Author: Renegade

As the knights turned their spearheads toward us, a memory from my childhood surfaced—the moment I faced a charging knight.

In those days, with my young, inexperienced self, victory was beyond hope; even survival seemed uncertain. The opponent, prepared to lay down his life for what he sought to protect, charged with a deadly resolve. It was only natural to think of death. Yet, life didn’t end there. By fate or determination, I survived that encounter and stood here now.

Life and death, victory and defeat, glory and ruin.

All rested on this spear.

The distance between me and the first knight to turn his horse was now narrow enough to decide our fates.

Soon, his lance and my spear barely grazed each other. No matter how sturdy the chainmail, it couldn’t withstand the force of that fearsome lance. The armor would crumple, and the heart would be shattered in an instant.

Thus, I aimed my spear not at his chest but at his shoulder.

Clang!

With a fierce twist of my body, I thrust my spear. Simultaneously, the knight’s lance tore at the scales of my armor.

Yet, it failed to seize my life. On the contrary, unable to withstand the impact, the knight lost his grip on the reins and fell from his horse. The clamor of his fall was soon buried beneath the battlefield’s roar.

The knights following him met the same fate.

Though their armor was scratched or damaged, they failed to inflict any significant wounds. With each clash, another knight fell. Seizing the moment, our light infantry closed the gaps between the knight’s formations. What was meant to maximize the effect of their lance charges now became their downfall.

“Target the horses! Sever their legs! Ensure they cannot flee!”

Naturally, the knights didn’t take kindly to this. Each swing of their heavy swords caused our lightly armored infantry to bleed and fall.

But the chaos we had sought had been achieved. Amid the disorder, some of our soldiers, wielding massive scythes, began slicing at the horses’ legs.

And soon, results followed. Preoccupied with the soldiers charging at them, the knights failed to notice the threat at their feet. This was a tactic I had long contemplated when facing knights.

Lure them into a charge, let them disrupt our ranks, and then have a reserve force ready to cause chaos and unhorse them.

Considering most of our soldiers were farmers, we opted for scythes—more familiar and effective for toppling horses than spears. Naturally, there were casualties. But our light infantry was a unit formed for this purpose, fully prepared for significant sacrifices.

Thanks to their efforts, our heavy infantry had ample time to reorganize. Soldiers on the battlefield are highly aligned to shifts in momentum. The sergeant quickly grasped his next move. It was time to avenge the attack that nearly broke them.

To pull the tilting tide of battle decisively in our favour!

“Unhorse every one of those Latins! It’s time to avenge the humiliation of centuries past!”

The humiliation of centuries past.

This call awakened the soldiers’ deep-seated hatred for the Latins. Watching their intensified fervor, I found myself immersed in a long-forgotten regret. If anyone questioned why someone so young harbored such reflections, I’d have no defense.

How could one suppress the surge of emotions that overwhelmed them upon witnessing the battlefield?

Adrianos and his cavalry decimated the enemy.

The superiority of our spearmen had been decisive. With the anvil shattered and the knights immobilized, they no longer influenced the outcome of the battle. Adrianos chose to pursue the fleeing enemy rather than engage in the chaos, ensuring they could never regroup.

The outcome of the battle was now unmistakably clear.

Unlike past expeditions, this victory was achieved purely through our own strength.

Opting for a one-on-one confrontation rather than collaborating with Venice had its rewards. While reducing Venice’s influence was a factor, the primary goal of this battle was to instill hope in the people of Morea and the Empire.

It was about helping those long resigned to defeat believe once more in the possibility of success.

Of course, this didn’t mean we were entirely severing ties with Venice.

With this victory, it was time to reclaim Athens, the symbol of Greece.

To achieve this, mercy was necessary. The citizens’ hatred for the Latins was understandable. Yet, it was unreasonable to expel those who had taken root over 200 years simply for being descendants of invaders.

A revenger is cruel to the defeated.

But a ruler extends mercy to them.

A sudden thought made me lift my left hand, which gripped the reins. Along with it, I made a promise to myself. The reason I held this spear was not for revenge. I had not mounted my horse driven by hatred alone.

“I forbid further pursuit. Let those who have lost their will to fight express their intent to surrender. Though we have raised arms against each other amidst the chaos, let us remember that we share the same blood and faith. The blood spilled today is vengeance enough for the past.”

Many still breathed heavily, unable to quell their hatred. Even so, they obeyed my command.

