Category: About a Dating Sim Where Dating Is Impossible

It had been about seven years since my last journey to the capital.

Since coming to Morea, my daily life had been consumed with the recovery and stabilization of the Peloponnesian Peninsula. Naturally, I had been cut off from most of my family, except for my father who remained in the capital. This trip provided an opportunity to discuss the empire’s policies. As I pondered who to bring as my companions, considering the preparations needed for future discussions, a voice interrupted my thoughts.

“I will accompany you.”

“Ivania, you must stay here and lead the mercenaries.”

The mercenary captain, with her now slightly longer blonde hair flowing, approached with a determined expression, blocking my path.

Though I presented a reasonable argument to Ivania, she openly displayed her dissatisfaction.

“Is it not the duty of the employed to protect their employer’s safety? I am here solely to fulfill that duty, without any ulterior motives…”

“Really?”

Was she truly acting without any ulterior motives?

This time, I was the one unconvinced. As I stared at her intently, Ivania initially met my gaze with confidence. Was she genuinely driven by pure intentions? For a moment, I was almost convinced.

However, as time passed, her eyes began to tremble and eventually darted away.

So much for no ulterior motives.

Even as I raised an eyebrow and glared at her, Ivania only looked around nervously, showing no signs of admitting the obvious. It was clear to anyone observing, yet she was determined to feign ignorance. I had no choice but to seal the deal with words.

“Really?”

Finally, Ivania squeezed her eyes shut, trembling for a long while.

“No!”

Ivania’s face turned crimson as she erupted. A sigh escaped me naturally. Of course. As I mentally clicked my tongue in exasperation, Ivania, seemingly unable to control her outburst, began to pour out all her emotions.

“A marriage for you, my lord? Do you think I stayed here and signed the contract for that reason?”

“Surely, it’s for the salary.”

What else could it be… I almost continued with my train of thought, but then reconsidered. If there were a contest for the most unusual mindset, Ivania would win without a doubt. Her way of thinking was beyond comprehension with typical reasoning.

“My lord, do you still not understand?! Do you not know what I truly desire?!”

“I’d rather not guess.”

If Ivania were presented as a dating sim heroine, I’d vow to stay single. Even to the extent of taking a monastic vow. Whether she realized my resolute determination or not, Ivania steadfastly conveyed her intentions.

“What I desire is not much, my lord♡.”

“Don’t add strange things at the end.”

“I simply wish for a love as deep, sticky, and engulfing as a swamp, like one from an epic poem♥.”

Deep? Sticky? A love like a swamp?

Ordinarily, people would describe romance as sweet, not with such terms. Perhaps my concept of romance was wrong, and that’s why I hadn’t experienced it yet. Just as I started doubting myself, Ivania clasped her flushed cheeks with both hands, looking at me with unfocused eyes.

“Yes, a love where the beloved has someone else, leading to irresistible attraction and temptation, and the spouse, filled with jealousy, brings another into the mix, who then…”

“Bishop! Bishop!”

As a devout follower, I resolved not to listen to the devil’s words any further. The arrival of Bishop Nikephoros, who quickly escorted the demonic spirit away, concluded the immediate ordeal. However, even the bishop’s heroic efforts didn’t prevent me from deep contemplation about whether to continue employing her.

They say you get what you pay for.

If only I could meet the Venetian who arranged this contract. I never considered myself a cruel person, but at this moment, I could imagine tying him up and whipping him in the streets.

“…Maybe I should just go without an companion.”

It might be less dignified, but surely it’s better than having a disaster unfold on the way. I seriously considered it until Demicleos, the imperial magistrate, came to my office and spoke.

“Take her and the mercenaries with you.”

“There must be a good reason for what he said.”

Had a sword been at hand, I might have drawn it immediately. Despite sensing my irritation, Demicleos began listing his reasons in a calm voice.

“Currently, Morea represents the last hope for the empire and the final chance to repel the Ottomans. Demonstrating this to the citizens of the capital is essential to alleviate their ongoing anxiety.”

“So, you’re suggesting I bring Ivania’s mercenaries, the ones with the best military discipline?”

“Her mercenaries are well-armed, and their presence is splendid enough to symbolize Morea’s prosperity. While the nobles still believe political power resides in the capital, it’s time to show them that real authority has shifted to Morea.”

The first reason was easy to dismiss, but the second caused my face to harden. What was he thinking? My voice, cold as if my very heart had frozen, emerged.

“I’ll overlook the idea of making the capital’s proud nobles face reality. But I cannot ignore the reason behind it.”

Would three hundred mercenaries really make the nobles realize their downfall? More importantly, what was the point of confronting them with reality? Unless there was a single purpose—showing who held the reins of power—it made no sense. My icy interrogation prompted a composed response from Demicleos.

“Your Highness, I believe you are the last beacon of this empire.”

“Spare me such grandiose words. Such statements could endanger my life and position.”

“Your Highness, everyone knows you were once the most promising candidate for succession.”

What nonsense. Why am I hearing this for the first time about myself? Even as I displayed my astonishment, Demicleos showed no hesitation. It seemed he intended to lay out all his thoughts.

“You possess the noble lineage to claim the throne and the capability to lead this empire. If your marriage succeeds, you’ll have most of the empire’s nobles on your side. Who else could establish such a stable power base?”

…!!!!

Only then did I realize how I might be perceived. If I, the sovereign ruler of Morea, allied with the great Kantakouzenos family, the implications of the marriage I had agreed to without much thought became clear, turning my face pale.

Now I would be suspected by co-emperor John VIII and the other princes of harboring ambitions for the throne.

Had this occurred before a co-emperor was appointed, it might have been less problematic. But my father, Manuel II, had carefully allocated power, and in an empire with an established line of succession, a brother deemed too threatening could only lead to division and war between brothers.

Damn, it’s too late to back out now. The face of Bishop Nikephoros, who arranged the marriage, flashed before my eyes. Of course. Raising my head from the heavy thoughts, I looked at Demicleos.

“You conspired with the bishop.”

His response was silence. Holding my throbbing forehead, I pondered over and over. What drove Nikephoros and Demicleos to orchestrate this? Could it be a scheme to incite a civil war within the empire? One thing was clear: the spark for internal conflict had been lit.

I couldn’t just sit and accept this.

“Fine. I’ll accept your intentions and aim for the throne.”

“…Forgive my audacity, Your Highness.”

Demicleos bowed deeply, appearing remorseful. What had pushed them to such lengths? Despite the lament, I declared firmly.

“But I will seize the throne at the time of my choosing.”

It seemed a significant overhaul of my strategy was now unavoidable.

Over the years, many difficulties have arisen.

Each time, I somehow managed to overcome them, and most of the trials were indeed surmountable with great effort. However, the current ordeal was immense. It was a desperate crisis that couldn’t be overcome alone. Is this the end? Will it all collapse here…?

The weight of despair pressed down on my shoulders. My trembling eyes couldn’t focus on anything, just wavering aimlessly. No, this can’t be. Why, why…!

“I have to get married as soon as I turn sixteen!”

I flung the piled-up marriage proposals off the desk, releasing the pent-up anger in my chest. I hadn’t even had a proper romance, and now marriage already? As a prince of the empire, I knew a political marriage would come someday, but still. Regardless of status or the medieval era, there should be limits.

While it’s acceptable for women to marry at sixteen, it’s different for men. Even in the Middle Ages, it was unusually early for a man to marry at sixteen. As I raged, a calm voice tried to soothe me.

“Your Highness, please reconsider. Your marriage is crucial for the stability of the empire.”

It was Nikephoros, the Bishop of Mistra. He was trying to calm me down, almost like soothing a wild animal, and then he started listing reasons one by one.

