Category: About a Dating Sim Where Dating Is Impossible

“Yes… Finally, someone has come to inherit this heavy burden.”

In a world that had been dulled to gray, it felt as if colour had returned. It was a sense of reality and joy, emotions not felt in a long time. Perhaps what he was feeling now was hope and passion. But the joy ended there. The faint smile that had briefly graced his lips faded quickly. In its place came a profound sense of helplessness. And with it, a phrase that lingered in his mind.

“Do not forget. You are the hope that sustains the empire.”

What had once been a request, perhaps an expectation, had now become a shackle. No, it was more than that. If it bound a person to endless torment, was it not a curse?

When he first heard those words, he believed he would be different. He thought he would overcome countless trials and achieve renown. He had resolved to stand firm, fighting with conviction unlike others.

He had vowed to drive out the infidels and restore the empire’s glory once more. It was a pledge born of the fervor of his younger days.

Even when that fervor cooled, he had not forgotten.

Now, though, that vow had weathered away completely.

“Enough… It’s enough now.”

He had suffered enough. He had struggled enough. Outnumbered, outmatched. In the face of overwhelming odds, passion and conviction proved meaningless.

The world was too harsh for determination to bridge the gap between the chosen and the unchosen. And he was not the chosen one. He was merely a pitiable loser, unable to overcome this crisis and hardship.

“I have done my duty… Please, let me go now.”

He had fought alone on this desolate land, relying solely on the walls, constantly anxious about the movements of the enemies that surrounded him for years. The gray streaks in his hair and the deep colour of resignation in his eyes told the story. This was as far as he could go.

He could only feel regret toward the father who had believed in him.

But now, he was exhausted. The title of emperor, devoid of any real power, only brought heavy responsibility. The empire’s situation had not improved since the moment he ascended the throne.

It was only now, after a long period of inactivity, that he had achieved notable results. All that remained was selfishness. The only thing left for a nominal emperor who ruled over a single ancient city was this.

“Forgive me, Constantine. Bear my burden as well.”

He wished to die as the third prince rather than as an emperor. If even that was impossible, then he would close his eyes as an ordinary citizen. He no longer harboured grand dreams of rebuilding the empire.

He only wanted to escape his duties as quickly as possible. The process did not matter. He just wanted to be free.

Even if it meant borrowing the form of death.

This was the Emperors desire.

---

Victory does not always bring the best outcome.

This was true for an empire teetering on the brink of ruin. Though much was gained thanks to Prince Constantine’s cleverness, much was also lost. The prince had turned a blind eye to the crisis of their allies for the sake of his country’s interests. As a result, it was natural that Serbia’s trust was lost. But there was an even greater issue: the division within the nation.

“…No. Damn it, even with his weakness in hand, there’s no way to harm him while he’s on the rise.”

The ruler of Selymbria, the second prince, Theodoros, had long been thrown into the fierce conflict between the two factions that had emerged in the capital.

The root of the conflict was, unsurprisingly, the prince. His extraordinary abilities, unmatched by his station, had now divided the country. Looking at the prince, who had restored central Greece, including Morea, people had begun to say:

“Isn’t the Crown Prince the most suitable person to be emperor?”

The popularity that had plummeted due to the recent broken engagement quickly recovered. The Crown Prince, long considered a leading contender for succession, had been shunned by those who accused him of tarnishing the empire’s pride and dignity.

Now, those same people were turning their opinions, arguing that he should inherit the throne to restore the empire’s prestige. Though his faction was still small, the rapidly growing support could not be ignored.

Naturally, this led to the rise of opposing forces.

Among the many causes of the empire’s downfall was a prolonged civil war. No matter how exceptional the individual, it was better to stabilize the current succession rather than incite a civil war to enthrone him.

That was the true path to saving the empire. This view was supported by Chancellor Notaras, who had long been concerned about John’s actions. Notaras’s arguments gained enough attention to strengthen John’s power.

Yet, the momentum of those supporting the Crown Prince remained undeterred. While others criticized his lack of ability, Theodoros exuded confidence in one aspect: his keen observational skills. He quickly discerned the subtle shift in power. Someone was deliberately nurturing a faction in the capital to empower the Crown Prince.

Avoiding the gaze of the co-emperor John while wielding such influence over the nobles left Theodoros with only one suspect. As expected. A bitter sigh filled the room.

“Have you turned your heart toward Constantine?”

Regretting his alliance with Constantine to counter John, Theodoros now realized that perhaps the entire succession process had been orchestrated to shield Constantine from other factions. Had the old emperor deceived him to the very end? The thought of it filled Theodoros with a searing sense of betrayal and rage.

Why?

Why go this far?

“You said the eldest must be chosen… Then why not me? Why Constantine instead of me… Why leave me aside for him…!”

If the heir didn’t have to be the eldest, he had hoped to be chosen. But he envied John, believing the eldest should be the successor, and sought to make himself the eldest by eliminating John.

Yet, now the old emperor claimed otherwise. There were no conditions for succession. It felt as if the emperor was calmly declaring that they had never been considered as heirs from the start.

There were no conditions for the successor.

The emperor had only ever considered Constantine as the heir.

