Author: Renegade

The ground trembles.

The fortress walls, which had withstood the test of time for countless years, were now crumbling in vain. No matter how often they were hastily patched with wooden reinforcements, such measures were only temporary. Before the relentless roar of cannons, everything was rendered meaningless. There was no need for words—everyone understood.

The seeds of change, long writhing beneath the depths of time, had finally sprouted.

The era was shifting.

Watching the fortress walls shatter and collapse, Francisco could only mutter:

“This is the limit.”

The walls of Athens, the morale of the soldiers—everything. The battle had become entirely one-sided. Regular arrows could not even reach the enemy cannons, while the cannons, with their vastly superior range, continued to dismantle the fortress. As long as Morea’s forces remained under siege in Athens, the casualties would only mount.

The walls were no longer a reliable shield—if anything, they had become obstacles hindering their movements. This place had long turned into a death trap; if they wished to survive, they had to flee.

Not to central Greece, which had already fallen into enemy hands, but to the prince’s stronghold.

Yet, the prince remained unconscious. Having pushed himself to the brink, losing so much blood that he had nearly succumbed to death from bleeding, it was no surprise that he had yet to recover. His loyal retainers had devised an escape plan, but executing it was another matter entirely. Of course, if the situation became any more dire, they were prepared to carry it out by force.

Still, the hope that the prince might wake soon, that he might regain his senses and take command once more, kept them hesitating.

It was time to abandon that hope.

Just as Francisco reached this conclusion, a messenger came running toward him, breathless. What could have happened to warrant such urgency? Francisco had barely turned a questioning gaze upon him when the long-awaited words fell upon his ears.

“Sir Francisco, His Highness has summoned an audience.”

For a brief moment, he was too stunned to react. He simply stared, dumbfounded. The prince had summoned an audience? Francisco blinked in disbelief. But as the meaning of the words sank in, a bright smile spread across his face.

“What perfect timing.”

“…Pardon?”

“No, it’s just… I thought he might take longer, but this is almost eerily precise.”

“…?”

The messenger gave him a bewildered look, as if he were staring at a madman. Francisco let out a chuckle. He was tempted to tease the poor man further, but now was not the time. There were matters of greater importance at hand.

“I shall go see His Highness.”

It had been nearly a full week since they had discovered the extent of the prince’s injuries.

//

The meaning of the prince’s summons was clear.

It meant he had emerged from his long unconscious state—that he was now well enough to move, or at least lucid enough to hold a conversation. And indeed, the hopes of Ivania and Francisco, who rushed to his side, were not in vain. Though he looked utterly exhausted, the prince was steadily bringing a spoonful of thin soup to his lips.

The physician tending to him, recognizing that his presence was no longer required, gave a silent bow before quietly departing.

At that moment, Ivania’s composure crumbled.

“Y-Your Highness…”

The prince, who continued to eat as if completely oblivious to Ivania’s tear-filled eyes, was not as indifferent as he appeared. A seasoned warrior’s sharp gaze was not so easily deceived. Each time he blinked, weary from exhaustion, his eyes briefly flickered toward her—only to quickly glance away, pretending not to notice.

The sight was so comically transparent that Francisco nearly burst out laughing. To suppress his amusement, he furrowed his brows instead. The prince, in turn, cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Hm. It seems I caused undue concern while I was unconscious. I regret troubling you all at such a crucial time before battle.”

“But Your Highness has recovered—that alone is truly a relief, truly…”

“Ivania, I appreciate your concern. However, as a grown woman—and one who already has a spouse—you should compose yourself. I fear for the rumors this might spark.”

“I don’t care. What does it matter when we haven’t even slept together? In fact, why don’t I just bear your child instead? If you are to rebuild the empire, it should be a multi-generational effort. I am ready to serve you both on the battlefield and in the bedchamber!”

“Y-you were fine for a while, and now this again?!”

“Now that we’re on the subject—does Sophia even contribute anything?! She’s a complete failure as a wife! Meanwhile, I am right by your side on the battlefield, doing far more to support you! Don’t you think my service is infinitely more valuable?!”

“Ivania, allow me to correct your misunderstanding. First, what you are doing is not ‘supporting from behind’ but rather ‘fighting alongside me.’ Second, Sophia is utilizing every resource at her disposal to aid us in this war. Therefore—”

But Ivania was no longer listening. Her breath came in excited gasps as she fixated on something with an intense, melting gaze.

Following her line of sight, the prince turned his head—only for his expression to twist in horror.

“Demon! A lecherous demon!”

“Your Highness! Even if it’s illegitimate, as long as it’s your child, I don’t care!”

“What nonsense are you spewing?! Damn it, Franciscoooo! Do something about her!”

“Uh… Well, I’ve never met a woman this shameless before, so honestly, I have no idea how to handle this.”

“Remember this! A cousin is still my people, damn it!”

“Lady Ivania, I believe you should cease your disrespect at once.”

Francisco’s voice took on an uncharacteristic sharpness. He knew full well that this was an absurd argument—but he also recognized that, if things took a turn for the worse, even he might not be able to handle Ivania.

And so, the commotion ended in anticlimactic silence.

Ivania pouted, grumbling. Francisco feigned indifference, pretending not to notice. The prince, now glaring at them both, could only clutch his throbbing head and let out a weary sigh.

However, knowing this was an intentional attempt to ease the tension, the prince quickly regained his composure.

Yeah, this had to be a joke.

But for now, what mattered was what had happened in the meantime.

Maintaining a calm demeanor, the prince shifted his gaze between the two.

“Enough. Now, tell me. What’s happened so far, and why isn’t Adrianos here?”

“…That’s…”

“The situation’s bad, so I’ll keep it short. The sultan brought cannons.”

Francisco ignored Ivania’s sharp glare at being interrupted, and the prince didn’t have the luxury to dwell on it either.

“Cannons…?”

A sharp headache spread through him.

His first reaction was shock and admiration.

Then came self-reproach—why hadn’t he seen this coming?—followed by the crushing weight of realization.

Until they had set out for Athens, he had assumed the enemy’s pursuit had been delayed because they were recovering from their own losses.

But Murad had been preparing cannons.

And instead of relying on siege tactics, he had flipped the situation to force them into open battle once again.

In an instant, their defensive advantage had been stripped away.

What was there to say?

Should he commend Murad for his flawless strategy?

Or blame himself, despite all his knowledge and still failing to predict the arrival of cannons?

No.

Neither.

The prince bit the inside of his cheek, forcing himself to stay focused.

“Explain everything in detail.”

“If that’s what my cousin wants, I’m happy to oblige.”

“……”

The prince listened with a serious expression, while Ivania’s brows furrowed more and more with each passing moment.

Despite the strange atmosphere, Francisco remained composed as he continued.

That gave the prince a moment to think.

Something about Murad’s actions didn’t sit right.

The biggest question was how he had brought the cannons here.

The closest Ottoman port was Larissa.

Even if Murad had waited until the Morean forces entered Athens, there simply hadn’t been enough time for the cannons to be transported from there.

Even if the timing had worked out, there was another problem.

How had he kept them hidden?

According to Francisco, there had been no sign of cannons at the start of the siege.

And then, just as Francisco began describing the enemy’s encampment, the prince’s entire body tensed with rage.

He clenched his fists, trembling.

Francisco blinked in surprise.

“What is it, cousin? Did you figure something out?”

“Yeah. How the cannons suddenly appeared, why we only realized their presence so late… I understand now.”

If it had been an ordinary strategy, he would have recognized it and used it himself.

But Murad’s method—he couldn’t use it.

No, he wouldn’t.

“He didn’t bring the cannons fully assembled.

He transported them in pieces and put them together here.”

“He assembled the cannons? That’s… actually possible. Damn it!”

Francisco swore under his breath.

Bringing the cannons in separate parts would have made transport far easier and, more importantly, much easier to conceal.

Now that they knew, it made perfect sense.

But it wasn’t something anyone would have thought of before—it was a method no one had ever used.

“And the wooden wall… they weren’t actually meant for defense, were they?”

“What are you saying now?”

“…I don’t understand either, Your Highness. Then what were they for?”

“They were a cover. A way to hide the fact that they were assembling the cannons.

They might have pretended to be setting up camp, using the tents as cover while they put everything together.”

Francisco and Ivania’s eyes widened in realization.

Had the young sultan really gone to such lengths to keep his cannons hidden?

And if the prince had managed to figure it out now, what did that say about his own insight?

Yet, despite the awed looks they gave him, the prince only clenched his teeth and swallowed his frustration.

Murad’s strategy required overwhelming administrative power—

Absolute control over his territories.

Unshakable internal order.

A supply convoy became riskier the longer it was on the move.

Transporting heavy cannon parts would slow it down even more.

It would require more manpower.

More resources.

This wasn’t something a single commander could pull off.

It was a testament to the power of the state itself.

National strength.

“…We need to start preparing for a retreat to Corinth.”

“If that’s the case—”

“Don’t worry, Your Highness. Everything has already been arranged.

We were just waiting for you to wake up.”

Ivania cut Francisco off smoothly, as if she had been waiting for this moment.

Somehow, the way she said it almost sounded smug—but perhaps that was just his imagination.

Even so, the prince’s expression remained tense.

Because he hadn’t asked just one question.

“Then all that’s left is to figure out where Adrianos is.

Where is he?

Why hasn’t he come, despite being summoned?”

“Ah… Sir Adrianos…”

“….”

Silence.

A deliberate silence.

Why weren’t they answering?

As the prince considered the implications—

His expression went cold.

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.

The Morean army stationed in Athens remained on high alert.

They were constantly anxious, wary of any unexpected moves Murad might make, never allowing themselves even a moment of ease. The only thing that seemed out of place was the construction of fortifications. Even that, however, was deemed a futile effort when considering the time it would take to complete. The Morean army believed that striking just before completion would force the enemy into further wasted effort, so they chose to remain passive and observe.

Had the Prince been present on the walls to observe more closely, he might have noticed it sooner—the peculiarity in Murad’s movements. But the aides currently in charge lacked such keen perception. The reason was simple: ignorance.

They had sworn not to let their guard down, but that promise only applied to threats within the realm of their expectations.

What if Murad was planning to besiege them in a way they had never even considered?

Would they still be able to remain composed?

The answer would only be revealed in the crucible of battle.

And for misjudging who truly needed time, the Morean army would lose their advantage.

On the fifth day of the siege, the first to belatedly sense the danger was the most experienced among them—Don Francisco.

At dawn, the wooden barricades Murad had painstakingly erected suddenly collapsed.

Why go through the trouble of setting up fortifications only to tear them down?

That question was answered by the deafening roar that followed.

—KWAANG!

A blast so powerful that it made Francisco’s ears ring.

For a brief moment, it felt as if even the stone walls of the fortress had trembled.

Before the thunder that heralded a new era, the lessons of past wars were rendered meaningless.

The only thing that kept Francisco from panic was the bare minimum of composure his experience afforded him.

Quickly regaining his senses, he scanned his surroundings and shouted,

“Do not panic! Focus on keeping your footing—stay on the walls!”

At the same time, he moved himself, determined to see firsthand what had caused that explosion.

It did not take long to find out.

Chunks of stone tumbled from the deep crater that had been gouged into the fortress walls.

The shaking was no illusion.

A cold chill ran down Francisco’s spine.

He cursed his complacency.

He had thought Murad was simply fortifying his position.

He had assumed the enemy was following the traditional rules of siege warfare.

“Was there another way…?”

The thunder did not stop at just one strike.

The booming of cannons continued, each impact shaking the walls to their core.

The soldiers struggled just to remain standing.

We have to endure.

We must hold on.

Francisco bit down hard on his lower lip.

Then, the inevitable happened.

A section of the fortress wall, unable to withstand the bombardment, collapsed.

And with it, the soldiers standing atop it.

—Aaaaaaahhh…!

Amidst the earth-shaking bombardment, Francisco faintly heard screams, prompting him to turn his gaze.

Amidst the rising dust, soldiers struggle helplessly as they fell, crushed beneath the falling wall.

The outcome was painfully obvious, yet Francisco couldn’t look away.

No siege weapon had ever been capable of collapsing a fortress wall in such a short time. That was why walls had remained effective—why defenders had always held the upper hand in sieges.

Yet, what was happening before his eyes told a different story.

Even if one refused to acknowledge it now, the truth would soon become undeniable.

The bombardment suddenly stopped, as if to grant the Morean army a moment to realize what had just occurred.

Francisco closed his eyes.

The enemy was giving them time.

And he knew why.

Murad wanted the Morean forces to abandon the walls and come out.

So predictable.

The man had always preferred open battle over siege warfare.

But maintaining this stalemate would only delay the inevitable—defeat.

“I need to see my cousin.”

Hoping the Prince had a plan, Francisco withdrew from the walls.

He wasn’t the only one drawn by the deafening blasts.

Ivania, who had been guarding the Prince, rushed over, while Adrianos, responsible for another section of the walls, arrived on horseback.

Gathered in Athens’ court, no one wasted time on formalities—all eyes turned to Francisco for answers.

“W-What happened?! That sound just now—was that the walls collapsing?!”

“They haven’t fallen completely, have they?! Tell me they’re still holding!”

“Whoa, calm down. Damn it… Take a breath first.”

The way they both pressed him with similar frantic urgency grated on Francisco’s nerves.

Only after he muttered under his breath loud enough for them to hear did the commotion settle.

Yet their expectant stares remained heavy.

Francisco quickly relayed the situation.

“The walls aren’t completely down. But after just a few blasts, a section collapsed.”

“How?! How is that even possible?!”

“I’m not entirely sure. Judging by the craters left behind, something was fired at the walls. But I didn’t see any trebuchets.”

( TL : Trebuchets is a medieval siege engines used to throw large projectiles. Image in end )

At those words, only one possibility came to mind for both Ivania and Adrianos.

Ivania hesitated, but Adrianos spoke without reservation.

It was a difference in experience.

Ivania, having fought mostly in northern Italy, where open battles were prioritized over sieges, had rarely encountered such weapons.

But Adrianos had learned of them during the sieges of Constantinople.

“A bombard.”

“A what?”

“A cannon. A weapon that uses gunpowder to throw massive iron balls, capable of bringing down walls.”

“But aren’t bombards incredibly difficult to transport? And if it was something that distinctive, wouldn’t we have noticed it earlier?”

“They must have hidden it somehow. I don’t know what method they used, but… one thing is clear—our defenses won’t hold as long as His Highness anticipated.

Unless we had the triple walls of Constantinople, any fortress would eventually fall to such weapons.”

“So we have no choice but to follow my cousin’s decision.”

Adrianos frowned at the use of “cousin” but let it go.

Francisco was right.

Everyone knew that only the Prince could devise a way out of this crisis.

As Francisco and Adrianos prepared to request an audience, an unexpected obstacle arose.

“…That won’t be possible. Have you forgotten? His Highness has secluded himself.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Francisco’s expression twisted.

He had always suspected that blind loyalty and unchecked ambition could one day prove disastrous, but he hadn’t expected it to be now.

Until now, he had held his tongue, as the person was the Prince’s confidant.

But to maintain such rigid obedience in a moment like this?

“The walls are on the verge of collapse. A prolonged defense is impossible.

And you’re telling me I can’t see my cousin?”

Ivania said nothing.

She merely pressed her lips into a thin, frustrated line.

That silence sent a deep, indescribable unease through Francisco and Adrianos.

TL : Trebuchet were used a lot in the medieval ages and still were used till 15th century, before cannons fully took over the warfare.