“The empire needs alliances both internally and externally to stand against the Ottomans. We need a monarch who can lead the army and stand with us. A political marriage is necessary for this.”

“There are other brothers, other brothers!”

Theodoros, who had a pact with me, and John VIII, who had ascended as co-emperor, were present. Even if John was married, couldn’t he be divorced for political reasons and remarry? But it seemed Nikephoros had a different idea.

“Co-Emperor John VIII is a significant figure who needs to seek a political marriage with a Western European country for future plans. Unfortunately, he is of much higher status than the brides we are considering.”

“What about Theodoros?”

“A marriage is already being arranged. If he marries a Serbian princess, we can build a new alliance with Serbia to stand against the Ottomans.”

Damn it. My options were blocked. With my two brothers already paired, it was naturally my turn for a political marriage as a prince of the empire. After a few deep sighs, I resigned myself to the dismal reality.

“…Who are the candidates?”

“I expected you would say that.”

A mix of relief and a sigh of lament crossed Nikephoros’s face. With a brightened expression, he carefully laid out sheets of paper densely filled with names on the desk. But as the number grew, someone else was visibly fading away.

“First, I want to mention the daughter of the Doge of Venice. If we form an alliance with the Doge, he would likely support the empire to ensure his descendants ascend the throne…”

“No. I can’t do it. Tell them to leave.”

Summoning a formidable adversary to deal with after defeating the Ottomans was sheer madness. With Venice, we should collaborate just enough to defeat the Ottomans and then immediately cut ties and punch them in the face. Allowing Venice’s influence to infiltrate the empire was something to be avoided at all costs.

“Then what about the daughter of the Mayor of Constantinople? She has noble blood and significant influence in the court as the ruler of the capital…”

“I don’t need her.”

I shook my head again.

Could Constantinople even sustain itself without Morea? It might sound arrogant, but most of the empire’s resources had long been shifted to Morea. Its symbolic value as the heart of the thousand-year empire was undeniable, but would anyone blinded by the title of emperor bother with it?

As I waited for the next person, a sudden silence fell. What’s going on? Why isn’t he speaking? When I turned my gaze to Nikephoros, I understood. After two consecutive rejections, the brightness on Nikephoros’s face had dimmed, replaced with a somber look.

“In that case, there’s only one suitable bride I can suggest.”

Nikephoros took back the papers before I could even refuse. Before long, there was only a single document left on the desk. So, there is someone. In front of the now desolate desk, enough to make me feel nostalgic, Nikephoros carefully spoke.

“Joannina Kantakouzenos.”

…!

“A descendant of John Kantakouzenos, who once ascended to the imperial throne, and the esteemed lady of the prominent Kantakouzenos family, which once ruled Morea. She has a somewhat headstrong nature but possesses remarkable capabilities, making her a prominent figure even in the capital…”

“Enough. That’s sufficient.”

Despite cutting off previous marriage proposals without hesitation, I couldn’t do the same with the name Kantakouzenos. It was because the Kantakouzenos family held enough prestige to unify the remaining nobles of the empire. To solidify the case, Nikephoros drove the point further.

“Marrying her would sufficiently calm the Kantakouzenos family, who may hold resentment over losing Morea.”

“I know, I know…”

She was the ideal bride, chosen to appease the empire’s nobles while quelling any potential threats Morea might harbor. She was, indeed, an indispensable masterpiece for ensuring domestic stability.

In the end, I relented.

“…I’ll go to the capital.”

“You’ve made a wise decision. An excellent judgment.”

As I let Nikephoros’s praise pass through one ear, I couldn’t help but worry about the future. Who knew what kind of woman she would be?

//

The news that Prince Constantine would soon come to the capital spread quickly throughout Constantinople. The city, deprived by the growing strength of the Turks, had long been subdued. It had been a while since the gloomy atmosphere had transformed into a festive one.

In addition, there was an attendant who rushed to deliver the joyous news.

“Lady Joannina, have you heard? Prince Constantine has agreed to the marriage!”

However, it was the other young ladies nearby who shrieked at the attendant’s news. Naturally, they tried to lower their voices, but their slender fingers covering their mouths were of little use.

“The prince, known for being so impenetrable!”

“How on earth did you do it?! What kind of magic did you use?”

Amid the cries of excitement from all around, only one woman turned her back and steadfastly gazed out the window. It was Joannina Kantakouzenos, the protagonist of this marriage. Without showing her face to anyone, she spoke calmly to the ladies around her.

“It’s not magic. I’m merely claiming what was always mine.”

However, instead of praising, the mischievous young ladies opted for subdued laughter. And for a good reason…

“Joannina, your ears are so red!”

At that remark, Joannina bowed her head deeply to hide her ears. The laughter around her showed no signs of dying down.

The passage of time erodes even the most magnificent civilizations.

Even the splendid palaces that once drew the envy of many crumble into dust, and names once spoken with pride fade into faint memories. Yet, through the remnants left behind by the forgotten, we can glean how they once lived.

The traces of once-prosperous times and the melancholic memories of those who lived in previous eras—it is inevitable. If there is a rise, there must be a fall, and passing the era to a new power is the fate of all mighty beings. One cannot block the rising sun with their hand. The fall has always been foreseen.

However, even if the arrow of fate points toward ruin, and the flow of time betrays them, the current powers do not yield easily.

Twenty years have been endured with the belief that it is a priest’s duty to fight against trials. Each time the enemy’s army surrounded the city, days were spent kneeling before the sacred altar, pleading for the empire to be preserved, at least through their time.

Thus, carrying the fallen glory on their shoulders, they have led the aging empire from behind the crumbled walls. After desperate struggles for survival, the empire now stands at its final crossroads.

Will they survive, or will they perish?

This has been a long-standing dilemma. Watching the remnants of past prosperity turn into desolate ruins was a concern that could never be shaken off. Fearing to find an answer, they only did their best.

Now, the final moment is approaching. An uncertain, anxious future looms just ahead.

Have all preparations been made?

Are you ready to face the trials?

These endless questions are known to be futile. Regardless of preparation, fate will demand cruel choices.

While still in torment, footsteps are heard.

The Emperor opens his eyes. Instead of the familiar office, a banquet set to welcome a guest appears. Soon, the Emperor’s weary eyes regain a bit of vigor.

It must be so.

Today’s guest holds special significance for the Emperor. Yet, despite his aging and inability to rise, the guest, understanding this, offers a respectful greeting and moves to the prepared seat.

“You seem very tired.”

“You’ve endured much as well.”

Neither was in a position to comment on the other. Both participants in the banquet were so exhausted that no spark of passion could be found. In a state of severe inertia, they each picked up their utensils. For a while, neither spoke, and only the quiet clinking of dishes filled the room. As the silent meal continued, the guest suddenly put down his utensils, prompting the Emperor to look up at him.

“Shall I call for the food to be changed? Perhaps a drink to cleanse the palate first?”

“…No, it’s fine. I paused because I have something to say. The meal is quite satisfying.”

“Something to say.”

The Emperor lets out a deep sigh. Though they could not meet often due to their respective positions, he had not considered this an unpleasant meeting. Perhaps it was the last meeting. The Emperor, aware of his own old age and fatigue, easily discerned that his guest felt the same.

Heavy worries can bring a person down. The weight that slowly crushed the soul eventually burdens the body as well. He knows how cruel it can be, having felt it for twenty years.

As someone who shares the same pain and rules over others, the Emperor decides to listen.

“What troubles you?”

“At first, I was joyful. I took pride in ascending as a ruler, inheriting my father’s renown. But now, the title of Sultan torments me.”

With these words, the Emperor’s guest and precarious ally, Sultan Mehmed I of the Ottoman Empire, extends his right hand toward the Emperor. The Emperor notices the Sultan’s hand trembling visibly. While he might have shown some weakness before, this was beyond usual. As the Emperor’s gaze conveys his doubt, the Sultan lets out a self-deprecating laugh.

“There was an attempt to poison me.”

“…”

“A slave died before my eyes. Yet no one in the court mentioned the incident. When I saw everyone keep silent, I realized something.”

The Sultan closes his eyes gently. He clasps his trembling hands on his lap and speaks with difficulty.

“That I must die because of the title of Sultan.”

“…Do you have any idea who the culprit might be?”

“The tribal leaders who dislike the Sultan’s authority, scholars who criticize my leniency, soldiers who disapprove of seeking diplomatic solutions… At some point, the number of those who might seek my life has grown this large.”

The Sultan’s shoulders begin to shake slightly. With his hands covering his forehead, he finally speaks of his greatest fear.

“And when I die, there will be a power struggle over the position of Sultan, just as I did.”

This worry was shared by the Emperor as well. He was well aware of the second prince Theodoros’s ambition for the throne. However, the Emperor had chosen another prince as the heir in preparation for any eventuality. Though the succession has been tentatively settled, the future remains uncertain. A brother killing another brother over power and honor is inevitable, stirring hatred among kin.

This tragedy was something both the Sultan and the Emperor shared.

“…A child who inherits the title of Sultan will not leave a brother who threatens his position alive. It has always been so.”

The Emperor soon realizes.

“…There is a child you wish to protect.”

“The name ‘Sultan’ could not protect. Instead, when I realized that the title was strangling my son’s neck, there was nothing I could do as the Sultan. It was as if I was strangling my beloved son with my own hands.”

Pretending not to hear the faint sound of sobbing, the Emperor fell into deep thought.

Holding a potential hostage who could threaten the future Sultan’s position was a significant political advantage. It could create a chance to incite internal strife and overcome the hopeless disparity in national power when the time came. Politically and as a ruler, this was the right decision.

However, the Emperor could not bring himself to make such a choice. To ignore a father pleading before a potential enemy leader to protect his child, for the same reason, was impossible for another father who shared that emotion.

“You have always regarded me as a father and have kept the peace as you once swore. Now we both know the end of that peace is approaching. Just as your end as Sultan is near, so too is my end as Emperor.”

The peace had been brief. As the unstable alliance neared its conclusion, both the Emperor and the Sultan were ready to pass their burdens to their successors. The fate of the empire and the city that had once enjoyed prosperity were no longer in their hands. Their successors would inherit the task of proving their efforts in the face of a cruel era. This moment was the last peace all would remember.

“As proof of our forgotten friendship, I will protect your son. I swear to guard him until my last breath, just as you once did.”

“Thank you.”

With this, the banquet concluded. The Emperor, accompanied by a few attendants to avoid drawing attention, saw off the departing Sultan. Everyone sensed this would be their final meeting, and the Sultan nodded silently before leaving.

The Sultan’s retreating figure was so somber that the Emperor continued to watch for a long time, feeling that if he left first, the Sultan would be left alone. Once the Sultan’s party had disappeared entirely, the Emperor knew that peace had ended.

Only a brief reprieve remained.

Amidst his complex emotions, the Emperor returned to the palace, only to be met by the reproach of Co-Emperor John VIII.

“Why did you let him go? That was a chance that will not come again!”

“What do you think should have been done?”

“The Sultan should have been killed. Then the internal strife could have been incited to buy time for the empire.”

As John raised his voice in anger, the Emperor remained silent. John’s words reflected the sentiment of the young. Over eight years, the empire had barely regained its footing, but the Ottomans had risen.

Now the gap in national strength was despairing.

If more time passed, that gap would only widen. The young concluded that a decisive battle with the Ottomans was necessary—a final struggle to defy fate. Yet, to the old and weary Emperor, John’s words sounded unrealistic.

“John, the empire can no longer determine its fate. That decision could lead to irreversible failure.”

“That’s why I’m lamenting the missed opportunity. The chance for the empire to decide its fate for the last time has slipped away.”

After berating the Emperor for a while, John eventually sighed, reading the weariness in the Emperor’s expression, and left. Soon after, Chancellor Notaras and the son of the Emperor’s long-time friend Sphrantzes, the chief secretary George Sphrantzes, approached.

“Your Majesty, you seem tired.”

“…I envy and fear the passion of the young. Yet, perhaps their passion will open a path that God will bless.”

“Your Majesty.”

“Unfortunately, I have grown too old to muster the courage to face trials. It is regrettable that I no longer have the passion that would please the Lord.”

Notaras, knowing the heavy burden the Emperor had borne, could not reproach him. Moreover, the Emperor was now seventy. He was too old to lead the empire. With eyes that knew the empire’s era was ending, how could there be any passionate enthusiasm left? After a moment of being choked up, Notaras could not speak, and the Emperor raised his head to look at him.

“Notaras, my friend in despair, can you permit me to lay down this burden before you?”

“How could I ever resent you, Your Majesty?”

“Do not worry… the time has not yet come.”

The Emperor offered a weary smile to Notaras. True to his words, the struggle was not over. He needed to hold his position a little longer to prolong peace, even slightly. At this moment, the Emperor’s last hope lay in the Morea, now consolidating a powerful centralized authority under Prince Constantine.

“By the way, how is the Morea these days?”

Unlike the resigned capital, Mistra was flourishing. With the wise Prince Constantine, things would have definitely improved. The question, posed with a hopeful heart, was answered as expected. Small Sphrantzes, who had remained silent, finally spoke.

“No bad news has been heard. The Morea is gladly accepting Prince Constantine’s rule, and even the Latins remaining in Achaia are compliant, knowing they will have their property rights acknowledged if they accept imperial rule. Thanks to this, Achaea, the most concerning region, has been successfully governed without any issues since Emperor Theodoros handed over the rule.”

“The rule of Achaea…”

His ambitious son Theodore would not have relinquished control so easily. The Emperor closed his eyes, hoping for the best outcome.

May it not lead to the worst.

---

T/L : You guys might get confused but Morea and Mistra are the same place. Its just that Morea is a bigger place and Mistra is a fortified town in Morea. Its also historically accurate.

Can one achieve something significant in two years?

While many tales could be exchanged, few individuals have accomplished as much as Prince Constantine of Morea. His bold decisiveness and youthful vigor led to direct oversight of reforms in Morea, resulting in numerous triumphs, both major and minor.

Among his notable achievements were the establishment of local councils and administrative reorganization.

Prince Constantine confirmed the effectiveness of the councils—set up in key cities such as Mistra, Leontari, and Nauplion—through the loyalty of local leaders. He implemented a new system where cities with councils contributed financially to the development of underdeveloped regions in exchange for tax benefits, achieving some level of success.

The expenses incurred were partially offset by funds from Venice. However, this was only a temporary measure. A fundamental solution required reforming Morea’s agriculture-dependent economy, limited by its mountainous terrain.

The need for a road network emerged as essential for expansion into central Greece and intercity connectivity.

Nevertheless, such an ambitious plan required immense time. A quicker, more efficient route would be maritime trade, but Morea’s economic reform faced a formidable obstacle.

Venice.

Venice dominated not just Morea but the entire eastern Mediterranean’s maritime trade, posing a significant challenge to the prince. Without a navy, it was a foolish dream for Morea and the Empire to drive Venice away, especially since Venice was a crucial ally against their arch-enemy, the Ottomans.

As always, the prince could only bide his time for the future.

In the meantime, clearing remnants of the Crusaders proceeded smoothly.

Under the protection of mercenary leader Ivania, Judge Demicleos’ proclamation of a new order was widely accepted across cities with little resistance. In Achaea, starting from Corinth, many Latins faced a choice: acknowledge the supremacy of Imperial law or have their properties confiscated and be exiled.

