Author: Renegade

Over the years, many difficulties have arisen.

Each time, I somehow managed to overcome them, and most of the trials were indeed surmountable with great effort. However, the current ordeal was immense. It was a desperate crisis that couldn’t be overcome alone. Is this the end? Will it all collapse here…?

The weight of despair pressed down on my shoulders. My trembling eyes couldn’t focus on anything, just wavering aimlessly. No, this can’t be. Why, why…!

“I have to get married as soon as I turn sixteen!”

I flung the piled-up marriage proposals off the desk, releasing the pent-up anger in my chest. I hadn’t even had a proper romance, and now marriage already? As a prince of the empire, I knew a political marriage would come someday, but still. Regardless of status or the medieval era, there should be limits.

While it’s acceptable for women to marry at sixteen, it’s different for men. Even in the Middle Ages, it was unusually early for a man to marry at sixteen. As I raged, a calm voice tried to soothe me.

“Your Highness, please reconsider. Your marriage is crucial for the stability of the empire.”

It was Nikephoros, the Bishop of Mistra. He was trying to calm me down, almost like soothing a wild animal, and then he started listing reasons one by one.

“The empire needs alliances both internally and externally to stand against the Ottomans. We need a monarch who can lead the army and stand with us. A political marriage is necessary for this.”

“There are other brothers, other brothers!”

Theodoros, who had a pact with me, and John VIII, who had ascended as co-emperor, were present. Even if John was married, couldn’t he be divorced for political reasons and remarry? But it seemed Nikephoros had a different idea.

“Co-Emperor John VIII is a significant figure who needs to seek a political marriage with a Western European country for future plans. Unfortunately, he is of much higher status than the brides we are considering.”

“What about Theodoros?”

“A marriage is already being arranged. If he marries a Serbian princess, we can build a new alliance with Serbia to stand against the Ottomans.”

Damn it. My options were blocked. With my two brothers already paired, it was naturally my turn for a political marriage as a prince of the empire. After a few deep sighs, I resigned myself to the dismal reality.

“…Who are the candidates?”

“I expected you would say that.”

A mix of relief and a sigh of lament crossed Nikephoros’s face. With a brightened expression, he carefully laid out sheets of paper densely filled with names on the desk. But as the number grew, someone else was visibly fading away.

“First, I want to mention the daughter of the Doge of Venice. If we form an alliance with the Doge, he would likely support the empire to ensure his descendants ascend the throne…”

“No. I can’t do it. Tell them to leave.”

Summoning a formidable adversary to deal with after defeating the Ottomans was sheer madness. With Venice, we should collaborate just enough to defeat the Ottomans and then immediately cut ties and punch them in the face. Allowing Venice’s influence to infiltrate the empire was something to be avoided at all costs.

“Then what about the daughter of the Mayor of Constantinople? She has noble blood and significant influence in the court as the ruler of the capital…”

“I don’t need her.”

I shook my head again.

Could Constantinople even sustain itself without Morea? It might sound arrogant, but most of the empire’s resources had long been shifted to Morea. Its symbolic value as the heart of the thousand-year empire was undeniable, but would anyone blinded by the title of emperor bother with it?

As I waited for the next person, a sudden silence fell. What’s going on? Why isn’t he speaking? When I turned my gaze to Nikephoros, I understood. After two consecutive rejections, the brightness on Nikephoros’s face had dimmed, replaced with a somber look.

“In that case, there’s only one suitable bride I can suggest.”

Nikephoros took back the papers before I could even refuse. Before long, there was only a single document left on the desk. So, there is someone. In front of the now desolate desk, enough to make me feel nostalgic, Nikephoros carefully spoke.

“Joannina Kantakouzenos.”

…!

“A descendant of John Kantakouzenos, who once ascended to the imperial throne, and the esteemed lady of the prominent Kantakouzenos family, which once ruled Morea. She has a somewhat headstrong nature but possesses remarkable capabilities, making her a prominent figure even in the capital…”

“Enough. That’s sufficient.”

Despite cutting off previous marriage proposals without hesitation, I couldn’t do the same with the name Kantakouzenos. It was because the Kantakouzenos family held enough prestige to unify the remaining nobles of the empire. To solidify the case, Nikephoros drove the point further.