“Aaah—! Aaah! Aaaah!”

A violent storm raged through the room. Delicately placed ornaments lay shattered on the floor. Red streaks of madness trickled down his veined arms. Was it the sorrow of not being chosen, or the despair of unmet ambitions that fuelled his fury? Wiping the tears streaming down his contorted face, Theodoros gritted his teeth.

Theodoros resolved.

He would no longer see him as his father.

Victory always brings satisfaction.

However, humans are greedy beings, and moments of satisfaction are fleeting.

“If we had fully seized this opportunity, we could have reclaimed the entire Macedonian region. Prince Constantine’s excessive caution has squandered a significant chance for the empire.”

Despite the brief taste of victory, the nobles quickly succumbed to arrogance. They believed that overcoming this crisis was simply the work of the ’empire.’ However, John, who had grown far more shrewd, did not forget who the true architect of this remarkable achievement was. Thus, he felt no joy. Unconsciously, he ground his teeth and clenched his fists tightly.

‘…This is unacceptable. Isn’t Morea taking the lead?’

The greater the achievement, the more risky it became.

Prince Constantine of Morea had acted independently without any consultation with the central government. He had taken the initiative in diplomacy without seeking the central government’s intentions. Morea, already distant and difficult for the central government to control, was now acting like an entirely independent nation.

‘But it’s also true that Constantine’s position has risen significantly due to this event… The only way to publicly charge him is clear.’

The central government needed to re-establish its authority by achieving accomplishments that would rival Morea’s, thereby justifying sanctions against Morea’s overreach. John was determined to prevent Constantine from gaining more power, which threatened his position. The thought of overthrowing him occupied John’s mind. To achieve this, he needed to consolidate the capital’s nobles firmly.

With the majority being hardliners, advocating for another war with the Ottomans would significantly boost John’s popularity.

Furthermore, the empire had a card prepared to divide the Ottomans. The young emperor, brimming with vigor, recalled the precious tribute from Venice—Mustafa, who claimed to be Bayezid’s last son. This would be the empire’s trump card, potentially driving the Ottomans out of the Balkans entirely.

Composing himself, the emperor turned to his officials, who were criticizing Constantine, and spoke.

“You are right. Prince Constantine of Morea owes us an explanation for this situation. However, before that, reclaiming the lost territories must be our priority.”

“Do you have a plan, Your Majesty?”

“Venice has presented me with a most valuable gift—a powerful weapon to divide the Ottomans.”

Among the officials who discerned the nature of the tribute, confidence and excitement began to swell. John looked down at the growing enthusiasm with satisfaction, while recalling his self-assured brother, always acting arrogantly as though he alone were right. People often compared him with his brother, questioning his imperial qualities.

‘…I’ll show you that I can succeed too. I’ll prove who should be followed.’

John’s resolve, risky as it might seem, drove him forward. The subtle rivalry between the brothers motivated John more. The confidence of being emperor and the fear of losing his throne fueled his determination. He also harboured resentment toward his father, who, even after John became co-emperor, still could not let go of Constantine.

‘I have married the most illustrious lady of the empire, secured the support of the capital, and gained the acknowledgment of the Patriarch. If that’s still not enough, I’ll fill the last gap now. I’ll prove to my father that I am worthy of being emperor.’

If Constantine could achieve it, then as emperor, he surely would not fail. Encouraged by the confidence of his imperial status, John began strategizing. Only much later did he return to his chamber, where a graceful lady awaited him, gazing out at the sea.

She was looking toward the southwest—toward Morea.

“Have you heard about what Constantine has accomplished? He betrayed Serbia and seized southern Greece. Who would have thought that my brother, who so despised the Ottomans, would so easily betray his Christian allies?”

At those words, the woman, her gaze fixed on the sea, replied indifferently.

“Was it not Your Majesty who provoked Serbia?”

“Yes, it was. I moved Serbia, declaring to the world that the emperor’s authority still endures.”

John laughed as he approached the woman. Sensing his presence, she furrowed her brows and muttered softly. The emperor’s authority… To a woman who had long studied the political landscape, such words were nothing short of absurd.

“Are you still blinded by the glory of a thousand years ago?”

“It is the glory I will soon restore.”

“If it were so easy, it would have been done already.”

“I will make it happen.”

What gave him such confidence? The woman resolved not to pay him any further attention. Was the emperor, who always treated others with gentle demeanor, such a dreamer? Did he not yet understand that the world is unkind? John continued, unfazed by her cold attitude, his voice filled with excitement.

“I will be remembered as the greatest emperor who saved the empire from crisis. As the emperor with qualities even our father failed to recognize.”

“Men’s jealousy is unbecoming.”

“….Oh?”

Suddenly, the woman felt herself swiftly turned around. Instead of the sea, she now faced the handsome young man with golden hair.

“Remember this as well. A wounded man’s pride never forgets the humiliation it suffered for decades, even centuries.”

“Then know this: a wounded woman’s heart endures for millennia.”

Pushing aside John’s touch with elegance, the woman left the emperor’s chamber with dignified grace. Left alone, John stared at the place she had departed from, then let out a hollow laugh.

“Constantine, the woman who holds you in her heart is fierce. Any ordinary man would shrink in her presence.”

What could she possibly lack as an empress? Even devoid of emotion, her beauty, fortitude, sophistication, and intellect made her an ideal bride. Constantine could not have been entirely indifferent. His past glances had surely indicated as much. Yet, Constantine abandoned her and chose a political marriage with Serbia.

Knowing the reason only made John’s torment deeper.

“Constantine… You believe only you can accomplish it.”

From a young age, Constantine had borne the burden of dedication and sacrifice for the empire. John had risen to ease that burden, yet power only bred suspicion. He wanted to believe, like their father, that Constantine harboured no ambition or malice.

John wished to rebuild the empire’s former glory with his capable brother’s help, hoping their harmonious relationship would become a tale of exemplary siblings for future generations.

But the cold reality of power denied that hope.

The emperor’s position bound John completely. The traditions, history, honour, and pride of a thousand-year empire consumed his spirit and stripped him of trust. A capable brother? Would he assist John? Hardly.

Constantine would seek to seize his throne.

This unwanted certainty rooted deeply in John’s heart. The more he tried to dispel it, the clearer it became. The instability of his position only strengthened this suspicion. If only their father had clearly affirmed him. If only he had declared me the sole successor, none of this would have happened.

“Father… Father…”

Please, believe in me. Grant me the same trust you gave Constantine.

As the heart of a son yearning for recognition beat, the emperor within him crumbled. Clutching his chest, John wept silently.

It had been a very long time.

The Ottomans had stepped onto European soil by intervening in the civil war, transitioning from mere wanderers to a sophisticated state.

Since the first Osman, a succession of capable rulers had led the empire to constant victories. Though there was a slight pause following Timur’s defeat of Bayezid’s army, the Ottomans’ power remained formidable. Any movement against them was invariably crushed.

Until now, when the empire, using foreign intervention strategically, reclaimed Athens.

The unquestioned Ottoman control over southern Greece was stripped away by a single individual. With a keen sense of exploiting positional justifications, bold decisiveness to seize opportunities, and excellent judgment to create favourable conditions, this person silenced even those who had previously belittled and dismissed his achievements.

Constantine Dragases.

No longer a faint “possibility,” the Ruler of Morea rekindled a long-forgotten emotion among those who still identified with the empire.

A passion hidden deep within, suppressed by centuries of helplessness. People no longer saw Constantine as merely a potential; he had become a reality.

This sentiment was particularly pronounced in Morea, where the prince’s influence was profound. The excitement that rippled through the crowd was almost noticeable, impossible to ignore. However, Constantine’s success had a darker side. In her room, practically imprisoned, Sophia read the message delivered to her with an unblinking gaze.

The content remained grim.

The Hungarian-Serbian coalition had barely reclaimed the territory occupied by the Ottomans, but that was all. They could advance no further because the main Ottoman force, having previously moved southward, turned back to march on Serbia.

The Ottomans intended to crush Serbia completely. Hungary, having expended vast resources to recover its territory, had no desire for another confrontation with the Ottomans.

In the end, Serbia, under Hungarian pressure, signed a peace treaty with the Ottomans.

The treaty required a significant compensation, but the losses were far greater. A confident war that resulted in a devastating defeat. Stefan’s standing in Serbia would plummet. The mistakes made by her father were not easily resolved. Knowing this, Sophia couldn’t contain herself and rose from her seat. The face that once bore dignified elegance now twisted with anger and humiliation.

Sophia strode boldly to the audience chamber.

Having returned to Mistra from Athens after concluding the agreement with the Ottomans, the prince sat back in his chair, smiling as if he had expected her. Sophia, without even a pretense of a smile, raised her voice.

“Why? Serbia and Morea were allies, were they not?”

The prince responded calmly.

“Before that, the empire and the Ottomans were allies.”

“Weren’t you planning to strike the Ottomans? If so, now would have been the perfect time.”

“And I did act. The empire reclaimed Athens and central Greece. This forced the Ottomans to turn their attention away from finishing Serbia. They saw the empire as a greater threat.”

“Do you even understand why the political marriage took place?”

“Then you must also know that you’re not in a position to be angry with me.”

Despite her sharp tone, the prince smiled cheerfully. Though Serbia’s reckless challenge had thrust them into a do-or-die gamble, the successful outcome of that gamble had yielded much. The prince spoke with an unprecedented level of courtesy.

“Do you still believe that the leadership of the alliance lies with your father?”

“…….”

Sophia clenched her fists tightly. She had found the reason why the prince had not moved decisively for Serbia.

‘So this is why you refrained from engaging in a full-scale war with the Ottomans.’

Sophia had wielded significant influence over Serbia by leveraging her father. While this could be seen as an advantage, the prince viewed it as a major threat. Sophia had not come to support him but to pursue her own power. This might explain why she and the prince could not harmonize.

What was certain was that Sophia’s power had been significantly reduced.

As a foreign princess, her power fluctuated based on her homeland’s position, an inevitable reality. Moreover, the prince did not see her as his wife. To him, Sophia was merely a means to secure Serbia’s army. There was no need to leave her power unchecked, especially when she might be seen as a potential enemy.

“Previously, maintaining the alliance was due to the political marriage and Serbia’s goodwill, but it will be different this time, my lady. Remember that the continuation of the alliance now depends on the goodwill of the empire.”

Despite the blunt provocation, Sophia could not respond.

The roles had reversed. If the prince had chosen Sophia to secure Serbia, now Serbia had to offer Sophia to secure the prince. The prince, observing Sophia’s still domineering demeanor, issued an stoic dismissal.

“And conduct yourself accordingly. Your father may not care, but I have no intention of allowing your personal will to interfere with state affairs.”

“…Truly remarkable.”

Leaving behind a single sentence, attached with both admiration and sarcasm, Sophia slowly turned away. As she did, the prince delivered one final warning.

“I’ll overlook this time because circumstances favoured the empire, but remember that if you hinder my intentions again, I can have you executed, wife or not. I’ll reduce you to a street harlot.”   ( TL : basically a prostitute )

The sheer cruelty of the insult made her face flush with anger. Sophia reminded herself repeatedly. She was the one at a disadvantage.

Endure it, endure it, endure it…

“You know why you’re in that position.”

Unable to contain her humiliation, tears welled up in her eyes and began to fall. Gritting her teeth, she turned back to glare at the prince, who met her gaze with a composed expression.

“Because you’re willing to be ruthless for the sake of the empire, you’re in that position.”

“You are no different. The only difference is what you’re willing to be ruthless for.”

Sophia did not yield to the end. Biting her lower lip, she exited the audience chamber.

In her heart, she resented her father.

Father, why did you undertake such a reckless decision?

The issue of Epirus was resolved.

But who could ignore the nearing, far greater problem? As expected, Serbia was defeated by the wrathful Ottoman army. Though the exact battle reports were unknown, the scale of the defeat must have been significant for the news to reach southern Greece so quickly.

Naturally, the direction of the Ottoman’s next strike was clear—their army had begun its southern march.

However, the most critical strategic objective of this war was not victory on land.

The conflict was more about the proxy war between the Ottomans, who had launched a new fleet to dominate the Aegean Sea, and the Venetians, who had sent their fleet to protect their dominance. The empire was too weakened to play a leading role. Despite seven long years passing and battles raging on former imperial territories, it remained a feeble city-state, swept along by the tides of current affairs. That was the harsh reality of the empire.

Bitter as it was, what could be done?

Victory at sea went to Venice. No matter how much the Ottomans trained, their sailors couldn’t match the centuries of accumulated maritime expertise of a naval nation like Venice. Comparing Ottoman sailors to Venetian seamanship and naval warfare skills was an insult. Venice thoroughly crushed the emerging challenger, sinking or capturing most of the Ottoman ships.

Reports came in that at least fifty ships had been lost. Rebuilding a fleet of that size would take more than a decade. Yet, it was too soon to be relieved. The Sultan might compensate for the naval defeat by launching a direct assault on Morea.

Of course, Venice was well aware of this.

Naturally, they proposed a crucial deal to the empire. Naturally, it was accepted. The deal offered a means to deter the Ottomans: the claimant to the throne, Mustafa, whose demand had sparked this war. This card in hand could provoke division within the Ottomans.

Additionally, with the arrival of prearranged news, it became clear that all preparations were complete.

“Your Highness, Serbia has raised its army once again.”

Their haste would be their downfall. While the Ottomans were busy attacking Serbia, they deemed me a greater threat due to my rapid expansion and turned their forces around. The peace negotiations between Serbia and the Ottomans collapsed with the intervention of a third power. The messenger named that third power: Hungary. This unexpected development was somewhat startling.

Sigismund, leading the Bohemian-Hungarian union, should be preoccupied with the Hussite heretics in Bohemia. Was the war situation more favorable than anticipated? Or perhaps the Ottomans were perceived as a significant threat. However, Hungary’s intervention alone couldn’t explain Serbia’s swift decision to reengage in battle. The will broken by defeat isn’t easily restored, no matter the foreign aid.

I could vaguely guess the cause.

“Sophia… So, there was another means.”

Given my low opinion of Stefan’s judgment, I doubted he had made such a bold decision on his own. If anyone could manipulate Stefan, it had to be Sophia. How? With Ivania closely monitoring her, it seemed unlikely. Yet, Sophia, being of noble court origin, must have found a way to deliver her messages. Perhaps the Jews she had previously employed were involved.

Thanks to Sophia’s instigation, Stefan had raised his army again. Combined with Hungary’s unexpected intervention, it became possible to force the Ottomans into a two-front war. This completed the preparations to halt the Ottoman advance southward.

The annihilation of their proud fleet, the two-front war prompted by Hungary’s involvement, and the throne claimant handed over to their enemy—had it not been for these reasons, the Ottomans would have attacked the empire without hesitation. But now, the Sultan had a more pressing issue: repelling the Hungarian-Serbian alliance.

As a result—

“—Therefore, the Sultan criticizes the empire’s betrayal and demands the immediate return of the unlawfully occupied territories to their rightful owners.”

—before me stood a overconfident envoy. That the Ottomans had sent an envoy was surprising. Instead of wielding their sword against the empire, which had seized control of southern Greece, they chose diplomacy. Only then could I savour the surge of emotion.