A significant number of Latins were expelled by Demicleos and the enraged public.

However, more Latins chose to comply with Imperial law to preserve their properties and inheritance rights. Greeks and the Orthodox Church regained their dominance in Morea, pledging allegiance to their new ruler and integrating into the central government.

With Demicleos handling these matters, Prince Constantine focused on administrative reorganization and military development.

Military experts facilitated by Venice introduced diverse war knowledge, a great boon for Morea, which had yet to form a proper army. Learning about the Western situation, relatively neglected due to the focus on the Ottoman threat, was particularly beneficial.

These experts shared insights on various matters: the Hundred Years’ War between France and England, ongoing chaos within the Holy Roman Empire, and the Hussite movements in Hungary. The prince began with fundamental questions.

“Why is the French army repeatedly defeated? They have outstanding knights, don’t they?”

“Like leaves needed for flowers to bloom, repeated defeats have shaken the infantry, crucial on the battlefield, leading to their downfall before their opponents.”

The military experts, famed for their North Italian mercenary origins, offered substantial advice for the prince preparing for imminent war.

“Everyone knows how crucial swift-moving knights are on the battlefield. However, there are ways to counter knights. A disciplined infantry formation can stand firm against a knight’s charge and withstand the lance, forcing the knight to retreat.”

This brought to the prince’s mind the most notorious and feared forces in Greece.

“The Janissaries.”

“I’ve heard vague rumors about the most formidable Saracens. Though I haven’t encountered them directly, they seem formidable adversaries. If they’re hard to defeat with knights, they’ll be just as tough for infantry. But soldier expertise isn’t the sole determinant.”

“Do you know something?”

“I mentioned the Hussite movement in Hungary.”

The Hussites, deemed heretics for opposing Catholic doctrines under Pope’s authority, led by priest Jan Hus, fought for their beliefs. Despite Jan Hus’s death, which seemed to crush their hope, Jan Žižka emerged, overturning everything.

“What did he overturn?”

“He leads untrained peasants to repeatedly defeat Hungarian knights, finding new methods beyond conventional tactics.”

The prince’s heart raced. A method to counter knights with peasant soldiers was essential for quickly building an army to confront the powerful Ottomans. The prince bit his lip, eager to meet Žižka.

“Can we meet him?”

“Your Highness, he’s a heretic. To seek his help, you’d have to forsake Western support.”

Jan Žižka or Western aid.

Soon, the scale tipped decisively. Driving out the Ottomans required Crusader participation. If both were possible, he wouldn’t hesitate, but if only one choice was available…

Reluctantly, the prince began to build his army with the experts’ help.

It took two years for the innocent youth, chasing dreams, to transform into fierce warriors, with their lances sharpened. Though insufficient to resolve Morea’s numerous issues, it was enough to solidify Prince Constantine’s influence.

The remaining Latins in Achaea swore loyalty, local leaders in cities compromised, and the modest army grew to 3,000 strong.

Facing such unparalleled achievements, Morea’s people pledged loyalty to Prince Constantine. The Peloponnesian Peninsula, long divided since the Crusader domination, united under one name for the first time in centuries.

Time passed impartially for all.

The prince grew taller, and the once-youthful boy now strode confidently through the court, embodying strength.

Prince Constantine had reached sixteen.

However, Morea wasn’t the only thing that changed in two years.

An uneasy peace between foes was unravelling, teetering on the brink of collapse.

The reclamation of the Peloponnesus was an encouraging achievement, but it alone could not stand against the Ottomans.

Reorganizing the collapsed systems and laws due to long-lost territories and training a regular army—this was the enormous task given to me at the age of fourteen. Despite numerous challenges, one issue stood out as particularly concerning.

The geographic nature of the mountainous Peloponnesus made it difficult for the central government to exert control.

Local lords, long accustomed to feudalism, no longer wished to be subjugated under a strong central authority. Their persistent political struggles to maintain their rights often threatened Morea’s political stability. Even if military force subdued them temporarily, it was clear that separatist movements would eventually resurface.

This was a moment requiring concession and compromise. My first resolution stemmed from this realization.

“Starting today, I will reinstate the public assemblies in each major city. We will begin with small projects in Mistra and Leontarion and gradually expand as conditions permit.”

The decree spread quickly, and discussions about the composition of these assemblies followed in the court of Mistra.

While I desired to exclude the influence of local nobles as much as possible, such an action would provoke a severe backlash. The public assemblies needed to serve as both a symbol of tolerance, accommodating local autonomy to a degree, and a means to control the local lords. Ideally, they would evolve into a governing body with immense potential for development.

After much deliberation, it was decided that each city would have an assembly composed of seven members elected every five years. Members could serve up to five terms, and significant achievements would bring tax reduction benefits to the entire city and further appointments for assembly members.

Alongside expectations that this merit system would positively influence urban development, I resolved to simplify the cumbersome tax system, which had long burdened the citizens.

Of course, rushing to implement changes without alternative revenue sources would be a grave mistake. The tax system’s reform needed to proceed gradually. Unfortunately, Morea’s fledgling surplus budget left little room for tax abolition. For now, I had to be content with identifying taxes to be addressed in the future.

After setting the direction for administrative and tax reforms, the need for legal reorganization became apparent.

“Your Highness, Morea has been under Latin rule for a long time, and many aspects conflict with the empire’s laws. We must address these inconsistencies or reassert the dominance of imperial law promptly.”

This advice came from Demicleos, an imperial judge recently promoted as a key figure amidst a shortfall of talent. His counsel was sound. Having served as a competent aide under my father, Manuel II, for years, I would not foolishly disregard his advice.

“In times of chaos, fundamental guidelines are crucial. Following the long-standing tradition of the separation of powers, the task of legal reorganization will be entrusted to Judge Demicleos, with my full support.”

Although the separation of powers in this context was not the democratic administrative, legislative, and judicial branches, imperial authority historically stood above this. Still, a system of checks and balances was essential to prevent the potential tyranny of future rulers. In Morea, where imperial authority was at its rock bottom, having Judge Demicleos, an imperial judge, lead the initiative was more appropriate than my direct involvement.

However, the local lords remained a concern.

These were individuals who might defy the central government. Since the assembly’s reconstruction was still incomplete and experimental, there were practically no means of control except for military force.

Reluctantly, I would have to send the Ivania mercenary corps as escorts…

I was apprehensive about deploying Morea’s only military force from Mistra. Yet, recognizing the necessity, I made a decisive choice. It was not due to Ivannia’s increasingly perverse tendencies or any intention to overcome a moral crisis.

“However, to prepare for any unforeseen rebellion, I will accompany Captain Ivania and two hundred mercenaries as escorts.”

“…..!”

A woman’s silent cry echoed hollowly, but I mercilessly ignored it. Is this the coldness of a ruler? It seems I’ve taken another step into the harsh world of politics.

With this, the reorganization of administration, taxation, and law was left to time.

My plan was to organize a regular army once my influence extended throughout Morea, but there was a more urgent task ahead.

“Prince of Morea, the wise ruler Constantine Dragaš, I greet you.”

It was the negotiation with Venice.

Following the complete reclamation of Patras and the expulsion of the Latins, Venice soon proposed negotiations. Despite my disdain for those who had once thwarted the reclamation of the Peloponnesus, I endured, knowing who the real enemy was.

Everything was for the national interest.

Venice sought to maintain its dominance in the Aegean Sea and secure the newly emerging Morea as a lucrative market.

Likewise, I needed an ally against the Ottomans and had to extend my hand to them to protect Morea’s trade and trade routes.

