A reckless strategy—drawing the attention of 3,000 Janissaries with only 100 men.
Even the Supreme Commander himself had become the bait in this high-stakes gamble, which ultimately led to Morea’s victory. The excitement of this miraculous triumph refused to decline. Was it truly that desperate a situation in everyone’s eyes?
At the very least, it seemed that this battle had restored the shaken loyalty of the soldiers. After all, the most impactful factor must have been the general personally charging into mortal danger to buy time.
Yet, there was an even more striking achievement.
“Your Highness, I’ve compiled an estimate of our casualties from this battle…”
Adrianos’s expression suggested he had something to say. Why was that? As I pondered, the answer lay closer than expected.
Right beside me, having propped myself up from the bed, clung something even stickier than the blood and fat I had only just managed to wipe off my face.
“Uuuh… Your Highness…”
“…What is this?”
“I should be the one asking. So, was Dame Ivania truly your mistress?”
“Rather than let you misunderstand, I must reveal a shocking truth—you see, I am still a virgin.”
“W-what!?”
Even amid this absurd exchange, Ivania continued rubbing her cheek against mine, like a puppy seeking affection. Normally, I would have coldly dismissed her and sent her away, but right now, I didn’t feel like doing that.
No matter how bizarre my first impression of her had been, she had stayed by my side, faithfully serving me for nearly a decade. Surely, she deserved some form of acknowledgment for her devotion.
Perhaps that was why my demeanor had softened more than usual. Normally, Ivania would hesitate before suddenly ambushing me with her advances, yet this time, she openly indulged in such gestures.
Thinking back, I had been much more relaxed before I began my training. It was remarkable how much a person could change. Even I found it strange.
Adrianos, however, did not seem amused.
“Jokes aside, let’s return to the matter at hand. In this battle, we suffered a relatively minor loss of about 200 casualties. Meanwhile, the enemy sustained close to 2,000. Encouraged by this victory, I suggested we pursue them and expand our gains, but…”
“A chase would cost us time. Adrianos, this war has now become a battle against time. Even if we annihilated all 3,000 Janissaries, if we remain trapped here, the ultimate victory still belongs to them.”
“I understand that, logically. I do. But… it still feels like a waste, does it not? This was a perfect chance to wipe out the Janissaries.”
“Even if we could not kill them all at once, they are nothing more than a piece of flesh we managed to tear off the enemy. It may hurt them more than other wounds, but it’s not enough to overturn the outcome of the war.”
As I continued my grim practicality, Adrianos’s voice only grew louder. Was he losing his temper? Perhaps this was how others viewed Morea as well.
If we can do it, why don’t we? If we have the power, why don’t we go all out?
His eyes reflected those very thoughts. Perhaps he had even voiced what many others dared not speak aloud.
“Why do you so severely underestimate yourself? Look around you! Have you not already proven yourself? You stopped 3,000 with just 100 men. After such an incredible feat, how can you still lack confidence?!”
His emotions struck me head-on. He clenched his fists, trembling with frustration, barely restraining himself out of respect for his liege.
Should I say something?
As I hesitated, carefully weighing my words, a voice interrupted his near-explosive fury.
“Only those who have never fought on the frontlines would spout such nonsense. Are you truly upset about this? Or do you still not understand?”
“You—!”
The one who spoke was already infamous within the army.
Despite Morea’s weakened state, he brazenly addressed a member of the royal family as ‘cousin.’ While his lack of decorum was one thing, what truly made him stand out was that he had survived until the end.
His courage and martial prowess were undeniable, and since I personally allowed him to call me ‘cousin,’ few dared to object.
“Hey, cousin. I thought something was off when you burst into tears the moment you saw me… So, were you really in that kind of relationship with that mercenary commander?”
“Enough nonsense. I called you here because it’s time you introduced yourself properly.”
“Your Highness, do you truly intend to acknowledge this man as your cousin?”
“I’m not saying I will make him a member of the royal family. I simply wish to recognize him as a friend whom I can call cousin.”
“You seem a little too agitated… Hey, you. If you truly believe you’ve gauged the full strength of the infidels just by facing the Janissaries that the mercenary commander shattered into pieces, then… Have you forgotten what had to be risked to accomplish that?”