Those who had accepted their defeat were no longer enemies. Watching them submit to the offered ropes rather than resist with swords, I repeated in my mind once more.

Never forget.

The reason I stand here is not for revenge but to save the Empire on the brink of collapse.

Years ago, I had mounted a horse myself to lead the army.

Even when it seemed like everything was coming to an end, I continued to move forward, seeking a new beginning. Of course, the current situation hasn’t improved significantly. The formidable Ottoman remains powerful, and our strength is still insufficient. However, to say that nothing has changed would be overly modest.

The 2,000 soldiers are not merely recruits handed spears. They are a restructured force with higher morale, shaped by the advice of Western European military experts. They are no longer helpless individuals awaiting inevitable doom.

The moment to witness the fruits of our past efforts was now upon us.

“Your Highness, it’s the forces of the Duchy of Athens.”

Adrianos pointed to another group of soldiers in the distance. As expected, their numbers were similar to ours, or slightly fewer. They, too, were sons and fathers. However, one side entered the battlefield as vassals of the Ottomans, while the other stood as allies of the Ottomans.

Vassals and allies. The subjugated and the opportunists.

A slight difference had led them to point their spears at each other. Now was the time to conclude the long-standing conflict over interests under the same faith.

“Adrianos, take the cavalry and strike the enemy’s left flank.”

“As Your Highness commands.”

Adrianos promptly turned his horse and retreated. Entrusting a former bureaucrat like Adrianos with the cavalry was naturally a cause for concern. I wished to lead the cavalry myself, but I judged that the outcome of this battle hinged on the infantry’s deployment. Pitting Morea’s meager cavalry head-on against powerful knights would be foolish.

Thus, the infantry had to shine.

Our formation consisted of 600 spearmen to withstand the knights’ charge, 400 heavy infantry, and 200 light infantry. I positioned the more mobile light infantry as reserves behind the wings. To prevent flanking, it was better to place the heavy infantry at the ends of the wings.

“I will split the heavy infantry into two, placing them at the ends of each wing. The light infantry will serve as reserves, with the spearmen as the main force confronting the enemy.”

The orders soon mobilized the soldiers. Under the direction of the officers, the formation gradually took shape. In response to our evident battle readiness, the enemy also began to react.

“The enemy’s front line is pulling back on both sides!”

Emerging from the center of the retreating formation were, as expected, their praised knights. Armed with lances and clad in heavy armor, they were the epitome of Western Europe’s military might, which had shaken the East for so long. Even during the Achaean expedition, the knights inflicted significant damage on the expeditionary forces with their small numbers.

This would be the battle that set the tone for all future strategies. As I steeled myself, I realized I had been clenching my fists tightly.

Soon, the tense standoff began.

In this brief period of tension, countless thoughts must have crossed our minds.

But what was certain was that we were the ones who moved first.

“Advance the flanks first. Have the shield-bearers block the enemy’s arrows.”

As hundreds, thousands of soldiers moved in unison, the scent of grim death seemed to spread around the battlefield. Flocks of crows, anticipating the feast of flesh, circled high in the sky. Beneath the raised spearheads, a battle of banners was about to unfold.

Which banner would fall first under the weight of bloodshed? As thoughts raced, the distance between the two armies steadily decreased. What were the soldiers gripping their spears thinking? Were they truly yearning for the glory of old?

The path to the answer was opened with a cacophony of spirited shouts.

The knights charged first, spurring their horses forward. The sound of clattering hooves was accompanied by the cries of soldiers. In unison with their commands, the soldiers lowered their spears, pointing the sharp tips at the approaching knights.

Teetering between fear and courage, their true feelings would soon be revealed. As the distance closed enough for lives to be taken, the expected collision occurred.

Impact.

The momentary cries of the wounded were quickly drowned out by a surge of battle cries. Amidst the fallen soldiers and beasts, those standing held their ground, spears unwavering. The first charge had failed. Realizing this, the knights abandoned their broken lances and retreated.

The gap left by the knights was soon filled by advancing enemy infantry.

Yet, if even the knights couldn’t break through, could mere infantry succeed? The densely packed spears clashed, and it was our side that struck first, piercing the enemy’s throats. Perhaps our spears were longer. The skill of our spearmen was undoubtedly superior.

While an attack on the enemy’s flanks with our heavy infantry would be advantageous…

“They’re Latins! They’re maneuvering to flank us!”