The outcome of the negotiations:

Morea recognized Venice’s ownership of Modon and Coron ports, granted Venice trade monopoly rights, and abolished taxes. In return, Venice provided five military experts and a substantial amount of wealth under the pretext of celebrating Morea’s successful progress.

“We are grateful for the Prince’s generous concessions.”

As I watched the scoundrel’s back as he left with a smile, I could do little but grit my teeth in frustration. The disparity in national power and the sensitivity of Venice’s senate to gains and losses necessitated such compromises.

Still, the frustration was immense.

Those despicable bastards.

Nonetheless, the adversary would one day turn their blade toward us.

To prepare for that day, funds were needed to raise an army. Neither Morea nor the empire had the luxury of preparing for the future.

I had to sell the future to overcome the present.

Prince Constantine’s inspiring success breathed new life into the empire.

Though the full recovery of the Peloponnesian Peninsula was thwarted by Venetian intervention, preparations for a counteroffensive against the Ottomans were gradually taking shape. When the decisive moment arrived, the empire would muster its remaining strength to fiercely resist its fate. But that moment was not yet at hand. Believing this, the conservative faction, led by the long-reigning Manuel II and Chancellor Notaras, refrained from engaging in aggressive military actions.

This cautious stance provoked opposition.

The pro-war faction, primarily composed of young individuals, argued for driving out the Ottomans through an alliance with Western Europe. They warned that if the Ottomans were allowed to consolidate their power, the resulting disparity in national strength would become insurmountable. They advocated for striking while the Ottomans were still vulnerable and emphasized the necessity of church unification to secure Western Europe’s aid.

The prominent figure of this faction was Co-Emperor John VIII.

“Father, you know that only by driving them out can the empire survive. Why, then, do you not vigorously pursue church unification?” John VIII demanded.

“John, while your ultimate goal of church unification is correct, the timing is not yet right. People are incredibly sensitive to issues related to the church and faith, and we must approach with greater caution. More…” Manuel II began.

“There isn’t much time left!” John VIII interjected, raising his voice.

“How long must we wait? With each passing day, they grow stronger, and our strength diminishes. Everyone is in despair and resignation—why else would the young Constantine so willingly take on such a harsh mission?”

“If we lose even what little remains, that will be the end of the empire, my son.”

“We cannot overcome trials by standing idle!” John VIII retorted.

Despite his passionate plea, the aging emperor remained unmoved. Manuel II’s eyes remained calm, unaffected by any argument. Realizing the futility of his persuasion, John VIII bit his lower lip lightly and left the emperor’s office, leaving behind only the old emperor and his aging secretary.

Manuel II gazed at the spot where John VIII had stood and quietly spoke.

“If only he had been born in a better time, he might have made a great emperor.”

“Your Majesty, do not blame yourself. The citizens know that you have done your best.”

“…I feel my strength declining with each passing day. It has been a harsh 20 years…”

Manuel II had knelt and prayed in the Hagia Sophia each time the Ottoman army besieged Constantinople, pleading that the empire would not fall during his reign. The 20 years of relentless struggle that followed had been a solitary battle to save the empire at its end. His countless efforts to revive the empire flashed before him, now approaching their conclusion. Soon, the outcome would be clear—whether it would be the birth of a new empire or its resurrection.

“Now, I only fear that the passion of the young will ruin everything.”

“Your Majesty…”

On this day, the emperor decided to retire.

Before his own retirement, the elderly Sphrantzes had already retired from his position as secretary through death. In the sorrow of losing his long-time friend, the emperor faced the legacy and face of his late companion.

“You must be young Sphrantzes.”

“I am Georgios Sphrantzes, Your Majesty.”

A wind of change was blowing through the empire. In the capital, intense debates between the war party, advocating for a new crusade against the Ottomans, and the conservative faction were ongoing.

Meanwhile, in the Peloponnesus, Morea was unusually unified and bustling around a single figure.

Under the passionate governance of Prince Constantine, Morea was flourishing. Scholars and monks, displaced by the fall of the capital, were soon appointed as officials or granted academic freedom, thanks to the prince’s attention. Utilizing these individuals, the prince worked to establish the once-proud bureaucratic system of the empire throughout Morea. As administrative capabilities were secured, the accumulating resources and manpower were directed toward organizing a regular army.

Additionally, to revitalize Morea’s economy, roads were constructed, and fortresses were built at key points, preparing for the inevitable Ottoman invasion.

To counter the local lords who considered themselves merely ‘Princes of the Empire,’ he adopted his mother’s surname over the imperial Palaiologos. This name became his enduring moniker, and in Morea, Prince Constantine came to be known as Dragaš. However, there remained a lingering regret among the people—the failure to reclaim Achaea.

Perhaps it was divine providence.

Not long after their marriage, Prince Theodore’s wife, Adele, succumbed to a fever. With no close relatives, her Duchy of Achaea naturally passed to Theodore, who then transferred the  control of the duchy to Prince Constantine.

This was in 1418.

Previously constrained by Venetian interference, Prince Constantine now returned as the rightful owner, making a triumphant entry. His first act was to expel the Latin archbishop ruling Patras. He then declared that while the lands and governance of the remaining Latin lords would be recognized, imperial law would take precedence, with imperial judges exempt from local jurisdiction.

Thus, the centuries-long reclamation of the Peloponnesus was finally accomplished.

This event occurred when the prince was just fourteen years old.

The Decisive Moment

Just when the recovery of the Peloponnesian Peninsula seemed imminent, the intervention of Venice prevented the Achaean campaign. Despite this, Constantine lingered near Patras for three more days, unable to abandon hope. He repeatedly stared at the Venetian flag fluttering atop the walls of Patras, closing his eyes in frustration, a silent testament to his despair that none dared interrupt. By the fourth day, he reached a decision.

“The campaign is over. We will withdraw and seek the Sultan’s approval.”

Rather than provoke further conflict, he chose to solidify the control of recently reclaimed territories like Corinth and Kalavryta. Currently, Mehmet I and Manuel II maintained a formal alliance, and even Venice, with its powerful navy, could not fully protect southern Greece from Ottoman influence. The Emperor decided to retreat and reorganize a new order centered around Mistra. As preparations for withdrawal began, a Venetian envoy approached him.

“…A marriage alliance?”

Though tempted to scoff, he restrained his anger, acknowledging the superior numbers of the Venetians. Given the circumstances, antagonizing Venice would be unwise. Their aid would be essential in future conflicts against the Ottomans. Suppressing his rage, he listened with forced patience.

“And who would be involved in this marriage alliance?”

“Of course, Your Majesty and the daughter of the Duke of Achaea.”

“A mere child’s game?”

“Not exactly…”

Even the Venetian envoy faltered, knowing the ludicrousness of a marriage alliance involving an eleven-year-old boy. The Duke of Achaea, lacking an heir, would leave his lands to his daughter, making the proposed union a strategic move to inherit the Achaean territories without bloodshed.

Yet, Constantine remained skeptical.

The future seemed too distant. Could the Empire afford to wait? As the Ottomans grew stronger, the mere defense of Morea would become insufficient. A marriage alliance with the weak Achaea would not halt the Ottoman advance. However, turning Venice into an enemy could also prove disastrous.

Constantine’s thoughts briefly turned to his brothers, recalling their divided control over Morea—Monemvasia to Demetrios, Leontarion to Thomas. Constantine dreamed of a unified Morea, a centralized monarchy capable of withstanding Ottoman threats. He knew his decision was crucial and fraught with potential consequences.

“But how long until maturity?” he pondered. Time was a luxury the Emperor could not afford. The power of his extraordinary skill, Solo Devotion, which had sustained him thus far, would be compromised by marriage. The stakes were too high.

“Marriage is a lifetime commitment,” the envoy attempted to reassure, offering more time if necessary.