“Marrying her would sufficiently calm the Kantakouzenos family, who may hold resentment over losing Morea.”

“I know, I know…”

She was the ideal bride, chosen to appease the empire’s nobles while quelling any potential threats Morea might harbor. She was, indeed, an indispensable masterpiece for ensuring domestic stability.

In the end, I relented.

“…I’ll go to the capital.”

“You’ve made a wise decision. An excellent judgment.”

As I let Nikephoros’s praise pass through one ear, I couldn’t help but worry about the future. Who knew what kind of woman she would be?

//

The news that Prince Constantine would soon come to the capital spread quickly throughout Constantinople. The city, deprived by the growing strength of the Turks, had long been subdued. It had been a while since the gloomy atmosphere had transformed into a festive one.

In addition, there was an attendant who rushed to deliver the joyous news.

“Lady Joannina, have you heard? Prince Constantine has agreed to the marriage!”

However, it was the other young ladies nearby who shrieked at the attendant’s news. Naturally, they tried to lower their voices, but their slender fingers covering their mouths were of little use.

“The prince, known for being so impenetrable!”

“How on earth did you do it?! What kind of magic did you use?”

Amid the cries of excitement from all around, only one woman turned her back and steadfastly gazed out the window. It was Joannina Kantakouzenos, the protagonist of this marriage. Without showing her face to anyone, she spoke calmly to the ladies around her.

“It’s not magic. I’m merely claiming what was always mine.”

However, instead of praising, the mischievous young ladies opted for subdued laughter. And for a good reason…

“Joannina, your ears are so red!”

At that remark, Joannina bowed her head deeply to hide her ears. The laughter around her showed no signs of dying down.

The passage of time erodes even the most magnificent civilizations.

Even the splendid palaces that once drew the envy of many crumble into dust, and names once spoken with pride fade into faint memories. Yet, through the remnants left behind by the forgotten, we can glean how they once lived.

The traces of once-prosperous times and the melancholic memories of those who lived in previous eras—it is inevitable. If there is a rise, there must be a fall, and passing the era to a new power is the fate of all mighty beings. One cannot block the rising sun with their hand. The fall has always been foreseen.

However, even if the arrow of fate points toward ruin, and the flow of time betrays them, the current powers do not yield easily.

Twenty years have been endured with the belief that it is a priest’s duty to fight against trials. Each time the enemy’s army surrounded the city, days were spent kneeling before the sacred altar, pleading for the empire to be preserved, at least through their time.

Thus, carrying the fallen glory on their shoulders, they have led the aging empire from behind the crumbled walls. After desperate struggles for survival, the empire now stands at its final crossroads.

Will they survive, or will they perish?

This has been a long-standing dilemma. Watching the remnants of past prosperity turn into desolate ruins was a concern that could never be shaken off. Fearing to find an answer, they only did their best.

Now, the final moment is approaching. An uncertain, anxious future looms just ahead.

Have all preparations been made?

Are you ready to face the trials?

These endless questions are known to be futile. Regardless of preparation, fate will demand cruel choices.

While still in torment, footsteps are heard.

The Emperor opens his eyes. Instead of the familiar office, a banquet set to welcome a guest appears. Soon, the Emperor’s weary eyes regain a bit of vigor.

It must be so.

Today’s guest holds special significance for the Emperor. Yet, despite his aging and inability to rise, the guest, understanding this, offers a respectful greeting and moves to the prepared seat.

“You seem very tired.”

“You’ve endured much as well.”

Neither was in a position to comment on the other. Both participants in the banquet were so exhausted that no spark of passion could be found. In a state of severe inertia, they each picked up their utensils. For a while, neither spoke, and only the quiet clinking of dishes filled the room. As the silent meal continued, the guest suddenly put down his utensils, prompting the Emperor to look up at him.

“Shall I call for the food to be changed? Perhaps a drink to cleanse the palate first?”

“…No, it’s fine. I paused because I have something to say. The meal is quite satisfying.”

“Something to say.”

The Emperor lets out a deep sigh. Though they could not meet often due to their respective positions, he had not considered this an unpleasant meeting. Perhaps it was the last meeting. The Emperor, aware of his own old age and fatigue, easily discerned that his guest felt the same.

Heavy worries can bring a person down. The weight that slowly crushed the soul eventually burdens the body as well. He knows how cruel it can be, having felt it for twenty years.