An officer, observing the battlefield, shouted urgently. The retreating knights were circling wide, clearly intending to deliver a devastating attack on our rear. But we had a cavalry unit too.

“Relay to Adrianos: lead the cavalry and strike the knights the moment they hit our left flank!”

Yet, if our formation collapsed before Adrianos could strike, all efforts would be in vain. Someone needed to hold off the knights. In this critical moment, if anyone could be trusted…

“Advance the heavy infantry on the right wing to strike the enemy’s flank! The light infantry on the right will assist and pursue the fleeing enemy! The light infantry on the left, follow me!”

“Your Highness! Are you planning to enter the front lines yourself?!”

Ignoring the officer’s protests, I dashed toward the front. The key now was to delay the knights as long as possible. As expected, the knights noticed the heavy infantry shifting to intercept, though the formation was already somewhat disrupted.

The clash began soon after.

With the harsh sounds of collision, soldiers were flung aside. The knights continued to tear through the ranks with relentless force, their overwhelming might scattering our forces like sand before a powerful wave. No, this battle must be won. This is a fight upon which the fate of the nation rests.

We cannot fall here!

Kicking my horse furiously, I gripped my spear so tightly my arm went numb, silently urging myself onward.

Faster, swifter!

No! Look here, not at them!

“Behold, remnants of the intruder! The rightful lord has come to reclaim what was taken!”

The outcome was a success. A few knights turned their gaze toward me.

TL : It’s a bit late to say this, and I don’t know if this might be a spoiler, but in real life, Constantine only married once, and it was not to the Serbian princess. In fact, the Serbian princess didn’t exist in real life and the Lazarević family she’s from ended because Stefan( her father ) didn’t had any children. And you know the Kantakouzenos girl who was supposed to marry Constantine earlier? She was married to a Serbian prince in real life.

Amidst the turmoil where countless nations rise and fall, the city-state of Venice has steadfastly maintained its independence and prosperity.

Currently, Venice is recognized as the most beautiful republic, having emerged as the strongest navy power through its exceptional diplomacy and rigorous nationalism. However, the status of being the strongest is always under threat from challengers, prompting constant vigilance over the international balance of power.

The recent expansion of the Ottomans, who have begun to dominate not only Anatolia but also the Balkans, poses a significant threat to Venice. Unable to intervene hastily, Venice waited anxiously, until the opportune appearance of Mustafa, the last son of Bayezid. Whether he truly is Bayezid’s youngest son is irrelevant. If he can shake the Ottoman throne, Venice intends to make him real.

What Venice did not anticipate was the completely different stance of the Prince of Morea, who was known to be wary of the Ottomans.

According to Venice’s expectations, Morea should have cooperated to pressure the Ottomans on two fronts as soon as support for Mustafa emerged. But in reality, Morea joined the war not as Serbia’s ally but as an Ottoman ally, and the Empire took no measures against Morea’s decision.

The arrival of the prince’s letter at the Venetian Senate came just as the chief magistrate was contemplating the situation with dismay.

Shortly after, Venice’s chief magistrate, Mocenigo, read a letter from Constantine Dragases, the ruler of Morea, expressing both admiration and grief. From the moment Mocenigo became chief magistrate, the name Dragases, once considered just a rash youth, had intermittently surfaced. Now, this name had become a decisive arrow altering the dynamics of the Balkans.

It was only natural that the exploits of this audacious prince reached Venice, which had established close ties with the Empire to monopolize trade through the Bosporus. Even in 1412, when Musa Çelebi besieged Constantinople, he had shown a composure beyond his years, playing a key role in the city’s defense.

Moreover, news of his campaign at a young age, resulting in the capture of the Achaea region, was a shocking revelation. Western European kings and nobles, embroiled in their conflicts, were likely unaware of the name Dragases or his potential feats.

But to Mocenigo, Prince Dragases appeared to be someone who would inevitably achieve something significant after a risky tug-of-war.

He pushed forward, step by step, toward the outcome his courage would yield, even if it meant shortening his lifespan on the cliff edge of grim reality.

Whether it led to complete ruin or overcoming trials, he pressed on unflinchingly.

Perhaps his position as a prince of an empire on the brink of collapse shaped him this way. Mocenigo held Prince Dragases in much higher regard than others did, to the point of wishing for an alliance through marriage, if only the prince weren’t already married.