Reflecting on his recent indecisiveness, Constantine swiftly concluded. Accepting the marriage alliance seemed the only way to secure significant gains without further losses.

“Very well,” he finally relented. Yet, before the envoy departed, he added, “But what if there were someone of even greater stature within my bloodline?”

Determined, Constantine prepared to make tough decisions for the Empire’s resurgence.

On October 23, 1415, Constantine returned to Mistra. Despite not reclaiming the entire Peloponnesian Peninsula, he solidified Corinth and annexed Kalavryta, garnering considerable support. Though once viewed as a foreign ruler, his efforts to expel the hated Latins earned him respect. His youthful prowess became a beacon of hope for the struggling Empire.

Amidst the celebrations, Constantine dispatched envoys to Sultan Mehmed I, seeking recognition of his territorial claims. Venice protested his expansion to the Sultan, but Mehmet I sided with Constantine, securing the Empire’s hold over Kalavryta and Corinth.

In the midst of these political maneuvers, Constantine wrote to his elder brother, Theodoros, with a proposal to consolidate power, addressing his brother’s latent ambitions. The letter, entrusted to his secretary, Sphrantzes, carried the weight of the Emperor’s resolve.

“Why do you entrust this letter to me, Your Majesty?” Sphrantzes inquired, sensing the gravity of the decision.

“I have studied diligently to revive this crumbling Empire,” Constantine replied, his voice firm despite his youth. The road to salvation, he realized, was lined with difficult choices.

“But at what cost?” Sphrantzes asked, visibly shaken.

“The survival of our faith and Empire depends on these sacrifices,” Constantine declared. Though reluctant, Sphrantzes accepted the letter, understanding the necessity behind the young Emperor’s actions.

Constantine then formally proposed the marriage alliance to his father, Emperor Manuel II.

“A marriage alliance?”

“This is our chance to expel the Crusaders entirely. Please, Your Majesty.”

“Very well,” Manuel II conceded, though he had not considered Constantine a candidate for the alliance, instead favouring Theodoros or John.

Ultimately, the marriage alliance was established between Theodoros and Adele of Achaea. However, what drew more attention was Constantine’s petition to assume full control over Morea, consolidating the divided region under his rule. Despite the risk of diverging from his father’s intentions, Constantine’s plea was rooted in a genuine desire to unify and strengthen Morea.

“Morea belongs to the Emperor. There cannot be a ‘King of Morea,’” Manuel II cautioned.”

We cannot amass strength in its divided state. This is our last chance,” Constantine implored, lowering his head in earnest appeal.

Moved by his son’s determination, Manuel II embraced him, ultimately granting the request.

Thus, in 1416, the Empire saw a new restructuring:

• John VIII, co-Emperor of Constantinople.
• Theodoros, awaiting his turn in Selymbria.
• Constantine, now twelve, reviving Morea from Mistra, fueled by newfound vigor.

Two weeks have passed since the first battle.

Yet, there is no sign that the trembling in my hands will stop. I cannot afford to waste time like this. I cannot remain idle here. I know exactly what I must do. I’ve tried reasoning with myself and even scolding myself harshly, but nothing has changed. Perhaps this trembling is the price for enduring the shock that a child’s body should not have had to bear when I crossed swords with that knight. If this trembling doesn’t subside, I won’t be able to wield a sword on the battlefield. Only yesterday, I might have shed unsightly tears over this.

But today was different.

Will I stop just because my hands are shaking? Knowing what a single mistake or failure can lead to, am I really going to say that I couldn’t act when the worst was upon us because my hands were trembling? If I cannot stand on the battlefield myself, I can delegate to others. There are soldiers who will wield swords in my stead and officers to lead them. But only one person can carry this expedition forward. I cannot afford to give up on what I began because I didn’t want to see others surrender to despair.

Though my hands still trembled, I rose from the bed. This particular expedition was too critical to take lightly.

The goal is to reclaim the Peloponnesian Peninsula and establish a stronghold for a counteroffensive. If we can unite the forces of southern Greece, it might even lead to forming a trustworthy alliance. Above all, what truly matters is instilling hope in the people. I believe this campaign will show them that we can succeed. It will prove that it’s not yet time for our downfall. It will urge them to stop resigning themselves to fate and to keep fighting.

Nothing is impossible to overturn.

Bolstered by an inexplicable confidence, I clenched my fists. My hands still trembled visibly, and perhaps others would pity me for it. But physical limitations don’t mean I cannot do my best. With firm steps, I got out of bed and moved toward the door. A wave of regret hit me—I had delayed too long. Scolding myself, I reached out with my relatively steady left hand to open the door, only to be startled by the familiar face of a woman standing there, equally surprised.

“…Your Highness?”

“Ivania.”

Though I often tried to keep my distance, shocked by her eccentric tendencies, I couldn’t deny her skill as the leader of an exceptional mercenary company. Personal feelings aside, I resolved not to let my disapproval of her bleed into official matters. With her blocking my path, I figured it was better to speak calmly and obtain her cooperation than to push her aside.

“Do you have an important report?”

“…Your hand…”

“Ah.”

I had tried to hide it, but being this close, there was no way she hadn’t noticed. Ivania, far more experienced than this naïve prince, must have deduced the cause of the trembling.

“You’ve avoided meeting anyone for the past two weeks because of your hands, haven’t you?”

Her voice was uncharacteristically clear and steady, her words flowing naturally. Yet, there was a strange undertone of anger mixed in. For someone usually so expressionless, the slight distortion in Ivania’s face was striking.

“If you need more rest, please take it. It would be far better than forcing yourself onto the battlefield.”

“I’ve rested enough.”

“With those hands, you say?”

“Not everyone on the battlefield wields a sword.”

A brief silence fell between us. It wasn’t particularly welcome, but the unusual wavering in Ivania’s eyes made it difficult for me to say anything further. Eventually, she broke the silence.

“…I deeply regret saying this, but Your Highness is still just a child.”

“That’s true.”

“Even so, you’re carrying a burden far too heavy for your age.”

“That weight is too much for anyone, regardless of age.”

The atmosphere grew somber. I hadn’t intended for things to become this heavy. Searching for a way to change the subject, I recalled something and decided to shift the focus.

“Now that I think about it, you haven’t explained why you came here.”

“Well… rumors have been spreading that you haven’t appeared or shown up at all., Your Highness.”

“It’s hard to call it loyalty when your intentions seem less than pure. Still, I must acknowledge your persistence in addressing me as ‘master’…”

That term again. It unnerved me how I was slowly becoming accustomed to being called ‘master.’ Regardless of her true motives, it wouldn’t be right to rebuke someone who had come all this way out of concern. Ever since the strange experience that brought me here, I’ve only thought of protecting others. Perhaps being in a position of receiving gratitude for so long has made expressing my own thanks awkward.

It was a rare opportunity.

“Thank you, Ivania, for your concern. I am grateful for your care, beyond our contractual ties.”

I bundled together a smile, words of gratitude, and formal speech I had been putting off. Did it come across well? Looking up at Ivania with a peculiar sense of expectation, I felt oddly like a mischievous child. Surprisingly, she was even more expressionless than usual, though her face was flushed a deep red.

“M-Master… I have a request.”

“Time is short. Unfortunately…”

Suspecting it was another precarious demand hovering on the edge of propriety, I moved to refuse, but Ivania abruptly knelt.

“…A hug. Just once.”

“As I said earlier—”

“Just once.”

Seeing the unwavering resolve in her eyes, I reluctantly stepped closer and opened my arms. She immediately leaned forward, collapsing against me as if she’d been waiting for this moment. Honestly, she was heavy. Incredibly so. Remembering the cat I used to keep, I briefly thought about letting her stay like this, but then…

“…Haa… Hnngh…♡”

“Enough. Let go.”