As someone who shares the same pain and rules over others, the Emperor decides to listen.

“What troubles you?”

“At first, I was joyful. I took pride in ascending as a ruler, inheriting my father’s renown. But now, the title of Sultan torments me.”

With these words, the Emperor’s guest and precarious ally, Sultan Mehmed I of the Ottoman Empire, extends his right hand toward the Emperor. The Emperor notices the Sultan’s hand trembling visibly. While he might have shown some weakness before, this was beyond usual. As the Emperor’s gaze conveys his doubt, the Sultan lets out a self-deprecating laugh.

“There was an attempt to poison me.”

“…”

“A slave died before my eyes. Yet no one in the court mentioned the incident. When I saw everyone keep silent, I realized something.”

The Sultan closes his eyes gently. He clasps his trembling hands on his lap and speaks with difficulty.

“That I must die because of the title of Sultan.”

“…Do you have any idea who the culprit might be?”

“The tribal leaders who dislike the Sultan’s authority, scholars who criticize my leniency, soldiers who disapprove of seeking diplomatic solutions… At some point, the number of those who might seek my life has grown this large.”

The Sultan’s shoulders begin to shake slightly. With his hands covering his forehead, he finally speaks of his greatest fear.

“And when I die, there will be a power struggle over the position of Sultan, just as I did.”

This worry was shared by the Emperor as well. He was well aware of the second prince Theodoros’s ambition for the throne. However, the Emperor had chosen another prince as the heir in preparation for any eventuality. Though the succession has been tentatively settled, the future remains uncertain. A brother killing another brother over power and honor is inevitable, stirring hatred among kin.

This tragedy was something both the Sultan and the Emperor shared.

“…A child who inherits the title of Sultan will not leave a brother who threatens his position alive. It has always been so.”

The Emperor soon realizes.

“…There is a child you wish to protect.”

“The name ‘Sultan’ could not protect. Instead, when I realized that the title was strangling my son’s neck, there was nothing I could do as the Sultan. It was as if I was strangling my beloved son with my own hands.”

Pretending not to hear the faint sound of sobbing, the Emperor fell into deep thought.

Holding a potential hostage who could threaten the future Sultan’s position was a significant political advantage. It could create a chance to incite internal strife and overcome the hopeless disparity in national power when the time came. Politically and as a ruler, this was the right decision.

However, the Emperor could not bring himself to make such a choice. To ignore a father pleading before a potential enemy leader to protect his child, for the same reason, was impossible for another father who shared that emotion.

“You have always regarded me as a father and have kept the peace as you once swore. Now we both know the end of that peace is approaching. Just as your end as Sultan is near, so too is my end as Emperor.”

The peace had been brief. As the unstable alliance neared its conclusion, both the Emperor and the Sultan were ready to pass their burdens to their successors. The fate of the empire and the city that had once enjoyed prosperity were no longer in their hands. Their successors would inherit the task of proving their efforts in the face of a cruel era. This moment was the last peace all would remember.

“As proof of our forgotten friendship, I will protect your son. I swear to guard him until my last breath, just as you once did.”

“Thank you.”

With this, the banquet concluded. The Emperor, accompanied by a few attendants to avoid drawing attention, saw off the departing Sultan. Everyone sensed this would be their final meeting, and the Sultan nodded silently before leaving.

The Sultan’s retreating figure was so somber that the Emperor continued to watch for a long time, feeling that if he left first, the Sultan would be left alone. Once the Sultan’s party had disappeared entirely, the Emperor knew that peace had ended.

Only a brief reprieve remained.

Amidst his complex emotions, the Emperor returned to the palace, only to be met by the reproach of Co-Emperor John VIII.

“Why did you let him go? That was a chance that will not come again!”

“What do you think should have been done?”

“The Sultan should have been killed. Then the internal strife could have been incited to buy time for the empire.”

As John raised his voice in anger, the Emperor remained silent. John’s words reflected the sentiment of the young. Over eight years, the empire had barely regained its footing, but the Ottomans had risen.

Now the gap in national strength was despairing.

If more time passed, that gap would only widen. The young concluded that a decisive battle with the Ottomans was necessary—a final struggle to defy fate. Yet, to the old and weary Emperor, John’s words sounded unrealistic.

