his coronation.
That alone would make it easier to rally the support of a crusade against the Ottomans.
Now that they had reclaimed territory as far as Larissa, given enough time, they could assemble a proper army.
It was a stark contrast to Constantinople, an ancient city that had known nothing but decline for a thousand years.
That was why the young Kantakouzenos could not help but ask the prince.
“Your Highness, I want to hear your true feelings.”
Even if his decision wasn’t based on practicality, the prince had every reason to turn his back on the empire.
Who could blame him if he was tired of the constant interference from the capital or sickened by the endless feuding among brothers?
Many before him had done the same—driven by disappointment and disillusionment, they had turned their blades toward the empire itself.
If that were his choice, then there was all the more reason to stand firm.
Demetrios Kantakouzenos. A young noble of an renowned family, he straightened his posture, bearing the weight of his duty.
“Do you still hold this nation in your heart?”
For centuries, this empire had known only ruin.
A land laid low by relentless foreign invasions, torn apart by infighting among those who vied for a throne over a land already in tatters.
A country so devastated by plagues and earthquakes that even God seemed to have abandoned it.
Who could still cling to the ideal of saving it? Even Kantakouzenos, who had endured on sheer pride as a nobleman, often found himself doubting.
If the prince chose to abandon the empire, no one could blame him.
And even if he did, there was little the empire could do to stop him. Perhaps, in asking so directly, he was only inviting a greater tragedy.
But that fear did not come to pass.
Kantakouzenos soon realized how mistaken he had been when he saw the unwavering determination in the prince’s gaze.
“So even you needed reassurance.”
At that moment, the prince suddenly recalled something Sophia had once said.
“Faith… is always given in advance.”
This could be a trap.
Hadn’t they already reached out to Andronikos? It might be wise to delay until they had solid information from him. But no—his instincts warned him against it. Any further hesitation would only deepen the rift between Morea and the capital.
Just as before, when his only way forward was to throw himself into the heart of danger, this moment too demanded bold action.
“Kantakouzenos, I am no rhetorician. I lack the skill to sway others with words.”
“…..”
“For someone like me, there is only one way to prove myself.
—Through my actions.”
The words were simple and plain, yet carried an undeniable weight.
It was a different kind of dignity than that of Emperor Manuel II or most of the Palaiologos dynasty.
Not the refined elegance of nobility, but the presence of one who had already proven himself.
Faced with this, Kantakouzenos could only nod.
“Then I shall gladly watch as Your Highness ascends the throne. Show your resolve to the others as well.”
“…..”
The prince hesitated for a brief moment.
A thought had surfaced—of the woman he had cast aside in pursuit of a powerful alliance.
The woman who had now become an empress.
Should he ask about her?
But he suppressed his curiosity.
She was someone he had to see for himself.
What he owed her was not mere inquiries about her well-being—but an apology for his cruelty.
Asking about her through others would only be another insult.
Instead, he steeled his resolve.
TL : Damn, I hate these Empire dogs.
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