Category: About a Dating Sim Where Dating Is Impossible

  • About a Dating Sim Where Dating Is Impossible Chapter 135

    The news of the co-emperor’s proclamation did not remain confined within the empire.

    There was one place where they listened more intently than any other to the movements of the empire—a prepared victor, one that inevitably had to bring down the empire to claim dominance in this new era.

    In Ottoman lands, too, John’s decision was quickly known.

    For Murad, it was an unwelcome development.

    The young emperor had declared his intent to focus all his strength on Dragases, reinforcing the long-standing internal instability that had been the empire’s weakness.

    It was only natural for Murad to be displeased.

    In order to return to Edirne, he had been forced into humiliating negotiations with both Morea and Venice.

    The Venetians, having swiftly taken Thessalonica, sought a non-aggression pact—likely out of fear that the sultan’s wrath would turn upon Thessalonica at once.

    But could they have known that, instead, they had only hardened his resolve?

    Yet before he could punish Venice and the empire, Murad had a more pressing matter to deal with: a rebellion in Anatolia. He had to crush the Anatolian beylik factions that had put forward his long-missing brother, Mustafa, as a claimant to the throne.

    Though there had always been tensions between the sultan and his viziers (ministers), never before had those conflicts surfaced so openly. This only proved how much of a threat Murad’s policies of centralization were perceived to be.

    And yet, some viziers still remained loyal.

    One of those few was the man kneeling before Murad now.

    Murad could not help but find it unexpected. The viziers, unhappy with his centralization efforts, had been the ones to support his brother Mustafa. Yet some had chosen a different path. That fact alone intrigued him.

    Murad spoke at last.

    “Curious. Were we not fated to be at odds?”

    Murad sought to reinforce the sultan’s authority through centralization, while the viziers fought to preserve their own influence. They stood at diametric extremes.

    Yet the kneeling man shook his head, replying in a calm voice.

    “We are all Muslims, who live by the words of the Prophet. There is the sultan, and there are those who serve him. But all are merely servants of Allah.”

    “And yet, not all seem to share your view.”

    “They have lost sight of the Prophet’s words in pursuit of immediate gain.”

    “And what makes you different?”

    Even with Murad’s pointed question, the man’s voice remained unwavering.

    “As natural as the truth itself,” he replied, as if speaking an immutable fact.

    “I believe in the oath sworn upon the Ottoman sword.”

    “Oath?”

    “Yes. The promise made by the first Muslims to set foot on this land—the solemn vow that, in the city of cities, surrounded by three seas, the recitation of the Quran would one day reach the heavens.

    That oath is why my clan has followed the Ottomans.”

    “And that is why you follow me?”

    “What more reason is needed?”

    The man met the sultan’s gaze, his posture unyielding.

    Murad saw in his eyes a sincerity that could not be feigned.

    This man truly believed that the Ottomans would fulfill the prophecy.

    Only then did Murad let down his guard.

    After a measured breath, he spoke again.

    “There must be a reason you came to me. Speak freely.”

    “Sultan, I have come to discuss a way to tear apart the net Dragases has cast over you.”

    Straight to the point, without even the pretense of courtesy. But Murad had not expected courtesy from him.

    What mattered was the substance of his words.

    Sensing a flicker of interest in the sultan’s expression, the man continued, his voice clear but never frivolous.

    “The most pressing matter is, of course, the rebellion. Though many viziers have turned their backs on you due to their treacherous schemes, there are still those who remain loyal—faithful not only in service but in belief. They await the day you arrive in Anatolia, Sultan. At their head stands your trusted friend, Ishak Pasha.”

    “Ishak Pasha? He…”

    Occupied with the war in Morea, Murad had not paid close attention to Anatolia.

    Hearing such an unexpected name, he could not help but show a hint of surprise.

    The man nodded before explaining Ishak Pasha’s current situation.

    “He is, of course, at a disadvantage. But the fact that not all have turned against you means there is still hope. More than that, the one you must face—Mustafa—is young and untested. He has yet to prove himself. If you march to the battlefield yourself, you will force the matter to its conclusion. The more decisive your response, the clearer it will become who the true sultan is.”

    Yet the man was not finished.