“John, the empire can no longer determine its fate. That decision could lead to irreversible failure.”

“That’s why I’m lamenting the missed opportunity. The chance for the empire to decide its fate for the last time has slipped away.”

After berating the Emperor for a while, John eventually sighed, reading the weariness in the Emperor’s expression, and left. Soon after, Chancellor Notaras and the son of the Emperor’s long-time friend Sphrantzes, the chief secretary George Sphrantzes, approached.

“Your Majesty, you seem tired.”

“…I envy and fear the passion of the young. Yet, perhaps their passion will open a path that God will bless.”

“Your Majesty.”

“Unfortunately, I have grown too old to muster the courage to face trials. It is regrettable that I no longer have the passion that would please the Lord.”

Notaras, knowing the heavy burden the Emperor had borne, could not reproach him. Moreover, the Emperor was now seventy. He was too old to lead the empire. With eyes that knew the empire’s era was ending, how could there be any passionate enthusiasm left? After a moment of being choked up, Notaras could not speak, and the Emperor raised his head to look at him.

“Notaras, my friend in despair, can you permit me to lay down this burden before you?”

“How could I ever resent you, Your Majesty?”

“Do not worry… the time has not yet come.”

The Emperor offered a weary smile to Notaras. True to his words, the struggle was not over. He needed to hold his position a little longer to prolong peace, even slightly. At this moment, the Emperor’s last hope lay in the Morea, now consolidating a powerful centralized authority under Prince Constantine.

“By the way, how is the Morea these days?”

Unlike the resigned capital, Mistra was flourishing. With the wise Prince Constantine, things would have definitely improved. The question, posed with a hopeful heart, was answered as expected. Small Sphrantzes, who had remained silent, finally spoke.

“No bad news has been heard. The Morea is gladly accepting Prince Constantine’s rule, and even the Latins remaining in Achaia are compliant, knowing they will have their property rights acknowledged if they accept imperial rule. Thanks to this, Achaea, the most concerning region, has been successfully governed without any issues since Emperor Theodoros handed over the rule.”

“The rule of Achaea…”

His ambitious son Theodore would not have relinquished control so easily. The Emperor closed his eyes, hoping for the best outcome.

May it not lead to the worst.

T/L : You guys might get confused but Morea and Mistra are the same place. Its just that Morea is a bigger place and Mistra is a fortified town in Morea. Its also historically accurate.

Can one achieve something significant in two years?

While many tales could be exchanged, few individuals have accomplished as much as Prince Constantine of Morea. His bold decisiveness and youthful vigor led to direct oversight of reforms in Morea, resulting in numerous triumphs, both major and minor.

Among his notable achievements were the establishment of local councils and administrative reorganization.

Prince Constantine confirmed the effectiveness of the councils—set up in key cities such as Mistra, Leontari, and Nauplion—through the loyalty of local leaders. He implemented a new system where cities with councils contributed financially to the development of underdeveloped regions in exchange for tax benefits, achieving some level of success.

The expenses incurred were partially offset by funds from Venice. However, this was only a temporary measure. A fundamental solution required reforming Morea’s agriculture-dependent economy, limited by its mountainous terrain.

The need for a road network emerged as essential for expansion into central Greece and intercity connectivity.

Nevertheless, such an ambitious plan required immense time. A quicker, more efficient route would be maritime trade, but Morea’s economic reform faced a formidable obstacle.

Venice.

Venice dominated not just Morea but the entire eastern Mediterranean’s maritime trade, posing a significant challenge to the prince. Without a navy, it was a foolish dream for Morea and the Empire to drive Venice away, especially since Venice was a crucial ally against their arch-enemy, the Ottomans.

As always, the prince could only bide his time for the future.

In the meantime, clearing remnants of the Crusaders proceeded smoothly.

Under the protection of mercenary leader Ivania, Judge Demicleos’ proclamation of a new order was widely accepted across cities with little resistance. In Achaea, starting from Corinth, many Latins faced a choice: acknowledge the supremacy of Imperial law or have their properties confiscated and be exiled.

A significant number of Latins were expelled by Demicleos and the enraged public.

However, more Latins chose to comply with Imperial law to preserve their properties and inheritance rights. Greeks and the Orthodox Church regained their dominance in Morea, pledging allegiance to their new ruler and integrating into the central government.

