Category: About a Dating Sim Where Dating Is Impossible

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I cannot understand this, Your Highness!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Understood.”

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

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

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

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

Stupid.

Overbearing.

Self-important.

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

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

Could this feeble struggle succeed?

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

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

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

//

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

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

Serbia and the Ottoman Empire.

Is there anyone in the Balkans unaware of the inevitable clash between these two powers? It transcends a mere conflict between nations; it’s a fierce battle between Christianity and Islam. In this tense atmosphere, some claim it’s the right time, while others deem it reckless. Is it an opportunity, or a crisis?

Upon hearing the report from her subordinate, Sophia unconsciously bit her lower lip.

I overlooked this. Was I too focused on the alliance?

Sophia’s father, Stefan, was an immense doting father who usually acted on her advice. This trait could be dangerous depending on the monarch and the advisor, but fortunately, Sophia’s instincts were sharp. Thanks to her, Stefan had managed the state without major missteps. However, her recent marriage and consequent distance from the court had become a disadvantage.

No matter how weak Mehmed’s disposition, he won’t forgive anyone who challenges his authority. If this goes wrong, our homeland will be in danger.

Whatever Stefan was thinking when he made his gamble, the Ottoman Empire was no easy opponent. The odds weren’t in their favor. Should Serbia lose, the country they had painstakingly held together would falter. But for Sophia, there was a more personal concern.

Serbia’s loss of power would jeopardize her union with Prince Constantine. Given his disposition, he would immediately declare a divorce. As a princess from a defeated nation once again subjugated by the Ottomans, she wouldn’t be able to secure any alliances.

I must stop this. At all costs.

Given the current situation, supporting her father’s decision seemed the best course of action. Even if Serbia were to fall despite Morea’s joint participation, the alliance’s cohesion would only strengthen as they shared the loss. With this in mind, Sophia rose from her seat and walked confidently to the prince’s office.

She passed by murmuring servants and the increasingly watchful soldiers with a resolute gaze several times.

After taking a deep breath, Sophia threw open the door to the office with determination.

“Are you there, Your Highness?”

“What is it?”

Without even turning his gaze, the prince immediately asked. Still as unapproachable as ever. How could someone so unsociable be a prince of the Empire? If anything, it was natural for the scheming Sophia and the warrior-like prince to dislike each other. However, the prince’s manners were irrelevant at this moment.

Sophia reminded herself of her purpose for coming.

The only thing a noble can truly possess—power. She had to manipulate the man before her to safeguard her position. With her usual sly smile, Sophia approached the prince.

“Surely, you’ve heard the latest news, Your Highness.”

“You mean about Bayezid’s youngest son.”

The prince responded calmly, continuing to move his pen. To Sophia, his reaction was difficult to understand. Why is he so composed? Doesn’t he realize the gravity of the Ottoman’s movements? Of all people, he should view the Ottoman threat most seriously.

…No, the questions can wait.

“As the Princess of Serbia and your wife, I advise you: we must stake everything on this battle. Now is the time for the decisive conflict.”

Only then did the prince show a more animated reaction. He raised his head, met Sophia’s gaze, and lifted one eyebrow slightly, a mocking expression crossing his face as if he already knew what she was about to say.

“All of a sudden?”

“…You haven’t forgotten the alliance with my father, have you? According to the marriage alliance, Morea is obligated to mobilize troops. Furthermore, isn’t the current Sultan’s military prowess in doubt? If we combine Serbia’s forces with Morea’s…”

“You’re excluding the most important part.”

The prince interrupted her, his gaze filled with doubt and disapproval.

“Serbia and Morea are divided. At best, 8,000 and 4,000 soldiers. Besides, the Serbian army has never achieved a significant victory against the Ottomans, has it? You should know that better than anyone. Can you truly say that the Serbian army is that elite? Do you sincerely believe they can win against the Janissaries?”

After thoroughly mocking her, the prince sighed deeply. Sophia, her intentions exposed, could only blush in response, unable to retort.

The prince, having shifted his attention to the documents on his desk, spoke in a cold voice.

“You don’t believe it yourself, do you?”

“…Why do you think that?”

“Don’t make me reconsider the alliance.”

The prince had a grasp of Sophia’s nature. He suspected her visit was driven by her power-hungry and greedy tendencies. From his perspective, her behavior was quite unlike her usual self; even her typically commanding tone had softened into one of persuasion.

Has she become anxious? Understandable. Regardless of Stefan’s intentions, Sophia would undoubtedly have sought to deeply involve herself in state affairs. Knowing Serbia’s situation would not be surprising. She likely saw the odds as slim and feared for her position, prompting her to seek him out.

Not that he ever intended to stand idly by and watch Serbia, a useful ally, fall.

“Sophia, war preparations are already underway, as you desire. However, the target is not the Ottomans.”

“If not the Ottomans, who else could Morea be preparing to attack?”

The prince responded to Sophia’s probing with silence. There was no benefit to her knowing the details; it might even be harmful. For the sake of Serbia, the foundation of her power, Sophia would likely try to maneuver the situation to her advantage.

On the other hand, Sophia interpreted his silence as a form of pressure.

Everyone in Mistra knew that the relationship between Sophia and the prince was strained. While her status as a princess in Serbia gave her influence, in Morea, it was her role as a wife that granted her power. If the marital bond was weak, she would have to rely on her family’s influence to maintain her standing.

Especially since only one person held the power to decide Serbia’s fate.

“Very well, I will leave the decision to you. As they say, the Empire’s last beacon of hope. I can only hope you are as wise and brave as they claim.”

With these words, mixed with youthful defiance, Sophia turned and left, leaving the prince alone once more.

There was no need for concern; preventing Serbia’s downfall was an obligation of the alliance. Weary, the prince stood slowly. War. Had he drawn his sword since the campaigns in Achaea and Corinth?

It was time to draw it again.

//

December 9, 1420.

As news reached the Empire that the Ottoman army was nearly ready to march, Morea was also preparing its troops. Over the course of a month, 2,000 soldiers had been gathered in Corinth, led by none other than Prince Constantine.

Many believed that he was finally about to commence the struggle against the Ottomans, but before the campaign, the prince made an unexpected declaration: he would participate not as Serbia’s ally, but as an ally of the Ottomans. Everyone was taken aback by this unforeseen announcement.

“What are you thinking?! This was the perfect chance to drive out the Ottomans!”

(Former) Tax Collector Adrianos and several other officers naturally voiced their objections. In response to their outcry, the prince revealed his plan.

“As allies of the Ottomans, we will subjugate the remaining Christian states in the Balkans.”

Backed by a secret agreement with Venice, it was time to demonstrate the results of their previous endeavors.

---

TL ; Nah, the plot twist.

Do you know the feeling of trying your best, yet circumstances refuse to align?

The frustration of grinding your teeth to achieve one goal, only to be swiftly burdened with another task. The reality is that no matter how hard you work, without the help of others, your efforts often come to nothing. I wish I didn’t know this so well. My head throbs with a burning sensation, a reflection of the string of bad news that keeps coming.

Completely oblivious to my feelings, Adrianos began speaking in an excited voice.

“Now is the time, Your Highness! We must raise our troops and join Serbia without delay!”

Join? Join what exactly?

Does he really believe Serbia has a chance of victory against the Ottomans? Not even a smirk escapes me. How can they all view the situation so optimistically? Adrianos isn’t alone in this. Many outside the court of Mistra also demand we raise the army immediately.

