Category: About a Dating Sim Where Dating Is Impossible

  • About a Dating Sim Where Dating Is Impossible Chapter 65

    “-That concludes the report.”

    The usually confident and subtly smiling Sophia was nowhere to be seen. Instead, she relayed the concerning information with an exceptionally professional demeanor. Though there were some mismatches here and there, the level of detail she provided was more than sufficient. Given the difficulty of obtaining such intelligence, especially in contrast to the modern era, her ability was truly remarkable.

    Now, it was up to this side to analyze the details and uncover the full picture.

    The first point of interest was Murad’s actions during the suppression of the Bulgarian uprising. Using overworked slaves, unarmed and scarred, masked and sent to ambush the enemy’s rear—was it to instill terror in the opposition? Certainly, the Bulgarian rebels were no more than untrained peasants. The sudden appearance of those frightening slaves would have undoubtedly struck fear into them.

    Even more notable was the fact that while the slaves were deployed, Murad’s main force only continued marching without engaging the enemy. If he had aimed for gradual destruction, the task would have been far easier. So why had he deliberately allowed time for the rebels to regroup? The reasoning seemed clear. Going around and fighting each group to rescue isolated allies trapped by the rebellion’s forces would have taken far too long. Instead, threatening the enemy into withdrawing on their own was the faster option.

    But such tactics were typically for those pressed for time.

    Murad, who had taken the defender’s position, had no apparent reason to act with such urgency. What was clear was that he had orchestrated events so the rebels would gather into a single force rather than scatter and engage in guerrilla warfare.

    As a result, the rebels lost their sole advantage—guerrilla tactics. It was likely done to prevent disruptions to his rear, but it didn’t fully explain why Murad acted so hastily.

    To uncover that reason, it was necessary to look at the broader battlefield.

    Mustafa’s army, which had marched south along the Danube, was both an expeditionary force and one with clear limitations as a foreign army. This made it easier for the Bey’s forces to mount a stronger resistance. A civil war differs greatly from a conflict involving a revolt backed by foreign powers.

    In a civil war, the enemy is your own kin, but in a rebellion’s army, the troops are often foreigners. Such an army is bound to lack trust among its members, especially one acquired through the schemes of the Empire and Venice.

    Considering this, it became clear why Mustafa hastily moved south without fully crushing the Bey’s forces. It also clarified why Murad chose to draw all the rebels together and crush them in one blow instead of dividing and defeating them bit by bit. To solidify these assumptions, Sophia’s insight was needed.

    “Sophia, have there been any unusual movements along the Anatolian coast during this time?”

    “It didn’t seem particularly important to this war… but then again, Your Majesty might see it differently. As you suspect, there was something. The Ottoman galleys stationed along the Anatolian coast were hastily preparing for departure. However, the odd thing is that there were no other notable military actions in Anatolia besides this.”

    “So, they hurriedly prepared to sail… without troops to transport?”

    “That’s why I initially dismissed it as insignificant.”

    Before I realized it, my body was trembling uncontrollably, and I shot up from my seat. My mind went blank, utterly white. Then, as if the strength in my legs gave out, I collapsed back into my chair.

    That was it. From the signs of the Anatolian coastal fleet’s abnormal movements, I could now understand why Mustafa hastened his march south and why Murad chose to display a calculated threat to his enemy.

    Murad must have known that Venice would support Mustafa. The Anatolian coast was more influenced by Genoa than Venice, making it far harder to gather intelligence there. It would have been nearly impossible to grasp all the military movements happening in Anatolia, let alone uncover the fleet’s activity. The fact that Murad managed to detect the fleet’s movements was astonishing. However, his failure to anticipate that the enemy might exploit this knowledge was a fatal mistake.

    Fearing that even the Anatolian forces might join the battle, Mustafa likely prioritized ending the succession dispute by overthrowing the sultan rather than focusing on the Bey’s forces. Meanwhile, Murad had successfully rescued the Bey, who was on the brink of annihilation, simply by ordering the coastal fleet to lift anchor. This maneuver drew Mustafa deeper into his trap.

    Considering the time it would take for orders to reach, Murad must have sent instructions to the Anatolian coastal fleet on the very day he began his advance into Bulgaria.

    Even the swift suppression of the Bulgarian rebels served a purpose: to aid Mustafa’s advance southward. If the rebellion had persisted, Mustafa might have acted more cautiously. Knowing the overwhelming difference in the quality of soldiers and the skill of the officers, Murad could afford such a bold gamble and still secure an easy victory.

    For Mustafa, who feared the joining of Anatolian forces, there were no other options. In the inevitable clash between the two armies, Mustafa’s leadership likely would not have been decisive. After all, how many foreign troops, already distrustful of their commander, would follow the orders of a general who had previously led them to defeat? Whatever military talent Mustafa possessed, it was overshadowed by the profound lack of trust in his leadership.

    “…Is this the kind of opponent I must face?”

    My vision darkened. For once, Sophia, in a rare display of concern, broke the silence with a question.

    “Get a hold of yourself. Murad’s forces will soon march toward this place. Do you really have time to be lost in thought?”

    “…No.”

    The more I contemplated Murad’s actions, the more certain I became.

    “…You don’t believe Murad will invade Morea? Is that your assessment?”

    “Murad isn’t heading for Morea… He’s heading for Constantinople.”

    And this certainty wasn’t because of Constantinople’s symbolic significance. Murad would besiege Constantinople to assert his dominance.

    “Why? Why would you think that?”

    “Because there’s far more to gain.”

    “…From a crumbling capital of a millennium-old empire?”