Since I first understood the world, striving solely for survival and continuity, I realized it hadn’t been in vain. In this moment, amidst the weight of responsibility and despair, I felt elation.

At last… the empire had grown to be a threat to the Ottomans.

“Did I mishear? As a loyal ally, We only stopped rebellious groups that were being disloyal. The real issue is their arrogance in response to our help, which deserves criticism…”

“…You are insane.”

The furious Ottoman envoy. But it was too late. Returning the painstakingly reclaimed southern Greece to the Ottomans would be madness. Yet, a pretense had to be maintained. The envoy was enraged as if ready to lash out, but in this war, the one holding the reins of negotiation was not the Ottomans. Not even Venice, despite their significant contributions to victory.

The empire, once a declining object of others’ greed, had become the subject of this negotiation. Thanks to the unfavorable circumstances for the Ottomans, much was granted, and even more was gained. But was it a profit or a loss? To know this, one must first recall what had been yielded.

Except for Athens and Thebes, the city-states were returned to their original rulers or their relatives. Epirus was also recognized as an independent principality, not part of the empire. Major ports were relinquished to Venice, and the tribute owed to the Ottomans increased significantly—an amount that could be seen as a de facto declaration of Allegiance.

So, what was gained by these negotiation?

Although the city-states returned to their original rulers, they could not avoid a restructuring of their governance. ‘People’s Assemblies’ were established in each city, and the method of transferring ruling power was changed to require election through these assemblies.

Moreover, ‘legal advisors’ dispatched from the empire were granted the authority to oversee these elections, ensuring the city’s governance remained under the empire’s influence. Additionally, any legislation or amendment required the near-mandatory consent of these legal advisors, effectively stripping the rulers of their freedom.

In exchange for the empire covering the tributes the city-states originally had to pay, the city-states were arranged to pay taxes to the empire instead. This was clearly a disadvantage to the city-states, but it allowed the empire to station troops under the pretense of maintaining order.

The basis for the legal advisors’ forceful authority lay here. The assemblies, established to aid rulers in proper governance, inevitably fell under the empire’s influence. Furthermore, the entity to whom taxes were paid directly correlated with who held dominion over them.

The recipient of the taxes would naturally become the object of their loyalty.

Epirus was no exception. Though recognized as an independent state, its ruler was a member of the imperial family. Even if the connections were to be severed, the bond of blood made it always possible to form alliances. In anticipation of this, Thomas was beforehand supported as a prince. The Ottomans surely understood this, but for now, the Hungarian army was the more pressing concern. The envoy could only create a small opening for future opportunities.

Thus, southern Greece slipped from Ottoman influence. Though nominally a vassal of the Sultan, it was, in effect, no different from imperial territory.

The day the Ottoman envoy left, biting his lip, I leaned back against the throne in Athens’ court, wiping away the cold sweat that had unknowingly formed. It had been a risky act. One misstep, and the gamble could have led to total ruin. The fear when the alliance chosen to counter the Ottomans nearly brought the empire to its end was immense.

“…A triumph, wouldn’t you say?”

Though it felt awkward to say it aloud, such results might finally quiet the hardliners in the capital. Southern Greece, including Epirus, had been fully reclaimed from the Ottomans. There might be regretful murmurs, but no outright condemnation. For the first time in over a century, the empire had reclaimed territory. Even though luck and foreign intervention played roles, the achievement belonged to the empire.

Yet, the lingering unease and the throbbing in my chest urged that now was not the time to rest.

With the possibility of an Ottoman re-invasion nearing, it was crucial to stabilize the reclaimed territories and continue expanding and training the army. Although the Ottomans had retreated, I couldn’t shake the thought that they had done so more easily than expected. There was another reason behind their withdrawal, and uncovering it was essential. Knowing why the Ottomans pulled back might reveal the end of this relentless struggle.

But…

For today, let’s rest.

I had earned a moment of self-congratulation.

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TL : Constantine is 17 at this time which is kinda crazy. but not that crazy compared to other fictional novel mcs where mc at 5 year old can fight toe to toe with a knight of the strongest family. This is the novel I am talking about you can check it out Its also interesting but has same plot as the 1000 other novels you might have read :

The Second Coming of the Legendary Sword God

He hadn’t harbored much hope.

After all, wasn’t he the one who had lost the capital’s support for allegedly tarnishing the Empire’s dignity?

He hadn’t expected anyone favourable to him to remain. Moreover, the current co-emperor John was thoroughly wary of him. Yet, even if John garnered the capital’s support, the ruler of the Empire was still his father. And his father’s resolve was unwavering.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Prince Constantine.”

“You must have had a tough journey. Were there any issues during your voyage?”

“None so far. For now, at least.”

The boy, whose name was Thomas, spoke with a curiously thrilled tone, his flushed cheeks and eyes gleaming with anticipation. He was a relative sent by his father, one of the few in the Empire who were favourable toward him.

Likely, his father had understood the situation and sent someone who would be an ally rather than a competitor.

Soon, my brother and I strolled through the streets of Athens, engaging in conversation.

Thomas, who initially appeared just slightly above average, exceeded expectations in a positive way.