No, this will only lead to ruin. I turn my head, and Adrianos’ voice grows louder.

“Your Highness! It’s time to make a decision!”

How ridiculous. Time to make a decision? My fists clench involuntarily. The frenzy for war, which began in the capital, now threatens to drag Morea into ruin. The only consolation is that Morea remains an autocracy.

“Drawing our swords would mean breaking our alliance with the Ottomans. We must proceed with caution.”

“Why…! Your Highness!”

His tone conveys disbelief. I had no desire to become a dictator. Yet, leading a suicidal charge against the Ottomans is a far worse decision. At the same time, I can’t help but curse the circumstances. Since the emergence of Mustafa, Bayezid’s last son, Mistra’s court has been steeped in this atmosphere.

The clamor for war grows louder from all quarters. People, driven by anger, are pushing an unprepared empire toward conflict.

Even Serbia’s ruler, Stefan, has misread the situation. How can he see this as an opportunity when Mehmed I’s regime has already stabilized? Yet, if we stand by and let Serbia embark on its reckless challenge, we risk losing the alliance we’ve just secured. Our strategic goal now boils down to a simple choice.

To either lead the war to victory or preserve Serbia’s strength.

Ah… I don’t want to do this. The urge to throw everything away is understandable. Perhaps the only solace is that the war faction hasn’t fully seized control. But that’s just a matter of time. The day John, the head of the war faction, runs the government alone, the Ottomans will turn their blades toward us without hesitation.

My aging father, Manuel II, will soon yield to the youthful fervor of Emperor John VIII. When that day comes, the empire will face the formidable Ottomans unprepared. The outcome is obvious to anyone. The capital’s diplomatic stance is the first step toward ruin. If that happens, the Ottomans won’t leave the hard-fought Morea in peace.

Of course, even if the situation worsens, my vow to protect the despairing remains.

Yet, whether we follow or defy the central government, either path will waste the hard-won time we’ve bought. The more this dilemma drags on, the more I lean toward conflict.

From my perspective, my brother and current co-emperor, John VIII, seems intoxicated by his own ambition. Johannes, obsessed with the idea of becoming a great emperor, has devised a grand and complex plans beyond the empire’s capacity. Plans that hinge on a critical and precarious necessities.

Inciting internal strife to gain advantage isn’t a bad idea in itself. The opposition arises from the fact that it’s being pushed through amidst numerous unresolved issues. For instance, Morea and the empire as a whole have devoted almost all their intelligence resources to monitoring the Ottomans, leaving them vulnerable to Western affairs.

We have no idea how many Western crusaders can be assembled for this grand ‘plan.’ I have some understanding of Western affairs due to my contacts with Venice… which only deepens my despair about the situation.

Moreover, they won’t just march out for nothing. The Pope will certainly demand something from the empire, likely the unification of the church under Catholic dominance.

How can we, without a single reliable ally, hope to achieve victory against the Ottomans?

I bowed my head, sensing the weight of destiny. Reckless resistance will crumble before slim chances, and the last reserves we’ve built for a final opportunity will be utterly destroyed. On that day, the fate of the empire will be sealed.

Our struggle to survive will be cruelly trampled, recorded as a futile twitch in the face of inevitability, and the empire’s name will gradually fade into obscurity over time. The somber end promised to all great civilizations, all great nations. No one doubts that one day a new era will rise over the ruins of a thousand years of history.

Yet, even if fate is set, one must fight to the end.

A devout believer clings to the hope of divine salvation, an honorable warrior believes their death will shine with pride and dignity, a father believes he can pass his life on to his children.

I, too, will throw myself into the finite flow of time with this belief. I trust that this ugly struggle will be remembered by someone as the fight of the empire’s people who, in the face of overwhelming odds, strove to protect their sovereignty to the end.

Thus, it must be avoided.

These years of effort were not spent to meet such an end.

To prevent it, Morea must secure the alliances the empire, as it was, failed to achieve. The pride and dignity that cling tighter in the face of impending doom. As a nascent force in southern Greece, less burdened by such constraints. It was a thought I had always held, but recent events in the capital solidified my resolve for Morea’s course.

“Could it be a mistake?”

Aside from a few crude pieces of furniture, the office was devoid of any items or people. Naturally, the murmured words echoed off the ceiling and walls, returning to the solitary speaker. Years spent pursuing a single objective. Reflecting on how the original goal was a carefree life with beautiful maidens made the change in oneself apparent. Beautiful maidens… there had been encounters with several.

…I hope they found good companions.

After a brief reverie, he picked up the pen without hesitation. The recipient was the elders of Venice. Though their relationship with the Empire had been stormy, they shared a common enemy. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Just as the Ottomans’ rapidly growing naval power threatened control of the Aegean, Venice was likely wary of them too.

He had to ensure that they could convince the Imperial court. Furthermore, he outlined a plan he hadn’t disclosed to anyone before. He was well aware that many would oppose it, and in extreme cases, it could even lead to civil war. Nevertheless, he pursued it because it was the only way for the fallen Empire to survive.

And so, with a much more serious demeanor than usual, he spent hours moving the pen.

“Your Highness.”

A low voice accompanied by a knock broke the silence. It was Demicleos, the Empire’s magistrate. He only visited when there was significant news to report. However, there were no prior indications. The issues brought forth by the Assembly were typically routine tax discussions, and judicial matters were handled by the magistrate, ensuring a clear separation of powers.

The only additional possibility was the feared end of destiny.

“Has the Ottoman moved?”

He hoped not, but the silence beyond the door conveyed the answer. He was the first to sigh, the last to resign. It’s all over. My efforts have amounted to nothing. In that moment of despair, Demicleos spoke.

“It’s not just that. There’s also a message from His Majesty.”

“His Majesty… my father?”

A father who was a respected emperor and an understanding figure, having devoted his life to saving the Empire. What message would he send in such circumstances? Expectations weren’t high. However, his doubtdul heart shifted upon hearing Demicleos’s words.

“‘I’ve hesitated for a long time, but now I can say it with certainty. Constantine, he is the only one fit to stand against the Ottomans.’”

…Why would he say such a thing now? Why, at this moment? This was a decision—a conclusion reached after much deliberation on the succession issue. These words could overturn it, potentially inciting a civil war for the throne.

Your Majesty, my father.

Have you foreseen that my hands would be stained with the blood of kin? Are you entrusting me with the cross I feared to bear, a cross that, once drenched in the blood of many, will bring peace to the world—the [Red Cross]?

“Demicleos, summon the Venetian envoy staying here.”

“What shall I tell him?”

The initial contact between Mustafa and Serbia had been made through Venice. Originally, they would have preferred not to get involved and hoped for Mustafa’s victory. Unfortunately, Mustafa’s chances weren’t high. The military discipline was completely different.

Serbia’s defeat was almost a certainty.

Therefore, the balance must be adjusted to prevent it from tipping entirely to one side.

“Convey the matter of an alliance. Tell them we are willing to become the pieces on their chessboard.”

The weather is exceptionally clear.

Manuel, gazing down at the calm sea with not a cloud in sight nor a strong wave to be seen, murmured absentmindedly to himself. The Golden Horn, bustling with trading ships, still brimmed with life, a stark contrast to the declining empire.

The aging emperor, observing these lively scenes, sank into reflection. Yet that vigor, too, was nothing more than a hollow illusion.