    “If he can secure both justification and tangible benefits, heading for Constantinople is the logical choice.”

    By besieging Constantinople, Murad would apply immense pressure on the capital. In its desperation, the capital would inevitably request reinforcements from Morea. And if that request came, Morea would be cornered.

    Refusing the request would be akin to declaring independence from the empire. But if Morea complied with the request, Morea would lose its status as the “Ottoman ally” that shielded Central Greece from Ottoman incursions.

    On the other hand, if Morea acted on the request, it would likely be forced to fight in hostile territory—or worse, on ground carefully chosen by the enemy—rather than on the Peloponnesian Peninsula, which had always been assumed as the main battleground. The narrow passages and rugged terrain that allowed a smaller force to stall the Ottomans would no longer serve any purpose.

    A shiver ran down my spine. And then another.

    Could I really defeat Murad?

  • About a Dating Sim Where Dating Is Impossible Chapter 64

    When it had been about two months since Murad II had raised his army, news of the catastrophic defeat of 8,000 Bulgarians against an equal number of enemies struck like a thunderbolt among those who had hoped for Mustafa’s success.

    The revolt, which had rallied immediate support as soon as 12,000 troops marched southward, had been seen as a timely blessing from heaven. At least, that’s what the war hawks of the empire believed—until Murad II completely subdued the rebellion while sustaining barely a few hundred casualties.

    Doubts began to arise: had their decision truly been the right one? But for now, the mood in the capital did not shift. Even if the rebellion had been crushed, the 12,000-strong army led by Great Mustafa still remained intact.

    To prove whether this belief was indeed justified, Murad and Mustafa now stood on the same battlefield. The turning point came when Murad, who had been crushing the Bulgarians with overwhelming force in an initial forced march, suddenly halted his advance. Mustafa saw this as an opportunity and pushed further southward.

    When the two forces finally confronted each other, Murad thought Mustafa’s army might signal an immediate attack. Yet, observing the unshaken formation of his opponent, he reconsidered. Unlike the previous day when Mustafa had boldly decided to march south, now he chose to cautiously maintain his stance.

    With their forces facing off, the first thing Murad did was examine the enemy’s formation. Perhaps mindful of the devastating flank attacks carried out by the Sipahi cavalry in the previous battle, Mustafa positioned his left wing on a slight ridge, addressing his vulnerabilities. If Murad recklessly ordered an assault, it would result in significant casualties.

    “Send the slaves forward to advance.”

    Despite this, Murad gave the order to attack. As the signal for battle was raised and a heavy horn blared, the clash began. Mustafa’s troops, however, showed no movement, maintaining their ranks. Only when the opposing forces drew near did they pull back their infantry by a step. Replacing them were archers, arrows drawn to their bows. Not a single one loosed early.

    The first arrows were loosed at the sound of a shrill whistle, piercing the air.

    A volley of arrows filled the gap between Murad’s and Mustafa’s forces, their sharp tips slicing through the wind with the cry of tight bowstrings. The projectiles tore into unprotected flesh, and the agonized cries of the wounded were soon drowned out by the constant whistle of arrows cutting through the air.

    Yet the slaves showed no signs of retreating. Eventually, realizing that allowing further approach would put their archers at risk, Mustafa’s infantry stepped forward once again to meet them.

    “Waahhh!”

    The clash was immediate. Each impact of blade against blade rang out, weighing life against death. Crude shields were raised to deflect the spears thrust by Mustafa’s soldiers, but a single shield was never enough to block all the spearheads. The tide of battle shifted quickly. Murad’s forces began to falter under the pressure of their reckless assault. When the slaves, realizing the fight was lost, abandoned the battle and fled, the collapse was irreversible.

    Mustafa’s forces would not let them escape.

    “The enemy is falling back! Pursue them!”

    The soldiers eagerly chased after the retreating slaves, showing no mercy to those who had turned their backs. The pursuit went on for some time, with Mustafa’s forces mercilessly cutting down the fleeing slaves. Victory seemed all but certain. Such a belief wasn’t unfounded—until white-capped soldiers began to appear.

    Shiiing—

    A swift, sharp slash severed a neck in an instant. The curved blade, designed for efficient cutting, was now stained with blood. Bodies fell, their lives snuffed out effortlessly. Mustafa’s soldiers, drunk on the thrill of the chase, were caught completely off guard by the sudden reversal.

    “What… what’s happening…?”

    The ease with which their comrades were cut down left them questioning whether humans were truly so fragile. Had they not witnessed the fountains of blood erupting from cleanly sliced necks, they might have been lost in their thoughts for much longer. But reality had no patience for their hesitation.

    When they turned their heads to see who their opponents were, they were met with calm, unyielding gazes brimming with determination and murderous intent. The disciplined movements, honed like steel, revealed their identity.

    The distinctive white caps confirmed their worst fears, plunging them into terror.

    How could they not recognize them?

    How could anyone hope to stand against them?

    “Janissaries!”

    As the soldiers’ panicked cries echoed, Murad, now standing before them, drew his sword. He revealed the blade, steeped in the legacy of the early Ottoman conquests—a legendary weapon embodying their unwavering will.

    “Strike the enemy, Janissaries!”

    At Murad’s command, the Ottoman blades began their massacre without hesitation or doubt. It was an overwhelming assault, brutal enough to be called a slaughter. Mustafa’s forces, drunk on their earlier success and pursuit, were nothing more than insects rushing toward a flame before the Janissaries. Their reckless bloodlust had broken their formation and stretched their lines too thin.

    This, precisely, was Murad’s intention.