This admiration, however, also gave rise to caution regarding the prince’s capabilities.

What might happen if Venice empowered Prince Dragases further? Could it completely disrupt the balance of power in the Aegean Sea?

Despite these doubts, the geopolitical situation urged support for the prince.

To continue dominating the Aegean and the Bosporus as the rising Ottoman threat needed to be curtailed.

For Venice, the prince had presented a tempting offer:

“Cover half the contract and maintenance costs for the mercenaries Morea will employ. In return, I will grant you trade monopolies and settlements in central Greece, and promise to protect Venetian merchants stationed there.”

At first glance, it might seem somewhat submissive, but Morea’s significance was not so simple. Despite Prince Dragases’ independent actions, Morea was nominally and internationally a duchy under the Empire, which was allied with the Ottomans. This made the treaty’s core all the more significant.

Should Venice retract its support for the mercenary expenses, the Empire—or rather, Morea—could not guarantee the safety of Venetian settlements. This was the implicit threat in the treaty. It might seem trivial, but it could be a bold foresight of a newly forming power structure.

The inevitable deterioration of relations following a confrontation with the Ottoman’s new fleet would require Venice to bear substantial defense costs. Venice needed a diplomatic strategy to counter the Ottoman forces without directly engaging.

Through his actions, the prince pointed out the global situation:

“You can solidify your dominance over the Aegean. By shouldering half the defense costs, you can govern your colonies more securely.”

This is why Mocenigo paid keen attention to Prince Dragases.

Prince Dragases surely reviewed every aspect of this sequence before proceeding. Had he been fully grown on the day Bayezid died, history might have taken a different course. Mocenigo let out another sigh.

“Did such a figure only emerge when ruin was at our doorstep?”

With conditions like these, even the Senate could be moved. Every indication pointed to it serving Venice’s national interest. Even if Morea were to subjugate all of southern Balkans, it wouldn’t easily topple the mighty Ottomans, thus maintaining a facade of balance.

While making this rational judgment, Mocenigo couldn’t help but wonder how far Prince Dragases could go.

Since ancient times, great heroes have always had formidable rivals.

Who would be the great hero, and who would be the one to elevate the hero’s fame as a sacrifice? Is the hero chosen by the times the one rising anew or the one reviving a fallen past glory?

Roughly a month later.

Venice had anchored a fleet of about thirty ships off the southern Peloponnese. Being near the Adriatic Sea, where Venetian influence was overwhelming, made it difficult for Ottoman scouts to approach easily.

On the deck, Venetian Admiral Foscari, gently caressing his sword, finally received the awaited letter. The letter reported that Prince Dragases had finally commenced his advance on Athens.

“Prince Dragases has finally made his move.”

He recalled their brief conversation from when they headed towards the millennia-old city. Eyes brimming with determination, pride, and conviction conveyed the dignity of a ruler. He also possessed an unyielding spirit that withstood even the fiercest tides. His bearing was akin to the noble knightly figures from the legendary tales.

For such a person, there were only two possible ends:

A tragic downfall…

Or becoming a great leader.

The idea of unifying the Christian forces of southern Balkans had been contemplated for a long time. However, due to internal weaknesses and Ottoman vigilance, making a hasty move had not been feasible. Taking advantage of this situation, the city-states scattered around the Epirus region and southern Thessaly in western Balkans maintained their independence. But how long could this unstable balance that preserved their independence last?

These city-states enjoyed a fragile peace by simply paying tribute to Mehmed, who had yet to fully quell the chaos of civil war. They likely regarded the Ottoman’s tolerance, stemming from concerns about administrative inefficiency and organized Christian resistance, as their own achievement.

However, as the end of peace loomed, everything was changing.

The Empire and the Ottomans—once one side was defeated, the independence of these small city-states would be untenable. The only task left was to make these minor states realize the reality. The Empire’s singular objective now was to act swiftly and reclaim central and western Greece, which had served as a buffer zone, before the Serbia-Ottoman war concluded.

To this end, not only had 2,000 troops been assembled in Corinth, but cooperation from Venice had also been secured. Once the Sultan commenced his campaign, the expedition would officially begin. Of course, they hadn’t been idle; the expeditionary force, comprising 1,600 infantry and 400 cavalry, had undergone extensive preparations to enhance their chances of success.

Consequently, the remaining time was spent redistributing surplus funds and supplies to the expeditionary force. Particularly in the case of the Duchy of Ainetos, which would be the first to confront them, a well-established state with considerable stability, the longer they delayed, the greater the disadvantage.