They were mere worker ants, moving not for the empire’s wealth but for foreign riches.

They were scavengers, feasting on the fallen body of the empire.

“…I feel dizzy. My body is too old to ponder the future.”

Manuel had once knelt before the sacred icon in Hagia Sophia, fervently praying that the empire would endure through his reign. Perhaps his pleas had been heard, for the empire miraculously survived, gathering its last strength through the Ottoman’s disunity.

Nevertheless, the goddess of fate remained indifferent.

Oh, my God, why do you treat this poor old man so harshly?

It wasn’t only foreign affairs that troubled Manuel. The ominous atmosphere within the empire weighed heavily on him. Had the title of emperor of a thousand-year empire been so coveted?

The fierce conflicts among the princes over the throne threatened even the empire’s fragile remnants. How could Manuel, for whom all the princes were his sons, bear such a burden? The thought of them drawing swords against each other tormented him daily.

It was simply agonizing.

Knowing that his sons hated each other.

The realization that the civil war he had tried so hard to prevent might break out because of his sons.

If, heaven forbid, that dreadful scenario came to pass, it would be Manuel’s decision in this despairing moment that would shine. He had already designated his successor and co-emperor, John, but Theodore, always waiting for an opportunity, and Constantine, the de facto ruler of Morea, were also contenders. The choice among the three would determine the empire’s fate.

Knowing how much a ruler’s authority could be damaged by reversing a decision, Manuel had no intention of doing so. Yet, understanding what mattered more than authority, Manuel was prepared to decide who was most suited for the throne.

Excluding Theodore, who, aside from his ambition, showed no exceptional traits, the empire needed a proven and capable leader. The timing for Theodore’s bid for the throne was too unfortunate. Regrettably, his abilities lagged far behind the other two candidates.

John, with his innate diplomatic skills, might have been suitable. He knew well how to garner the support of the people. However, his passionate temperament posed a problem. What might have been seen as bravery during the empire’s stronger days was now sheer recklessness.

In the end, Manuel let out a sigh filled with lament.

The answer was clear.

“…Constantine.”

If only he hadn’t been so young then.

Now Constantine, demonstrating his capabilities, was steadily advancing toward the throne. Naturally, for the current co-emperor, John, Constantine’s actions would be irritating. How could he merely watch? Manuel’s heart ached. The power to control the situation had long slipped from the old emperor’s grasp.

All that remained was to support the son who had gained the upper hand, to end the civil war as quickly as possible. This way, the situation wouldn’t deteriorate further. A faint hope lingered in Manuel’s suffering heart.

But trials did not spare him.

On November 17, 1420.

Mustafa, the last son of Bayezid, believed to have died long ago in battle against Timur, appeared in the Balkans. He challenged Mehmed I for his right and soon gained Venice’s support. Feeling threatened by the newly established Ottoman fleet, Venice allied with Mustafa, who aspired to become sultan.

The alliance was formed.

Facilitated by Venice, Mustafa made contact with Serbia. King Stefan Lazarević of Serbia saw this as an opportunity. He was determined to avenge the two recent defeats. Supporting Mustafa, Stefan resolved to crush the Ottomans before they could rise further.

Serbia soon mobilized an army of 7,000.

Ultimately, these changes in circumstances manifested in the very form Manuel had feared most.

Calls grew louder for the empire to seize this opportunity and launch a counterattack against the Ottomans. The delicate balance between the war faction and the moderate faction finally crumbled. The war faction’s confidence wasn’t entirely baseless.

The centuries-long efforts to reclaim and prosper in the Peloponnesian Peninsula.

Wasn’t there a competent administrator who had achieved both of these goals at once? Ironically, it was none other than Prince Constantine who supported the war faction’s arguments.

Though his ambiguous stance drew criticism from both sides, he leaned closer to the war faction. Constantine had long said that when the time was right, a counterattack must be launched.

The war faction was now convinced that the time Constantine referred to had arrived.

Young Emperor John further fueled the war faction’s fervor.

“The Ottomans have grown stronger over the past seven years.

Now, as a new internal conflict seems imminent, we face our last chance to rectify the mistake of letting the sultan escape in the past.

Those who face trials must always be vigilant, and one must not miss the opportunities that come their way.

We must use this counterattack to show the world that the empire is still alive and secure alliances!”

As the empire’s downfall became more apparent, the public, steeped in old traditions, clearly favoured one side. The war faction, backed by public support, denounced the moderates as collaborators with the heretics, intensifying the capital’s war fervor. Voices of the masses clamoring for a holy war against the Ottomans echoed throughout the city, their hatred burning bright.

The situation shook on the edge of a unstable, full-scale war with the Ottomans.

It was inevitable that Manuel, who could be considered the leader of the moderates, worried about the fervor consuming the capital.

“I have often feared whether the youthful fervor would open a path to save the empire or cause us to lose even what little we have left.”

Perhaps God would answer the prayers of the youth. Yet, his intuition as a seasoned politician sternly warned him otherwise. This path would only hasten their destruction. The Ottomans had overcome the chaos following Bayezid’s death and emerged as a unified dynasty. With Mustafa’s military capabilities still uncertain, this was too great a gamble.

Having reached this conclusion, Manuel looked down at the young secretary prostrated before him—Young Sphrantzes.

“However, the future of the empire is no longer decided by this hollow emperor ruling this city. The true determinant of the empire’s future is but one person. Sphrantzes, you know who that is.”

Sphrantzes’ round eyes turned to the old emperor. His youthful, endearing face, which evoked maternal instincts in many women, contrasted sharply with the cold reality of his words.

“It will depend on the decisions made by Prince Constantine.”

“…I have long hesitated, but now I can give a clear answer. Constantine, only that child can stand as a true adversary against the Ottomans.”

Sphrantzes’ eyes widened in surprise. His face turned pale at the emperor’s unexpected declaration, then flushed red with a mix of excitement and tension. Though he remained calm, his voice quivered faintly.

“Do you mean to say…”

“Just deliver the message. Tell him the aged emperor has said so. Constantine, that brilliant child, will quickly grasp my intentions.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Sphrantzes bowed his head. Yet, his mind was consumed with thoughts about this decision. Hadn’t the succession already been established? For the emperor himself to revoke it would be equal to igniting a succession dispute.

Your Majesty.

How will you discern whether this painful decision was right or wrong?

Sphrantzes, silently mulling over the words that nearly escaped his lips, quietly withdrew.

The Church of Mistra.

There, under the supervision of Bishop Nikephoros, Prince Constantine and Princess Sophia were formally united in marriage. A ceremony conducted purely for political advantage, yet the people cheered. The rumours in the capital that the prince had insulted the Kantakouzenos family had not unsettled Morea.

Of course, the minor protest from the mercenary captain was promptly silenced.

After all, the Moreans, who had lived almost independently for a century, supported the prince’s decision. Some even hoped he would break away from the crumbling empire altogether. But that was not the prince’s intention.

Prince Constantine dreamed of uniting the old territories under the imperial banner once again. For him, the growing independence of the Moreans was an unwelcome reality. However, it was too early to dwell on that. More immediate concerns demanded his attention, foremost among them being Serbia’s situation.

Princess Sophia responded to the prince’s concerns with a cooperative tone.

“As stated in the letter, Serbia is still suffering from the aftermath of our recent defeat. While my father holds considerable power, his legitimacy is fragile, having been elevated by the nobles after the king’s death. In such a situation, it’s challenging to mobilize a large army.”

