Category: About a Dating Sim Where Dating Is Impossible

Manuel II’s expedition progressed smoothly.

Most cities, lacking properly organized mercenaries or standing armies, quickly rescinded their declarations of independence and returned to imperial rule. The emperor strengthened the empire’s authority by appointing judges in these cities and declaring that imperial law superseded local laws. Additionally, supplies sent from Mistra by Prince Konstantinos significantly hastened the expedition’s pace.

Up to this point, the emperor had little to worry about. However, the letters the prince continuously sent from Mistra troubled Manuel’s mind.

Your Majesty, if Mistra is stabilized, I wish to fully incorporate other territories into the empire. I humbly request the opportunity to devote myself to the empire and God near the battlefield.

The emperor’s replies were always the same. You are too young at ten years old; I cannot allow it under any circumstances. Not even the prince’s fervent pleas could sway him. It was Konstantinos who ultimately yielded. Over the year-long campaign of Manuel II, the prince never once stepped onto the battlefield. Instead, his 300-strong mercenary force made their mark.

“Do not break formation! We will repel the enemy here!”

Amidst the deadly clash of steel and blood, the Italian mercenaries armed with pikes and halberds stood out. Their unwavering courage and disciplined formations, regardless of the enemy, were their greatest weapons. This well-regulated force held off countless enemy attacks and ultimately secured victory in each engagement. At their forefront was a female warrior with golden hair peeking out from beneath her helmet. Though her physical strength may not have matched her male counterparts, her composure and skill in battle were undeniable proof of her leadership.

Yet, instead of celebrating their achievements, the emperor closed his eyes in quiet resignation.

Each time he looked upon them, the harsh reality of the empire’s current state weighed heavier on him. The rebuilt imperial army lacked the glory and discipline of the past. It was held together only by the desperate struggle to survive. The deeply ingrained memory of decline sapped morale, a shadow cast over the soldiers’ minds. For twenty years, the empire had clawed its way out of this pit of despair. Now, the vigor and determination of Manuel’s youth had faded, dulled by the wear of his long reign. The aging emperor could not deny his exhaustion.

As he looked down at the soldiers cheering over another victory, Manuel II felt an overwhelming sense of fatigue.

With this, all the cities of Morea had been pacified. However, this was only one objective of the expedition. The realization that much work remained only deepened the emperor’s exhaustion. Though he tried to mask his fatigue and move forward, his attendant noticed it before he could hide it.

“Your Majesty… further campaigns may be too much for you.”

Perhaps it was the relief of having secured an heir, or perhaps the emperor’s reserves of strength had simply run dry. Whatever the case, it was clear he no longer had the stamina to continue. Having endured countless crises, the aged and weary emperor now longed for rest.

In March 1415, the emperor returned to Mistra.

For the first time, he relented on the strict stance he had maintained and gave Prince Konstantinos the answer he had long desired. The emperor appointed the prince as the deputy commander of the expeditionary forces. While Manuel II retained the title of supreme commander, he delegated practical command to the prince. Even so, the prince could not fully rejoice, for the emperor’s health had deteriorated from his excessive exertions during the campaign.

“His Majesty…”

“With rest, he will recover. He has always been a resilient man.”

“But I must consult with him to understand the details of the campaign.”

“Perhaps you should speak with the mercenary captain. Though she is a woman, her bravery on the battlefield greatly impressed His Majesty, and they conversed often.”

“The mercenary captain?”

It was only then that Prince Konstantinos recalled someone he had all but forgotten: the proud leader of the mercenaries he had hired with a generous salary. Over the past year, as he juggled the twin challenges of stabilizing Mistra and supplying the expeditionary forces, this was all he remembered. If she had earned the emperor’s trust, she must have proven her worth in battle. As it happened, her contract was nearing its end.

“It may be worth meeting her.”

---

“…Your Highness, I am at your service.”

What? Who is this woman? I thought I was meeting the mercenary captain… Was she a woman all along?

Though his clouded memory offered no clear answers, the prince suppressed his confusion and courteously acknowledged her greeting, unwilling to keep her waiting. His responsibilities—balancing the stabilization of Mistra and the expedition’s supplies—had been so overwhelming that he barely recalled much of anything. Yet, he had received numerous reports about the mercenaries’ achievements on the battlefield.

“You performed admirably, well worth the pay you received. I have prepared a bonus that reflects your efforts. Once we conclude this meeting, I’ll have an attendant deliver it to you.”

Though it was a significant expense, it was only fair compensation. Moreover, if he intended to consider a long-term contract for future campaigns, it was vital to establish trust as an employer.

“I’m very pleased with this arrangement. If you are willing, I’d like to discuss the possibility of a long-term engagement…”

The only thing he could do was trail off awkwardly at the unexpected expression on the mercenary captain’s face. Moments ago, she’d seemed reserved and composed, yet now, her demeanor had undergone a dramatic shift. Her pupils were slightly unfocused, her cheeks flushed red, and her breathing noticeably heavier. This reaction was far more enthusiastic—no, overwhelmingly so—than he’d anticipated.

“Of course! As much as you’d like! By the way, if it’s a long-term contract, could you share where I’d be stationed?”

