If you asked whether they had relied on the prince until now, everyone would answer, “Yes.”
From the very beginning, Morea was a nation sustained solely by the prince’s authority. Because of this, they had no choice but to trust and follow their sovereign. It was only natural, given that the authority of an individual still outweighed that of the state. Even those who were regarded as high-ranking officials were no exception.
Everyone followed the prince because they believed in him, and they acted according to his word because they acknowledged his capability. Morea had achieved centralization under the prince’s leadership, making this tendency even more pronounced.
However, every strength comes with its weakness. The high dependency on the prince also meant that there was a lack of talented individuals whom he could entrust with heavy responsibilities.
That was why the prince never hesitated to stand on the battlefield himself.
To prevent a catastrophe that a single mistake could bring, he had shown through his actions that he was willing to sacrifice his own life. And the result of that was now laid bare before Francisco and the other officials. As if struck by chills, his lips and fingers trembled faintly from time to time. His blood-drained face remained rigid and cold.
“He has lost too much blood.”
Only the physician’s voice, thick with sweat and regret, filled the air as he rewrapped the bandages. Though the bleeding had finally stopped, spilled blood could not be put back into his veins. In the end, the prince, his face pale as death, could do nothing but struggle for breath—unable even to let out a groan.
Aware of his own condition, he had deliberately announced his seclusion to hide the severity of his injuries. Who would have imagined that the prince, who had always seemed unshakable, would collapse like this? Among those present, only Ivania, who had been informed in advance as a trusted aide, remained relatively composed.
But now, the others finally understood.
Adrianos, unable to utter a word, stepped forward only to drop to his knees and bow his head. Francisco closed his eyes tightly before barely mustering the courage to face reality. He had always called the prince “cousin,” flaunting their closeness. The passionate knight who had traveled from Iberia to Greece now bit his lower lip as he gazed at the unconscious prince, lying motionless with his eyes closed.
“Even in this state, he was worried about unsettling the soldiers…”
What ruler could be this devoted? What sovereign would willingly offer their life for their people? Many speak of honor and noble sacrifice. But instead of preaching, the prince had chosen to demonstrate it through his actions. He was far too young to take on the burden of saving a nation on the brink of ruin. Yet he fought to fulfill the heavy duty placed upon him. And in doing so, he reaffirmed Francisco’s conviction.
Just as some others had realized before him, Francisco was now certain.
Constantine Dragases. He alone could serve as the unifying force to bring together the fragmented Christian factions. Even after multiple Crusades had ended in failure, only the prince could drive out the mighty Turks who had invaded Greece.
He had to be saved.
Even if it cost Francisco his life.
To accomplish this seemingly simple yet dangerous mission, they first had to accept reality.
“This means Athens’ fall is inevitable.”
As Francisco spoke, the entire room may not have turned to face him, but he could feel their attention shift. Emboldened by this, he declared their new objective.
“Athens cannot be defended. That means our priority now must be to safely escort my cousin—His Highness Constantine—to Corinth. Does anyone have any objections?”
He was certain that no one would… until he noticed a pair of piercing eyes glaring at him.
“But look at His Highness. He hasn’t even regained consciousness. If we force him to move in this condition, he might truly…”
“Might truly what?”
“…pass away.”
Francisco shrugged at Ivania’s increasingly sharp gaze, which seemed to ask whether he really had to make her say it. There was no need to press her further. Even if she hesitated to say the words outright, everyone knew what she meant. But they were already in a situation where they had to assume the worst. Francisco pointed this out.
“We have no choice. If we’re captured here, it’s all over. Of course, we’ll have to buy time for His Highness to escape. A great deal of it.”
It was a cruel truth. A heavy silence settled over the room. Amidst it, only Francisco and Ivania locked eyes, their gazes subtly clashing.
At last, Francisco spoke first.
“I’ll take my cousin’s place and act as a decoy to draw their attention.”
“No, you need to lead the knights. I should do it instead. If we have to hold out for a long time, a heavy infantry unit would be far more suitable.”