The prince wasn’t interested in endless excuses.

“So, what’s the actual number of troops available for deployment?”

“…Three to four thousand, perhaps.”

“This is worse than I thought… At least we won’t have to worry about internal interference.”

While the local lords’ forces could be mustered, the opponent was a newly established ruler with weak legitimacy. In contrast, Prince Constantine, with both noble blood and proven ability, had firmly established himself. It seemed unlikely that Stefan Lazarević, relatively new to power, could command his lords’ armies at will.

Believing his superiority assured, the prince looked Sophia with a stern gaze. Perhaps she was downplaying Serbia’s military capabilities to gain an advantage. If she intended to use military support as leverage for dominance in the alliance, she was underestimating him.

“Given how long your father has ruled, shouldn’t Morea be the one offering support?”

“Thank you for your rude concern. But it’s foolish for representatives of two nations, facing the Ottomans, to be fighting like this.”

“I’m not here to listen to excuses!”

If this continued, the conversation would go in circles forever. The prince resolved to take a more aggressive stance. His emotions surged through the room like a tempest. From the beginning, his sole reason for this marriage was Serbia’s military support. If Serbia couldn’t provide the troops he needed, what value did this union hold?

“I can understand the aftermath of defeat and the internal turmoil after the king’s death. But after twenty years, only four thousand troops?!”

“A prince of the empire, speaking with such little decorum—it makes one wonder about your upbringing.”

“There must be more. If Serbia’s military was truly that weak, it would have fallen long ago. I estimate you could muster eight thousand if you put everything on the line. Am I right?”

“…If the nation’s fate depended on it, yes.”

“You wouldn’t be thinking of gambling your survival against the Ottomans with just four thousand, would you? So it’s eight thousand after all. Much better than I feared…”

The prince’s anger cooled as swiftly as it had flared. Sophia smirked at his abrupt change of demeanor.

“Is that how you intend to threaten your wife?”

Sophia’s continued provocations were lost on the prince, whose thoughts had already shifted elsewhere. With their hearts so misaligned, there seemed little point in reconciling. The prince, gazing at the map spread on his desk, responded with a detached tone.

“Once we defeat the Ottomans, I’ll grant you a divorce. You needn’t consider me your husband.”

“If you think you can just use me, you underestimate my resolve.”

Neither husband nor wife was willing to back down. The prince, weary of the endless conflict, saw two options: part ways or find a compromise.

He chose the latter.

“I’ll act as you do.”

“I imagine we have more differences than commonalities.”

“You agreed to this marriage because it promised benefits. What I seek is Serbia’s military support. Additionally, I desire the sharing of your intelligence.”

This was a practical marriage. Just as the prince sought gain, Sophia had her own motives for entering the union. At last, her sharp retorts gave way to a slight smile.

“Now you ask the right questions.”

The choice had been correct. Sophia, tracing a finger along the neckline of her dress, slowly approached the prince. Her enticing smile and alluring figure were calculated to seduce. The prince regarded her with a cold, unfeeling gaze, but Sophia remained undeterred.

Despite the loveless exchange of glances, Sophia enveloped her arms around the prince’s neck, pulling him close.

“…I desire you. Not as a rational woman, but as a princess.”

“Have you been eyeing the empress’s seat?”

“Yes, I have. I am certain that one day you will ascend as a great sovereign. Your wife will be the most noble woman ruling half the world when that time comes.”

Bittersweet memories swirled in Sophia’s mind. She had come this far, reassuring herself that choosing the prince was the right decision. She leaned in close and whispered softly into the prince’s ear, making sure no one else could hear.

“Permit me to pursue love with the one I truly adore.”

Hearing these words, the prince was overwhelmed with a mix of astonishment and humiliation. Even in a political marriage, to say such a thing so boldly to one’s husband was audacious. Yet, the emotion that followed wasn’t anger but envy. Why did he find himself envying Sophia? The unexpected turmoil within left the prince’s eyes wavering.

Fortunately, the envy quickly dissipated, replaced by the longed-for fury—an intense motivator, guiding the prince’s judgment.

After expelling the Ottomans from the Balkans, a war for regional dominance would follow. If they could also drive out Venice, they would eventually confront Serbia. By then, the misdeeds of a Serbian-born empress would serve as a perfect pretext. Even if unable to mobilize an army, it would be a potent diplomatic card to pressure the opposition.

Indifference

He could easily provide it.

“I’ll consent. I will actively remain indifferent for the sake of your love.”

“…Then I have no complaints.”

Sophia, adjusting her attire and stepping back, left the prince to savour the lingering scent with a slight furrow of his brow. Though a significant rift separated them, a compromise had been reached. The prince, however, was the first to secure what he desired.

That dark night, the prince personally witnessed the source of Sophia’s intelligence.

“This peculiar candle… Jews, is it?”

“There are also Gypsies.”

They had slipped away to a humble dwelling, where a uniquely shaped candle, a symbol of Judaism, was placed. Perhaps Sophia had informed them in advance. A man draped in a shabby cloak knelt and greeted her.

“It is an honor to meet you, Princess.”

“Please address me as Mrs. Dragaš now. I am a married woman.”

The Jew gazed intently at Sophia, the meaning behind his look unclear. As the prince began to speculate, Sophia glanced at him briefly before smiling at the Jew.

“Don’t worry. Everything is fine.”

“As you command.”

This made it difficult to discern Sophia’s past, but the prince seized the opportunity to inquire about another matter.

“When did you start associating with them? Have they ever actively contributed?”

“Jews and Gypsies are often despised but easily pitied. Scattered everywhere, they rarely arouse suspicion. They acquire what they cannot attain themselves through the sympathy of others.”

“…Since when have they been in Mistra?”

“I’ve only recently made contact. It was challenging. Mistra is so stable that few are willing to risk uncertain dangers.”

“So, if I offered them better terms, do you think they would support me?”

“Generally, one would prefer a noble of lineage and renown over a suspicious Jewish retainer.”

Sophia’s words rang true. Yet, for a prince grappling with a shortage of talent, even considering the appointment of women, what use were the Jews?

Faced with this new possibility, the prince quietly began to deliberate.

Serbia and the Empire have a tangled relationship in many ways.

Serbia, originally formed by Slavs opposing the Empire, and the Empire that sought to subjugate them. Even after Christianization, Serbia continually eyed the throne of Constantinople, especially during the era of Stefan Dušan.

It was only with the emergence of external threats that these two nations, bound by war and submission, began to pursue genuine peace and coexistence.

Constantine, the Prince of the Empire, and Princess Sophia of Serbia.

The meeting between these two, bearing the future and fate of their nations, finally takes its first step…!

…Or so it was thought.

“Is the only thing you’re curious about in that field?”

Sophia’s abrupt question sounded strange, at least to the prince. For him, it was a baffling shift in the conversation. He tilted his head, reflecting on their dialogue so far. The greetings had been ordinary, marked by respectful and noble decorum.

From there, they exchanged insights about the internal affairs of Serbia, the Empire, and the Balkans in light of the Ottoman movements—a highly informative discussion. Was there something else Sophia wished to discuss? Although he saw no other topics, Sophia seemed to think otherwise.

With consideration, the prince asked for her opinion.

“Is there another topic you wish to discuss?”