    The sudden reversal of fortune, brought about by the arrival of the Janissaries, threw Mustafa’s soldiers into confusion. Their panic grew when the sound of horses reached their ears. They had positioned themselves on the hill earlier to guard against cavalry flank attacks. But now, as they chased the fleeing enemy, where were they?

    The Sipahis answered the question.

    Their arrival crushed what little hope Mustafa’s soldiers had left.

    “Uwaaahhhh!”

    Only Mustafa’s men screamed in terror. The Sipahis and Janissaries made no such sound. Even in the face of death, they did not cry out. They simply fulfilled their duty with silent precision, demonstrating their unshakable discipline. Without showing any emotion or hesitation, they spilled the blood of the Sultan’s enemies onto the cold, hard ground.

    As the chaotic battle seemed destined to end in Murad’s victory, a dramatic change swept through Mustafa’s forces. Realizing the hopelessness of the situation, Mustafa decided to retreat, abandoning those who were being slaughtered behind him.

    But could Mustafa know that even this retreat had been anticipated by Murad?

    The hasty retreat was suddenly interrupted by the sound of shouts from behind Mustafa’s army. Along with the faint clanging of metal and desperate screams carried on the wind, the reality of what was happening dawned on them. Watching the obliteration of Mustafa’s forces unfold, Murad allowed a faint smile to play across his lips.

    “It seems the Bey’s forces have arrived on time.”  *Bey is a rank in the Ottoman Empire

    Mustafa must have believed his troops had paused to regroup. That, too, was partially true. But it was said that leading an army should accomplish more than a single goal. Murad had halted his forces earlier, not just to consolidate his strength but to buy time for the Bey’s army—freed by the failed Bulgarian rebellion—to arrive.

    Mustafa had failed to grasp this strategy, and the battlefield was the result of that oversight.

    As Murad surveyed the field for a while, something seemed to come to mind. He spurred his horse forward, dashing across the battlefield. Even as the Sultan approached, Mustafa’s soldiers, having lost their will to fight, scattered in a desperate attempt to flee. Thanks to their panic, Murad reached his destination quickly: the frontlines of Mustafa’s crumbling forces.

    There was no longer a proud army of 12,000 marching south with confidence. Only piles of corpses and a single man wailing in despair remained.

    “Why? How could I have lost?! I am the son of the Conqueror, Bayezid! I cannot lose to the son of a feeble Mehmed!”

    But there was no one left alive to sympathize with Mustafa’s anguish. Surrounded by enemy spears, he swung his blade wildly, like a wounded beast, but the encirclement held firm. After wasting his strength in vain, Mustafa eventually dropped his sword. Watching this pitiful scene, Murad bit his lower lip.

    Was this truly the man who had dared challenge him for the Sultan’s throne?

    Was this wretched figure truly of the same blood as him?

    As an heir to the Ottoman line and a devout Muslim, this disgrace could not be forgiven. Murad, gripping the legendary sword passed down through the generations of Ottoman Sultans, directed its blade toward Mustafa.

    “This is why,” Murad said.

    “W-what did you say?”

    “The reason you lost is because you are Bayezid’s son.”

    With each step Murad took toward him, his resolve grew firmer. Mustafa’s trembling eyes only strengthened his determination.

    “Are you saying I am weaker than feeble Mehmed?!”

    “You stood on this battlefield as Bayezid’s son. I stood on this battlefield as the Sultan of the Ottomans.”

    The blood of the Ottomans would be reclaimed by the Ottomans. Holding the sword, Murad rested its blade against Mustafa’s neck and looked down at him with icy disdain.

    “A Sultan has no reason to lose to a mere son.”


    TL : Don’t get confused, as mentioned in the earlier chapters, two heirs to the sultan’s title fled from the Ottoman Empire, both named Mustafa. The Mustafa in this chapter is Bayezid’s son, making him Mehmed’s brother.

    Here’s the family tree :

    Murad I (d. 1389)
    |
    Bayezid I (1360–1403)
    |
    Mehmed I   –   Mustafa Çelebi
    |
    Murad II    –   Küçük Mustafa
    |
    Mehmed II (1432–1481) (Mehmed the Conqueror)

  • About a Dating Sim Where Dating Is Impossible Chapter 63

    As soon as the empire had resolved the Black Death, the situation escalated rapidly.

    As he had long resolved to do, John supported Büyük Bayezid, the youngest son of Bayezid as the new Sultan of the Ottomans. Furthermore, the young emperor dismissed the harsh warnings and protests of the Ottoman envoys, who condemned the betrayal of their alliance, with a single remark:

    “I am merely helping the rightful heir reclaim what is his.”

    John’s intention to divide the Ottoman Empire perfectly aligned with Venice’s interests. The Venetian Senate had neither forgotten nor forgiven the Ottomans for threatening their dominance over the Aegean Sea, nor Constantine, the Prince of Morea, for his atrocities against Venetian trade ships under the guise of suppressing the plague—burning their cargo and causing significant losses. The division of the Ottoman Empire presented an excellent opportunity not only to weaken a mutual threat but also to pressure the defiant prince.

    Soon, Büyük Mustafa secured foreign support through Venetian negotiation. The sponsor was none other than Wallachia, which had observed the political situation in the Balkans from afar during the previous Serbian-Ottoman War. Despite Hungary’s intervention, the Ottomans had emerged unscathed, proving their formidable strength and inspiring fear in others.

    (TL : Büyük means great in Turkish)

    The realization that the menacing Ottoman blade could one day turn toward them sparked fear, which quickly transformed into determination to strike first. With Wallachian support secured, Büyük Mustafa began receiving promising news. Even the Bulgarians, long subjugated under Ottoman control, joined his cause in exchange for promises of religious freedom.