Both arguments made sense.
Ivania and Don Francisco—though they had joined at vastly different times—were now both indispensable to the prince. One was destined to be the pillar of the newly restructured infantry, a key commander. The other was the hammer that strengthened the knights’ forces.
It was precisely because they knew this that neither could back down.
Whoever took on this role was walking toward certain death.
Another silence fell. However, no one could lightly interrupt with words. It was a moment too difficult to make an easy decision. In this uneasy stillness, the first to speak was neither Ivania nor Francisco.
“Knight of Aragon, do you remember the moment you rebuked me for failing to realize that His Highness’ life was necessary for victory?”
“…Hey, you sure hold grudges for a long time.”
Adrianos, who had remained silent with his head bowed for a long time, slowly straightened his posture. His rigid lips, hardened from years of bureaucratic work, and his somewhat frail frame, shaped more by the grip of a pen than a sword, marked him as a man of administration.
Yet sometimes, the vessel of the human body bears far more weight than it seems capable of. Half in jest, half in earnest, Francisco responded, but soon found himself unable to continue joking. Adrianos had already made his decision.
“Until now, I have merely followed the path His Highness carved with his own life. I have done nothing but follow.”
No matter how precious the cause, true devotion is never an easy pledge.
“You two will bear significant responsibilities in the inevitable battle ahead. If, due to my lack of ability, we suffer defeat, I know I would spend the rest of my life in regret, asking why I had not stepped forward when I had the chance.”
Adrianos’ resolve stemmed from an unwavering trust—an act of the highest service. Clenching his fists tightly, he recalled the days past, from the moment he first arrived in Morea under Emperor Manuel II’s orders to every trial and triumph shared with the prince. He had rejoiced in the prince’s victories and stood firm against his tribulations.
Though lacking in skill, Adrianos had often lamented that he was of little help to the prince. Yet he took pride in serving with absolute sincerity, free from any selfish motives. Surely, there were those who would say that this alone was enough.
But sincerity and integrity alone could not win wars.
One day, men far greater and more capable than himself would gather around the prince. They would be the ones who must unite against the formidable enemy that was the Ottomans, the ones worthy of shaping the course of history. Adrianos longed to witness that moment—the moment the prince, with his banner held high, proved to the world that the empire had not yet fallen. The moment the prince, leading the charge, defied what so many had called the will of God: the omens of doom.
And if Adrianos could stand beside him in that moment, as one of those chosen few—he would do so gladly.
It would be a lie to say he did not feel regret.
It would be a lie to say he was not afraid.
But without the prince, without the one who would make this dream a reality, everything would be for naught. How could he hesitate now?
“If this is merely guilt driving you, stop. Determination alone is unstable. This is something that must be done. A sense of duty is not enough. Resolve alone cannot accomplish this,” Francisco interjected. His resolve was admirable, but the responsibility was too great to hand over so easily. A rearguard action was certain death, and yet it could not be entrusted to just anyone—it demanded a heavy sacrifice. But even as Francisco’s words dismissed him, Adrianos remained unmoved.
“You must go with His Highness. I believe it is now my duty to clear the path ahead for him.”
“I’m not questioning about your determination. I’m asking if you can do it. Can you hold out with your abilities?”
“I will endure.”
“…Even if it costs you your life?”
There was no verbal response, but Francisco and Ivania had already received their answer.
It was there, in Adrianos’ hardened expression, in the unwavering resolve reflected in his eyes.
No divine will forced him. No command had been given.
He was stepping forward of his own accord, entering the jaws of death on his own two feet.
Turning slowly, Adrianos looked down at the prince, whose eyes remained shut. He instinctively knew—this would be their last meeting.
“Your Majesty, I will await the day you don the imperial crown.”
Adrianos made his vow.
He would sacrifice himself.
Of his own volition.
By his own will.
For the sole hope of saving his homeland,
For the single light that had stood against the darkness.
Leave a Reply