    “There will, of course, be great costs. I have heard that, through Dragases, you have secured three thousand Genoese mercenaries and one thousand troops from Prince Thomas of Epirus. Epirus, being little more than a puppet of the empire, is of no real concern. But Genoa… is another matter entirely. They will undoubtedly demand more in return for their support. For example…”

    “They will demand greater trade monopolies. Or perhaps, new lands of their own.”

    Murad’s voice was sharp, and the man nodded silently.

    Murad had already suspected as much.

    Genoa and Venice—two scavengers circling the Aegean, seeking any opportunity to expand their influence.

    Especially Genoa, desperate to open new trade routes to preserve its profits in the Black Sea.

    But the man before him did not focus solely on the losses that would come.

    “Sultan, you must use this as an opportunity to bring Genoa to your side.”

    “They are a force worth considering, but I have yet to find the means.”

    “There is something they seek, just as there is something we seek. And in that, there is common ground.”

    Murad furrowed his brow at the man’s words.

    In response, the man offered a pleasant smile and spoke the answer the sultan had been waiting for.

    “Genoa wishes to diminish Venice’s influence, and we must oppose Venice as well. Then all we need to do is weaken their power. Use the Dardanelles Strait. Build fortresses on both sides and impose strict inspections and heavy tolls on Venetian ships.”

    The Dardanelles Strait lies between the Gallipoli Peninsula and the Anatolian coast. It connects the Sea of Marmara and the Aegean Sea, serving as a key passage right before Constantinople. It was also designated as the naval route for the upcoming Anatolian campaign.

    However, Murad was not satisfied with this answer alone.

    “Is that all?”

    “This is merely the first step toward Thessalonica, which Your Majesty has set your sights on. Next, you must forge close ties with the Anatolian beyliks (Chieftain) through marriage alliances. What they fear most is being completely stripped of their influence in the court. Give them false hope, even if only temporarily. Once they are pacified, Your Majesty must then advance into Rumelia (Greece).”

    “…How did you know I had my eyes on Thessalonica?”

    Despite Murad’s continued questioning, the man answered calmly.

    “Thessalonica is a strategic stronghold in the Aegean and one of the most developed port cities. If Your Majesty still intends to campaign against Morea, then it is an indispensable supply line that must not be abandoned. And I simply could not believe that Your Majesty would ever give up on Morea.”

    “….”

    “But even that will not be enough. There are too many Christians who fear Ottoman expansion. They do not know true faith, and thus they will remain wary of us rather than accept us.

    Your Majesty must first break their unity. And I propose Wallachia as the first target.”

    Wallachia, a state located north of the Danube River, was established specifically to resist the Ottoman threat. As he brought them up, the man began to explain why they must be dealt with and how it should be done.

    “As long as they remain north of the Danube, Your Majesty must contend with three forces—the main Crusader army from Serbia, Wallachian troops possibly marching south across the river, and Dragases advancing from the south.

    Even if Wallachia cannot be subdued immediately, securing peace with them will limit the enemy’s options. Fortunately, Your Majesty has already defeated them once. Their subsequent inaction speaks volumes.”

    Wallachia had once supported Büyük Mustafa with thousands of soldiers. But after Murad’s victory, they made no further moves. While this was partly due to the severe losses they had suffered, the man saw it differently.

    “-Wallachia fears the Ottomans.”

    He did not hesitate to continue.

    “Persuading those consumed by fear is easy. Even if they harbour reckless bravado, it will take them years to recover from their past defeat. Offer them that time. Wallachia will do everything in its power to avoid incurring Your Majesty’s wrath.

    Once peace with Wallachia is secured, Your Majesty will face two choices.”

    “What are they?”

    For the first time, Murad, who had been silently listening, revealed his curiosity.

    The man answered without delay.

    “Will you strike Dragases, knowing that a Crusade may follow? Or will you strike Serbia to collapse the Crusaders before they can unite?”

    The man had no intention of letting this opportunity slip by. His mouth continued to move.

    “Regardless of your choice, the prerequisite remains the same—pressure Thessalonica relentlessly. Weaken Venice until it buckles under the strain. Only by securing Thessalonica can your supply lines be stabilized.

    After tightening the noose around Thessalonica, the actions to take will depend on your decision between the two paths.

