About a Dating Sim Where Dating Is Impossible Chapter 89

Murad, having vowed to personally defeat the prince, took actions befitting that oath.

With his main force—now reinforced with 5,000 fresh troops, alongside 3,000 slave soldiers, 2,000 Sipahi cavalry, and 1,000 Janissaries—he launched a relentless pursuit. There was no one to stand in his way. The Morean army, already fleeing after losing their commander, had no means to resist his advance.

Thus, as he passed through Nemea and smoothly entered central and southern Greece, Murad witnessed something unexpected—his own Janissaries retreating in disarray. The legend of his undefeated army had been shattered. Worse still, blinded by a moment of glory, the Janissaries had defied the sultan’s direct orders. With nothing but shame, they bowed their heads.

“We have broken military law and will cleanse our dishonor with death.”

The Janissaries, seeking to atone through death, awaited their punishment. But instead of chastising them, Murad chose to show them mercy. Without a moment’s hesitation, he granted them his pardon.

“The shame you feel is punishment enough. Do not forget it—carry it into battle.”

His mercy had the intended effect—it reignited the warriors’ pride. As Murad watched them burn with renewed determination, a satisfied smile crossed his lips. Having endured heavy losses since the start of the war, his army desperately needed a spark to restore morale. And as if in answer to his silent wish, reinforcements arrived—not just remnants of defeated forces but also soldiers from cities in central Greece, now swearing loyalty to the sultan.

With this, Murad restored his army’s strength. Now, he commanded nearly 10,000 troops: 2,000 Janissaries, 3,000 slave soldiers, 2,000 Sipahi cavalry, and an additional 3,000 Christian support who had joined his ranks.

Even Murad, determined never to let his guard down, felt a brief flicker of awe at his overwhelming advantage. His soldiers, too, understood their dominance, yet their discipline remained unshaken. The massacre at Nemeapatre had only deepened their hatred for the prince.

What was this so-called “Thousand-Year Empire” that it would commit such atrocities? To the Ottoman soldiers, especially those from Rumelia, the empire was nothing but a weak, corrupt relic of the past—not something worthy of their loyalty. This sentiment only intensified their resolve.

Amid these developments, Murad, who had so far only received fragmented reports, summoned the Greek officers who had most recently clashed with the prince.

“I have read the reports, but I need to hear the details from you. Speak without a single falsehood.”

Only then did Murad learn how the prince had fallen.

Upon hearing that the prince had led just a hundred knights against the Janissaries and emerged victorious, Murad let out an involuntary sound of admiration. However, just three days after that hard-fought triumph, the sultan’s Christian supporters launched a surprise attack on the weary Morean army, exhausted from their forced marches. Fierce skirmishes erupted everywhere, with neither side able to secure a decisive advantage.

Then, once more, the prince personally led his knights, directing charge after charge with unmatched precision and boldness. With sharp judgment, fearless decisions, and his own martial prowess, he systematically repelled the sultan’s forces.

Defeat seemed certain. As the battle tipped toward utter despair, the Greek officers could only watch in horror, their faces dark with hopelessness.

“It was precisely at that moment that Prince Dragaš fell. He suddenly lost his balance and was thrown from his horse. The enemy was so stunned that, despite the battle seeming lost, we managed to snatch victory at the last moment.”

Hearing the Greek officer’s account, Murad could not hide his sorrow. Why had the prince fallen just before securing a hard-earned victory? The answer came with the officer’s next words.

“We believe exhaustion was the cause. The timing was… remarkable.”

“Exhaustion, you say…”

Murad slowly nodded. It was a reasonable conclusion. No one could deny the prince’s frugality, austerity, and tireless diligence. Even Murad himself had heard much about his ceaseless devotion to governance. No matter how iron-willed a man might be, relentless fatigue compounded by fierce battles would push anyone past their limits. No human, no matter how exceptional, could escape the constraints of the flesh.

Yet reason and instinct spoke in contradiction.

Something—whether his emotions or a deeper instinct—urged Murad to keep following the prince’s trail. Had he not hastened southward precisely to prevent the Morean army from entrenching itself? If he could intercept them at the Isthmus of Corinth before they reached Athens, the truth of the prince’s fate would become undeniable.

“Even so, the remnants still pose a threat. We must eradicate them completely to restore stability.”

“As the Sultan wills.”

And so, Murad continued his pursuit of the Morean army—to put a definitive end to the prince, should he still live. But as the gap between them closed, Murad was forced to confront reality. The further he advanced, the more frequently he encountered Morean deserters.

“Could it really be…”

Surrounded by Ottoman soldiers, the deserters surrendered without resistance. They relinquished their weapons in silence, their faces clouded with resignation. There was no trace of defiance, no clenched fists trembling with suppressed rage, no eyes burning with the desperate determination to save their dying homeland.

Murad felt a deep disappointment—but he could not bring himself to halt the pursuit.

Yet the reports from his scouts and trackers painted a bleak picture. The remnants of the Morean army had begun scattering in all directions. Only a few small groups displayed any will to resist; the rest had abandoned the fight entirely.

At last, Murad could no longer trust his own instincts.

If the prince still lived, surely among his men there would be at least one warrior who would stand firm, one soul who would cry out with the same unwavering spirit as that nameless soldier Murad had faced a month prior. Surely, they would not be scattering like this.

Murad lifted his gaze to the sky and allowed his bitter thoughts to escape aloud.

“Is he truly dead?”

There was no one beside him to answer.

Comments

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *