Author: Renegade

Prince Konstantinos Dragases.

As the ruler of Morea and the pillar of the counteroffensive against the Ottomans, his concerns had become a tangible reality. While some viewed the new sultan’s ascension with dread, many saw it as an “opportunity.” In Morea, where the prince’s influence was overwhelming, his cautious stance controlled the calls for war. But the situation in the capital was entirely different.

“This is surely a chance granted by God, who has looked kindly upon our struggles. Now, we have a contender to the Ottoman throne to plant discord among the heretics, and we have Prince Konstantinos, who has reclaimed southern Greece. If not now, when will we drive them out?”

Such words would have been unthinkable seven years ago. Yet the growing strength of Morea and Prince Konstantinos’s success had led to this outcome. The leadership of the empire, unable to let go of the grandeur of the fallen millennium-old empire, grew increasingly impatient. Unintentionally, Konstantinos’s achievements had fueled their restlessness.

Only a handful of conservative figures dared to counter these claims.

The conservatives, led by Manuel II, dismissed the war proponents as reckless youths, while the war advocates mocked the conservatives as failures. The latter argued, “Salvation comes to those who strive to save themselves. How can you expect survival without making any effort?” They rebuked the conservatives for their inaction.

However, this division was merely superficial.

The conflict between the conservatives and the war proponents was, in essence, a rivalry between those favourable to Morea and those who were not. Past grievances over broken political marriages and demands for a Morean archbishopric had fuelled opposition. Yet, Konstantinos’s success in reclaiming central Greece had acquired him significant support. To complicate matters, an unusual rumor began circulating in the capital.

– The rumor was that Manuel II intended to depose his co-emperor, John, and name Prince Konstantinos as his successor.

As a result, even the moderate neutral factions, who had sought to avoid another civil war, were split. The ancient capital, Constantinople, now saw itself divided between two camps: those loyal to John, who sought to avoid civil war by preserving the current system, and those who believed that a capable ruler like Konstantinos should lead the empire to recovery.

The rivalry between the two factions grew sharper by the day, but ultimately, the resolution of this conflict lay in the hands of the two emperors.

Thus, John, accompanied by his brother Theodoros, made his way to Manuel’s office, where the emperor awaited them. As he walked down the hallways steeped in history, John made no effort to hide his icy anger.

“What is Father thinking? At a time like this, to make moves that could spark a civil war—has he truly lost his judgment?”

John had even entertained the idea of a co-emperor. He acknowledged Konstantinos’s capabilities and was prepared to make significant compromises for the empire’s restoration. But being entirely excluded from imperial authority? That was unthinkable. After all, who had chosen him as co-emperor? It was Manuel himself. Shaking with a sense of betrayal, John caught sight of Theodoros slowly shaking his head.

“…His Majesty has deceived our entire family. To consider naming a new heir when there is already a co-emperor—it’s unprecedented. Above all, making such a decision during a time when stability is important is a grave mistake.”

“Isn’t that why we’re going to see him? To speak with him directly.”

“And what do you expect to accomplish through conversation?”

The remark was attached with thorns, but John chose to ignore it. Nothing was certain yet. This could very well be a malicious rumor spread by someone intending to sow discord within the imperial family. John clung to that hope. But the moment he faced Manuel, that hope began to waver.

The emperor’s gaze carried a look of regret.

Why are you looking at me like that? Why are you staring at me with such pity?

Unspoken emotions churned deep within John’s heart.

“…Father.”

“You’ve come about Konstantinos, haven’t you?”

Just as Manuel was about to speak again in a bitter tone, Theodoros stepped forward from behind John. The now-aged emperor felt a searing pain as he met the icy gaze of his son towering over him.

That icy demeanor, directed solely at him—was this truly his child? Was this the burden of his failures as a father, now returned to him? The answer came, wrapped in the cold words of Theodoros, who no longer regarded Manuel as family.

“It is quite simple, Your Majesty. We have come to depose you, for we believe that in your advanced age, you are no longer capable of making sound judgments.”

“…Depose me? Depose…”

“You have done enough. The great work you could not complete will be carried on by His Majesty John. It is time for you to consider a peaceful retirement.”

“…John, is this truly your will?”

Both Manuel and Theodoros turned to John. At that moment, the wavering resolve within John solidified. As his trembling eyes steadied, he looked Manuel directly in the eye and asked the most critical question.

“I must ask first, Father. Is it true that your trust no longer lies with me?”

Manuel closed his eyes slowly in response. That act alone conveyed enough. John clenched his fists tightly, unable to suppress the surge of emotions. So you will not trust me, even now, Father? Betrayal turned to fury, but before he could fully express it, Theodoros’s urging interrupted.

“Rule as the sole emperor, Your Majesty. His Majesty, the predecessor, has already lost the clarity required to govern effectively.”

John, fully aware of his role as a public figure, understood the risk of blindly following Theodoros’s extreme words. There was no need to act as rashly as his brother suggested. Protecting his authority was essential, but there was no merit in resorting to recklessness.

“…I will send him to a monastery. I will visit him again once the war is over. He should prepare himself there in the meantime.”

“I am sorry, John.”

“…Is that all you have to say to me?”

The anguished cry of a son found no answer and dissipated into the empty air.

Walking away from Manuel, John quickly made up his mind.

“I will ensure that my imperial authority is never threatened again.”

“You’ve made your decision, then,” Theodoros said.

“Yes.”

John hesitated no longer. Any further indecision would only place his reign in jeopardy.

“We will proceed as the war proponents wish. Summon Mustafa. We will announce him as the Sultan of the Ottomans.”

The coup in the Ottoman Empire once again disrupted the political landscape of the Balkans.

The ascension of the new sultan was not only a source of unease for Prince Dragaš of Morea but also for others, including Serbia, now a vassal of Hungary, and the imperial capital of Constantinople. Everyone was desperate to gather information about Murad II. Fortunately, in Morea, there was a woman named Sophia who knew how to utilize the Jewish community.

“The reason the new sultan has gained the loyalty of the Janissaries is clear. While he has a strict side, he is deeply devoted to his subordinates. The very first thing he did after ascending the throne was to improve military supplies,” Sophia reported.

“This won’t pass quietly,” Prince Dragaš remarked.

“A ruler whose power is grounded in military support will inevitably dream of conquest. It solidifies their authority, after all,” Sophia replied.

Under monarchy, a nation’s foreign policy often reflects the ruler’s personality. To understand Ottoman intentions, it was necessary to grasp Murad II’s character. In this regard, the Jewish community, scorned by many yet rarely distrusted, proved invaluable. Through them, Prince Dragaš was able to receive updates on rumours and developments that others could not.

This affirmed that his decision to prepare for war was correct, though it left him with mixed emotions. Why? Perhaps because, deep down, he harbored faint hopes.

He wished Murad II would prove to be a more lenient and friendly ruler. Yet, with war now an inevitable reality, those hopes were in vain.

The challenges before him were significant. Most of the Balkans were under Ottoman control, and aid from Western Europe was out of reach. Morea would have to rely on its own strength to resist. The prince’s only viable strategy was to delay the Ottomans’ aggressive advances and gradually undermine Murad II’s authority—a plan that, given the circumstances, was the empire’s best chance.

While the Ottoman Empire continues its centralizing reforms, the sultan’s authority fundamentally relies on tribal leaders and theologians. Aware of this, these groups resist allowing the sultan’s power to grow unchecked. Internally, the empire is divided between the Janissaries, loyal to the sultan, and the old guard of statesmen and military elites.

The traditional elites were reportedly hesitant about military campaigns, even though they subtly supported Murad II’s predecessor, Mehmed I. How would they respond to Murad II, who enjoyed strong Janissary backing? For now, they might submit. But if Murad II’s authority surged after a string of victories or faltered after failures that weakened the Janissaries, divisions could emerge.

Preventing the Ottomans from waging an aggressive war was essential. Murad II was strongest during the early stages of his reign, so it was crucial for the empire not to provide him with any pretext for war. A baseless war would only deepen the divide between the Janissaries and the old guard. This concern brought the prince’s thoughts to the growing faction of war hawks in Constantinople.

