A new year had dawned.
The sound of church bells stirred the sleeping city, and lives ready for tomorrow stirred to stretch and move forward.
Though it was a cycle that repeated year after year, such moments still felt special to many.
Among those welcoming the new sun was a female knight who had overcome the limits of her gender to become one of Emperor Dragases’s close confidants.
And while she would normally be scanning her surroundings with clear determination, the knight’s blue eyes today were lost in a haze of emotional recollection, busy reliving the events of the previous night.
Even her lips—usually trained to appear stoic—trembled faintly with suppressed joy as Ivania walked confidently down the halls of the citadel.
Many basked in the prosperity and energy of Mistra, but in that moment, none could match the radiance of Ivania.
Not even Sophia, the Empress and a woman respected across the empire for her noble status as Emperor Dragases’s wife.
Ever since revealing her identity, Sophia had been a frequent visitor to the Emperor’s office, often accompanied by Maria.
It didn’t take long for Sophia, heading to meet the Emperor, and Ivania, leaving the Emperor’s chamber and walking toward the training grounds, to cross paths.
The moment they noticed each other, their expressions split in stark contrast.
“Oh, Your Majesty the Empress! A very good morning to you.”
“…It seems Dame Ivania is busy even at this early hour.”
“Of course. One must never treat His Majesty’s orders lightly.”
“You’ve grown quite skilled with words in my absence.”
“I’ve come to realize that, if one wishes to win another’s heart, one must refine themselves.”
“…”
As Ivania greeted her with a radiant smile, Sophia’s eyebrows twitched in restrained irritation.
Naturally, Ivania paid her no mind. The two had never shared a warm relationship. After all, Sophia had once tried to weaken surveillance and manipulate Ivania into lowering her guard.
With such a strange rivalry now established, the exchange of pleasantries was little more than formality.
“Well then, Your Majesty, I shall head to the training grounds. I hope we meet again—when His Majesty has no orders for me.”
“….”
And with those final words, Ivania departed. All Sophia could do was watch her retreat, powerless to respond.
In the silence that followed, only Maria—wide-eyed and clueless—murmured softly between the two women.
“W-Wow… So His Majesty finally…”
“Maria.”
“Eek!”
“…Perhaps we should check if there’s any other news today.”
“You’re in a particularly sour mood this morning…”
Sophia’s steps, once headed toward the Emperor’s office, abruptly turned in another direction.
Maria, flustered by the sudden shift, could only pretend not to notice and follow with nervous sweat trickling down her temples.
Soon even Maria left, still trying to soothe Sophia’s mood, and the hallway was once again filled with silence.
But not for long—another set of footsteps echoed shortly after.
“…I warned him. This is a terrible time for this.”
Halid Murtat.
The new commander of the Murtatis, a man known for his unconventional loyalty to the Emperor, made his displeasure known the moment he appeared.
Had his warning been ignored? What he had just witnessed was disgraceful—unworthy of a ruler famed for his self-discipline and abstinence.
“To indulge in women at a time like this, despite knowing how dangerous things are…”
Frowning, Halid glanced toward the direction the women had gone before turning his eyes toward the Emperor’s office. Could it be that Dragases’s legendary restraint had finally worn thin?
If so, the empire had already lost its last shred of hope to withstand the Ottomans. The nation held together only by the central force that was Emperor Dragases—without him, there was nothing.
Halid’s hesitation lingered for a while.
The warm sunlight brushed his skin again and again as he stood silently, weighing his thoughts. Then his eyes dropped to the sword hanging from his waist. He stroked the hilt a couple of times, and finally, with no more doubt, his feet began to move again.
And when he flung open the office door, what he found was the Emperor staring silently at an open map. But that calm figure wasn’t enough to swallow the sharpness of Halid’s questioning.
“I warned you when we first met—Ottoman movement is imminent. And yet here you are, plyaing with women?”
Even as he hurled accusations, Halid’s right hand slowly drifted toward his sword. It was a noticeable motion.
Naturally, the Emperor’s gaze first went to Halid’s hand creeping toward the hilt. Yet the Emperor showed no reaction. He simply returned his gaze to the map.
“I won’t claim I felt nothing for the woman. But that’s all. Even if the memory of last night lingers in my mind, there is still far more to be done. I won’t let myself cling to it.”
A cold, clear response—devoid of hesitation. No one could accuse him of being caught in sentiment. For someone who had always lived ascetically, there was nothing out of character here.
Was it the truth? Halid’s doubts continued to circle without resolution. But further confrontation would do no good. He slowly withdrew the hand that had reached for his sword. Still, his half-lidded eyes did not soften.
“I’ll remember your words. Don’t forget, Your Majesty. The enemy you must face is the Ottoman Empire, fully prepared and waiting.”
“To think I’d hear my own resolve echoed back at me, Halid, by someone else.”
With a chuckle, the Emperor replied.
A prepared victor, summoned by history—that was how he viewed the Ottomans. Even if Halid’s loyalty was uncertain, his wariness of the Ottomans was something the Emperor could respect.