    If you choose the first option, speed will be critical. Before making your move, offer peace to the Venetians. Then, with safe naval routes and a secured overland path for your main army, swiftly crush each enemy force one by one. However, if you delay, Dragases may call upon the West for a Crusade. And he possesses both the resilience and the means to hold out until then.”

    Both Murad and the man knew this well.

    Dragases was incredibly tenacious. Despite suffering multiple devastating defeats, he had always managed to rally his troops and retreat to a final stronghold.

    And in the Peloponnesus, where he had fortified numerous castles in preparation for attrition warfare, the battle would be all the more grueling.

    “Thus, Your Majesty must take the second option. Summon Dragases to campaign against Serbia before he can fully prepare. He is cautious—rather than risk everything in another war, he would prefer to buy more time. And, Your Majesty, remember this: You must ensure that the Christians see this as a mere struggle for dominance, not a holy war. The events in the Balkans must not be perceived by the Western world as a conflict driven by the threat of heathens. Instead, the Pope must recognize it as a secular power struggle.”

    Murad quickly grasped what the man was implying.

    The expansion of the Ottomans in the Balkans must not be framed as a religious war. The Pope must be led to believe that it was simply a clash of ruling powers.

    “Fortunately, Hungary, our most formidable enemy, is still preoccupied with its civil war. But that may not last. If they remain strong, they will intervene the moment peace with Wallachia is secured. At that time, Your Majesty must use their intervention to your advantage. Promise the Balkan rulers autonomous governance under Ottoman dominance. Make them fear Hungary more than the Ottomans. Once that happens, the Crusaders will be paralyzed.”

    At last, the man lowered his head toward the sultan.

    “That moment will be when the Ottomans fulfill the Prophet’s prophecy.”

    Murad remained silent for a long while, contemplating the man’s words.

    When he finally spoke, quite some time had passed.

    “What is your name?”

    “Çandarlı Halil.”

    The man, who introduced himself as Çandarlı Halil, slowly rose from his seat.

    His appearance was unremarkable, the kind of face one could find anywhere.

    But the fire in his eyes was different from that of others.

    Çandarlı Halil, the leader of the faction that had sworn loyalty to Murad, lifted his head once more and met the sultan’s gaze directly.

    “I have pledged upon the name of my lineage to serve as the sword of the Ottomans, fulfilling the Prophet’s prophecy.”

  • About a Dating Sim Where Dating Is Impossible Chapter 134

    The proclamation of John as co-emperor shook the entire capital.

    What could it mean for the emperor, who had long been at odds with Prince Konstantinos, to extend a hand of reconciliation?

    The delicate balance of power that had barely been maintained between the two now tilted decisively in one direction, making it clear who held real authority in the empire.

    Furthermore, with the emperor having made his decision, even those who had previously disapproved of Prince Konstantinos could no longer deny the outcome.

    Manuel, confined to a monastery, soon received word of this momentous event.

    It was thanks to Empress Helena, his lifelong companion, who had sent word to him as soon as it happened.

    “…With this, it seems that the discord between His Majesty John and Prince Konstantinos, which Your Majesty had most feared, will come to an end.”

    “Is that so… John, that child…”

    It was a cruel fate for John, but Manuel had always seen Prince Konstantinos as the true heir to the throne from the very beginning.

    Declaring John as co-emperor had been nothing more than a means to facilitate the transfer of power to Konstantinos.

    At the same time, it served as a bold maneuver to pacify those who harboured resentment toward Konstantinos.

    As such, the success of this plan depended entirely on John. If he had not been willing to sacrifice even his imperial authority for the sake of the empire’s survival, none of this would have been possible.

    But as a father, it was something Manuel should never have done.

    He reached out, carefully stroking the empress’s hand as she gazed at him with tear-filled eyes.

    Once smooth and fair, her hands had become roughened by the passage of time and the relentless crises they had endured.

    That realization pained Manuel deeply. Seeing the exhaustion etched into his wife’s face, he could no longer hold back his own tears.

    “I am sorry… my love.”

    “Oh? Why would you say such a thing, Your Majesty?”

    “I have always wanted to tell you… that I am sorry…”

    The years of Manuel’s reign had been a time of relentless collapse.

    The empire had ceased to function as a state. The walls of Constantinople had been besieged countless times, and the empire had teetered on the brink of destruction just as many.

    Each time, Manuel had knelt before the altar of Hagia Sophia, praying desperately—begging that the empire might at least endure until the end of his reign.