At this, Sophia sighed deeply, filled with disappointment and resignation. She didn’t hide her feelings.

“…I think I understand why you’re not popular.”

“??”

To the prince, Sophia’s muttering sounded entirely odd. Her strange behaviour aside, Sophia had no desire to continue the boring, excessively formal conversation. With a faint smile, she rose gracefully from her seat.

“My apologies for interrupting, but it seems the fatigue from travel hasn’t quite lifted. I’ll take my leave to rest. I hope you have a pleasant day, Your Highness.”

Her face clearly reflected irritation rather than favour. Sophia left, followed by the silent Serbian delegation trailing after her out of the banquet hall.

The prince was left alone in the vast hall.

He felt neither defeat nor anger at the rudeness. Quietly, he reached for a wine glass and took several sips. Perhaps a bit tipsy, he heard a voice of reproach directed at him.

‘Do you even intend to get married?’

Would he? The prince, slightly intoxicated from the rarely-touched wine, seriously pondered the phantom question. It churned in his mind for a long time. Eventually, the prince found a clear answer.

‘Well, what if I don’t?’

The prince had been a potential successor to the throne. This marriage wasn’t just about political leverage; it was a strategic move to secure an alliance with the Empire and safeguard his position as Prince of Morea.

It was the right thing to do.

The marriage lacked nothing.

Even so, why did he hesitate?

‘Was I lacking in any way?’

He recalled the image of a pure young girl gazing up at him with pleading eyes. Yes, he had been lacking. Very much so. The prince repeated his words to himself over and over, trying to justify his decision. He suppressed his guilt and the vague, indescribable feelings.

“It was the right thing to do…”

From the moment he saw the frightened citizens behind the besieged capital’s walls, he resolved to take this path. Once a life seeking romantic love shifted to prioritize responsibility and duty.

What drove him to this obsession?

What made him so cold?

He slowly recalled the moment, eyes closed.

At first, it might have seemed like a mere game. But the chilling wind and physical pain he felt moved him. He didn’t want to be hurt. Even if it was a game, the pain was real.

To escape a miserable fate, he took his first step, struggling. That struggle turned to anger as he saw others resigned to their fate. He was trying so hard to survive—how could they accept suffering so easily? By whose permission?

So he forced them to stand, to suffer in the struggle.

What began as selfishness born from a desire to avoid pain turned into something more. The trustful gazes and hopeful cheers from the people reshaped him. The saying that a position shapes a person had become true for him.

He realized his responsibility and duty.

This was the prince’s punishment for dragging others into suffering due to his whims. Bearing the Empire’s flag was a serious obligation imposed upon him. His yearning for power, cloaked in responsibility, was a burden he would carry for life.

But without results, such agonizing thoughts would be meaningless.

As soon as the prince opened his eyes, he stormed out of the banquet hall. The ending wasn’t ideal, but he had adhered to the formalities expected before the wedding. He reminded himself of the purpose of this marriage—it was never meant to be a sweet honeymoon. This union was merely a stepping stone to save the Empire.

Whether Sophia felt pleased or displeased was none of his concern.

If she wished, he would grant her a divorce—once the Empire had firmly secured its dominance over Serbia. That would only happen after ensuring their survival against the Ottomans.

Love or tender romance had no place here.

Not yet. There was still more to be done.

//

On her way back to her chamber, Sophia couldn’t help but stew over her grievances.

Even if this was a political marriage, how could he be so oblivious to the atmosphere? Not a single compliment or line to smooth their relationship was offered. Perhaps his harsh surroundings had left him ignorant of how to interact with women.

“Still, that tone was too much, even for a noble.”

As a prince of an esteemed empire, he should possess the refinement expected of his station. His speech was so blunt it felt almost crude—had he never polished his speech? It was understandable, to a degree, that he had a soldier’s disposition rather than that of a diplomat, but as a ruler, he should have shown the qualities befitting his role.

“I expected some challenges, but this is too much…”

Her disappointment in the prince only intensified the vivid memory of another man.

The gallant knight who was always noble and, at times, recited romantic poems with a gentle smile. His tender gaze and whispered sweet nothings during their dreamlike days together now shackled her heart. Memories that were once warm had become chains binding her.

“I mustn’t think of him… I can’t.”

Sophia recalled a promise made with her father during her childhood.

It was the day she first understood the adult truth that love could be both desired and discarded. Her father’s solemn words had etched themselves into her broken heart, teaching her that the only thing a noble could truly hold onto was power. She repeated this lesson countless times.

From that perspective, Constantine was the ideal groom.

He had stabilized Morea from a young age and now stood at the center of imperial power, capable of steering the Empire’s future.

Yet, something still left her dissatisfied.

“No… I won’t be swayed by love again. I can do this. I will do this.”

Marrying the prince was a highly beneficial decision for both Serbia and Sophia herself. The advantages were too significant to overlook. As she reaffirmed this resolve, her attendant, observing her expression, hesitantly spoke.

“Your Highness, if you’re unhappy with this marriage, perhaps the second prince would be a better choice?”

Sophia paused. Abandon the prince now and choose the second prince instead? That would only further damage the already fragile trust. Besides, what did Theodoros have that could compare to the prince? I can do this. Sophia pushed all past memories to the farthest corners of her mind.

With a serene face, having banished her earlier turmoil, she turned to her attendant and smiled brightly.

“No, it’s fine. I’m satisfied.”

“Your Highness…”

“Don’t worry.”

Concern born from loyalty was appreciated, but if it led to ruin, it was misplaced. Sophia craved power. To be content as a princess of Serbia meant relinquishing the most precious value she could possess.

“Prince Constantine is more than charming enough.”

Sophia desired power.

For the sake of the old memories her broken heart might still hold on to.

Approximately two months had passed since the scandal in the capital.

Though I was somewhat exhausted from avoiding the nonstop weeping Ivania, those days were not spent in vain. Morea remained stable, and the military training progressed smoothly. As those two months went by, the inevitable finally arrived.

“Your Highness, the envoys from Serbia have arrived.”

“Sigh…”

Though I had never felt a desperate thirst for women, this was an unavoidable step to establish an alliance. Letting out a deep sigh, I changed into formal attire to receive the envoys.

The formal wear was a simple, clean design with only the bare minimum of luxury. If it were about representing an ideology, more extravagance might be appropriate. However, I was merely a prince of Morea for now.

With the devoted care of the attendants, I transformed into formal attire and headed to the banquet hall where a feast had been prepared in advance. Unlike usual, attendants accompanied me. Meeting foreign envoys necessitated a display of authority, no matter how reluctant I felt. As we walked down the corridor, an attendant spoke up.

“….Your Highness, if it is not too bold, may I ask a question?”

I had refrained from conversation, not wanting to inconvenience the attendants. Hence, it was rare for them to initiate conversation.

Curious about the matter, I nodded, prompting the maid to part her red lips.

“Did you perhaps encounter another maid last night…?”

A lively girl flashed through my mind. I vividly recalled her hesitating in the corridor, too afraid to deliver a letter to my strict and serious self. But the maid’s tone suggested something was amiss. Turning my head away indifferently, I warned her.

“I don’t know why you are asking such a question, but remember, any personal action will be met with appropriate punishment.”

“That’s not it, Your Highness!”

“Then what is the reason?”

Caught off guard by my sudden question, the maid fumbled, looking more suspicious by the moment. As I looked at her with a probing gaze for several seconds, she finally broke under the pressure, confessing in a flustered manner.