With Demicleos handling these matters, Prince Constantine focused on administrative reorganization and military development.

Military experts facilitated by Venice introduced diverse war knowledge, a great boon for Morea, which had yet to form a proper army. Learning about the Western situation, relatively neglected due to the focus on the Ottoman threat, was particularly beneficial.

These experts shared insights on various matters: the Hundred Years’ War between France and England, ongoing chaos within the Holy Roman Empire, and the Hussite movements in Hungary. The prince began with fundamental questions.

“Why is the French army repeatedly defeated? They have outstanding knights, don’t they?”

“Like leaves needed for flowers to bloom, repeated defeats have shaken the infantry, crucial on the battlefield, leading to their downfall before their opponents.”

The military experts, famed for their North Italian mercenary origins, offered substantial advice for the prince preparing for imminent war.

“Everyone knows how crucial swift-moving knights are on the battlefield. However, there are ways to counter knights. A disciplined infantry formation can stand firm against a knight’s charge and withstand the lance, forcing the knight to retreat.”

This brought to the prince’s mind the most notorious and feared forces in Greece.

“The Janissaries.”

“I’ve heard vague rumors about the most formidable Saracens. Though I haven’t encountered them directly, they seem formidable adversaries. If they’re hard to defeat with knights, they’ll be just as tough for infantry. But soldier expertise isn’t the sole determinant.”

“Do you know something?”

“I mentioned the Hussite movement in Hungary.”

The Hussites, deemed heretics for opposing Catholic doctrines under Pope’s authority, led by priest Jan Hus, fought for their beliefs. Despite Jan Hus’s death, which seemed to crush their hope, Jan Žižka emerged, overturning everything.

“What did he overturn?”

“He leads untrained peasants to repeatedly defeat Hungarian knights, finding new methods beyond conventional tactics.”

The prince’s heart raced. A method to counter knights with peasant soldiers was essential for quickly building an army to confront the powerful Ottomans. The prince bit his lip, eager to meet Žižka.

“Can we meet him?”

“Your Highness, he’s a heretic. To seek his help, you’d have to forsake Western support.”

Jan Žižka or Western aid.

Soon, the scale tipped decisively. Driving out the Ottomans required Crusader participation. If both were possible, he wouldn’t hesitate, but if only one choice was available…

Reluctantly, the prince began to build his army with the experts’ help.

It took two years for the innocent youth, chasing dreams, to transform into fierce warriors, with their lances sharpened. Though insufficient to resolve Morea’s numerous issues, it was enough to solidify Prince Constantine’s influence.

The remaining Latins in Achaea swore loyalty, local leaders in cities compromised, and the modest army grew to 3,000 strong.

Facing such unparalleled achievements, Morea’s people pledged loyalty to Prince Constantine. The Peloponnesian Peninsula, long divided since the Crusader domination, united under one name for the first time in centuries.

Time passed impartially for all.

The prince grew taller, and the once-youthful boy now strode confidently through the court, embodying strength.

Prince Constantine had reached sixteen.

However, Morea wasn’t the only thing that changed in two years.

An uneasy peace between foes was unravelling, teetering on the brink of collapse.

The reclamation of the Peloponnesus was an encouraging achievement, but it alone could not stand against the Ottomans.

Reorganizing the collapsed systems and laws due to long-lost territories and training a regular army—this was the enormous task given to me at the age of fourteen. Despite numerous challenges, one issue stood out as particularly concerning.

The geographic nature of the mountainous Peloponnesus made it difficult for the central government to exert control.

Local lords, long accustomed to feudalism, no longer wished to be subjugated under a strong central authority. Their persistent political struggles to maintain their rights often threatened Morea’s political stability. Even if military force subdued them temporarily, it was clear that separatist movements would eventually resurface.

This was a moment requiring concession and compromise. My first resolution stemmed from this realization.

“Starting today, I will reinstate the public assemblies in each major city. We will begin with small projects in Mistra and Leontarion and gradually expand as conditions permit.”

The decree spread quickly, and discussions about the composition of these assemblies followed in the court of Mistra.

While I desired to exclude the influence of local nobles as much as possible, such an action would provoke a severe backlash. The public assemblies needed to serve as both a symbol of tolerance, accommodating local autonomy to a degree, and a means to control the local lords. Ideally, they would evolve into a governing body with immense potential for development.