    He could not even begin to fathom what it had been like for the empress to watch him in those moments.

    And more than anything, she was a mother who cherished her children above all else.

    How could she possibly forgive him for sacrificing their child against her will?

    Manuel had turned a blind eye to the wishes of John and his other sons, focusing solely on Konstantinos in his pursuit of the empire’s restoration.

    Now, stripped of his crown, he was nothing more than a frail old man.

    But the empress did not leave him to weep alone. Without hesitation, she embraced him.

    “How could Your Majesty say such a thing? I stayed by your side because I wanted to.”

    “I am sorry to the children as well… That I must now pass onto them a burden that was too heavy even for me…”

    “Your Majesty, your children have all grown into remarkable individuals. Perhaps they may even surpass you as emperors. Was that not how you raised them?”

    “…I feel truly fortunate. That you have always been by my side.”

    “And I will remain by your side, Your Majesty.”

    However, Manuel shook his head at the empress’s words.

    Could one truly know when their time was nearing its end? Manuel understood well the frailty of his own body. More than that, he was aware of the price he would soon have to pay.

    A fleeting memory passed through his mind—the image of a father, weeping as he entrusted his child to him.

    “I have broken my oath. For the sake of my duty as emperor, I did something no father should ever do. There cannot be much time left for me now.”

    “If that is the case, then it must be fate, Your Majesty. For I, too, feel as though my own time is running short.”

    Manuel lifted his gaze at her words.

    Despite the years that had passed, the empress still wore the same calm expression, her dignified features unchanged as she smiled gently at him.

    Nothing had changed from the moment they first met.

    Back then, too, she had watched over him with the same quiet smile.

    Even now, she remained by his side, just as she always had.

    At that moment, Manuel found himself grateful—grateful that he was no longer emperor.

  • About a Dating Sim Where Dating Is Impossible Chapter 133

    It was not only the Ottomans and other foreign powers that were stunned by the outcome of the war.

    The Queen of Cities, Constantinople—the ancient capital bearing a thousand years of history in its slow decline—could not deny the achievements of Prince Constantine.

    Naturally, as much as Prince Constantine had accomplished, the capital’s influence had declined even further.

    From the very beginning, the capital had contributed nothing to this war, doing nothing but pleading for the prince’s help.

    And exactly one week after the news of the war’s conclusion reached the capital—

    The war faction, once centered around Emperor John and Despot Theodoros, had gathered in one wing of the Blachernae Palace, their expressions hardened.

    And the reason was simple—the people standing before them.

    The conservatives, led by Grand Chancellor Loukas Notaras.

    These men, who should have remained under house arrest, were here now because of Notaras himself.

    The moment the war faction’s strength weakened, the old chancellor had gone straight to the deposed emperor.

    Though John had taken the throne, neither the Empire nor its people had forgotten the sacrifices of Emperor Manuel.

    The guards assigned to monitor those under house arrest obeyed the old chancellor , who carried a direct decree from the former emperor.

    Once freed, the gathered conservatives knew that their moment had come, and under Notaras’s lead, they marched unchallenged into Blachernae Palace.

    There was no one in the capital who could stop them.

    Even the only man who might have stood in their way, the young secretary Georgios Sphrantzes, remained silent.

    He merely stood beside the empty throne, observing the confrontation between the two factions.

    Though the war faction had once drawn strength from youthful fervor and strategic ambitions, their downfall had long been foreseen by the conservatives, who understood the true limits of the Empire.

    Yet, in truth, the war faction had not failed entirely.

    The results of the war were too ambiguous to be called an outright defeat.

    Had Prince Constantine foreseen this outcome?

    The young Sphrantzes pondered this question.

    Could they truly call this a victory?

    The Ottomans had been repelled, and Larissa had been reclaimed with its rightful ownership acknowledged. Even taking into account the cession of Thessalonica to Venice, this was an extraordinary achievement.

    And it was precisely this ambiguous result that had prevented the war faction from being completely removed.

    After all, their core argument—that war was inevitable—aligned with Prince Constantine’s actions on the battlefield.

    The reason the war faction had lost power was not the war itself. It was the failure of John and Theodoros, who had implemented their strategies with the war faction’s support.