A pervert is still a pervert.

---

Two weeks of rest later, Constantine reorganized the expeditionary forces and advanced toward Kalavryta.

Despite being outnumbered and outmatched, Kalavryta quickly fell to the young prince. The Latin rulers who had controlled the city were expelled, replaced by imperial magistrates. Securing one of the key strongholds of the Peloponnesian Peninsula was an impressive achievement, but Constantine was not satisfied. His goal was to reclaim the entire peninsula in one decisive campaign.

However, the delay caused by his two-week rest proved disastrous.

The ever-deliberate Venetian Senate had stationed a force of 1,500 in Patras, the last major city of Achaia. Given the empire’s current strength, there was no way to overcome them. Constantine lamented bitterly, knowing that had he not hesitated, he could have prevented Venice’s interference. With their involvement, the dream of reclaiming the Peloponnesian Peninsula was out of reach.

Meanwhile, the Latin lords of Achaia, though motivated by Venetian aid, were still deeply unsettled.

“Our previous ruler, Theodoros, only cared for the stability of Morea, and peace prevailed. But this young lord is different.”

“Mistra has stabilized at an astonishing rate. If they gather strength, they might annex us before Venice can intervene again.”

Though they had weathered the immediate threat, the Latin lords were acutely aware of their precarious situation. It was then that the Venetians made a proposal to balance the scales.

“What about a marriage alliance?”

Upon arriving at Corinth for the Achaean expedition, what awaited us was not a welcome party but an army stationed under a different banner.

The moment I saw the knights holding long spears at the forefront, I was convinced—they were remnants of the Crusaders still lingering in the Peloponnese. The Latin knights, a symbol of Western Europe’s military might, were naturals at devastating and breaking enemy formations with their powerful charges. None could deny their strength. However, they were opponents we were bound to clash with eventually. They were also the reason we had to hire mercenaries. Victory or defeat would be decided on whether we could hold them back.

“The center will be led by the mercenaries under Ivania, while the right wing is entrusted to Adriános.”

The one silver lining was the knights’ tendency to overestimate their prowess. Often, they ignored their lords’ commands in their eagerness to demonstrate their martial skills. Many of them were not just soldiers but also manor lords. If we could fend off one of their charges and secure victory on the left and right flanks, their forces would collapse. Naturally, the left wing, unmentioned in the orders, was my responsibility.

After all, I held the third-highest leadership capability in the expeditionary force.

While lamenting the Empire’s deplorable talent pool, I led a hundred soldiers to form the left wing. To counter the not-insignificant number of knights, I deliberately concentrated three hundred mercenaries at the center. If the knights broke through, it would be over. This battle would come down to which side was tougher. As the clanging of metal resounded and the knights began to draw closer, I realized I would soon witness firsthand the famed prowess that had terrified Muslims and Greeks alike for centuries.

Finally, the slowly approaching knights spurred their horses into a charge.

To say I wasn’t rattled by the immense tremor shaking the ground would be a lie. But the moment I saw the knights coming toward us at an incredible speed, I knew what I had to do. Raising the sword I could barely wield, I shouted at the top of my lungs.

“Hold formation!”

Soon, harsh sounds of impact echoed around us. The tightly packed formation rippled like a stormy sea. And yet, this was not the main force—it was only a group of about ten knights. Even so, the sheer power behind their charge sent chills down my spine. My voice must not have faltered, though, as I was busy calming my startled horse.

Amid the chaos, our soldiers managed to unhorse a few knights. I couldn’t spare a glance at the center; I was barely managing the left wing.

However, I noticed that the knights’ next charge was significantly weaker.

While the formation had wavered during the first clash, it now merely shook slightly. This was the moment to strike. Snapping out of my stupor, I ordered my men to encircle and unhorse the knights. Taking prisoners was out of the question; we needed to deplete their knightly ranks as much as possible to avoid tougher battles later. While issuing these commands, an unsettling feeling prompted me to halt and pull on my straps. The ominous premonition was about to become reality.

I was not wrong.

As a soldier let out a scream and was hurled backward, I turned to see several heavily armored knights charging toward us. Discarding their damaged lances from the earlier clash, they drew their long swords and roared. A few brave soldiers thrust their spears, but the knights’ armor rendered the efforts futile. I hadn’t considered the possibility that their charge into our center was merely a feint. My preconceived notions about knights had led to this situation, and as commander, I had no choice but to shoulder the responsibility.

“For Christ!”

As they charged with their battle cries, I turned my horse to face them, gripping my sword tighter. How dare those who trampled even their own brethren in the name of God utter His name so lightly? We were brothers of the same faith. Yet in this fratricidal war, invoking the divine felt blasphemous. This was no holy crusade but a worldly conflict. If so, it was only fitting to call upon a name rooted in this world.

“For Constantine!”

Clang!

The first clash reverberated through my hand. The jolt numbed my arm as though it had been shocked. My vision blurred, and for a fleeting moment, I nearly dropped my sword. But the sound of hoofbeats from behind snapped me back to focus. Pulling hard on my straps, I turned my horse sharply, and so did the knight. The impending collision filled me with dread. Would I lose my sword and fall this time? My blurred vision might have been from the dizzying proximity of death or tears born of fear.

I had seen many resign themselves to fate—those rising anew or crumbling into despair. I had stood witness to cities ruined and left with nothing but memories of past glory.

Releasing my straps, I gripped my sword hilt tightly with both hands. One hand wasn’t enough to win. I couldn’t afford to fall. Desperation wiped away all thought as the distance between us closed. I couldn’t see the knight’s expression beneath his visor, but I was sure I’d never felt more desperate than in that moment. A prayer, turned to a silent battle cry, circled in my heart.

O emperors who once ruled the Empire, O Holy Mother, protector of the capital—if I fall here, so too does the Empire.

Whoosh.

The arcs of our swords were eerily parallel. At this rate, they wouldn’t clash—one of us would die. I resigned myself to fate. Yet before my short life could end, I felt something through my blade. It connected. The instant I realized this, I swung with all my might. Though it didn’t pierce the armor, the knight’s weakening resistance told me he couldn’t withstand the impact.

Amid the noise of the battle, I barely heard the sound I longed for: the heavy thud of a body hitting the ground.

I had unhorsed him.

Breathing heavily, I scanned the battlefield. The knights had been defeated, though the enemy infantry remained. Judging by the disorder in their ranks and the chaos in their movements, they were clearly rattled by the knights’ fall. Even as a ringing filled my ears, I didn’t lose sight of the opportunity to crush the resistance of the Latin lords completely.

“Charge! Break them!”

Our soldiers obeyed. They showed no mercy to the fleeing enemies. Those who resisted, even slightly, were swiftly executed. It was a warning—a solemn declaration that the Empire had come to reclaim its rightful lands.

Reports later stated that the Latin forces lost 700 men in the battle, including nearly 100 knights. Half of the knights were casualties, a devastating blow to the Latin lords. The people of Corinth, who had long doubted the Empire’s army, were overjoyed at the victory.

However, the toll on our mercenaries was significant.

We lost 70 men, with 40 more wounded, making reinforcements inevitable. Still, the left and right wings sustained minimal losses, as the enemy had concentrated most of their strength on the center. Despite the victory, it was clear that our forces needed to regroup. Thus, we decided to stay in Corinth briefly to consolidate the army and secure the city.

More than anything… with my hands still trembling from the battle, I knew I wasn’t in a state to fight again immediately.

Rest was essential.

//

News of the victory led by Prince Constantine soon reached Mistra.

While the mercenary captain Ivania had played a pivotal role, it was the prince, commanding the left wing, who captured the public’s attention. Everyone feared the devastating charges of the knights, yet he had maintained composure and led his troops while personally diverting the detached knights’ attention. This bold act, coupled with his calm leadership, gave hope to the public who starved for heroes.