After much deliberation, it was decided that each city would have an assembly composed of seven members elected every five years. Members could serve up to five terms, and significant achievements would bring tax reduction benefits to the entire city and further appointments for assembly members.

Alongside expectations that this merit system would positively influence urban development, I resolved to simplify the cumbersome tax system, which had long burdened the citizens.

Of course, rushing to implement changes without alternative revenue sources would be a grave mistake. The tax system’s reform needed to proceed gradually. Unfortunately, Morea’s fledgling surplus budget left little room for tax abolition. For now, I had to be content with identifying taxes to be addressed in the future.

After setting the direction for administrative and tax reforms, the need for legal reorganization became apparent.

“Your Highness, Morea has been under Latin rule for a long time, and many aspects conflict with the empire’s laws. We must address these inconsistencies or reassert the dominance of imperial law promptly.”

This advice came from Demicleos, an imperial judge recently promoted as a key figure amidst a shortfall of talent. His counsel was sound. Having served as a competent aide under my father, Manuel II, for years, I would not foolishly disregard his advice.

“In times of chaos, fundamental guidelines are crucial. Following the long-standing tradition of the separation of powers, the task of legal reorganization will be entrusted to Judge Demicleos, with my full support.”

Although the separation of powers in this context was not the democratic administrative, legislative, and judicial branches, imperial authority historically stood above this. Still, a system of checks and balances was essential to prevent the potential tyranny of future rulers. In Morea, where imperial authority was at its rock bottom, having Judge Demicleos, an imperial judge, lead the initiative was more appropriate than my direct involvement.

However, the local lords remained a concern.

These were individuals who might defy the central government. Since the assembly’s reconstruction was still incomplete and experimental, there were practically no means of control except for military force.

Reluctantly, I would have to send the Ivania mercenary corps as escorts…

I was apprehensive about deploying Morea’s only military force from Mistra. Yet, recognizing the necessity, I made a decisive choice. It was not due to Ivannia’s increasingly perverse tendencies or any intention to overcome a moral crisis.

“However, to prepare for any unforeseen rebellion, I will accompany Captain Ivania and two hundred mercenaries as escorts.”

“…..!”

A woman’s silent cry echoed hollowly, but I mercilessly ignored it. Is this the coldness of a ruler? It seems I’ve taken another step into the harsh world of politics.

With this, the reorganization of administration, taxation, and law was left to time.

My plan was to organize a regular army once my influence extended throughout Morea, but there was a more urgent task ahead.

“Prince of Morea, the wise ruler Constantine Dragaš, I greet you.”

It was the negotiation with Venice.

Following the complete reclamation of Patras and the expulsion of the Latins, Venice soon proposed negotiations. Despite my disdain for those who had once thwarted the reclamation of the Peloponnesus, I endured, knowing who the real enemy was.

Everything was for the national interest.

Venice sought to maintain its dominance in the Aegean Sea and secure the newly emerging Morea as a lucrative market.

Likewise, I needed an ally against the Ottomans and had to extend my hand to them to protect Morea’s trade and trade routes.

The outcome of the negotiations:

Morea recognized Venice’s ownership of Modon and Coron ports, granted Venice trade monopoly rights, and abolished taxes. In return, Venice provided five military experts and a substantial amount of wealth under the pretext of celebrating Morea’s successful progress.

“We are grateful for the Prince’s generous concessions.”

As I watched the scoundrel’s back as he left with a smile, I could do little but grit my teeth in frustration. The disparity in national power and the sensitivity of Venice’s senate to gains and losses necessitated such compromises.

Still, the frustration was immense.

Those despicable bastards.

Nonetheless, the adversary would one day turn their blade toward us.

To prepare for that day, funds were needed to raise an army. Neither Morea nor the empire had the luxury of preparing for the future.

I had to sell the future to overcome the present.

Prince Constantine’s inspiring success breathed new life into the empire.

Though the full recovery of the Peloponnesian Peninsula was thwarted by Venetian intervention, preparations for a counteroffensive against the Ottomans were gradually taking shape. When the decisive moment arrived, the empire would muster its remaining strength to fiercely resist its fate. But that moment was not yet at hand. Believing this, the conservative faction, led by the long-reigning Manuel II and Chancellor Notaras, refrained from engaging in aggressive military actions.