    Under Büyük Mustafa’s banner, an army of 12,000 men gathered. Determining it was time to act, Mustafa launched an offensive southward across the Danube, initiating attacks on Bulgaria. The Ottoman governor of Bulgaria attempted to delay him while urgently requesting reinforcements from Edirne.

    When Sultan Murad II received the urgent report, he didn’t hesitate. Without a word, he rose from his seat, drawing the curiosity of his attendants. To their questioning gazes, Murad responded calmly:

    “My enemy is approaching, and yet you all stand idle?”

    With that single statement, Edirne bustled with preparations for war. The speed of the new sultan’s mobilization testified to how firmly he had consolidated his power. In just one month, he assembled 6,000 infantrymen, 1,000 Janissaries, and 800 Sipahis from the Rumelia provinces, who would serve as the cavalry on his right flank.

    Waiting for reinforcements from Anatolia would have allowed Murad to muster a force capable of matching Mustafa’s army. However, Murad had no intention of giving his enemy time.

    Two months had already passed since the Bulgarian governor had begun his desperate struggle. Though loyal to the Sultan’s command, the local governors’ forces were undeniably limited. Mustafa’s southward march across the Danube had incited a Bulgarian uprising, isolating and scattering the Ottoman forces.

    Even the strongest army is powerless when fragmented and surrounded. Murad knew he had to act swiftly to save them. After all, the besieged Ottoman troops in Bulgaria were his soldiers.

    Murad II’s forces soon began a forced march.

    His first objective was to punish the Bulgarians who had disrupted the rear. To this end, Murad detached two separate units of 1,000 men each. At the forefront of these detachments marched grim-faced men, their armor replaced by the scars etched into their bodies from their past as enslaved laborers. Murad issued a special order for these men.

    “Place masks on them and deliver this warning: should they attempt to flee, they will be executed. However, if they achieve remarkable feats in battle, they will be granted the opportunity to convert and join our ranks as soldiers. If they truly value freedom and honor over death, they will willingly charge at the enemy, even without armor.”

    The appearance of the new detachment immediately produced results. The yearning for freedom and a change in status imbued the soldiers with a madness that overcame even the fear of death. Thanks to their light equipment, they moved swiftly to strike the Bulgarians from the rear, and the beleaguered Ottoman forces, surrounded and nearing death, realized the tides were turning. True to their reputation as a formidable army, they launched a counterattack. Faced with assaults from both sides, the Bulgarian forces had only two options:

    To die or to flee.

    News soon spread that the main Ottoman army was on its way. Alarmed, the Bulgarians withdrew their siege, recognizing the need to consolidate their forces. Meanwhile, those who had prematurely declared victory were captured and executed. Mercy and forgiveness are virtues reserved for those who practice peace; Murad had no intention of sparing those who delighted in cornering his loyal warriors.

    Fortunately for Murad, the feared guerrilla warfare never materialized.

    The Bulgarians began gathering in one place. Whether this was to consolidate their resolve or to make it easier for Büyük Mustafa to send reinforcements was unclear. What they did not realize, however, was that this consolidation played directly into Murad’s hands.

    He had faith in the sharp sword passed down by his predecessors—the sword that had, for centuries, brought cries of victory in the name of the Prophet. The soldiers, strengthened further by their victory over the Crusaders at Nicopolis, were the reason Murad was confident of success.

    “Teach them the virtue of submission. Show them who their true ruler is, and ensure they never again harbor such futile ambitions—through death!”

    The gathered Bulgarians numbered roughly 8,000, equal to Murad II’s forces. The leaders of the rebellion may have thought they had a chance. But Murad thoroughly crushed those hopes.

    Murad’s first move was to send forward Bulgarian captives who had been released as a gesture of mercy. As expected, the rebel army hesitated to kill their countrymen, who were placed in the vanguard.

    During this hesitation, Ottoman skirmishers maneuvered around to attack the poorly armed Bulgarians on their flanks, following Murad’s orders. Although some units noticed the maneuver and hastily adjusted their positions, their lack of formal training caused significant delays. This delay was exploited by the Sipahi cavalry, who had circled around to attack from the rear.

    “Damn it…! They’re everywhere!”

    The rebel formations collapsed. Lacking the morale to face the charging cavalry head-on, the rebels scattered in chaos, tripping over each other as they fled from the terrifying speed of the horses. The Sipahis focused solely on breaking through the enemy lines, leaving the disoriented rebel units vulnerable to the skirmishers attacking from the flanks.

    Piece by piece, the rebellion was dismantled.

    The battle did not last long.

    After the fighting ended, Murad surveyed the battlefield slowly.

    Amidst the lifeless bodies, the air was filled with terrified screams and the sharp stench of blood pooling as evidence of retribution. Above it all rang the triumphant cries of his soldiers—shouts of joy and exultation, as they always were after a hard-fought victory. The few who survived and managed to earn the Sultan’s mercy trembled as they knelt in submission.

    “My Sultan, a glorious victory! Behold the fate of those who betrayed your trust!”

    One of the Janissaries could not hide his excitement as he shouted, but Murad showed no trace of similar emotion. The only change in his expression was the deepening of his previously faint anger.

    “How many had to die because of their schemes?”

    This rebellion, in truth, should never have arisen. Misled by the ambitions of power-hungry leaders, the rebels likely believed they were fighting for a noble cause, unaware of the lies they had been fed. And among them were Murad’s own warriors, who had swung their swords in loyalty only to meet their deaths on this battlefield.

    “I shall never forgive them.”

    Murad tightened his grip on the reins of his horse.