And truth be told, Emperor Dragases’s actions thus far had earned Halid’s trust. It was almost amusing now to warn Dragases of the Ottomans—who had been more vigilant than anyone in standing against them.
Reflecting on how foolish his own words had been, Halid turned his attention to the map.
“Now that I know Your Majesty remains wary, I wish to hear your plan.”
“What is it you seek from me, Halid?”
“I want a full explanation of where Your Majesty is focusing and the reasons behind that attention.”
At those words, the emperor raised his head and looked at Halid. And the warrior who had abandoned everything received the emperor’s gaze with calm composure.
Without the slightest hesitation, he opened his mouth with the same arrogance and confidence he had shown from the very beginning.
“Of course, I am the son of the most hated traitor in the Empire, and a traitor who turned his back on the Ottomans. However, just because I abandoned everything doesn’t mean I cast away my experience and knowledge of the Ottoman affairs and movements.”
“……”
Halid was right.
No matter how well the Jews had developed their information network, or how much the Venetians, feeling threatened by Ottoman expansion, had cooperated, there were clear limits.
And even the information thus obtained would pale in comparison to the knowledge possessed by a former high-ranking Ottoman officer.
Yet the emperor did not speak readily.
Halid, who grasped the meaning faster than anyone else, responded with silence, and so silence fell upon the audience chamber.
A confrontation that did not seem likely to end quickly. But even such a standoff must eventually have an end. And it was the emperor who spoke first.
“Albania.”
“I haven’t heard the reason yet.”
“Due to its rugged mountain terrain, Albania is naturally resistant to Ottoman invasions. Moreover, as it borders the Adriatic Sea to the west, supplying it by sea is much easier. And if a crusade is formed, it’s obvious from the current strength of the Ottomans that the main forces and the Morea region will be split.
If we already hold Albania by then, we’ll have a direct link to southern Serbia. That will not only make coordination with the crusaders much easier, but will also force the Ottomans to spread their strength across three fronts—near the Danube River, Larissa, and Albania—allowing us to hinder their momentum to some extent.”
“Magnificent, Your Majesty.”
A satisfied smile crept across Halid’s lips.
Halid Murtat—the man who called himself a traitor and abandoned everything—was now convinced that his decision had not been mistaken. There had been good reason for his father, Evrenos, to take an interest in this emperor.
‘So this is why Father always said he was born too late.’
After all, was this not the man who had kept a declining empire together this long?
To restrain the Ottomans—rising unopposed and shaking off all forms of resistance—this level of insight was only to be expected.
After a short laugh, Halid pointed to Albania on the map with his right index finger and spoke.
“As Your Majesty has predicted, the Ottomans also place high value on Albania. Even so, they have not yet secured complete control. The difficult terrain makes it hard for their power to fully extend, allowing the local lords to maintain a semi-independent status. The Christian lords of Albania enjoy considerable freedom, which has long been a source of controversy even within the Ottoman ranks.”
“That’s not all, is it?”
“No, Your Majesty.
Though the Ottomans have not fully subdued Albania, that doesn’t mean Albania is entirely free. The Sultan demanded hostages from the Christian lords, and many boys were taken to Edirne to undergo devshirme training. Through this system, they were reborn as loyal servants of the Sultan and granted new estates.
Among them, one youth, despite his age, drew the attention of the Sultan and the praise of many warriors. As he rose to prominence, Albania began to fall rapidly to the Ottomans.”
Albania, depicted on the map.
As they looked at it, the emperor and Halid met eyes in the air above the map.
The emperor’s gaze sharpened with a sudden realization, and Halid’s expression lost its former smile. In a composed tone, Halid continued:
“Seeing how swiftly he is pacifying Albania, many are reminded of Alexander the Great’s wisdom and valor during his conquests. And so they have begun calling him this.”
At last, the emperor slowly closed his eyes at Halid’s words.
But closing one’s eyes does not shut out reality. Both Halid and the emperor knew this well, and thus, the next words came without delay.
“Skanderbeg.”
The emperor’s eyelids trembled faintly. Fortunately, his voice did not. In an even tone, he asked Halid:
“Would it be accurate to say the Ottomans have already gained a firm foothold there?”
“Not yet.”
Not yet.
The emperor quietly repeated those words to himself and turned his gaze back to the map. The Ottoman flags spread across the map were undeniable proof of a growing threat. And amid the overwhelming presence of the Ottomans, only a pitiful few flags fluttered precariously on their own.
Just then, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the corridor.
A soldier ran with all his strength, his footsteps loud.
Clearly a messenger—but even so, his face was unusually grim. Almost collapsing into a bow inside the chamber, the soldier cried out:
“Y-Your Majesty! Urgent news! The Ottomans have mobilized and are marching on the capital!”
At that, the emperor turned to look at Halid.
Halid withdrew the right hand he had been using to point at the map. And under the emperor’s gaze, the traitor’s son met his eyes with a hard-to-read expression and spoke in a cryptic tone:
“It begins now. Steel yourself, Your Majesty.”
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