The hawks likely believed that Murad II’s grip on power was still unstable due to his recent ascension, and they would advocate for a preemptive strike. The prince could only hope the capital would refrain from making such a reckless decision.

Unfortunately, circumstances were rarely favorable to him. The reigning co-emperor, John VIII, owed his position to the hawks’ support. The prince’s anxiety deepened.

Naturally, Sophia, perceptive as ever, noticed the worry etched on his face.

“My, you seem troubled by something,” she teased.

“There’s never been a time without trouble, so that’s nothing new to hear,” the prince retorted.

Though the prince cooperated with Sophia out of necessity, he was not a man who softened easily. His blunt response was followed by a contemplative silence.

Preparations for war were still underway. Adrianos continued stockpiling supplies, including the Greek Fire, while Ivania trained soldiers after resting her mercenary forces.

Though the prince had yet to meet Ivania in person, she was an indispensable asset in Morea, where capable officers were sorely lacking. However, using her did come with a tinge of guilt. The prince resolved to reward her generously when the time came.

Now, there were other matters to address.

“I need to reassign Ivania. Have her protect Demicleos and Plato while they handle negotiations, and let Venetian advisors continue training the troops. As for persuading the patriarch in Constantinople, we’ll rely on Bishop Nikephoros. It’s regrettable, but it must be done.”

Demicleos and Plato would be tasked with convincing the influential nobles of central Greece, who had been acting suspiciously.

Ensuring their safety was necessary. Ivania, as Morea’s most capable commander, was the ideal choice for this role. Regarding the patriarch, Nikephoros was the only viable candidate to appeal to Constantinople.

If the prince attempted it himself, he would undoubtedly be ordered to come to the capital and display repentance. If such a demand were made, the prince was prepared to openly defy the patriarch, even if it meant arranging the crowning in Epirus under the supervision of the Bishop of Morea instead.

Such a move would effectively sever Morea’s ties with the empire, a step neither the patriarch nor the prince wished to take lightly.

And so—

“So, why are you telling me such things in front of me?”

“Still don’t get it? That was your cue to leave and get to work.”

As Sophia’s expression subtly twisted, the prince amended his words.

“No, on second thought, staying a little longer might not be so bad.”

“…Haha, I wonder what made you change your mind.”

“I just wanted to observe that distorted expression of yours a little longer.”

Crack. The unmistakable sound of something breaking came from Sophia’s hand. A glass cup, undoubtedly brought from Serbia, had developed a small crack. The prince’s smile grew even more satisfied, as if the fragile glass symbolized Sophia herself.

Naturally, Sofia responded with a faint smile of her own, though hers brimmed with seething anger.

“For someone so cornered that he must rely on a woman’s hand, do you really think it wise to provoke me like this?”

“Did you make that odd remark in mockery?”

The prince had resolved to seek support from all quarters to save his troubled empire. Be it Jews scorned across Europe, wandering gypsies, or even women—if their help was useful, he would gladly employ it. In some ways, they were even better.

To overcome the inherent limitations of their excluded status, they often worked harder under harsher conditions. In return, they would be rewarded with passion rather than gold.

The prince also harboured hopes that such an non discriminatory policy would gradually transform the empire.

After the nightmare of the Fourth Crusade, when the capital fell, and the empire splintered, its people had grown hostile toward outsiders. But this wasn’t a mere matter of attitude. The very essence of being a universal empire was at stake. If, through the prince’s policies, other peoples joined in the empire’s reconstruction, they could, while still despised, achieve a degree of recognition.

Even if centuries-old prejudices couldn’t change overnight, if these groups contributed to the reconstruction effort, accepted governance under imperial law, and gradually found common ground—then, perhaps—

“Mock me all you like in that regard; it won’t work. I don’t care who they are. I will slowly draw them into the empire’s embrace. If I can’t finish it in this generation, I’ll at least lay the groundwork for it.”

No matter how difficult or painful the moment, the prince would not lose sight of preparing for the future.

The resolve to choose the path toward the future, the path of survival, meant precisely this. What was the point of overcoming the present if the future crumbled? Conversely, what good was focusing only on the future if it led to collapse in the present?