Her energy was… too much. He instinctively nodded, though a peculiar feeling lingered, refusing to dissipate. Is this an aftereffect of the heightened emotions from the battlefield? he wondered. Perhaps it was PTSD—a reminder that even mercenaries, who fight for money, are still human. It was another dose of reality sinking in.

“That would largely depend on the situation, but generally, you’d serve under my command—”

“Understood—!”

She had been on the verge of blurting out her response but abruptly fell silent. Could you at least let me finish my sentence before cutting me off? he thought, exasperated. He sighed inwardly but chose to stay patient. After a pause, the mercenary captain spoke again.

“…There’s one thing I’d like to request before agreeing to a long-term contract.”

Her serious expression suggested the beginning of a proper negotiation. A battle fought with words rather than swords, where one vies for what they desire. I wonder what she’ll ask for? he mused. Hopefully, it won’t be anything that strains Mistra. If her demands are too unreasonable, I’ll have to find new mercenaries. Preparing for the worst, he started weighing the cost of a possible pay raise when she finally voiced her request.

“…Would it be all right if I called you ‘Master’?”

…

It all came flooding back to him—the name of this peculiar mercenary captain, Ivania. A young woman who wielded polearms and had left quite the impression with her odd speech habits during their first meeting. He hadn’t forgotten her entirely, but perhaps he had deliberately avoided recalling her quirks. Now, her intense gaze made it impossible to dodge the subject. He averted his eyes. I don’t see her. I don’t see her.

“…Please, Your Highness.”

“…Why are you so fixated on that title?”

A headache began to creep in. All the stress that had accumulated from administrative duties was now amplified by her presence. Yet Ivania, oblivious to his inner turmoil, pressed on without hesitation.

“…It was when we first met.”

“Our first meeting?”

He barely remembered anything remarkable about it. Well, maybe it was a bit memorable in hindsight.

“Your indifferent, cold expression and your curt, business like tone—”

“I gave you the bare minimum attention required.”

“…Yes, exactly that! It was… well, um, that was…”

Her hesitation didn’t bode well, but he waited, bracing himself. What he needed right now were capable mercenaries, not unnecessary distractions. This is no time to sever ties. The goal of reclaiming the Peloponnesus should come first, he thought. Let’s just humor her for now.

“…It was incredibly—”

He shouldn’t have thought that.

“…incredibly arousing—”

…

No, no, she probably means something else. Maybe she was genuinely angry. Jumping to conclusions is dangerous. If she truly was angered, he’d need to placate her.

“Incredibly arousing… ♡”

Stop. Just stop.

No, this is likely my own dirty mind warping her words. Though her tone was oddly sweet, he steeled himself. He had survived far worse. This was nothing compared to the trials he’d endured. Think of the years spent rebuilding the empire from ruin. Focus on the bigger picture.

“Forgive me, Your Highness, for my indecent remarks—”

“Enough.”

Please stop.

“It’s just that I couldn’t hold back—”

“Enough.”

Don’t say it. Just stay quiet.

“…and I may have gotten a little—”

No, don’t. You’ve handled hardcore strategic simulators for years. You don’t need this weird, unnecessary route.

“…wet…♡”

“Hey!”

When three months had passed since Prince Konstantinos was appointed Despot of Mistras,

Manuel II Palaiologos arrived in Morea with an expeditionary force of 700 soldiers and heard news he had not expected.

“Your Majesty, Prince Konstantinos has joined us with a force of 300 mercenaries.”

“Constantine…”

To expect much from a boy of Constantine’s age was an unreasonable thing. After all, his brothers Demetrios and Thomas were still struggling to gain control over their provinces. Yet, the fact that Constantine had managed to secure the finances to hire 300 mercenaries in just three months proved his exceptional talent as an administrator. And he was only ten years old.

Of course, Manuel still wished for the boy to quickly grow into a ruler capable of inheriting the throne. However, it was now clear that if Morea were stabilized and became the starting point for reclaiming the empire, the one to lead that effort would undoubtedly be Constantine.

Even so, the old emperor, unable to abandon his lingering doubts, went out to meet his son, who had just arrived at the campsite.

“Your Majesty.”

The emperor’s gaze settled on the young prince, who dismounted from his horse with an unsteady but determined posture. His attire resembled ceremonial robes rather than armor, likely due to the lack of a properly fitting set. Still, beneath the cape bearing the family crest, he wore a modest suit of light armor. Though he looked a bit weary, his dignified bearing and composed demeanor left no room for criticism.

“It seems the situation in Mistra is better than I had thought.”

“I believe we owe much to the efforts of my predecessor, my brother Theodoros. Yet, it is also true that there remain many deficiencies.”

“Explain in detail. I have been unable to visit for quite some time.”

Without hesitation, the prince recounted everything he had seen in Mistra to the emperor. His observations precisely pinpointed the issues that had long troubled Manuel II.

The first concern was the waning influence of the empire, which struggled to assert its authority. A more pressing issue, however, was the persistent power struggles within Morea itself.

“It seems the people of the Peloponnesus prefer discord to peace. Signs of armed conflict were frequently detected within the cities. Moreover, the imperial laws were rarely enforced in the courts.”

“Indeed…”

While many still harbored loyalty to the empire, just as many saw it as an outsider’s rule. These individuals, viewing Constantine and Manuel’s other children as threats, obstructed the execution of imperial duties. Constantine believed it was only a matter of time before they attempted a coup to expel the despots. The old emperor shared this view.

The only way to swiftly quell such division was clear.

“To thwart their schemes, we must use this opportunity to subdue the city-states asserting their independence.”

A show of force to assert that this land belonged to the empire and to restore imperial authority was the only way to prevent Morea’s fragmentation. At the same time, the region had to be fully integrated into the empire’s administrative system to block any further bids for independence.

However, Manuel II had another goal in mind: the construction of defenses against the inevitable threat of the Ottoman Empire.

On this point, Constantine expressed a somewhat skeptical view.

“Building a wall would require too much time and resources. It’s unlikely to be effective.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“An impenetrable wall is possible only with Constantinople’s triple walls. In Morea, such a feat is impossible. It would be better to assume that breaches will occur.”

Constantine proposed a defense strategy centered on fortresses rather than a continuous wall. He suggested leveraging the region’s rugged terrain by placing fortresses at strategic chokepoints to hinder enemy advances. Even if a fortress fell, others would remain to force attrition on the invaders. He also considered relocating nearby villages to prevent local provisioning, though this plan was sure to provoke strong resistance.

Realizing the need for further discussion, Manuel II brought his son to his tent for a private audience.

Ultimately, their objectives were the same: to expand imperial influence in the Peloponnesus and strengthen Morea’s defenses. But the young prince harbored an even greater ambition.

“Your Majesty, now is the time to reclaim the Peloponnesus.”

Driving out the Latins who controlled the northern Peloponnesus and reintegrating it into the empire was his plan.

The Ottomans, preoccupied with internal unrest following Mehmed I’s ascension, had no interest in southern Greece. It seemed like an opportune moment. However, Manuel hesitated.

The Latins’ hold over northern Peloponnesus was less due to their own strength and more due to the support they received from powerful backers.

“This could provoke Venice. We cannot act rashly.”

Venice. The very name evoked a mix of emotions for any Byzantine. While it was a vital trade partner, its unyielding pursuit of self-interest made it an obstacle in moments like these. Venice would not stand idly by if their Latin allies were displaced.

{T/L : Byzantine are the roman people of the Eastern Roman Empire}

“Your Majesty, remember Mehmed I’s oath. No matter how powerful Venice’s fleet may be, its influence weakens on land. If we act swiftly and secure the Ottomans’ official recognition, Venice will be unable to justify a hasty assault.”

Manuel could not forget the pledge that had brought a precarious peace. He agreed that this was the optimal time. Still, he looked down at the young prince and posed a question.

“Do you think you can succeed?”

“I must succeed, Your Majesty.”

The boy’s determination, bordering on reckless confidence, gave Manuel pause. Yet, could he entrust such a grave mission to a mere ten-year-old, no matter how capable? After much deliberation, the emperor made his decision.

“I cannot allow it.”

“…Is it because of my age?”

“Your age is part of it. But more importantly, it’s impossible to subjugate all the Latins with just a thousand soldiers in a short time.

With Morea itself not yet unified and Mistra not fully secured, excessive military actions must be avoided. This is my conclusion, and I will not hear objections.”

“Your Majesty, this may be our last opportunity.”

Hearing the urgency in his son’s voice, the emperor could not suppress the trembling of his lips.

“Constantine.”

“…Command me, Your Majesty.”

“I don’t want to lose you on an uncertain battlefield. That is the reason I oppose your plan.”

The empire had few capable individuals, and even fewer exceptional administrators. Losing Prince Konstantinos at this stage could mean losing the last chance to stabilize Morea. Above all, the emperor held great affection for his obedient son, who had diligently carried out his duties without complaint since childhood. Understanding this, the prince sensed that pushing further would be futile. It was time to compromise.

“Then I will take charge of the supply lines for the expedition from Mistra. Your Majesty, please reclaim the long-lost territories now.”

The prince’s earnest plea ultimately swayed the aging emperor. In the end, he promised to grant the prince’s request. Overjoyed, Constantine introduced the mercenary captain he had hired to the emperor.

“The mercenary captain I hired is Italian, as are her troops, who are skilled in wielding heavy weaponry. They are equipped with breastplates, which should strengthen our relatively vulnerable infantry lines.”

While the explanation about the mercenaries passed without issue, the emperor could not easily overlook the fact that the mercenary captain was a woman.

“What is the meaning of this? A female mercenary captain? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

Manuel’s objection was reasonable. Mercenary captains were hired to secure victory in war, not for trivial reasons. Even from Konstantinos’s perspective, a seasoned and stern-looking commander was far more reassuring than a beautiful or charming young woman. Yet, oblivious to these sentiments, Ivania knelt on one knee before the emperor.

“Your Majesty of Rome, a humble servant greets you.”

“To think I would hear such words from a Latin.”

It was a greeting that greatly pleased Manuel II. Though her manners left something to be desired, the fact that Ivania still regarded the crumbling empire as “Rome” struck a deep chord. Those who did so were growing scarce, making the moment all the more poignant. Importantly, Ivania successfully won the emperor’s favour.

Having achieved this, the prince saw no further reason to linger. Without hesitation, Constantine left the camp with two attendants. As the expedition began in earnest, one person was left notably shaken.

“…The prince has departed?”

“Indeed. Is there something urgent you needed to relay? If so, I can arrange for a messenger.”

“No… it’s nothing. Nothing at all…”

As Ivania’s expression visibly darkened upon learning of the prince’s absence, the adjutant, who had been observing her closely, spoke up in a peculiar tone.

“Just a word of caution.”

“…?”

“The prince is only ten years old. And he is of noble blood.”

“……”

When Ivania tilted her head in genuine confusion, the adjutant sighed, shaking his head and shrugging.

“I’m saying, don’t even think about it. If an unworthy woman tries to get close to him, she’d face a public stoning in Constantinople.”

“…….”

“He’s ten. Honestly, every time I see women fawning over the prince, I feel like they should all be put on trial. It’s enough trouble as it is, so don’t add to it.”

Ivania offered no response, merely watching the adjutant walk away. She then let out a long sigh, her shoulders slumping. Although her dejection was apparent, none of the soldiers paid it any mind.

After all, the campaign was about to begin.

If Not for the Correction System, I Would Have Collapsed Long Ago

Despite how mundane it feels now, if the “correction” system didn’t exist, I would have been overwhelmed a long time ago.

For all its faults, this so-called dating sim world isn’t devoid of game mechanics. Take domestic administration, for example. Its main components revolve around three elements: workforce, taxes, and personnel. The ultimate goal is to strengthen the nation. Naturally, achieving that requires securing more taxes and manpower, making efficient policy execution essential.

Efficiency is divided into two aspects: the efficiency of the policy itself and the efficiency of the system.

Let’s consider land taxation. If the tax policy efficiency is 30%, then out of an expected tax revenue of 100, only 30 will be collected. If the system efficiency is further reduced to 50%, only 15 will remain. While increasing the tax rate can raise the expected revenue, it’s a short-term, highly inefficient solution. So, how does one improve efficiency? That’s where personnel management comes in.

Improving the efficiency of policies or systems requires both funding and an abstract resource called “administrative power.” While money can always be sourced, administrative power depends on the caliber of the individuals assigned to execute policies. Administrative power is essentially derived from the administrative abilities of those carrying out the policies.

As a result, the more officials are involved, the higher the administrative power generated. But, as the number of officials increases, so does the expenditure. Furthermore, when it comes to junior officials, focusing on quality over quantity tends to be more efficient.

Given the limited resources at hand, I had to prioritize cost-effectiveness, which led me to carefully appoint executioners for specific policies.

The efficiency with which officials pool their administrative power depends heavily on the administrative abilities of the executioner in charge.

But raw ability isn’t the only factor. If the individuals lack integrity or loyalty, the policies’ efficiency and administrative power can suffer drastically. And this is precisely where my troubles began.

It was also to be expected. The Peloponnesian Peninsula, where Mystra is located, lies far from Constantinople, the imperial capital, which is isolated from the central government. Many regional lords refuse to acknowledge the empire’s authority, and some cities openly declare themselves independent.

Why would such people listen to a ten-year-old child who calls himself a prince simply because he is the fourth imperial prince?

As a result, efficiency concerns left the position of customs executioner vacant for about three weeks. There wasn’t a single candidate with the integrity and loyalty needed to handle the role.

The alternative was for me to take on the role myself.

Thanks to my diligence, my administrative ability was higher than others. Although I had no frame of reference to determine whether my score of 32 was high or low, it was clear that no one in Mystra could surpass it. Considering the highest local score was 23, the effect of my skill, [Solitary Growth], was undeniable—or perhaps the empire’s talent pool was just that bleak. Hopefully, it’s the former.

Despite my relatively high ability, however, the efficiency of administrative power under my leadership only reached 65%. Out of a potential 100, only 65 was being utilized.

Why?

Wasn’t my ability enough to outshine the most seasoned officials? I spent three days scrutinizing Mystra’s administrative information window, invisible to others, before realizing the problem wasn’t with me.

A new category had appeared, likely updated since I left the capital.

[National Authority].

Unlike other metrics, the tooltip next to “National Authority” kindly explained: in regions far from the central government, a low authority score leads to penalties on all policy efficiencies.

My whole body trembled as I clenched my head, tempted to repeatedly bang it on the desk.

This… This is…

“This is something I can’t fix on my own!”

Central government control?

How could a regional government possibly improve that? With the capital so far away and isolated, there’s no way to boost the central government’s authority. The only real solution would be to drive out the Ottomans cutting off the Balkans and reconnecting the peninsula to the capital. But that’s just a pipe dream. Impossible, at least for now.

Frustration bubbled up inside me.

How could this be a dating sim? How could anyone think staring at these metrics would lead to carefree fun with cute girls?

Is this the curse of being a lifelong loner?

As I wallowed in despair, news arrived that changed everything.

“Your Highness, His Majesty has launched an expedition to Corinth!”

An expedition to Corinth?

It made sense. While the Ottomans had just settled their internal conflicts, it was unlikely they’d break their fragile peace treaty to attack. Perhaps this was a rare opportunity. My father, Emperor Manuel II, might be seizing the moment to strengthen the empire’s influence over Morea.

Even so, I didn’t expect him to act so decisively.

I couldn’t help but admire his swift decision-making and judgment. This must be the wisdom of an emperor who has managed to hold a crumbling empire together.

But my excitement was short-lived. Upon hearing the size of the expeditionary force, my hopes plummeted. A mere 700 soldiers.

When Mehmed I of the Ottomans faced defeat in Europe, he raised an army of nearly 10,000 twice over and still had enough manpower for a third attempt. Such a vast difference in national strength was disheartening.

This must be the divide between those chosen by the times and those forsaken by them.

“Your Highness.”

The soldier’s call snapped me back to reality.

I couldn’t waste the opportunity my father had created. I resolved to raise as many troops as Mystra’s finances would allow for the expedition to Corinth.

With regular forces hindered by low imperial authority and uncooperative regional lords, most of the troops would have to be mercenaries. After calculations, I estimated that we could field around 500. While not a perfect match for the expeditionary force of 700, it wasn’t too far off.

As I searched for suitable mercenaries, an intriguing offer arrived from a Venetian merchant.

When I finally met the mercenary company after weeks of preparation, the commander was not what I expected.

The young age and refined appearance of the mercenary leader took everyone, myself included, by surprise. The court official accompanying me voiced his disbelief:

“Who are you? Bring forth the commander!”

“…I am the Grand Master of this mercenary company,” the youth replied calmly.

The unexpected encounter left me wondering what the future held.

“Your Highness! We were not informed that the mercenary leader was a woman!”

“To neglect to mention such a critical fact when arranging the contract!”

Discontent and indignation spread among the group. While they barely managed to tolerate her youth, it seemed the fact that she was a woman was more difficult for them to accept. As their employer, I shared a similar sentiment—not out of prejudice, but due to the undeniable physical differences between men and women in combat. No matter how strong a woman might be, it’s difficult for her to match a man under equal conditions on the battlefield. If she had overcome such disadvantages to become a heroine of war, her skills were undoubtedly exceptional, but…

It was a concern I couldn’t ignore. Being a woman was, after all, a significant disadvantage. The Venetian merchant likely understood this and deliberately concealed the fact. Resolving to hold him accountable later, I directed my gaze toward her.

Unfortunately, the suspicion in my eyes had to subside quickly.

Perhaps noticing the growing unrest among my group, the mercenaries’ demeanor changed dramatically. If things continued, a conflict with the mercenary company might erupt within Mistras. To avoid the tragedy of unilateral contract termination, I had to assert my authority as the employer above them.

“If she managed to become a mercenary leader at such a young age and as a woman, she must have talent.”

“Your Highness!”

“However, I cannot confirm the truth of that claim. Thus, I will hear directly from her mercenary company. Do you object?”

Her golden hair, barely brushing her shoulders, swayed as she shook her head. The objection came not from her, but from the magistrate.

“Your Highness, they could have coordinated their stories. Since they deceived us from the outset, they cannot be trusted.”

I lowered my voice, seeking to avoid premature conflict.

“They are showing determination.”

“…Indeed.”

It seemed the magistrate (Legal Offical) noticed as well. Though he hadn’t felt it earlier due to heightened emotions, he wasn’t incompetent. After all, he was a capable bureaucrat with an administrative score of 21. He likely understood the chaos that could ensue if the contract were annulled here and now, especially with 300 mercenaries already docked in the city. The devastation that could result would be catastrophic. Fortunately, my stopgap solution worked.

“The entire mercenary company supports her. That’s remarkable leadership—for a mere woman.”

Ignoring the guard’s barbed remark, I returned my focus to her. Whether the loyalty of her mercenaries was genuine or not, I had no choice but to trust for now.

“What is your name, Grandmaster?”

Perhaps this was the first time our gazes met. Her eyes were originally calm, almost indifferent. It might have been a form of self-suggestion to control her emotions. But the moment our eyes locked, something returned to her gaze. Was it bewilderment? Or something else?

“…A child?”

“Yes, I am your ten-year-old employer. I will pay your advance, reward you for fulfilling the contract, and, if you truly impress me, consider a long-term arrangement.”

“…….”

What’s with the silence?

Just as I found her reticence puzzling, the self-proclaimed Grandmaster knelt on one knee and quietly declared:

“My name is Ivania, Master.”

…

…?

“This feels a bit off. Is there an issue with the formalities?”

I glanced at the magistrate, who shook his head.

“There doesn’t seem to be a major deviation from protocol. At least, for now, let’s be glad we avoided a conflict.”

Hmm.

Hmmmmmm. Even amidst deep contemplation, I didn’t forget my duties.

“From today onward, I will employ you and your company for one year. Rest up, as we will soon join the expeditionary forces, but ensure that discipline remains intact.”

“We obey, Master.”

…This is extremely unsettling.

“Grandmaster, lead your soldiers and set up camp in front of the palace. I will soon assign your quarters.”

“As you command, Master.”

…

I couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“Grandmaster.”

“Yes, Your Highness?”

“The master of your body and soul is the holy one you revere, not me. By the terms of our contract, you may refer to me with a title befitting my status or as your lord, but refrain from calling me ‘Master.’ It could cast doubt on your faith.”

I didn’t wait for a reply. Turning on my heel, I left the scene, the magistrate trailing behind me. He leaned in to whisper.

“This mercenary company doesn’t leave a good impression.”

“Even if I organize a new army now, it will merely consist of local aristocrats’ private forces, not a formal imperial army. For now, we must rely on them until the Empire’s authority is restored.”

“Your Highness…”

“As always, continue enforcing imperial law. Your dedication is essential to maintaining what little authority the Empire has left.”

The magistrate fell silent. His loyalty and integrity stats seemed to have risen slightly, suggesting my words had rekindled his sense of duty. He was a capable administrator, trustworthy enough to oversee taxes in my stead. Unfortunately, removing him from his position would further erode the already fragile imperial authority in Morea.

[National Authority] could be increased through grand achievements, but its long-term growth and sustainability required consistent enforcement of the law.

However, I doubted that higher authority would dramatically improve policy efficiency. A simulation game disguised as a dating sim couldn’t be that straightforward. What occupied my thoughts was the reason why national authority affected policy efficiency in the first place. It likely reinforced the authority of central government officials dispatched to the provinces, enhancing control. While not an absolute correlation, the relationship was significant enough.

If so, there might be another hidden metric influencing efficiency beyond national authority.

Returning to the palace ahead of the mercenary company, I realized my hypothesis was correct.

A new parameter, [Personal Authority], had appeared, demanding I achieve even more.

---

“Captain, are you all right?”

A few deputies cautiously approached Ivania, who had been kneeling in silence for some time. Yet, she didn’t so much as flinch. The deputies exchanged uncertain glances, unsure how to interpret her reaction.

“To doubt our captain’s abilities—this lord is nothing special.”

“The contract felt half-hearted. But once the captain shows her true skills, they’ll probably beg us to stay by the end.”

Flattery mixed with a trace of sincerity. If she had been born a man, she might have earned a noble title by demonstrating her prowess in tournaments. But as a woman, she was forever barred from such recognition. Even if she claimed not to care, the icy atmosphere that followed each instance of discrimination spoke otherwise.

“Come now, Captain, you’d best catch up with that insolent brat. It’s just the ramblings of a naive child from a crumbling empire, after all.”

Had the prince heard this, he’d likely have remembered it forever, ensuring retribution. Whether or not these words offered any comfort, they at least got Ivania to her feet.

“…Hah, the Empire’s prince.”

“Captain?”

“…Sigh.”

She let out a cryptic sigh, trudging forward with less energy than usual, leaving her deputies with no choice but to hold their tongues, unable to discern her true feelings.

1413: The Empire Overcomes Another Crisis

Was it due to the relentless efforts of Manuel II? The advancing Ottoman forces, led by their warriors, were repelled at Constantinople by an allied army of 15,000 soldiers, carefully assembled through Manuel II’s diplomatic acumen. While the Empire earned another brief reprieve, the reunification of the Ottomans following their defeat was a cause for concern. Exploiting Ottoman disunity for more time would have been ideal, but ensuring Constantinople’s safety necessitated immediate action.

The alliance was forged with significant sacrifices, and even though Mehmed I swore filial loyalty to Manuel, such personal bonds rarely endure in the realm of politics. Both the aging emperor and the newly crowned Ottoman leader surely anticipated that this precarious peace would crumble the moment either party faltered. It was an uneasy and fragile accord.

“Perhaps it’s time to consider a successor,” sighed Manuel II, his body and spirit weathered after two decades of tirelessly sustaining the crumbling Empire. At over 60 years old, the Emperor could no longer delay the question of succession.

---

Thinking about his successor, Manuel II reflected on his children. Two of his sons had already passed away, free from earthly burdens. Among the remaining heirs, one name lingered in his thoughts: Constantine, a child with extraordinary promise but one glaring flaw.

As his chief secretary, Sphrantzes, had observed:

“Your Majesty, with all due respect, aside from a single issue, I cannot think of anyone more fitting than Prince Constantine.”

Manuel II agreed. During the Ottoman siege of Constantinople, the young prince had managed resource distribution and assumed responsibilities far exceeding those of a mere assistant. His fairness and administrative acumen were vital in maintaining order. His strategic foresight, exemplified by predicting enemy movements and organizing preemptive countermeasures, further underscored his capabilities. Yet, despite such promise, one critical issue prevented Manuel from declaring him heir without hesitation.

Constantine’s flaw?

He was too young.

At only nine years old, Constantine’s age was an insurmountable barrier. The Empire, in its desperate final hour, needed a unifying figure to rally behind, but a child-emperor would incite division and rebellion. Furthermore, Constantine’s detached demeanor left him with few supporters who could consolidate his claim to the throne. Naming him as the next emperor would inevitably kindle a civil war—an unthinkable scenario for a nation on the brink of collapse.

Reluctantly, in 1414, Manuel II appointed his son John as co-emperor, entrusting him with the governance of the territory of Morea. Other sons received various roles to secure the Empire’s fragile control over its territories. Among these appointments, the one most debated was the assignment of Selymbria to Constantine. By doing so, Manuel signaled Constantine’s potential claim to the throne should anything happen to John. However, this decision faced fierce opposition, not only from the third son, Theodore, but surprisingly from Constantine himself.

“Father, I do not wish for Selymbria. Assign me Mistra instead,” Constantine boldly requested. He had even written to Theodore about this preference before discussing it with Manuel. In the end, Theodore took over Selymbria, and Constantine boarded a ship bound for Mistra, pursuing a vision far removed from his father’s.

Manuel II sought to prepare Constantine for an imminent ascension to the throne, anticipating the necessity of his rule. Yet, the boy envisioned a different path: building strength in Morea, the last bastion of hope for the declining Empire. Despite its challenges, Morea represented a beacon for those determined to rebuild. While this decision brought Manuel both pride and despair, it solidified his belief that his son was destined for greatness.

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1414: The Campaign Begins

Encouraged by Sphrantzes, Manuel II launched a campaign in Morea with 700 troops—nearly all the forces the Empire could muster after leaving a skeleton crew to defend Constantinople. The modest scale of the campaign reflected the Empire’s desperation and its diminishing capacity to project power.

As the fleet approached Mistra, the contrast to Constantinople was striking. Unlike the despairing capital, Mistra exuded hope and vitality. The streets bustled with activity, and migration here was a sign of people clinging to the Empire’s last embers of prosperity.

From the moment Constantine set foot in Mistra, the dormant interface of his strange system revealed a flurry of new data. Tax efficiency, trade revenues, and resource allocations appeared before his eyes, providing insights into the city’s administration. Though its finances paled compared to Constantinople’s, the people’s resilience and optimism set Mistra apart.

Determined, Constantine immersed himself in governance. The initial purpose of his transmigration—to seek romance in a dating sim-like world—faded into obscurity. Female interactions, even with stunning beauties, now elicited no reaction. Once captivated by fantasies of romantic entanglements, Constantine found himself consumed by administrative duties. The mere memory of accidentally glimpsing a woman’s bare chest only resurfaced a week later, eclipsed by the weight of paperwork.

He didn’t regret it. How could he?

The crumbling Empire’s survival rested on his shoulders. There was no time for indulgence in fleeting pleasures. Each passing day reminded him of his duty—not just to the citizens of Mistra but to the countless others awaiting salvation.

And so, he pressed forward, sacrificing personal desires for a far greater purpose:

Responsibility.

With that singular word echoing in his mind, Constantine cast aside all distractions, resolute in his mission to restore hope to an Empire on the verge of collapse.

Even if it cost him his youth, his dreams, and the life he once imagined.

Despair.

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T/L : Most of the places mentioned in the text are part of the south-eastern Europe during the old age.

Constantinople – Istanbul (Turkey)
Morea – Peloponnese  (Greece)
Selymbria –  Silivri (Turkey)
Mistra – Mystra  (Greece)

I once heard the saying, “If you remain a virgin past 30, you can use magic.”

Of course, it was just a silly joke. However, it seems that if you meet some additional conditions, you might gain a different kind of unique experience instead of magic.

“You said you wanted to date, right?”

I absentmindedly nodded at the voice that came from behind me while walking down the street. But before I could even turn around to see who it was, my vision blurred.

“I’ll send you to the dating sim world you’ve always wanted, so go ahead and date to your heart’s content.”

When I opened my eyes again, I was in the body of a young child.

It seemed that the “dating sim world” I’d heard about last wasn’t just an idle remark. I had numerous enhancements granted to me. First and foremost, there was the “status window” enhancement that let me read others’ stats and thoughts. Upon checking, I noticed that many of the stats had rigid names like Military Power or Administration. A territory conquest-style dating sim, perhaps? Well, how complicated could a dating sim get?

But the more I discovered about these enhancements, the less confident I became.

The enhancements organized hard-to-understand information into clear statistics or numerical data for me to see. That part was fine, even great. The problem was that there weren’t just one or two things to look at—there were way too many categories. Most were inactive because I wasn’t in the right position to access them, but even so, the sheer variety of items made it clear that this was no ordinary territory conquest-style dating sim. Typically, such games focus on heroines and lightly dressed-up strategy elements. The gap between generic units and named heroines is enormous, so the focus is usually on compatibility, skills, and combos—not things like this.

Tax efficiency, production efficiency, trade efficiency, inflation, bonds, military upkeep, budget allocation—on and on it went.

Normally, in a territory conquest-style dating sim, it’s just about income and expenses, right?

I got chills. Something felt seriously wrong.

And soon enough, my ominous premonition turned out to be correct.

Sure, as a dating sim, they’d given me a somewhat unique status. I was a prince of an ancient and prestigious empire. What a glorious title that sounded like. The problem was that this wasn’t a medieval fantasy world. It was smack in the middle of history. An era of upheaval, where one epoch was ending, and another was dawning. The days when a once-dominant empire was declining while a new one—the one that would later terrify all of Europe—was rising.

