Manuel II’s expedition progressed smoothly.
Most cities, lacking properly organized mercenaries or standing armies, quickly rescinded their declarations of independence and returned to imperial rule. The emperor strengthened the empire’s authority by appointing judges in these cities and declaring that imperial law superseded local laws. Additionally, supplies sent from Mistra by Prince Konstantinos significantly hastened the expedition’s pace.
Up to this point, the emperor had little to worry about. However, the letters the prince continuously sent from Mistra troubled Manuel’s mind.
Your Majesty, if Mistra is stabilized, I wish to fully incorporate other territories into the empire. I humbly request the opportunity to devote myself to the empire and God near the battlefield.
The emperor’s replies were always the same. You are too young at ten years old; I cannot allow it under any circumstances. Not even the prince’s fervent pleas could sway him. It was Konstantinos who ultimately yielded. Over the year-long campaign of Manuel II, the prince never once stepped onto the battlefield. Instead, his 300-strong mercenary force made their mark.
“Do not break formation! We will repel the enemy here!”
Amidst the deadly clash of steel and blood, the Italian mercenaries armed with pikes and halberds stood out. Their unwavering courage and disciplined formations, regardless of the enemy, were their greatest weapons. This well-regulated force held off countless enemy attacks and ultimately secured victory in each engagement. At their forefront was a female warrior with golden hair peeking out from beneath her helmet. Though her physical strength may not have matched her male counterparts, her composure and skill in battle were undeniable proof of her leadership.
Yet, instead of celebrating their achievements, the emperor closed his eyes in quiet resignation.
Each time he looked upon them, the harsh reality of the empire’s current state weighed heavier on him. The rebuilt imperial army lacked the glory and discipline of the past. It was held together only by the desperate struggle to survive. The deeply ingrained memory of decline sapped morale, a shadow cast over the soldiers’ minds. For twenty years, the empire had clawed its way out of this pit of despair. Now, the vigor and determination of Manuel’s youth had faded, dulled by the wear of his long reign. The aging emperor could not deny his exhaustion.
As he looked down at the soldiers cheering over another victory, Manuel II felt an overwhelming sense of fatigue.
With this, all the cities of Morea had been pacified. However, this was only one objective of the expedition. The realization that much work remained only deepened the emperor’s exhaustion. Though he tried to mask his fatigue and move forward, his attendant noticed it before he could hide it.
“Your Majesty… further campaigns may be too much for you.”
Perhaps it was the relief of having secured an heir, or perhaps the emperor’s reserves of strength had simply run dry. Whatever the case, it was clear he no longer had the stamina to continue. Having endured countless crises, the aged and weary emperor now longed for rest.
In March 1415, the emperor returned to Mistra.
For the first time, he relented on the strict stance he had maintained and gave Prince Konstantinos the answer he had long desired. The emperor appointed the prince as the deputy commander of the expeditionary forces. While Manuel II retained the title of supreme commander, he delegated practical command to the prince. Even so, the prince could not fully rejoice, for the emperor’s health had deteriorated from his excessive exertions during the campaign.
“His Majesty…”
“With rest, he will recover. He has always been a resilient man.”
“But I must consult with him to understand the details of the campaign.”
“Perhaps you should speak with the mercenary captain. Though she is a woman, her bravery on the battlefield greatly impressed His Majesty, and they conversed often.”
“The mercenary captain?”
It was only then that Prince Konstantinos recalled someone he had all but forgotten: the proud leader of the mercenaries he had hired with a generous salary. Over the past year, as he juggled the twin challenges of stabilizing Mistra and supplying the expeditionary forces, this was all he remembered. If she had earned the emperor’s trust, she must have proven her worth in battle. As it happened, her contract was nearing its end.
“It may be worth meeting her.”
“…Your Highness, I am at your service.”
What? Who is this woman? I thought I was meeting the mercenary captain… Was she a woman all along?
Though his clouded memory offered no clear answers, the prince suppressed his confusion and courteously acknowledged her greeting, unwilling to keep her waiting. His responsibilities—balancing the stabilization of Mistra and the expedition’s supplies—had been so overwhelming that he barely recalled much of anything. Yet, he had received numerous reports about the mercenaries’ achievements on the battlefield.