    Their plan had relied on the Wallachian army marching south and a Bulgarian rebellion bringing an early end to the war.

    But Grand Mustafa had suffered a crushing defeat, the capital had been besieged, and the Second Prince, Theodoros, had ridden out with confidence to break the siege—only to disappear without a trace.

    One thing, however, was certain.

    Now, no one can deny it, Your Majesty.

    The stories surrounding Prince Constantine had taken on the quality of legend.

    From his ruthless decision to set entire cities ablaze to his stand against the fearsome Janissaries with only a hundred knights, and his audacious ambushes against the Sipahis—he had accomplished feats that even Emperor Manuel had hesitated to attempt.

    No, considering how much worse the situation was now than in Manuel’s time, the fact that he had achieved this at all was nothing short of miraculous.

    No one could deny it any longer—Prince Constantine was the Empire’s final hope, its last remaining defender.

    A belief once held by only a few had now taken root in every heart.

    The war faction that had once advocated for battle, the conservatives who followed the will of Emperor Manuel, those who had waited in desperation for salvation, and even those who had resigned themselves to the Empire’s inevitable ruin—all now understood this truth.

    And the Empire was not the only one aware of it.

    As these thoughts lingered, footsteps echoed from behind.

    Sphrantzes drew a steady breath before breaking the heavy silence shared between the two factions.

    “His Majesty is entering.”

    His Majesty, is it…”

    Notaras’s murmured words reflected the sentiment of the conservatives.

    The war faction, knowing that their only remaining pillar of support had arrived, straightened with renewed determination, while the conservatives clenched their jaws, their faces set in grim expressions.

    The rift between Emperor John and his predecessor had long since become irreparable.

    To the people of the capital, the conservative faction’s greatest enemy had just entered the room.

    And at last, at the heart of the court, the emperor appeared.

    John stood radiant in golden robes, his gaze sweeping across the gathered assembly. Though exhaustion shadowed his face, worn from contemplation, his striking features still shone.

    Yet it was not mere beauty that unsettled the conservatives—it was the undeniable aura of one born to rule, an innate grace granted only to emperors.

    “With such radiance… how could it have come to this…”

    A quiet sigh escaped from somewhere in the room.

    Seemingly unaware of the emotions swirling around him, John’s gaze eventually landed on Notaras, and a faint, bitter smile appeared on his lips.

    “You have come to rebuke me for my failures.”

    “That is not the case. Today, we have matters far more pressing than that, do we not?”

    Despite Notaras’s sharp retort, John did not respond.

    He knew the old chancellor was right.

    The matter at hand was far too grave for them to waste time assigning blame.

    With a solemn nod, he walked toward the imperial throne and seated himself.

    Only after this final movement did Sphrantzes step forward, holding an unsealed letter, and spoke in a clear, unwavering voice.

    “Now that all are present, we shall proceed with today’s matter. This is a letter from His Highness Constantine, Prince of Morea.”

    Sprantzes read the contents of the letter aloud, expressing each word clearly.

    The letter from the prince contained little difference from the message sent to him by the Pope. Yet, its contents were just as shocking to everyone.

    The moment they heard that the Pope had offered to conduct a coronation, exclamations of astonishment burst forth from everyone, regardless of rank or faction.

    Being well-versed in political affairs, they quickly grasped the Pope’s true intent. But that was not all. When Prince Constantine quoted these events as justification for establishing an archbishopric, the opposition became even fiercer.

    “The Latins are trying to divide us!”

    “We have not yet forgotten how they ravaged this city.”

    “This is undoubtedly a cunning scheme to suppress the Patriarch and expand the influence of the Western Church over Greece. Your Majesty, you must summon Prince Dragases immediately and interrogate him thoroughly in case he has made a secret pact with the Western Church!”

    Amid the noise erupting from both the war faction and the conservatives, Emperor John finally reacted to the last statement. He murmured so quietly that only Sprantzes, with his sharp ears, caught his words.

    “So, even you call him Dragases…”

    “Your Majesty?”

    “No, it is nothing.”

    Aside from Sprantzes, no one else seemed to have heard. John shook his head slowly and let out a deep sigh. What finally broke his composure was the next remark.

    “Your Majesty, you must strip Prince Dragases of his titles. If he defects to the Western Church, we will be engulfed in civil war before long.”

    At that moment, John, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke.