The rumors of his scholarly diligence in the capital were not unfounded. Thomas had objectively recognized the mistakes made by many in the Empire. Though young and lacking in some areas, he was more than adequate as a political supporter.

“The capture of Athens was an encouraging success. However, I am concerned about the involvement of the Venetians in this matter.”

“Why so?”

“They are people thoroughly dedicated to their national interests. If the Ottoman invasion becomes imminent, they might withdraw instantly. If that happens, the Empire would have to face the Ottoman wrath alone.”

“Precisely why they will fight the Ottomans. They wouldn’t welcome the emergence of a new fleet that threatens their maritime dominance.”

“…So you were considering Venice as a way to deter the Ottoman invasion?”

“Exactly. Rebuilding a fleet would take decades, a loss they wouldn’t ignore.”

“But there’s also the possibility that the Ottomans could initiate an invasion to make up for a naval defeat. Aren’t we placing too much reliance on optimistic assumptions?”

“Of course not. There is a contingency plan prepared. But why do you think that way?”

It wasn’t a typical stance for someone from the capital, where the hardliners dominated. Had the people of the capital heard, they might have labeled him weak. Curious about his reasoning, I asked, and Thomas, with a shadowed expression, replied almost to himself.

“…You can tell from the sea. The Ottomans are strong.”

“You saw something during the voyage.”

“The Ottoman fleet. At least dozens of ships maneuvering in formation, practicing. Though still rough, the fact that they can operate such a sizable fleet indicates their national power.”

Indeed. Ships are not just costly to build but also expensive to maintain, beyond the capabilities of most countries without a solid foundation. The Empire currently had only four ships. The sheer scale of their fleet made the disparity in national power evident.

Thomas knew this well, hence his somber mood.

“Now do you understand what it means to stand against the Ottomans? To protect against a new challenger, to fight against those chosen by history.”

“Chosen by history… Does that mean God has abandoned us?”

The moment I sensed the resignation in his self-deprecating tone, my heart stirred. In this religious age, people attributed everything to God. Their faith not only allowed them to strive for great achievements but also justified easy resignation. It was only natural to think God had abandoned them.

The rise of a new power, repeated civil wars, earthquakes, plagues, and relentless power struggles. All of these occurred within a single century. It wasn’t unreasonable to believe the Empire, reduced to a city-state, had been forsaken.

But to dismiss all these downfalls with a single statement of being forsaken by God? It didn’t sit well with me. What displeased me even more was that convincing them otherwise would also require invoking God’s name.

“Whether we’ve been forsaken or are undergoing a trial is something we can only know after the test is over. Don’t judge hastily. The moment of ruin hasn’t come yet.”

“Haa… So that’s the secret of your strength. The unwavering belief that what everyone sees as the end is merely a trial, which allows you to stand and fight. Father must have recognized this long ago.”

“You’re flattering me too much.”

“No, not at all. No matter how hard I try, I could never be like you.”

Thomas shook his head, letting out a deep sigh. Yet, there was something different. It wasn’t mere resignation. His eyes still sparkled with determination. Watching him, I smiled contentedly and spoke again.

“Good. I didn’t ask Father to send someone like me.”

“Of course. I’m here not to become like you but to support you.”

And I understood. Thomas had resigned himself to the fact that he might never surpass me, but he had not despaired. By reaffirming what he must do and why he had come here, he followed our father’s will.

The will of the Emperor.

“Father told me, even if Your Highness turns your blade toward your kin, to trust and follow you. To believe in the devotion and sacrifice hidden within the resolve to cut down even your own blood.”

“Devotion and sacrifice aren’t always right, Thomas.”

“Right and wrong only matter at the gates of heaven. For those of us who are mere earthly rulers, what matters is whether something is necessary or not.”

Thomas, who had been speaking without pause, suddenly widened his eyes and began to look anxious. I wondered why, but his next words brought a smile to my face.

“…I fear I may have been disrespectful to Your Highness. I hope I haven’t caused any offense?”

Eyes convey many emotions, and this time was no exception. Anxiousness, tension, fear, worry. I couldn’t let this young boy carry the heavy burden I had always borne here.

What was there to be angry about in the first place? Resolving immediately, I extended my hand to Thomas in a gesture of goodwill.

“You are a prince of Epirus, and I am a prince of Morea. There’s no cause for disrespect. Stand tall, Thomas. You are a prince.”

“A prince… a prince indeed…”

Thomas might not fully grasp what it means to be a ruler, unlike me, with my unique background. But he seemed to have already understood his duties as a member of the royal family, if not entirely as a sovereign. Regaining his composure, Thomas firmly grasped the hand I offered.

“Thank you for holding on, Your Highness. Now, I will hold on with you.”

“I look forward to it, my young friend.”

There is something conveyed through the clasped hands—trust. It was different from when I first met John. Even in the midst of a civil war where brothers might kill each other, I was confident that Thomas and I would not turn our fangs on each other. It must have been this possibility that our seasoned father, Manuel, had placed his hopes in. And Father’s judgment proved to be right.

Trust overcame the greed for power that even blood could not.

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The fall of Athens became a turning point that bolstered Prince Constantine’s advance.