  • About a Dating Sim Where Dating Is Impossible Chapter 62

    “Disasters seem to come in waves.”

    After John exiled the aging emperor to a monastery, the days were filled with a unusual tension between Morea and the capital. The first signs of an chaos appeared in the capital when a corpse with blackened skin was discovered. A chilling thought ran through everyone’s mind as the news spread.

    The plague had arrived.

    The two brothers’ response to this new calamity was ruthless yet swift. John, with his younger brother Theodoros leading the effort, ordered the immediate quarantine of ports and anyone deemed suspicious.

    Meanwhile, Prince Constantine fully isolated refugees arriving from the capital, offering only the bare minimum of humanitarian aid. To ensure no risk remained, they imposed strict inspections on all incoming ships from the capital and burned any suspected contaminated cargo.

    Unsurprisingly, these harsh measures met significant resistance. To shield himself from the growing discontent, John placed Theodoros at the forefront of the operation. Prince Constantine, however, leveraged his unshakable influence in Morea to enforce obedience. Thanks to their firm actions, the situation began to stabilize within three months.

    But the aftermath was beyond their control.

    To rebuild faltering public trust after the plague, John saw the need to redirect attention outward. Rumors blaming the calamity on the empire’s hesitation against the “enemies of the faith” began circulating.

    With these whispers, there was little reason left to resist the arguments of the war faction. Soon enough, news reached Morea that Mehmed’s youngest son, Mustafa, was being promoted as the next sultan of the Ottoman Empire.

    “Your decision to prepare for war has proven correct after all,” Sophia remarked with a mixture of admiration and jest.

    “…The problem is that we’re in no position to wage a war right now,” Constantine replied, unable to muster his usual sharp retort. Though he had anticipated a conflict and had already begun stockpiling resources, the unexpected arrival of the plague had disrupted all control. His knowledge of the future proved insufficient to account for the sudden emergence of localized epidemics—a blind spot in his otherwise extensive foresight.

    Desperate to prevent the spread of the plague, Constantine had enforced drastic measures. While these actions succeeded in halting the disease’s advance, they cost him the support of key cities in central Greece.

    Additionally, the majority of trade routes between the capital and Morea were operated by Venetian merchants. Burning cargo suspected of contamination had provided immediate relief but had also sparked backlash. Recent letters from Venice, veiled in courteous language, carried a sharp tone of protest.

    The empire’s grip on central Greece was weakening. Relations with Venice were deteriorating. The blueprint Constantine had painstakingly drafted to counter the Ottomans was beginning to crumble, all due to an unforeseen epidemic.

    Even his firm resolve to persevere faltered under the weight of the situation. As doubts gnawed at him, he recalled the words he had once repeated to himself while preparing for war:

    “History has yet to choose anyone… but is that really true?”

    Was history truly undecided? With each passing day, as the situation spiraled further, Constantine felt his confidence waver. His steadfast belief that he could alter the empire’s fate seemed increasingly like arrogance. Perhaps it was stupid to think that he alone, with his limited abilities, could change the course of an empire doomed to destruction.

    What was the glory so fervently sought by leaders throughout history? What was honor? Were these concepts mere empty slogans, or did they truly embody values worth sacrificing one’s life for? Constantine couldn’t find a simple answer. His era and experiences had shown him the sacrifices often demanded in the name of glory, leaving him skeptical of its worth.

    Yet, he understood the irreplaceable value of sovereignty and freedom for a people. He knew the deep scars left when such rights were stripped away. Was it better to relinquish these ideals for the sake of a prosperous life, or was it worth fighting to preserve them, even at the cost of death?

    This was the core of Constantine’s dilemma.

    There were already enough people who chose the former, along with viable alternatives for survival. For those who chose the latter, however, Constantine resolved to be their rallying point—their alternative.

    Survival alone was not the answer. But if the empire was destined to fall, he would ensure it did so fighting, not groveling. History would record that Byzantium did not go quietly. And besides, not all options had failed yet.

    “At least Epirus managed to avoid the worst of the plague, preserving its strength. That’s fortunate. This was precisely why we allied with Serbia—to prepare for such situations,” Constantine noted.

    “It’s not a total loss. Didn’t you also gain skilled spies in the process?” Sophia replied slyly.

    Constantine chuckled, shrugging his shoulders in response.

    “Well, then, I’ll hope for a move as clever as the one Serbia used to evade our watchful eye with Hungarian support in the past.”

    “Oh my, was there really anything to monitor? Ivania, wasn’t it? Perhaps you should treat her a bit more warmly. There’s no one as unpredictable and dangerous as a woman starved for affection.”

    “…Is that so.”

    The prince quickly caught on. Yet, despite what could be considered a betrayal by his subordinate, he displayed no signs of condemnation or anger. His calm reaction puzzled Sophia enough to prompt her to ask.

    “You’re not going to reprimand her?”

    “How could I hold someone guilty when, as you said, she is simply thirsty for affection?”

    “So, you’re aware you’re using her… Hah, what’s this? Guilt for your own sake? Is that why you’re keeping her at arm’s length?”

    “I believe love between a man and a woman can only be realized when their hearts are ready to accept one another.”

    “…”

    What in the world is he talking about? Sophia’s gaze seemed to pierce him with such a sentiment. She had never imagined a man, who should understand better than anyone the obligations of his noble lineage, would utter something so idealistic. Normally, the prince would have ended the conversation there, but in an unusual turn, he continued.

    “Ivania has been a loyal companion since the days when I was nothing more than a mere prince. She’s devoted herself beyond what any mercenary captain of high standing could ever offer. Perhaps Ivania is already prepared to love.”