This cautious stance provoked opposition.

The pro-war faction, primarily composed of young individuals, argued for driving out the Ottomans through an alliance with Western Europe. They warned that if the Ottomans were allowed to consolidate their power, the resulting disparity in national strength would become insurmountable. They advocated for striking while the Ottomans were still vulnerable and emphasized the necessity of church unification to secure Western Europe’s aid.

The prominent figure of this faction was Co-Emperor John VIII.

“Father, you know that only by driving them out can the empire survive. Why, then, do you not vigorously pursue church unification?” John VIII demanded.

“John, while your ultimate goal of church unification is correct, the timing is not yet right. People are incredibly sensitive to issues related to the church and faith, and we must approach with greater caution. More…” Manuel II began.

“There isn’t much time left!” John VIII interjected, raising his voice.

“How long must we wait? With each passing day, they grow stronger, and our strength diminishes. Everyone is in despair and resignation—why else would the young Constantine so willingly take on such a harsh mission?”

“If we lose even what little remains, that will be the end of the empire, my son.”

“We cannot overcome trials by standing idle!” John VIII retorted.

Despite his passionate plea, the aging emperor remained unmoved. Manuel II’s eyes remained calm, unaffected by any argument. Realizing the futility of his persuasion, John VIII bit his lower lip lightly and left the emperor’s office, leaving behind only the old emperor and his aging secretary.

Manuel II gazed at the spot where John VIII had stood and quietly spoke.

“If only he had been born in a better time, he might have made a great emperor.”

“Your Majesty, do not blame yourself. The citizens know that you have done your best.”

“…I feel my strength declining with each passing day. It has been a harsh 20 years…”

Manuel II had knelt and prayed in the Hagia Sophia each time the Ottoman army besieged Constantinople, pleading that the empire would not fall during his reign. The 20 years of relentless struggle that followed had been a solitary battle to save the empire at its end. His countless efforts to revive the empire flashed before him, now approaching their conclusion. Soon, the outcome would be clear—whether it would be the birth of a new empire or its resurrection.

“Now, I only fear that the passion of the young will ruin everything.”

“Your Majesty…”

On this day, the emperor decided to retire.

Before his own retirement, the elderly Sphrantzes had already retired from his position as secretary through death. In the sorrow of losing his long-time friend, the emperor faced the legacy and face of his late companion.

“You must be young Sphrantzes.”

“I am Georgios Sphrantzes, Your Majesty.”

A wind of change was blowing through the empire. In the capital, intense debates between the war party, advocating for a new crusade against the Ottomans, and the conservative faction were ongoing.

Meanwhile, in the Peloponnesus, Morea was unusually unified and bustling around a single figure.

Under the passionate governance of Prince Constantine, Morea was flourishing. Scholars and monks, displaced by the fall of the capital, were soon appointed as officials or granted academic freedom, thanks to the prince’s attention. Utilizing these individuals, the prince worked to establish the once-proud bureaucratic system of the empire throughout Morea. As administrative capabilities were secured, the accumulating resources and manpower were directed toward organizing a regular army.

Additionally, to revitalize Morea’s economy, roads were constructed, and fortresses were built at key points, preparing for the inevitable Ottoman invasion.

To counter the local lords who considered themselves merely ‘Princes of the Empire,’ he adopted his mother’s surname over the imperial Palaiologos. This name became his enduring moniker, and in Morea, Prince Constantine came to be known as Dragaš. However, there remained a lingering regret among the people—the failure to reclaim Achaea.

Perhaps it was divine providence.

Not long after their marriage, Prince Theodore’s wife, Adele, succumbed to a fever. With no close relatives, her Duchy of Achaea naturally passed to Theodore, who then transferred the  control of the duchy to Prince Constantine.

This was in 1418.

Previously constrained by Venetian interference, Prince Constantine now returned as the rightful owner, making a triumphant entry. His first act was to expel the Latin archbishop ruling Patras. He then declared that while the lands and governance of the remaining Latin lords would be recognized, imperial law would take precedence, with imperial judges exempt from local jurisdiction.

Thus, the centuries-long reclamation of the Peloponnesus was finally accomplished.

This event occurred when the prince was just fourteen years old.