The numerous city-states, serving as buffer zones between the Ottomans and the Empire, lacked the military strength to halt the prince. Yet, Prince Constantine did not solely rely on brute force. Utilizing a thousand mercenaries supplied by Venice and two thousand regular soldiers, he applied a calculated level of pressure on the city-states.

The message of the threats was largely consistent:

“The Empire will recognize your current ruling authority. Additionally, the Empire’s endorsement of your governance will grant you legitimacy, and the establishment of an assembly will minimize any losses to your rights and interests.”

Many cities found this offer appealing and rejoined the Empire’s sphere of influence, though not all were persuaded. Thebes, another central city in Central Greece, condemned the Empire’s unrestrained expansion and warned that it would formally appeal to the Sultan.

Upon receiving this warning, Prince Constantine immediately marched and subdued Thebes.

The ruler of Thebes was executed for betraying the Empire despite his claims of allegiance. Thebes, like Athens, was incorporated as a direct territory under the prince’s control, prompting the remaining neutral city-states to align with the Empire.

While imperial order had not fully taken root, it was evident that Central Greece would be reorganized around Athens and Thebes.

With Central Greece pacified, the prince turned his forces toward western Balkans.

The territory of Epirus, a confederation of city-states protected by the natural fortress of mountains, had enjoyed freedom from Ottoman dominance. They underestimated the difference in the imperial army led by the prince and opposed him with three thousand soldiers, only to be defeated. The decisive victory, resulting from the superior training of his troops, gave the prince an opportunity to shape Epirus’s fate.

However, the prince possessed a clear-eyed view of reality. The declining strength of the Empire was insufficient to fully absorb Epirus. Moreover, for Epirus to remain somewhat safe from an Ottoman onslaught, it needed to stay as an allied state rather than be annexed. This alliance had to be more than a simple partnership; it needed to be a blood alliance. The solution was to appoint a prince to govern Epirus, similar to Morea.

The prince soon dispatched envoys to the capital, not to the young co-emperor John, but to Manuel. If there had to be a prince governing Epirus, it was far better to have someone cooperative. Despite his advanced age, Manuel remained emperor, and he was perceptive enough to quickly grasp his son’s intentions.

Manuel, overwhelmed with a sense of regret, lamented the decisions he had to make. Had Constantine matured a bit earlier, he would have named him heir without hesitation. Simultaneously, Manuel steeled his resolve.

If anyone were to lead the Empire in the future, it would be Constantine. However, garnering support for Constantine in the capital was exceedingly difficult, as most nobles had turned their backs on him after the recent scandals and aligned with John. Ultimately, Manuel chose to favor a ruler sympathetic to Constantine over one with more experience.

“…Therefore, I intend to appoint you as the Prince of Epirus.”

The boy kneeling before Manuel could not conceal his agitation at these words. He knew well who he was—just a young boy, not yet outgrown his childish features, and now being sent to the front lines of the anti-Ottoman frontier. With a trembling voice, he asked his father, his emperor, a question.

“Why, Father? There is my brother Demetrios, who has not yet been granted a title. Why do you insist on appointing me as the Prince of Epirus? I cannot fathom the reason.”

“The reason is that you are one of the few who remains favourable to Constantine.”

Only when Constantine’s name was mentioned did the trembling in his hands cease. To the boy, Prince Constantine was an object of admiration and the last hope for the fallen Empire. Though the people of the capital claimed he had tarnished the Empire’s dignity, the boy knew he had chosen something far more significant. His efforts to follow even a fraction of his exceptional brother’s reputation had finally borne fruit.

The boy soon recalled the rumors that had circulated in whispers. Most had been dismissed as nonsense and forgotten, but now he realized their truth.

“So, you intend to use me as my brother’s supporter. And the reason you are so determined to empower him is because…”

“You know it too, don’t you? Among your brothers, who truly deserves the crown?”

It was a truth known to all in the Empire. Although it was rarely spoken aloud due to the near-paranoid vigilance of the current co-emperor John, everyone knew it in their hearts. John, obsessed with retaining power, and Constantine, striving to counter the Empire’s decline from Morea.

Could there truly be anyone more proven in capability than Constantine, who had already reclaimed Central Greece and was on the verge of incorporating Epirus into the Empire’s sphere?

Yet, even Constantine had a critical weakness.

“But in choosing alliance over the throne, he has become isolated within the Empire. Though he holds Morea, to become emperor, one must have the capital’s support. Without it, if Constantine ascends the throne, a civil war is inevitable.”

“I understand now what you mean.”

The boy discerned what Manuel was planning. The old emperor’s heart had long since turned away from John. Rather, it had returned to the one he had originally intended. And Manuel was preparing everything for a seamless transfer of power to Constantine.

“Thomas, you are the only one who can stand by Constantine’s side and support him. As both your father and emperor, I command you. Become the Prince of Epirus. As the Prince of Epirus, lend Constantine your full support—always, everywhere. Even if…”

Manuel paused, unable to continue. The excruciating pain, as if his heart might stop at any moment, surged through him. Yet, the dignity he had upheld as emperor for decades compelled him to speak. As a father, there could be no crueler punishment. After a brief struggle, Manuel finally spoke.