Yesterday, which shaped today; today, which must be conquered; and tomorrow, which must be sustained—only by considering all three could the empire change its fate of doom.

“…Indeed, they weren’t wrong to call you the last hope.”

How Sophia interpreted this wasn’t of concern to the prince. As Sophia, lost in thought, fell silent, the prince dismissed her once again before rising from his seat.

He needed to prepare countermeasures—for whatever might come.

Not everyone is born a natural soldier.

Most soldiers have led ordinary lives, engaged in their trades, until they answer the call of their country and grasp a spear for the first time. It’s unreasonable to expect them to be skilled right away. Like anything, it takes time to become adept. But knowing this doesn’t quell the anxiety. The uncertainty of when war might break out only heightens the tension.

It was evident that the soldiers marching in formation on the drill grounds had improved since the beginning, but considering the opponent, optimism was premature. Mere formation wasn’t enough. High morale and strict discipline, strong enough to withstand anything, were crucial for Morea’s army. Even with the counsel of military experts introduced by Venice, satisfaction remained elusive.

Lost in such thoughts for a while, I suddenly sensed someone approaching from behind.

“The preparations you requested are complete, Your Highness.”

It was Adriano. Though I hadn’t given him much attention, he was a long-time official by my side. His role had shifted to overseeing the supply of provisions, a task akin to his administrative duties, and it seemed he had completed it swiftly. When I turned, Adriano’s expression was twice as stern as usual.

“The engineers have been brought to the court in Mistra and have begun their work, but it is impossible to prepare a large quantity at once.”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s not sufficient.”

“But if the capital learns that we are independently preparing Greek fire, it will cause a significant stir.”

“Adriano.”

I cleared my throat before speaking. He seemed uneasy, perhaps worried about the reaction from the capital. But the crucial point wasn’t our now-strained relationship with the capital. From the moment I proposed establishing an archbishopric, we had resolved to chart our own course.

Above all…

“What we are preparing is not Greek fire, but war.”

“War…”

The word, gripping the soul with its weight, made Adriano fall silent. I, too, felt the gravity of it. The harsh and cruel reality where lives must be gambled to achieve one’s desires. A ruthless feast where the winner takes all, leaving nothing for the loser. The chill in my heart foretold the many deaths to come.

When that time comes…

Will I not regret it? Will I not resign myself, thinking I didn’t prepare enough, that I ultimately failed? But I shook my head to dispel the grim thoughts of a uncertain future. Now was not the time to worry about the future, but to prepare for it.

“Do not concern yourself with the capital’s movements any longer. Focus solely on preparing for war.”

“Isn’t this too much worry? The new Sultan hasn’t been on the throne for long. He might not be foolish enough to launch an ambitious campaign with an unstable power base.”

“Do not be optimistic about the situation, Adriano.”

I still remember the moment I heard the news of Edirne’s blockade. At that time, an almost certain intuition whispered to me. What would the new Sultan have done first in the blockaded Edirne?

He wouldn’t necessarily follow in the footsteps of the late Sultan Mehmed. The new Sultan, Murad II, must have eliminated potential threats in advance.

Having received information from the Jewish spies loyal to Sophia, my anxiety only grew. Murad II had gained the obedience of the militant Janissaries and secured the support of the entire court. Any hope that his power base was unstable was just that—a hope. If anything, he might pose an even more united and formidable threat than his predecessor.

Someone might say I’m overly negative if they hear such thoughts. Unfortunately, even though I hadn’t voiced them, my expression must have given it away.

“What are you so worried about, Your Highness? Why do you fear the new Sultan so much?”

“I can’t help but fear.”

The burden of responsibility on my shoulders was immense. From the beginning to now, it had been a unstable balancing act. A single misstep, and everything would be over.

Even a minor mistake, if not immediately resolved, would quickly return with a cruel fate. Every action had become a harsh judgment deciding between survival and destruction.

The battle fought over a scale already tipped was far from fair.

Yet, reality demanded we fight. The scale seemed ready to topple at any moment. The constant thought that a single mistake, one defeat, could lead to swift ruin, sent shivers through me.

Is it not natural to be afraid?

But Adriano thought differently. His youthful vigor still intact, he gazed at me with resolute eyes and spoke in a firm voice filled with unwavering trust.

“Your Highness, before you fear him, please reflect on what you have accomplished.”

“What I have accomplished so far.”

Indeed, I had worked tirelessly, barely holding on. I had originally come here for a romantic connection. However, upon realizing the obligations and responsibilities tied to this new body, there was no time for such pursuits.

After all, who would expect a good outcome from being connected to a prince of an empire on the brink of collapse? Thinking this, I had turned away even when women approached me.

“When everyone else was ready to accept the prophecy of doom, there was one who stood alone, believing it to be a trial from God. To prove his words, he rose himself, and now the people follow him.”

It was merely a rebellious statement against those who resigned themselves, thinking it was God’s will. I started it out of a petty desire to make everyone struggle alongside me, not wanting to struggle alone. Everything I did was solely for survival.

And yet…

“Do not fear the Sultan. If he became Sultan to fulfill the prophet’s will, then you rose to represent the will of those who consider themselves Romans. If the Sultan wields his sword to follow the prophet’s teachings, then you, Your Highness, have drawn your sword to ensure the survival of the last empire permitted under heaven.”

Adriano spoke with clear, unwavering eyes that harboured no doubt.

“Be confident, Your Highness. In opposing the Sultan, you are a true monarch without any shortcomings.”

…Is that so?

I didn’t voice my thoughts. Adriano, looking at me, merely offered a faint smile. The distractions lifted, leaving me feeling clearer. Wanting to savour this clarity, I glanced away, noticing the soldiers with a much sharper presence than before.

I had forgotten the obvious.

The disparity in overwhelming power doesn’t remain constant. It can be gradually reduced depending on how efficiently time is used and the will to overcome it. The difference might not be immediately noticeable.

However, if we continue to take precarious steps—

The honed blade will eventually hover over the enemy’s neck.

“There’s much that has been delayed. The reports from Demicleos were also concerning.”

The city-states of central Greece, recently reclaimed, showed signs of unrest after witnessing the Ottoman upheaval. Since the Academy led by Plato hadn’t fully established itself yet, most of the prominent figures had not sent hostages. They likely viewed the new administrative body, the Assembly, and imperial rule, which they had long ignored, with displeasure.

A mediator was needed to prevent the situation from worsening. Although it might be a burden, it seems necessary to push Plato, who was busy establishing the Academy, a bit more. While political pressure might cause resentment, persuasion by a cultured figure of high repute could proceed more smoothly.

The unrest in central Greece is worrisome, but Epirus is also not in an ideal situation. Prince Thomas, a favorable ally, holds the position, but his authority is weak due to his youth. Consequently, Morea must support Thomas’s authority. And nothing bolsters a ruler’s authority like a crowning.

In Morea, circumstances naturally unfolded as they did, but a crowning is essential in Epirus, where the ruler’s authority remains fragile. If the Morea archbishopric had been approved, the archbishop of Morea would have conducted the crowning, but the patriarch remains silent. It would be better to set aside differences here and ask the patriarch to conduct the crowning in Epirus.

“Then continue stockpiling supplies, Adriano.”

“As you command, Your Highness.”

Even amid the busyness, I couldn’t afford to relinquish the few advantages the empire possessed. Greek fire, which burns even on water, was one of them. To overcome our numerical inferiority, there would come a time when even fire attacks would be necessary.

Greek fire was a preparation for that. Cannons would be beneficial as well, but the cannons operated by the empire were crude. Moreover, there were few, with most allocated to the defense of the capital.

I stifled a laugh before the harsh reality.

I will gradually narrow the gap.

I will not lose the path to life, survival, and the future. Even if I fall dozens, hundreds of times along the way, it will be the same. As I have long told myself:

History has not yet chosen anyone.

TL : This is the Greek fire also known as the The Byzantine Savior. Its like a flamethrower.

Two months had passed since the blockade of Edirne was revealed.

As feared, the blockade was a sign of a coup. Mehmed’s sudden death and the ascension of the new sultan followed. Was it to stabilize the regime?

The usual succession disputes that tend to arise were not even mentioned, suggesting that rivals had likely been eliminated during those two months. The critical task now was to discern the new sultan’s disposition.

This is where Sophia played a crucial role.

As a dispersed community, the Jews often attracted hatred and scorn but rarely suspicion. This was partly because no disaster had yet occurred that required a scapegoat.

This, too, was a stroke of luck. The Jewish spies, already demonstrating remarkable skill, began bringing back even more credible information once provided with a favorable environment and substantial financial support.

They reported that the new sultan had secured the support of the entire Ottoman court, was not so weak as to submit to the Janissaries, and was ready to draw his sword if necessary. Many other rumors circulated, but two key points stood out:

Murad would, when the time came, turn his sword toward the empire.

And that time was not far off.

Since realizing this, not a single day had passed without worry. Anxiety was inevitable. The enemy had a powerful army and a legitimate cause. By granting asylum to a claimant to the throne and refusing to return him, the empire had acted in a way that could be condemned by its allies. The Ottomans could attack as soon as they gathered their strength.

All John could do was secure powerful allies before the invasion began. However, the stories relayed through the Venetian envoy only confirmed the unfavourable situation. Hungary’s previous intervention had been an unusual case.

Sigismund, leading the personal union of Hungary and Bohemia, felt threatened by the Ottoman expansion, which could endanger his power base in Hungary. He had even made a truce with Jan Zizka, the leader of the Hussites, to wage a holy war against the heretics.

Although this short truce allowed the Hussites to regroup their forces for two years, Sigismund had no choice.

If Serbia were to fall, Hungary would find a dagger pressed against its throat by the Ottomans.

It was a strange feeling to think that Morea had survived thanks to this.

Nevertheless, with the Crusade against Bohemia unfinished, it seemed unlikely that reinforcements from Western Europe could be expected. Serbia, now a vassal of Hungary, was unlikely to provide independent support, and having been exhausted by the fight against the Ottomans, it was effectively out of the question. Thus, it was difficult to find forces in the Balkans that could aid the empire and Morea.

“Ultimately, it means relying on Venice…”

How long would the republic, armed with thorough national interest, continue to endure losses to help the empire? They are the kind who would withdraw without hesitation if they feel they’re incurring a loss.

If Murad II begins his southern campaign, they might just stand by and observe without providing significant support. This isn’t a story limited to Venice. Wherever you go, it won’t be easy to find a helping hand.

A desperate entity that must exert influence over the Balkan Peninsula is needed. And there was one place that seemed worthy of consideration as a candidate. Well, it’s a place to approach as a last resort when support from Venice is entirely off the table.

The conclusion was bleak.

There were no longer any formidable forces left to oppose the Ottomans, except for the Anatolian beyliks. The problem is finding a way to unite them and raise the banner of rebellion. Big Mustafa, the leader of the previous rebellion, isn’t a bad option, but would the beyliks support someone who has already been defeated?

The answer lies in why the late Sultan Mehmed responded so passively.

Even with numerous safety measures, the Ottoman regular army could have easily marched south and devastated central Greece. It wouldn’t have been right, but it would have been enough to assert Ottoman prestige. Yet, Mehmed ultimately did not turn his army south.

Was it due to his personal relationship with my father, Manuel? Did he choose to send envoys instead of moving his army simply because of that?

I don’t know. There’s no way to know…

The one who could answer the question now lies in eternal rest. Even if the late Sultan was restrained by something, there’s no reason to think Murad will act the same. Perhaps I’m failing to prepare for reality, blinded by false hope and expectations. But there was an inexplicable conviction that the reason Mehmed didn’t move could be the key to the empire’s survival.

Whether prepared or not…

Time continues to flow. And the era is still testing us. The empire and the Ottomans. It demands proof of which side truly deserves the call of history. The conflict between the Ottomans and the empire—whether this is a trial or a step towards destruction—no one can yet say for certain.

History has not chosen yet.

Therefore, we must move forward.

Destruction or survival. Nothing will be resolved by standing still in fear on this unstable tightrope where everything hangs by a single step. You can’t know if it will be a happy ending or a bad one while standing still on the rope.

I will press forward to the end.

No matter what awaits at the end.