“The girl named Maria claimed the person she met at night was Your Highness… it seemed so.”

Had she been broadcasting it everywhere? It wasn’t surprising, though. A lively girl bragging about an unusual encounter wasn’t exactly a punishable offense.

“I’ll overlook it if it remains a secret.”

“Ah… Yes, understood.”

Her bewildered nod was amusing. If I had punished her for this, I’d become a tyrant whose notoriety would last for ages. How bad must my image be for such a reaction?

Smiling dryly at my mixed feelings of guilt, I finally caught sight of the audience chamber doors.

Beyond those doors awaited the princess of Serbia.

Judging by past events and the letters, she seemed like an exceptionally bold woman. As I pondered how to handle her, I couldn’t help but hope she would be a trustworthy ally.

//

Sophia, upon arriving in Morea’s capital—Mistra—was certain her expectations were met.

Amidst the bustling people and soldiers maintaining order, the citizens displayed no signs of unease despite the armed soldiers patrolling the streets. Was this truly a city of a crumbling empire?

“I’d heard that the principality was flourishing under the prince’s rule, but I didn’t expect this level of stability…”

The words, muttered absentmindedly by the retainer following her, reached Sophia’s own thoughts. While the prince’s military talent was known, his prowess in governance and administration was overwhelming. Unconsciously, Sophia found herself comparing Serbia with Morea.

‘It feels as if all of Father’s efforts were in vain… What have we been doing all this time?’

Her father, Stefan Lazarević, had struggled to recover from the aftermath of defeats for the past 20 years. Having supported him, Sophia immediately recognized the extraordinary nature of Morea and its prince, who had stabilized the region in less than a decade. Witnessing this, a renewed sense of confidence surged within Sophia.

“Indeed, Father, my choice was the right one.”

Confidence enveloped Sophia, amplifying her proud demeanor. Radiating her inherent beauty even more, Sophia proceeded to the court of Mistra with the envoys. However, her anticipation soon dissipated.

The stark and barren court, devoid of any significant art, twisted her brow. The cold surroundings seemed unworthy of a prince’s status.

Does he not value the dignity of a prince…?

A ruler, as a symbol of the nation and its ideology, should adorn and present themselves fittingly.

Regardless of the fallen empire’s state, he was still a prince and a legitimate power-holder of the empire. The capital’s court reflected the ruler’s prestige, yet it was left in such neglect.

“Even as an imperial prince, he may not fully grasp the weight of his responsibilities. That is something Your Highness can assist him with over time,” the retainer reassured, noticing Sophia’s displeasure.

Indeed, if the other party had shortcomings, it would magnify her influence. Envisioning the power that might be shared with her, Sophia followed the attendant into the banquet hall. Thankfully, the hall was modestly decorated.

The person waiting for Sophia and her party in the hall was a blonde woman who appeared somewhat haggard.

Her light armor immediately signalled to Sophia that she was a knight. A female knight…? All eyes were drawn to the unexpected figure. As attention focused on her, the knight’s eyes flicked towards them.

“…….”

Sophia didn’t miss the momentary sharpness in the knight’s gaze when their eyes met. Yet such a subtle threat did not intimidate Sophia. Maintaining her grace, she offered a soft smile and greeted her.

“Greetings. I am Sophia Lazarević, here to meet His Highness, Prince Dragases.”

“….Welcome, Princess.”

With a curt response, the knight turned and exited the audience chamber. The envoys struggled to conceal their outrage at the discourteous behaviour. Such arrogance might have been acceptable in an empire that was crumbling, but in seeking an alliance, how could they be so rude?

“It seems they are trying to assert dominance over us. Princess, please be cautious.”

“Thank you for your concern. But I was prepared for something like this.”

Still, it was infuriating. Dark resentment simmered in the depths of her consciousness. Taking her seat, Sophia began contemplating how to retaliate against Morea’s aggressive stance.

It was then that the prince appeared.

“His Highness, Prince Dragases!”

With the attendant’s clear declaration, all eyes shifted to the prince. It was the first meeting with a figure Sophia had only known through letters or information—a beacon of hope for the chaotic Balkans, a glimmer of light through the dense fog.

Constantine Dragases, the prince whose name echoed among the subjects of the empire.

And when Sophia’s eyes met Prince Constantine’s, she understood why he was so indifferent in decorating the court.

Sophia was well aware of John, co-emperor to Manuel II, renowned for his outstanding beauty. His friendly smile and eloquent speech made him a natural diplomat. Constantine, likely overshadowed by such a brother, was less frequently mentioned.

Yet, if John was known for his captivating charm, Constantine exuded a colder, more stoic image. His neatly combed yet wavy black hair, firm lips, and eyes hardened by a turbulent life displayed unyielding resolve. Dressed in simple attire, Constantine resembled a warrior ready for battle.

I see… So that’s why…

There was no need to decorate the court.

The prince himself, through his mere presence, conveyed all the authority he possessed.

The sender of the letter, as expected, was none other than the Serbian princess who had recently caused a scandal.

The letter began not with the usual grandiose phrases common in the empire but with clean, straightforward sentences. Skipping unnecessary things, it quickly got to the point, indicating either rudeness or a prior understanding of my disposition. Regardless, the princess herself was clearly a bold figure.

[Thank you for accommodating my unreasonable request. However, as a princess of Serbia, I had to make the best decision for my country. I hope you can understand.]

…Quite bold.

Though framed as an apology, it ultimately justified her actions as right.

The following content was filled with sentences more assertive than those of most men. Indeed, she was fitting to be the central figure in a marriage scandal that required significant courage. As I assessed her with a mix of admiration and irritation, my eyes landed on less welcome words.

[However, as much as Your Highness might hope, Serbia’s strength has not recovered. The aftermath of the last war has left our nobility hesitant to take a proactive stance against the Ottomans. Even if we wanted to assert ourselves strongly, we now have a pretext that prevents hasty actions. Therefore, expanding Your Highness’s influence is necessary to mobilize them.]

It might sound like an excuse, but knowing what Serbia had endured, it wasn’t right to launch unconditional criticism. Both of the past wars ended in decisive Ottoman victories, with the king perishing in the last one only about 20 years ago.

While a considerable time, the shock of those events was not unreasonable to linger.

[If Your Highness is genuinely preparing for a decisive battle with the Ottomans, I suggest first seizing the western Pindus Mountains. Controlling Epirus and Albania would strengthen our alliance’s ties significantly. Additionally, it would offer new options to the Ottoman tributaries.]

Every word was correct. As I found myself agreeing with Sophia’s suggestions, a sigh of frustration escaped me. Following her advice by swiftly moving to seize Epirus, Albania, and central Greece would indeed make it possible to expel the Ottomans from the Balkan territory.

The problem was that even though the empire was apparently an Ottoman ally, the Ottomans wouldn’t stand idly by. The Ottomans, aiming for dominance in the Balkans, wouldn’t tolerate the rise of a new challenger like Morea.

The fragile peace, precariously maintained through Mehmed’s friendly policies, would not extend beyond the Peloponnesus.

Beyond that lies the risk of full-scale war with the Ottomans.

“Sophia.”

The Serbian princess who astonishingly knew the empire’s political situation. She must have had information to back her recommendation for a significant expansion hinting at war with the Ottomans. I hoped she hadn’t spoken thoughtlessly, as anyone could make such suggestions. The issue was that only few could execute them.

The nation’s scale, the quality, and the quantity of the army all placed us at a disadvantage. Even with the assistance of five military experts arranged by Venice, our forces paled in comparison to the Ottoman elite Janissaries.

The empire’s weakened military structure could not match the Janissaries. Moreover, there were far too few competent leaders to command the army.

Currently, Morea had only three officers with actual combat experience. None were outstanding generals. Let’s review them. First was Ivania, the mercenary leader, with her striking blonde hair and blue eyes, and formidable strength for a woman. Despite her peculiar disposition, she was undoubtedly a capable general.

Ivania and her mercenaries were the only ones equipped to challenge the Janissaries. The issue was the small number of soldiers she commanded. High quality meant high pay. Though still employed, mercenaries were a significant burden for the empire. The empire had previously collapsed under the weight of paying the Catalan mercenaries who had been instrumental against the Ottomans.

Knowing the dangers of an over-reliance on mercenaries, the past two years had focused on forming a standing army. Despite her eccentricity, Ivania remained a threatening yet reliable ally.

Next was Adriano, a former tax collector and now deputy commander.

Mentioning Adriano was rare, but he was undoubtedly the most capable bureaucrat after Demicleos, the imperial judge who restructured Morea’s laws. As an elite, his work efficiency placed him as the second in command of Morea. Why did he leave his post as a tax collector to become a deputy commander?

…Due to a lack of talent.

Adriano was the only one with the aptitude and experience after Ivania. Despite having no prior ties to the military, he had likely cursed his fate since marching with me on the Achaea expedition.

The last person was…

…Me.

“A pitiful reality.”

How could I not lament? Despite the bleakness, the letter had undeniably influenced our strategic planning. It had refocused my attention, which had been entirely on reorganizing Morea.

Thus, the next day, I gathered the necessary figures to discuss Morea’s future. Mercenary leader Ivania, Deputy Commander Adriano, and Imperial Judge Demicleos. After scanning their firm faces, I began my preamble.

“I had forgotten the most important thing while reorganizing Morea.”

The mindset shifts depending on whether one has a clear goal or not. The three of them nodded in agreement, particularly Ivania’s reaction stood out.

“….Yes, Your Highness.”

A sign that something had changed in her usual demeanor.

“……What’s the matter, Ivania? Your tone seems different from usual.”

“…Why would you say such a thing…?”

“No, isn’t it different?”

This was perplexing. She wasn’t typically this quiet. I glanced at the other two for confirmation, but they too appeared bewildered.

“Your Highness, Ivania seems no different from usual.”

“You must be tense from the tough duties, Your Highness. Please, don’t worry. More importantly, it’s not Ivania’s tone but the direction in which Your Highness will lead us that truly matters.”

…Indeed, Demicleos was right. There was no time to dwell on Ivania’s tone. Steeling myself, I got straight to the point.

“Though it still feels distant, the battle between the Ottomans and the empire is inevitable. The Ottomans, aiming for the fall of Constantinople, and our alliance hoping to reclaim our homeland cannot maintain peace for long.”

The atmosphere grew tense. Understandably so, as defeating the mighty Ottomans seemed nearly impossible. The empire had reached a point where survival without external aid was unfeasible.

“Thus, in an effort to forge a solid alliance against the Ottomans, I have chosen to engage in a betrothal with Serbia…”

“…..Achoo.”

…..

“As I was saying.”

“….Cough, cough.”

…..

“Ivania.”

“….Yes, Your Highness.”

“Your health is crucial for the future of Morea. I’ll arrange for a physician, so take some rest.”

“Thank you for your kindness… but I’m fine.”

“…Very well. Let’s continue. The soon-to-be formalized betrothal with Serbia is essential for establishing our alliance. However, Serbia, weakened by successive defeats, holds strong anti-Ottoman sentiments but lacks the resolve for active measures. Just yesterday, the Serbian princess pointed this out in a letter.”

“Ahhhhhhh!”

Caught off guard, I didn’t expect this sudden outburst!

“W-what is the meaning of this! A grown woman acting like this out of the blue!”

“Already exchanging letters! Is there no hope for me!? Is there no chance for me to be with Your Highness!?”

Ivania clung to me, bursting into tears. Looking down at her, a surge of sympathy and an odd sense of connection welled up within me.

At last, I realized…

It was Ivania, not me!

“How could you only now realize something so obvious.”

“Waaaaaahhh!!”

“Let go if you’ve realized!”

“Ahhhhh! Waaaahhh!”

The meeting couldn’t be resumed.

As the eventful year of 1420 drew to a close, a chilly breeze swept through the room where I had been diligently writing. The draft must have slipped in through the door I had left half open for ventilation. Is it winter already? Focusing on a single task for too long can be tiresome, so I set down my pen.

“Haah…”

My shoulders felt stiff. How long had I been sitting at my desk?

Rising from my seat, I noticed the dimness around me. A glance at the window gave me a rough sense of how much time had passed. It was approaching nightfall. With no pressing tasks left that required working by lamplight, I decided it might be time to rest.

After bustling about to tidy up, I realized my rare early departure had been delayed. Feeling a bit annoyed, I glared at the setting sun just peeking over the horizon, knowing it was a futile gesture. With a resigned sigh, I left my office.

The late hour meant the halls were mostly empty. Walking alone through the corridors, the chilly air nipped at my skin, signaling the approach of winter. Winter… another year was ending. The thought left me feeling a bit lonely.

Spending much time alone due to various circumstances, I found myself pondering my solitude. Had I lived my life without a single friend? The realization that there was no one to share my thoughts with made the solitude more profound.

The only cure for my weary heart seemed to be sufficient rest, wrapped in a warm blanket, as I promised myself again to seek comfort in sleep.

“Haaa…”

A long, weary sigh caught my attention. Turning my head, I saw a maid, identifiable by her attire, standing near a small brazier, warming her hands against the cold.

Why was she alone when everyone else was likely winding down their day? This unexpected encounter added a weight to the scales of my decision—should I walk past her for the comfort of sleep or approach in case of an unseen threat? My thoughts leaned towards sleep, assuming she would find her way safely.

As I resumed my steps, a sudden crunch underfoot stopped me.

“…! Who’s there?”

Instinctively, I covered my face. What had made such a noise underfoot? Moving my foot aside, I found fragments of what appeared to be a wooden object. Perhaps it had once been something more intact before shattering. As I knelt to examine the pieces, a dark figure appeared before me. Looking up, I saw her standing there.

“Ouch!”

“….”

What are you doing? It was fortunate I hadn’t risen quickly, or I might have been hit. Though my gaze held disappointment, she was too busy rubbing her nose to notice. Watching the maid tremble with tears in her eyes, it felt absurd to express anger. Exhaling my irritation, I rose carefully. Dwelling too much on small details could make one miss the bigger picture. A brief greeting and parting would suffice…

“Ow… Oh, what’s this?”

…Her gaze was on the broken wood pieces. I had a bad feeling. She hurriedly gathered the fragments, her expression distraught, as though about to cry. For a few moments, I watched in silence, feeling guilty. Then, unexpectedly, she held the pieces out to me.

“What should I do?”

I didn’t know, and I wished she wouldn’t ask. Though my mind wanted to draw a firm line, her pitiable appearance swayed me. Not wanting to get involved but also striving to be fair, I knew I couldn’t dismiss my responsibility lightly. Adjusting my mindset, I spoke carefully.