“I was prepared to risk my life from the very start—”
“Where would you even use your life for? Look, you’ve already forgotten. What was at stake in this battle was the life of the lord you serve.”
With those words, the cousin cast off his helmet. His black, curly hair, just long enough to brush against his shoulders, and his dark, piercing eyes—covered in black from head to toe, even with curly hair—made it hard to say there was no resemblance. It was a useless thought, one he hadn’t entertained in a long time.
As Constantine silently observed the situation, still feeling the soft touch of Ivania’s cheek pressing against his own, the fight seemed to end before it even truly began.
The words just spoken must have struck a nerve, as Adriano’s twisted expression shattered. And the satisfaction of seeing that must have been immense, for the cousin grinned in deep contentment before turning back to face Constantine.
“Don Francisco. I fought in the crusade to reclaim the Iberian Peninsula.”
“Castile? Aragon?” *They are kingdoms in Spain.
“Aragonian. But at some point, the fighting started to die down. I had no interest in lands or titles, so I started looking for another worthy crusade to join. That’s how I ended up all the way here in Greece.”
“So… Castile and Aragon show no particular interest in Greece?”
“Well, now that things are settling down, they do seem to be turning their attention abroad. But this place won’t be easy. As long as Venice dominates the Aegean, maritime expansion won’t be simple, will it?”
The cousin shrugged. He wasn’t particularly handsome, nor ruggedly charming, but his confident smile and easygoing manner drew people in. Meanwhile, Adriano, quietly gauging the situation, slipped out of the tent. He seemed lost in thought. It was slightly concerning, but now wasn’t the time. If he spoke carelessly and word reached Murad, everything could come crashing down.
As if to confirm how dangerous their situation was, a messenger burst into the tent in a flurry. A bad feeling stirred. The moment he saw the messenger’s stiffened expression, he was sure—this was a crisis. But at the same time, he instinctively knew it was another opportunity to break the enemy’s momentum.
And the answer, of course, lay in the messenger’s next words.
“A—A critical report, Your Highness! Scouts report that forces have rallied to join the Sultan’s army and are advancing toward us!”
So they’ve finally come. The noose Murad had been tightening was now pressing against his throat. The Sultan would never have willingly sacrificed his Janissaries. If they had delayed even slightly, Morea would have been forced into a brutal struggle against the combined might of the Janissaries and the rebel forces. In the end, it was only by staking their lives on the line that they had carved out a path forward.
Now, it was time to deceive Murad.
As he was deep in contemplation, the cousin suddenly tapped the hilt of his sword and burst into laughter. He glanced over, puzzled, only to see his cousin grinning broadly, amusement dancing in his eyes.
“I used to think my life was full of twists and turns, but looking at you, I can’t even compare. Now this is a turbulent life, wouldn’t you say?”
“…Indeed. A life of endless chaos, as you put it.”
They had fought for their lives and opened a path forward—only to now face inevitable death. Could there be a more ironic and tumultuous fate than this?
Thus, three weeks after the prince secured victory against the Janissaries—
As Murad waited in Edirne for his reinforcements to arrive, doing his utmost to stabilize the chaos in Nemeapatre, an unbelievable report reached him.
Had he not just resolved himself for the battles to come? Yet the more details he heard, the harder it became to deny the truth.
One hundred against three thousand. The Janissaries defeated.
And in the fierce melee, the prince had suffered grave injuries. —And seizing the opportunity, another of his vassals had launched a sudden assault.
“I granted you only a brief moment of relief.”
Murad crumpled the letter in his grasp. That man had fought to the bitter end, going so far as to burn an entire city to save his dying homeland. A stubborn prince with an unyielding will. And yet, even the strongest determination meant nothing without Allah’s favour.
For Murad, who had anticipated a fateful reunion with his greatest adversary, a clash born of both hatred and expectation, this was a disappointing end.
“But Allah did not grant you that relief, did He?”
To minimize losses against his three thousand Janissaries, the prince had personally led his knights. And in doing so, he collapsed on the battlefield, paying the price for disregarding his own grievous wounds.
A futile end for a man whose passion far exceeded the destiny allotted to him.
Murad exhaled, letting go of the last vestiges of hope, and accepted the harsh reality before him.
The long-awaited battle with his sworn enemy, a fight of honor—was not to be.
—The prince was dead.
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