“…even if Constantine turns his blade towards John.”

Thomas felt nothing in response to this terrifying statement. All he could manage was a few words to Manuel, his gaze filled with sorrow as he looked into his father’s wavering eyes.

“Power is cruel. It twists even my ever-smiling brother John and drives you to order the death of your own child.”

“Do you hesitate?”

“This is the decision you have made, Father. It is also the resolve you have shown. As a royal, it is now my turn to fulfill the duty passed down through blood.”

With those words, Thomas quietly bowed his head.

Athens’ resistance proved futile.

Before they could recover from their defeat in battle, Venice’s navy appeared. The few ships Athens had were promptly captured, and the port was blockaded by the Venetians. When Venetian mercenaries, over thirty ships strong, flooded into the city, Athens’ fate was sealed.

By the time Prince Constantine arrived with his reassembled forces.

Athens had already fallen.

Initially trembling with fear and hatred at the sight of the Venetian flag, the public soon erupted in cheers at the sight of the Morean army led by the prince. After 200 years, their faith, long maintained despite the oppressive actions of the Western Church, had finally been justified.

Amidst the passionate welcome, the first destination of the prince was the court where the duke awaited. The Venetians who had taken over the court were well aware of the significance of the prince’s arrival.

“Congratulations on your victory, Your Highness.”

Admiral Foscarini, the commander of this landing, greeted him with a confident smile and a respectful, though not overly deferential, bow. The prince recognized him as the leader of this operation. While expelling Venice’s influence was a future concern, this was a time to maintain decorum. The prince, too, could not afford to dampen the celebratory mood.

“You’ve done well. It seems the Ottoman fleet has yet to make an appearance.”

“Those Turks are likely still preoccupied with subduing Serbia and only just becoming aware of our actions here. Even so, they can’t afford to withdraw their forces from Serbia, not with a claimant to the throne in play.”

Indeed, despite proclaiming their alliance with the Ottomans, the conquest of Athens rendered that controversial. The initial goal was to avoid drawing Ottoman attention by merging forces.

“Now, let us meet with the duke. It’s time to sign the peace treaty, isn’t it?”

Guided by the admiral, they arrived at a room where a middle-aged man awaited, under the watchful eyes of the Venetians. He sat with his head bowed in dejection, but upon hearing the approaching footsteps, he looked up. His eyes, unfocused and dim, betrayed the spirit of a man broken.

“…I thought we had more time.”

Time, he thought. The prince mulled over the word as he observed the disheartened duke. If he too believed there was more time, he might face a similar end. It was time to hold him accountable for his unwarranted optimism.

“You were overly optimistic. Did you believe you could survive indefinitely between the Empire and the Ottomans? Surely, you must have foreseen that if the Ottomans grew any stronger, they would simply take over.”

“True. But I never imagined we would fall to the Empire instead of the Ottomans.”

The duke slowly shook his head, his face a portrait of disbelief.

“Why have you done this? You, of all people, must understand the implications of attacking a duchy under Ottoman sovereignty. Do you truly believe you can win? Do you think victory is possible against the Turks?”

His words were undeniably accurate. The prince knew this was a gamble. Yet, he had no choice but to act.

“If we had merely watched, all anti-Ottoman forces in the Balkans would have been eradicated. Moreover, the number of extremists within the Empire was growing. I had to satisfy their ambitions somewhat to prevent them from acting recklessly. Otherwise, we would simply be waiting to be devoured.”

“…And now? What do you plan to do, prince?”

“I will require you to sign a treaty of humiliation.”

With those words, the prince presented the terms.

The Duchy of Athens, formerly ruled by the duke, is hereby declared an illegal occupation without the Empire’s sanction, and all rights previously claimed are nullified. Henceforth, imperial laws will replace the previously enacted local statutes. Additionally, a Venetian settlement will be established at the port of Athens, with exclusive tax off privileges granted to Venetians for the next ten years.

“As a gesture of respect for your noble status, should you choose to relocate to Mistra, you will receive a pension and may be eligible for public office following due process.”

“Stripping me of everything and calling it generosity?”

At the duke’s mocking remark, the prince replied with equal coldness.

“This is not generosity; it is mercy. Listen well.”

No one in the room missed the duke’s momentary flinch. It wasn’t long before he was engulfed in deep humiliation. As a ruler, his dignity and competence were overshadowed by the young man before him. It was a bitter reminder of the world’s inherent unfairness.

Finally, he managed to utter a single question.

“Do you think you can succeed?”

The prince closed his eyes, mulling over the question. Success? That was not a question for a monarch entrusted with power by the people. The answer for a ruler is always clear.

“I do not wear this mantle because I believe I can succeed, nor do I wear a crown out of arrogance.”

Only then did the duke understand what drove the prince. A rare young man indeed—no, perhaps still a boy in his untainted idealism.

A ruler motivated by duty and responsibility rather than ambition, struggling to prevent collapse at the expense of personal desires.

It was a pitiful and foolish sight.

Yet, it was also one of honor and nobility.

“May the Lord watch over you, Prince Dragases.”

Without a word, the prince watched as the duke stamped his seal to the treaty.

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.

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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.