“You performed admirably, well worth the pay you received. I have prepared a bonus that reflects your efforts. Once we conclude this meeting, I’ll have an attendant deliver it to you.”
Though it was a significant expense, it was only fair compensation. Moreover, if he intended to consider a long-term contract for future campaigns, it was vital to establish trust as an employer.
“I’m very pleased with this arrangement. If you are willing, I’d like to discuss the possibility of a long-term engagement…”
The only thing he could do was trail off awkwardly at the unexpected expression on the mercenary captain’s face. Moments ago, she’d seemed reserved and composed, yet now, her demeanor had undergone a dramatic shift. Her pupils were slightly unfocused, her cheeks flushed red, and her breathing noticeably heavier. This reaction was far more enthusiastic—no, overwhelmingly so—than he’d anticipated.
“Of course! As much as you’d like! By the way, if it’s a long-term contract, could you share where I’d be stationed?”
Her energy was… too much. He instinctively nodded, though a peculiar feeling lingered, refusing to dissipate. Is this an aftereffect of the heightened emotions from the battlefield? he wondered. Perhaps it was PTSD—a reminder that even mercenaries, who fight for money, are still human. It was another dose of reality sinking in.
“That would largely depend on the situation, but generally, you’d serve under my command—”
“Understood—!”
She had been on the verge of blurting out her response but abruptly fell silent. Could you at least let me finish my sentence before cutting me off? he thought, exasperated. He sighed inwardly but chose to stay patient. After a pause, the mercenary captain spoke again.
“…There’s one thing I’d like to request before agreeing to a long-term contract.”
Her serious expression suggested the beginning of a proper negotiation. A battle fought with words rather than swords, where one vies for what they desire. I wonder what she’ll ask for? he mused. Hopefully, it won’t be anything that strains Mistra. If her demands are too unreasonable, I’ll have to find new mercenaries. Preparing for the worst, he started weighing the cost of a possible pay raise when she finally voiced her request.
“…Would it be all right if I called you ‘Master’?”
…
It all came flooding back to him—the name of this peculiar mercenary captain, Ivania. A young woman who wielded polearms and had left quite the impression with her odd speech habits during their first meeting. He hadn’t forgotten her entirely, but perhaps he had deliberately avoided recalling her quirks. Now, her intense gaze made it impossible to dodge the subject. He averted his eyes. I don’t see her. I don’t see her.
“…Please, Your Highness.”
“…Why are you so fixated on that title?”
A headache began to creep in. All the stress that had accumulated from administrative duties was now amplified by her presence. Yet Ivania, oblivious to his inner turmoil, pressed on without hesitation.
“…It was when we first met.”
“Our first meeting?”
He barely remembered anything remarkable about it. Well, maybe it was a bit memorable in hindsight.
“Your indifferent, cold expression and your curt, business like tone—”
“I gave you the bare minimum attention required.”
“…Yes, exactly that! It was… well, um, that was…”
Her hesitation didn’t bode well, but he waited, bracing himself. What he needed right now were capable mercenaries, not unnecessary distractions. This is no time to sever ties. The goal of reclaiming the Peloponnesus should come first, he thought. Let’s just humor her for now.
“…It was incredibly—”
He shouldn’t have thought that.
“…incredibly arousing—”
…
No, no, she probably means something else. Maybe she was genuinely angry. Jumping to conclusions is dangerous. If she truly was angered, he’d need to placate her.
“Incredibly arousing… ♡”
Stop. Just stop.
No, this is likely my own dirty mind warping her words. Though her tone was oddly sweet, he steeled himself. He had survived far worse. This was nothing compared to the trials he’d endured. Think of the years spent rebuilding the empire from ruin. Focus on the bigger picture.
“Forgive me, Your Highness, for my indecent remarks—”
“Enough.”
Please stop.
“It’s just that I couldn’t hold back—”
“Enough.”
Don’t say it. Just stay quiet.
“…and I may have gotten a little—”
No, don’t. You’ve handled hardcore strategic simulators for years. You don’t need this weird, unnecessary route.
“…wet…♡”
“Hey!”
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