“Was it important?”

“Huh? Yes… Yes, it was a precious item.”

If only she had been more careful. Clicking my tongue, I pondered how to make amends. Simply offering money might be seen as dismissive of the item’s sentimental value. After all, what is precious to someone often transcends monetary worth. So, what could I do? It seemed the best approach was to ask her directly.

“I apologize. It was my fault it broke. I’d like to make it right—what would you like me to do?”

“Oh? Well… What would be appropriate to call you?”

Tilting her head in thought, she seemed to ponder deeply before finally asking for my name. I had no reason to refuse.

“Konstantinos.”

“Oh? That’s the same name as someone I know!”

A moment ago, she had been teary-eyed, but now she beamed with a bright smile. It could seem foolish, or perhaps simply innocent.

Avoiding any negative judgments about others, I decided she was an innocent girl. As I reached this conclusion, she placed her hands on her hips and stood straight.

“Hello, I’m Maria, newly appointed to the court of Mistra!”

“A common name.”

“I heard my parents named me that because I was mischievous as a child and they hoped I’d become as demure as the Virgin Mary… uh?”

Maria, speaking in a cheerful voice, suddenly noticed something amiss. Lifting her hands, she realized her mistake.

“I dropped it!”

Watching her hurriedly gather the scattered wood fragments, I couldn’t help but chuckle. Should I help or wait quietly? I chose the latter. Soon, Maria looked at me with a slightly pouty expression.

“Can’t you help me out?”

“You’ve already picked them all up.”

“The mischievous one is you, it seems. My mother should have seen this.”

Indeed, I was more playful than usual. It had been a while since I’d had a casual conversation with someone my age. Most of my discussions with those of similar mental age were work-related, leaving little room for small talk. Because of this, Maria’s complaining reminded me of a niece. After exchanging lighthearted words for a while, I brought up the topic that had piqued my curiosity from the start.

“Why were you standing here alone?”

“…Oh, well, actually, I came to deliver this letter.”

“A letter? To whom?”

“To Prince Konstantinos, the ruler of this city. I was told it contained an important matter.”

“Were you waiting alone because you were reluctant to meet him directly?”

She didn’t answer. Maria fanned herself with the sealed letter, trying to cool her nervous sweat. I had guessed correctly, and the mixed feelings of being right were difficult to describe.

“But… I heard the Prince is very strict, serious, and solemn. Other maids say they feel suffocated just being near his office…”

Let’s think positively. Avoiding impulsive actions allows for better focus. More surprising was the court’s unfavorable view of me. Strict, serious, solemn.

As I massaged my throbbing forehead, I realized something. Maria didn’t want to meet me formally, and I wanted to compensate her.

Our interests aligned unexpectedly.

“In that case, I’ll deliver it for you.”

“Huh? Can you meet him that easily?”

“Unless it’s about marriage, I’m open to discussing important matters.”

“Hmm… Then, may I ask for your help?”

“Of course.”

Maria handed over the letter without hesitation. Her initial reluctance gave way to a beaming smile once the letter was out of her hands.

“Now I can return to my quarters without worry. Thank you, Konstantinos!”

Before I could bid farewell, Maria gathered her skirts and hurried off. Though a bit overly cheerful, it was better than being gloomy. As long as we didn’t spend too much time together, I wouldn’t mind seeing her occasionally. Despite the delay, I had managed to smile today. Perhaps I should thank her later… For now, it was time to rest.

But first, I needed to check the letter’s contents. Yet, an ominous feeling crept over me. Hoping it was nothing, I quietly headed to my bedroom. Upon opening the letter, I found myself in an unexpected exchange with a familiar figure.

The world is in constant motion.

A peaceful era may seem to stretch on, only to be swiftly followed by a turbulent one.

Perhaps it moves with the belief that only unceasing change can breathe life into it. Though minor conflicts have always existed, even in times considered peaceful, they have not decisively marked turning points in history.

Now comes a moment of grave choice that will determine the direction the world will take.

Indeed, the 15th century is such a time.

Let us turn our gaze to the far western edge of Europe.

The fate of the Iberian Peninsula, once a Roman province known as ‘Hispania,’ had long reached its peak. In the 7th and 8th centuries, it faced the onslaught of rising Islamic forces under the prophet’s name, leading to a agonizing past where many had to abandon their faith and become Muslims. However, with the fall of Islam, the reconquest under the banner of Christ was nearing its conclusion.

The conquest, led by Castile and Aragon, was set to end soon in a Christian victory. This would be followed by a sweeping crackdown on heretics and Jews who had acted as collaborators for the Muslims. Yet, Christianity’s triumph on the Iberian Peninsula did not lead to absolute glory.

The Hundred Years’ War between England and France over the throne.

England, having seized Aquitaine in southern France, sought to establish an Anglo-French empire, while France aimed to expel the foreign power from its land. This war, which began in 1337, forced heavy casualties on both sides, with frequent truces and renewed conflicts.

The unfortunate truth was that the war was far from over.

The war’s toll was immeasurable—exhausted citizens, devastated farmlands, pillaged villages. The weakening of these two Western Church pillars robbed the West of its ability to counter Eastern threats.

What of the Holy Roman Empire further east?

Unfortunately, the Germanic Roman Empire was in no position to engage in international affairs. The death of the emperor had left the throne vacant, leading to nonstop conflict among the heirs competing for the crown. Without a clear contender for the throne, it seemed the chaos would take a long time to subside.

Thus, while Western Christianity—Catholicism—claimed victory on the Iberian Peninsula, it could not prevent the demise of religious authority due to internal divisions. Furthermore, when people started to understand the teachings (doctrines) in new ways, it actually made the existing problem worse.

A figure emerged who condemned the corrupt behaviour of clergy and challenged long-standing church doctrines.

Not Martin Luther, as he belonged to the 16th century.

This courageous theologian, who viewed the church’s luxury and wealth as sinful and used the cup of wine as a symbol to resist the pope, was Jan Hus.

He struck a powerful blow to the popes authority, which had dominated for centuries with the fervent support of Thomas Aquinas.

Jan Hus was condemned as a heretic and burned at the stake at a council filled with the pope’s wrath.

But wasn’t this a common occurrence in medieval Europe?

Indeed, the pope might have believed that the burning of this daring theologian who had dared to challenge him restored the church’s authority on that very day. But it was different this time. Jan Hus was a figure of considerable popular support, unlike other heretical leaders. Would his followers, who revered him as a clergyman, quietly accept his death?

Rather than restoring church authority, Jan Hus’s death incited challenges against the church.

Hungary, where many of Jan Hus’s supporters resided, soon became engulfed in the flames of war. They called themselves the Hussites and followed the new teachings adopted by Jan Hus. But weren’t they just a motley crew without proper military training? The Hungarian king and nobility thought so and sought to crush them with powerful knights.

Soon, Hungary suffered a crushing defeat at the hands of this motley crew and went to the pope to request a crusade. The pope, displeased with the Hussites, declared a crusade, and it seemed the overwhelming military difference would obliterate the heretics—assuming no unforeseen variables.

But, there was a variable

The Hussites were led by the incomparable one-eyed military genius, Jan Žižka.

Thus, Hungary, entangled in civil war, also fell out of the picture. The Western Church became utterly fractured, plunging into a state of vulnerability never seen before.