Emperor Manuel II rejoiced in the victory, though his tone betrayed faint irritation upon hearing how close the prince had come to death.

“What were his attendants doing? If the prince had died here, it would have left a critical void in Mistra’s administration.”

“Your Majesty, it was an abrupt ambush that caught everyone off guard. In such chaos, the prince’s calm response and decisive actions are deserving of praise, not criticism.”

“…Send a physician to the prince. There’s a chance he suffered severe injuries amidst the confusion.”

“You’re showing undue favoritism. Surely Your Majesty knows that the prince possesses the capability to overcome such hardships.”

The emperor fell silent. With John designated as his successor, stirring unnecessary disputes was unwise. Though reluctant, Manuel II resolved to let go of his lingering attachments. Constantine’s role as a rallying point in the Morea would suffice. Thus, the emperor buried his remaining regrets.

Despite the shocking confession from the mercenary captain, it could not obstruct my mission.

As long as the Ottoman Empire remained unable to direct its gaze southward, there would be no better time to expand our influence. The target, naturally, was the Latin lords who ruled over Achaea. However, should the crusaders sense that our forces were aimed at these lords, their benefactors in Venice would surely intervene. Yet, the presence of the Ottoman Empire would tie Venice’s hands. Before the Venetian Senate devised a solution to this predicament, I planned to strike decisively. Such was the core of my current strategy.

To execute this plan, strengthening coordination among the expeditionary forces and stockpiling supplies were paramount. Both tasks were far from easy to achieve within a short time frame. Fortunately, I had access to tributes sent by the cities that had resubmitted to the Empire after the Corinth campaign. While converting these into arrows and provisions, I entrusted the training of the expeditionary forces to Ivania. Despite her being personally irritating—and an shameless woman—there was no other talent of her caliber at my disposal. Her scores in leadership and combat prowess, nearing or surpassing 20, made her indispensable, even if her other attributes barely reached 10.

“Ivania, trusting in His Majesty’s commendations from the last campaign, I entrust you with the training of the expeditionary forces. Though time is short, I expect you to give it your all.”

“By your command.”

Her resolute answer bore the strength and vigor of any seasoned man. Rising to the position of mercenary captain as a woman was no small feat, especially in these arduous medieval times. Truly, she was remarkable.

“…My master.♡”

Yet, the harsh years of struggle had apparently shattered her moral compass. It was an irony not lost on me. Still, stop saying that! Though I was tempted to yell, I opted instead to demonstrate patience befitting a magnanimous leader. After all, her mercenary company was pivotal to the Achaea campaign. Why invite discord when I could showcase my tolerance? Moreover, there were no guarantees of finding better mercenaries at this stage. Yet, I couldn’t help but wonder—what could she possibly want from a scrawny child like me?

“I don’t quite understand what you expect from me.”

“…Your touch, if I may.”

With a resigned sigh, I shook my head, only to find her kneeling before me, head bowed. Reluctantly, I placed my hand atop her head. Since her earlier confession, she had requested physical contact—not too much, not too little. This compromise had been reached after heated debates. While my skill, Solitary Growth, demanded strict avoidance of contact with the opposite sex to maximize its efficiency, she seemed not to view this as anything romantic. Truthfully, neither did I. Far from excited, I found myself oddly calm in this bizarre situation.

Still, women’s hair was a mystery. Her golden locks, sullied and tangled from battles, were inexplicably soft. Did she maintain them herself, or was this some visual novel effect at play? In this strange fusion of reality and game mechanics, uncertainty plagued me. Was even this texture a fabrication? My thoughts wandered until, without realizing it, my hand drifted to her cheek.

“…!”

Startled, I withdrew my hand immediately as she flinched. Touching an unmarried woman’s face uninvited could be a serious scandal, potentially drawing the church’s wrath. Yet, Ivania looked at me with an expression of longing. That gaze won’t work on me. I’m not giving in.

“Would it be permissible, then, for me to hold your hand?”

This time, her tone was different. Her blue eyes gleamed with a bittersweet mixture of longing and pain, reflecting an attachment born of bitter memories. Perhaps no ordinary woman would wield weapons as she did. Still, my answer remained firm.

“Remember the terms of our contract.”

“…Ugh.”

Her face contorted with frustration, and a chuckle escaped me unintentionally. A woman disappointed at not being able to fidget with a child’s hand—what an oddity. Restricting inappropriate contact within the bounds of our contract had been a wise move. Even an eccentric like her seemed bound by the rules of her profession. Still, I wasn’t entirely heartless. As a gesture of goodwill, I placed my hand back on her head, murmuring softly.

“This is…?”

“Improper contact is forbidden, but as your lord, I can grant you a blessing for victory on the battlefield. May the Sovereign of the Heavenly Kingdom, the Almighty Father, guide this servant to the glory of triumph. Grant her the strength to never lay down her arms until her mission is complete.”

With those words, I withdrew my hand. While such blessings were traditionally bestowed by priests, there was no rule against others performing them. Ivania remained silent for a moment before looking up at me with a flushed face. She seemed unusually fond of this dynamic—kneeling and looking up, while I sat and looked down coldly. Hmm. Her tastes remained incomprehensible.

“Fulfill your duties, and may the prayer I offered reach the heavens.”

As I sought to conclude the matter on a positive note, she spoke again.

“My lord… I am but a happy servant…♡”

“I will not question your words this time. Now leave!”

…She was, indeed, a deviant.

---

Once military affairs were somewhat settled, I could finally focus on what I excelled at.

Logistics. By storing grain shipments precariously close to maximum capacity and employing a significant number of non-combat personnel, I managed to secure substantial supplies. While this quickly drained a considerable amount of funds, it was a necessary expense. In a time-sensitive campaign like this, delayed advancements due to inadequate supplies could be catastrophic.

At the same time, it was crucial to remind the arrogant elites of the Peloponnese that the Empire was still alive. However, the stakes were high. If this expedition failed, the recently subdued city-states might once again declare independence. But hesitation would only result in missed opportunities. The Empire was already crumbling. Time was running out before the Ottomans overtook us. How much longer could this fragile alliance last? Whether it was Mehmed I or my father, Manuel II, it didn’t matter. If either of them fell, peace would end.

Now was the time to take a perilous step forward, toward that faint glimmer of hope. May the goddess of destiny ensure their endurance until we reclaim the Peloponnese.

---

The expedition, temporarily paused, resumed with renewed vigor on July 15.

Prince Constantine informed the Emperor of his intent to lead five hundred troops into Achaea. Before departing, the prince appointed Emperor Manuel II as temporary ruler of Mistra. This decision addressed the prince’s critical shortcoming: his age. For two decades, Emperor Manuel II had held the Empire together. Using his diplomatic insight, he sought to quell internal disputes in Mistra and considered establishing an Archbishops office there to assert imperial authority.

All these plans, however, hinged on the prince’s success.

Though many harbored doubts, the prince’s resolve was unshaken. Unfortunately, the Empire’s officials knew all too well that his assessment was correct.

---

During the final month of preparation, the prince often visited the training grounds, observing Ivania drill the troops. While impressed by the discipline of the Italian mercenaries, he likely reflected on the future direction of the Empire’s military. Yet, to secure that future, the present challenges had to be overcome.

Finally, on August 15, the Feast of the Assumption, the campaign began.

This day held great significance for the Empire, marking both a major feast in the Orthodox Church and the anniversary of Constantinople’s recapture from the Crusaders. The prince’s intentions were clear. He marched toward Achaea to uproot the remnants of the Crusaders once and for all.

Naturally, such movements could not escape the notice of the formidable marine power backing the Latin lords.