Thus, the sound of ominous footsteps interrupted the prince as he diligently moved his pen.

“I cannot understand this, Your Highness!”

It was Ivania, the blond-haired, blue-eyed female mercenary captain, her cheeks puffed slightly to express her displeasure.

“Why have I been excluded from this expedition?!”

Her complaint was evidently about her mercenary band not being deployed to the front. Given her lack of notable achievements since the Achaea expedition seven years ago, her anxiety was understandable. Although a reasonable cause occurred to him, he was focused on something else.

“Am I no longer needed? Is it because you’re satisfied with your wife now?”

The opportunity to accompany the prince after months had finally arrived…! At her ensuing words, a headache began to throb. Although he had a vague inkling, he hoped it wasn’t the case. Alas, his hopes were brutally dashed. Nevertheless, Ivanya was one of the few seasoned officers in Morea. Besides, there was a specific task for her, so he tried to persuade her gently.

“Ivania, you and your mercenary band must stay in Mistra, as I have conveyed.”

“I cannot understand why! To maintain order? Surely, it isn’t necessary to entrust us with that!”

“Indeed, there is also a ‘real reason’ you would understand.”

There were two reasons, one for the future and one for the present. He intended to co-opt and absorb Ivania’s mercenaries eventually, to implement a comprehensive non-commissioned officer system he was planning. Allowing these valuable mercenaries to be wasted too early would be a significant loss.

Naturally, saying to her face, “I plan to take over your men,” would immediately terminate the employment relationship.

Instead, the reason he offered to Ivania was related to a particular individual that came to mind—his wife, who was likely indulging in self-admiration, possibly already entertaining another man in her bed. He had no interest in others’ affairs, but his concern for Sophia stemmed from a different reason.

“Sophia, the Princess of Serbia, would likely disapprove of participating in this war as an ally of the Ottomans. I need someone to block and monitor any interference she might attempt. And currently, your mercenary band is the most elite force for this task.”

“Tch…! To associate me with that thief…! But if this is a decision made because you trust me… hehehe…”

Ivania, biting her thumbnail in anger, yet slightly relaxing her lips at the thought of being trusted, was a complex woman. Would she reject the carrot he dangled? The answer was evident.

“I will await your return in Mistra, Your Highness.”

“Please, Ivania. No matter what happens, prevent Sophia from contacting the outside world.”

“Understood.”

Only after causing quite a commotion did Ivania finally retreat, and as soon as her back disappeared from sight, a sigh escaped. The tenacity she displayed last time, clinging and refusing to give up, seemed entirely absent now. It didn’t seem like someone who had given up at all… what a headache.

“Good grief. My wife, who seems content with doing nothing, and even the few capable subordinates are a mess…”

A deep, profound sigh followed. The burden of this cross on his shoulders was already overwhelming, yet chaos erupted from all directions. These troubles, a consequence of not pursuing personal happiness alone, were self-inflicted. Complaining about them was pathetic. After all, this was the result of his own actions—if only he had just enjoyed what he had without interfering unnecessarily.

He felt ashamed of himself. Foolish and naive. Once again, he asked himself the question he had pondered countless times: Why do I make life so difficult for myself?

Stupid.

Overbearing.

Self-important.

The day when this absurd, foolish life of his would end didn’t seem far off. Even amidst his self-reproach, he observed the preparations progressing under his direction. Meanwhile, the opponent was likely inscribing entirely different figures in their ledgers. Each time these thoughts surfaced, his confidence decreased. The moment when he would face the mighty Ottomans drew closer by the second.

He posed the question he had asked himself endlessly, never with certainty:

Could this feeble struggle succeed?

In the midst of this swirling fog of deep doubt, he repeatedly reminded himself of a single resolution. Even if all of this proved meaningless, he would ensure that the people of the Empire could show future generations that they had not passively surrendered their sovereignty.

Thus, the subjects of the Empire would stand tall, unashamed, proclaiming to the future generations that :

We fought to the end, seeking hope amidst despair. We defended our sovereignty until the very moment of our downfall.

//

And so, on December 23, 1420, upon hearing the news that the Ottoman army had set out, the prince also embarked on his campaign.

The first to face the launch of the 2,000-strong Morea army was the Duchy of Athens, which had continued as a tributary state of the Ottomans.