Many historical turning points had already passed. When coincidences pile up, they become inevitabilities, and repeated outcomes turn into destiny. On every street, despair-filled faces and sighs abounded. The air was so heavy it didn’t take long to realize—everyone, regardless of status, had the specter of collapse looming in their minds.

As I absorbed this atmosphere without filter, I abandoned the thought that this was a simple territory conquest-style dating sim.

Citizens who alternated between joy and despair depending on the latest news. Officials holding grave discussions with tense faces.

Amid people struggling just to get by each day, how long could I afford to remain complacent? Sure, flirting with cute girls sounded fun, but if I died, it would all be meaningless.

At some point, I devoted myself entirely to making the most of the “enhancements” given to me and training my abilities.

But maybe because I was just an ordinary person at heart, my growth felt unbearably slow. Even after pushing my body to its limits for a hundred days straight, my Military Power barely increased by 1. Even the most dedicated scholars, poring over advanced books and countless annotations, could only hope to see Administration increase by 1. It was slow. Far too slow. Time marched on, but the results I achieved were pitiful.

As the final chance to change the empire’s fate drew nearer, my sense of urgency only grew.

And yet, there were those who decided to toy with me in such a desperate situation.

The first was a beautiful maid, rumored to have caught the eyes of many palace servants.

Apparently, she had made some strange bet that involved trying to grab my attention. But seriously, what kind of person thinks it’s appropriate to show cleavage to an 8-year-old? The next day, I sent a letter to the steward, dismissing her from the palace without hesitation. It reduced unnecessary expenses, and she could move on to a new life—a win-win, I thought. Then I focused on training again.

Even though the experience points were painfully slow, the fact that I was making progress kept me going.

After many days of eating, sleeping, and training, I suddenly received an unexpected summons to attend a matchmaking meeting.

This was the second incident.

It might be rude to say, but the girl who was a candidate for my fiancée—someone around my age—didn’t interest me at all. Not that I was boasting about being royalty, but what kind of attitude was that to take in front of a prince with a claim to the throne? Saying something like, “Hmph, I don’t like you at all, but I suppose I wouldn’t reject you as a servant. Be grateful!” She had clearly picked the wrong target for her patronizing. Once again, I promptly advised the steward to sever all ties with her family.

The steward later told me that she cried her eyes out, begging for forgiveness, but honestly, nothing good would come from being tied to a prince of a crumbling empire.

Cutting ties while the connection was still thin was probably for the best—for both of us.

The third issue was with a tutor.

Typically, a tutor should be a seasoned scholar with extensive knowledge. However, I had advised my father, through the steward, to appoint someone more affordable to save even a little of the empire’s finances. Supporting a dying empire required capable talents, but how much would it cost to gather such people? Just imagining it sent shivers down my spine. Although I didn’t know the exact state of the finances, I understood the concept of cost-effectiveness. From that perspective, the often-overlooked existence of women seemed revolutionary and worth considering.

They were cheaper than men and possessed comparable abilities.

It felt like treating people as disposable tools, but in this era, even such an approach seemed progressive and forward-thinking.

“You have much grander ambitions than I expected, Your Highness.”

While women’s rights in the empire were relatively strong, few had ever been granted full access to administrative positions. The tutor must have been referring to that. From this point on, her behavior subtly changed. She would gently approach me to turn the pages of my books for me or stare intently at me during lessons. Frankly, it was incredibly uncomfortable. Worse, the closer she got, the heavier her breathing became—dangerously so, in a way that made me fear for my virginity.

Was this what they called a Tsundere ?

Naturally, I couldn’t let this threat slide. While I still felt the need to save money, this was a case of putting the cart before the horse. Once again, I advised my father through the steward, and the results were immediate. The new tutor, an elderly scholar with a calm demeanor, conducted lessons without hesitation, even if his approach was slightly rigid. I do feel sorry for the previous tutor, but I hope she refrains from dangerous behavior in the future.

Oh, and by the way, she was 23 and already married.

After experiencing such incidents three times in a row, people stopped approaching me altogether.

Of course, as a man, it would be a lie to say I didn’t feel a twinge of regret. However, the results of rejecting all these temptations and dedicating myself to my training were clear. I gained a new “trait” that would accelerate my previously stagnant experience gain.

[Solo Devotion]

You receive growth bonuses proportional to the number of months you’ve remained single.

…They told me to date.

They sent me to this so-called dating sim world to experience romance, and now they give me a skill like this?

Eroge protagonists grow stronger the more they pursue their love interests, but I grow stronger the longer I stay single. The absurdity of it all was palpable. In a way, it might be my own fault. But the era had driven me to this point.

This wasn’t what I wanted. It really wasn’t.

How could I build a harem when the country was on the brink of collapse?

If the other party were ordinary, I wouldn’t even be complaining.

This so-called dating sim world I was sent to wasn’t an idyllic place for love—it was an era of upheaval. A time when one empire was rising while another fell into ruin.

A fledgling power, once a small roaming tribe, had built a massive nation encompassing the Balkans and Anatolia and was now setting its sights on the ancient capital of the thousand-year empire.

And here was the old empire, struggling to survive, making its final desperate stand.

The year was 1412.

The empire’s final turning point was fast approaching.

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