    “Do you realize how childish you sound?”

    “Sophia, I’m not so twisted as to dismiss matters of the heart as mere trifles, like you seem to.”

    “Then why won’t you embrace her? Even if it’s not for love, couldn’t you at least hold her to satisfy your desires?”

    At some point, Sophia had taken a seat on a nearby chair, locking eyes with the prince. Perhaps it was because he had opened up, or maybe it was the rarity of their personal conversation—one that felt clearly different from their usual business like exchanges.

    “It’s because I cannot cast off the Red Cross that rests on my shoulders.”

    “The Red Cross…?”

    “A cross stained with the blood of my enemies—a symbol of both the empire’s restoration and the peace it must achieve. Now that the very essence of a universal empire has faded, the true value of unity among countless peoples lies not in legal systems but in religious ideals. Thus, I must be more devoted to religion than anyone else. That is why I cannot embrace a woman.”

    “You think this decaying nation is worth all of that? Do you truly believe this crumbling land, with nothing left but the remains of its once-great triple walls, holds that kind of value?”

    “Sophia, you once asked why I cared so much for this empire.”

    The prince closed his eyes, exhaling thoughts and emotions forged over the years.

    “A thousand years is not just a thousand years.”

    It was the reason he was burdened with duty and responsibility, the reason he couldn’t stop struggling. The curse that bound him could not be taken on by anyone else.

    “That is why no one can replace the empire.”

    “Not even a woman who loves you?”

    “No one.”

    Not yet. With those words, the prince opened his eyes once more, gazing at his clenched fist.

    The battle had already begun.

  • About a Dating Sim Where Dating Is Impossible Chapter 61

    If it had been an ordinary day, the office would have been quiet, with him working alone.

    But today was different. The room was filled with familiar faces: Bishop Nikephoros of Mistra, Adrianos, who had taken on the role of vice-commander, and even the delegation led by Judge Demicleos, who had been dispatched to negotiate with the city’s influential figures.

    None of them displayed any hint of ease, leaving the atmosphere heavy and tense. However, given the gravity of the matter at hand, there was no need to ease the tension.

    It had been two weeks since Sophia’s letter arrived.

    She had disappeared from sight for a time, likely to avoid drawing unnecessary attention while leading her network. Personally, she was more irritating than pleasant to deal with, but he had no choice but to trust her now.

    A Venetian merchant stationed in the capital had relayed information about the political situation through their trade network. To continue doubting her despite this would be foolish. The weight of the situation demanded otherwise.

    Venice, which had long weighed the balance between Morea and the imperial government, seemed to have tilted toward the former. The detailed information about the coup in the capital indicated as much.

    What unsettled him most, however, was how sharply and accurately the Venetians understood the power dynamics within the empire. Though they were allies for now, their allegiance could shift the moment their interests dictated otherwise.

    For now, however, the most pressing threat was the establishment of a regime hostile to Morea.

    “…This is dangerous. The central government is now, for all intents and purposes, your enemy, Your Highness. Arresting all those who were favourable to you—it’s practically a declaration of war,” Demicleos said, his complexion pale as he rubbed his chin.

    He was right. Even Manuel II, his father, had ceased appearing at court. This left John, who had always sought to check Morea, as the sole emperor. Given the strained history between them, there was little reason to expect a positive outcome. Naturally, Demicleos recalled the years of conflict with the central government.

    “…Moreover, the request to establish a archbishopric in Morea could become a significant obstacle for the capital. It’s not out of the question for the capital to issue a summons to weaken Your Highness’s faction under this pretext.”

    “And if I comply with that summons?”

    “You’ll die.”

    His calm, matter-of-fact response sent a chill down his spine. Judging by the expressions in the room, everyone seemed to share the same opinion. Even Ivania, the blonde-haired knight he hadn’t seen in ages, visibly trembled at the word “death.”

    “My lord’s death… I’ve never even considered such a thing. If it came to that, I would sooner—”

    “Let me make one thing clear to all of you: I have no intention of walking to my own death. So, put your worries to rest.”

    “My lord… If that’s the case, I’d rather you kill me first before you meet your end—”

    It might not be a bad idea, he thought, shuddering at the gleam of excitement in her eyes. He glanced away reflexively, only to see Demicleos shaking his head in disapproval.

    Indeed, dealing with Ivania’s quirks must have taken a toll on him. He resolved to reward Demicleos generously in the future for enduring such a burden.

    But first, there was the matter at hand.

    “Demicleos is correct. Refusing the summons will likely lead to civil war.”

    It was a standoff. The newly established regime was centered around John, who had long sought to keep Morea in check, and Theodoros, who had fully turned against them after breaking their previous agreement.

    Neither man would tolerate a Morea that had grown this powerful. If he complied with their summons and travelled to the capital, he would undoubtedly be detained and stripped of power.

    And if it ended with mere deposition, he might consider himself lucky. The possibility of a complete split between Morea and the empire was large.

    Morea had already been isolated from the central government for far too long.

    In essence, Morea functioned as a semi-independent state. The only thing keeping it under the empire’s banner was the shared bloodline of its rulers. While familial ties meant they could not fully sever ties, this also made coexistence between them tense with rivalry and discord. The only viable candidates to rule Morea as its prince were his brothers, Demetrios and Theodoros.

    But rather than entrusting it to either of them, he would prefer to unite Morea and Epirus under Thomas’s rule through a personal union.

    The problem was that such a move would almost certainly provoke Ottoman intervention.

    Epirus existed as an independent state, even if only on paper, which was why the Ottomans had tacitly acknowledged Morea’s claims over central Greece. But if the prince of Morea were to simultaneously rule Epirus, bringing it under the empire’s fold, the Ottomans would no longer remain passive.

    Yet, if he refused the summons, civil war was inevitable.

    “If there’s a silver lining, it’s that Morea’s power far surpasses that of the capital.”

    “It’s ironic that the very reasons which caused conflict between His Majesty Johannes and Your Highness might be the same reasons
    that will unite you as allies”

    Adrianos’ remark was the answer. If even Morea were to break away from the Empire, then it would truly be reduced to just a single city-state. No matter how symbolic Constantinople might be, or how much wealth it could amass as a natural strategic point, maintaining a nation with only one stronghold is nearly impossible—especially when facing an opponent as formidable as the Ottomans. With shared objectives driven by different motivations, there was a strong certainty that John would not push for an overly hardline approach.

    Even if John sought personal glory, his desire lay in restoring the Empire’s glory, not in grasping some shattered crown.

    “In that case, they shouldn’t have provoked us in this way. How dare they treat Your Highness, the Empire’s last hope, with such disrespect? If they committed this act without understanding what sustains the current Empire, they have shown themselves utterly unfit as rulers and must be condemned.”

    But it seemed calming Demicleos anger was not an easy task. This loyal judge was genuinely enraged by the political actions taken by John. It was Bishop Nikephoros, who had long worked hard to mediate conflicts, that stepped in to calm him down.

    “I understand your feelings, Judge. However, it is clear that His Majesty desires the Empire’s restoration, and Your Highness shares this goal. Let us not lose sight of what Your Highness seeks by aspiring to the throne.”

    “…”

    At last, Demicleos fell silent. Nikephoros’ words rang true. My desires were no different from John’s. I never sought a shattered crown. Nor have I ever confused means with ends. My sole ambition has always been the salvation of the Empire, and that aspiration has been engraved in my heart.

    “I will not draw my sword against His Majesty John simply because my father was overthrown. Waging another civil war would only weaken us against the overwhelmingly strong enemy before us.”

    “…This old man’s eyes see the truth. Even knowing that it may delay your path to the throne, you are willing to make sacrifices for the sake of the Empire’s survival. I am deeply moved by your resolve.”

    Plethon, the wise elder, was visibly moved by this decision, one that I considered merely natural. To me, it wasn’t a sacrifice; it was simply the right thing to do for the Empire’s preservation. However, instead of voicing such thoughts, there was a more pressing matter to address.

    “Plethon, wise sage, I ask for your report on what you’ve seen and heard. Who are the ones you failed to sway?”

    “Forgive my inadequacy, Your Highness. Allow this old man to deliver news of both partial success and partial failure.”

    Plethon began reciting the names of cities that had resisted persuasion, either due to a lack of time or the dismissive attitudes of their influential leaders. Most were cities near the Ottoman border. Among them were cities of significant size and importance:

    Neopatras and Voivodina.

    Situated on the plains of Thessaly, these cities, being geographically close to the Ottomans, seemed more shaken by the recent turmoil than others. Relying on such cities to form the front lines would lead to certain defeat. A desperate certainty took hold of my mind. Now was the time to prepare for the worst. Without hesitation, I brought up the true subject of this meeting.

    “You all understand by now that war is imminent. The reason I’ve summoned you here is that you are the pillars that uphold Morea and the closest aides who will play key roles in the long struggle ahead. We cannot afford either complacency or overconfidence.

    The foes we face are unimaginably powerful. For centuries, they have invaded on our lands, violated our families, and now they aim to strip us of our proud traditions and history. They are heretics seeking to dethrone Christ and install their prophet in His place. They are the ones who seek to bring down the millennium-long empire embodied in this City of Cities.

    Fear them. Be vigilant. They are the greatest trial and the weight of destiny that the Empire must overcome to survive.”

    The cities favourable to the Ottomans must be abandoned.

    “And we, under Christ’s scales, shall prove that we are worthy of His choice.”

    For that, we will never let go of what we hold.


    TL : Let me tell you something fun: The Byzantine Empire was first founded by Constantine the Great, who was the first Roman emperor to convert to Christianity. During his time, he moved the capital of Rome to Byzantium and renamed it Constantinople, which marked the beginning of the Byzantine Empire. Don’t get confused—Constantine the Great was the emperor of the Eastern Roman Empire so the Eastern Roman Empire continued to be known as the Byzantine Empire after his rule. Meanwhile, the Western Roman Empire continued with Rome as its capital. And Constantine Dragases, our main character, was the last emperor of the Byzantine Empire. I don’t know if this is a spoiler since a lot of stuff has already been changed.

  • About a Dating Sim Where Dating Is Impossible Chapter 60

    John’s firm resolve soon translated into bold action.

    One by one, those who had supported for a cautious observation of the Ottoman situation began to lose their positions. The charge?

    Conspiring to threaten the current regime. Before they could band together to resist, a single figure acted swiftly to arrest them: Manuel’s second son, Theodoros. Known as the Prince of Selymbria, Theodoros’s sudden emergence took everyone by surprise.

    Yet, despite this being Theodoros’s first open involvement in state affairs, he showed no hesitation. Exercising the authority assigned to him by his brother John, Theodoros systematically dismantled the nobles aligned with the conservative faction.

    By the time a day had passed, the conservatives who had rallied around Manuel were left staggering, having suffered a devastating blow.

    The nobles of the conservative faction, caught off guard by the abrupt shift in the political landscape, urgently sought out Manuel, but the aging emperor did not make an appearance. Naturally, the confusion only deepened.

    Stripped of their rallying point, the conservative faction lost their voice in court and found themselves largely imprisoned, unable to mount any meaningful opposition. Only a few managed to escape the brutal purge, including Georgios Sphrantzes, a young secretary overlooked due to his age, and the aged chancellor Notaras.

    Even they, however, did not escape Theodoros’s gaze entirely.

    Once Theodoros deemed the situation sufficiently under control, he made his way to the audience chamber where his brother John awaited him. Accompanied by soldiers, Theodoros marched into the court in an audacious display of disobedience. Witnessing this, Notaras, who had come to John seeking answers about the recent turmoil, trembled with anger as he scolded Theodoros.

    “Your Highness, even as a member of the imperial family, there are protocols to be observed in the audience chamber of the emperor. Furthermore, you should be aware that you were not granted one sided authority to arrest officials occupying public office.”

    But Theodoros merely responded with a smug, satisfied smile. As Notaras prepared to speak again, his words were interrupted by John’s calm, measured voice.

    “All of it was done under my orders, Chancellor. There is no need to scold him.”

    “…Your Majesty?”

    Why had John granted such authority to Theodoros? Notaras dared not ask. For in John’s eyes, he saw something he had never before encountered—something he could not name but instinctively feared.

    And that ominous feeling proved correct. As Notaras stood there, struggling for words, Theodoros sneered at him.

    “Old Chancellor, do you still believe your emperor retains his throne?”

    “My emperor? Your Highness, what are you saying? Who else would I serve but His Majesty John and His Majesty Manuel?”

    “How foolish you are to think so,” Theodoros replied, his dark eyes filled with disdainful pity.

    As anger began to rise within Notaras, he opened his mouth to retaliate, but Theodoros raised his arms, gazing toward the ceiling as if calling upon the heavens. With seriousness, he proclaimed:

    “How can there be two supreme rulers under the heavens?”

    The very concept of a co-emperor was absurd. The emperor was meant to be the Pantokrator (All Mighty), second only to Christ, the ruler of the world, a figure comparable to the twelve apostles. The idea of two such figures existing simultaneously was laughable to Theodoros.

    He genuinely believed this. Though his cooperation with John had other motivations, this conviction lay at the heart of his actions.

    Notaras, hearing this declaration, seemed to grasp the reality of the situation. His face turned deathly pale as he shifted his gaze from Theodoros to John, searching for confirmation of what he now feared.

    “Your Majesty, do you understand the meaning behind Prince Theodoros’s words?”

    In response, John remained silent, offering only a faint smile. That, in itself, was the answer. Notaras could no longer suppress his cry of despair. As he trembled, the sound of slow footsteps approached from behind. It was Theodoros.

    “You have served the former emperor until now. From this moment onward, you must serve His Majesty instead, Chancellor.”

    Notaras, still shaking in disbelief, was forced to accept the truth. There was no room left for denial. The city had already been entirely taken over by them. Emperor Manuel II had been deposed. And…

    Even the faction that had supported Prince Constantine would disappear entirely as a result of these events.

    All the facts spoke for themselves.

    The vision Manuel had drawn up had failed.

    //

    The situation was deteriorating far more quickly than anyone had anticipated.

    “Your Majesty…? Are you all right?”

    A maid, whom Constantine vaguely remembered encountering once before, hesitantly spoke up. But there was no time to pay her any attention. The contents of the letter from Demicleos demanded his full focus.

    As a part of efforts to silence unrest in the cities of central Greece, Plato had been sent to negotiate and persuade. The results were not insignificant. Plato’s emphasis on Morea as the last defender of Greek culture had succeeded in winning over a fair number of people.

    However, this also meant that there were many who remained discontented. The newly established administrative body, the Ecclesia, had not had enough time—barely a year—to take root. Furthermore, the former elites were deeply resentful of having to share their power with others. Demicleos highlighted this point, warning that if a way to appease the elites was not devised, further defections might occur.

    He also added an urgent plea for assistance, noting that Ivania’s frenzy were growing worse by the day.

    It seemed she was venting her anger over not having seen him even once recently. Constantine was relieved he had arranged for Ivania to escort Demicleos; who knew what chaos might have unfolded had they met again after such a long time. Breathing a deep sigh of relief, he closed his eyes for a moment.

    Means to appease the elites… They likely wished to regain their status as rulers, but such a thing was out of the question. Hadn’t they been the very ones walking a tightrope between the Ottomans and the empire? Allowing one city to fall entirely into their hands was a risk he could not afford.

    The only option was to rely on the newly empowered factions within the Ecclesia to keep those elites in check.

    “…Time will solve this. Acting hastily would only worsen things.”

    After all, the Ecclesia had been created for this very purpose. Barely a year had passed. As long as the groundwork was laid to allow the opposing factions to grow, stability would eventually return. With that thought, Constantine shifted his focus to the upcoming crowning of Thomas, the Prince of Epirus.

    Or so he tried.

    “Your Majesty, forgive the interruption, but… Her Grace has sent a message for you.”

    The maid, who had been lingering nearby for some time, finally spoke up. So that was why she had been waiting. Without much thought, Constantine nodded and took the letter she offered. The maid, as if relieved of a great burden, quickly rushed out of the room.

    It was probably something he needed to read alone, he thought, as he broke the seal on the letter.

    “……Hmm….”

    A wave of intense dizziness suddenly overcame him.

  • About a Dating Sim Where Dating Is Impossible Chapter 59

    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.”

  • About a Dating Sim Where Dating Is Impossible Chapter 58

    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.

  • About a Dating Sim Where Dating Is Impossible Chapter 57

    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.

  • About a Dating Sim Where Dating Is Impossible Chapter 56

    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.