    “That is not such a distant concern.”

    “Indeed, Your Majesty. The longer Prince Dragases is left unchecked, the greater the empire’s danger will become.”

    “What I have come to realize is that a throne occupied by only one is of no use at all.”

    “…What do you mean by that, Your Majesty?”

    John did not answer. Instead, his mind drifted to a conversation he had once had with his father—the father who had believed in him to the very end despite his shortcomings.

    The father who had lamented the heavy burden his son would have to bear.

    John had understood his father’s sincerity, and for that reason, he would not waver.

    No one had desired the survival of the empire more earnestly than his father.

    And so, before him, John had made his vow.

    —Before God, I swear to protect Constantine.

    “If Prince Constantine receives coronation from the Pope, it would be equivalent to the establishment of a new Latin kingdom on this land. The creation of an archbishopric in Morea would mean the division of this nation in two. That, I cannot allow.”

    “Then we must—”

    “Therefore,”

    John recalled the words his father had once spoken.

    Constantine is the blade. I am the sheath.

    The sheath exists not only to prevent the blade from cutting itself.

    It also shields the blade from rusting under the elements.

    John knew better than anyone what he wanted—and what he had to do.

    There was only one course of action he could take.

    “I hereby proclaim Prince Constantine as co-emperor, and his coronation shall be held in Constantinople.”

    “Your Majesty?!”

    Was it shock that made them cry out, or was it rejection?

    John paid no heed to the voices rising against him.

    His gaze sharpened with conviction.

    “This was an inevitability. Constantine has not only stabilized Morea but has also reclaimed central Greece, securing Larissa and the Thessalian region—achievements no one before him has accomplished. Though Thessalonica was lost, that loss is more than offset by…”

    John remembered why he had stood up in the first place.

    A frail, fragile boy who had once risen to defy fate itself.

    He had once thought his feeble fluttering would be swallowed by the raging storm.

    But things were different now.

    “…The possibility he has shown us that we have a chance to drive out the Turks.”

    The sound of grinding teeth filled the room.

    No one could find the words to oppose him any further.

    This was a decision to share power—something he had once deemed impossible, even with his own blood.

    Who could dare to stop him now?

    —I will hesitate no longer.

    Nor will I lose my way.

    The Turks would be driven out.

    He would reclaim the lands that had been stripped away for centuries.

    And those who had died helplessly, while the empire watched in powerlessness, would finally have their justice.

    He would no longer be blinded by the false brilliance of an empire that bore only the hollow name of [Rome].

  • About a Dating Sim Where Dating Is Impossible Chapter 132

    After reading the Pope’s letter in its entirety, I uttered only one word.

    “Nonsense.”

    Right after meeting with the Venetian envoy, I had rushed into my office, unable to contain my excitement, and torn open the sealed letter—only to find this.

    It made me grit my teeth in frustration.

    A coronation?

    Why should I do something that benefits only the Pope?

    And that wasn’t even the worst of it. There was also a request for me to participate in a crusade to suppress the Hussites.

    What kind of demand was that? It was only natural that irritation welled up within me.

    Of course, it was undeniably a rare opportunity to encounter Jan Žižka, a general of unparalleled brilliance. But there were far more pressing matters at hand.

    “I’m sorry, Your Holiness, but I am already too busy managing affairs here.”

    That being said, I couldn’t deny the unusual nature of the Pope’s message.

    Granting me the authority to attend the Council alone was significant enough. A council was a crucial assembly where theological debates brought the Church closer to the truth.

    But for the Empire, its significance extended beyond mere doctrine. Throughout history, Popes had shown great interest in the unification of the Eastern and Western Churches.

    Consequently, councils had come to serve as diplomatic arenas between the West and the Empire.

    The fact that I had been invited to such a gathering meant that I was, in effect, being recognized as the Empire’s representative.

    The message had not been addressed to the Emperor in Constantinople, but to me, the ruler of Morea.

    The implication was clear—the Pope was more interested in tangible military support for the Crusade than the symbolic authority of an Emperor.

    That much was obvious.

    “Even if Your Holiness were to promise a crusade, there’s nothing to be done.”

    Muttering to myself, I slowly nodded in understanding.

    The stabilization of occupied territories was still unfinished. Leaving my post in such a dangerous situation was out of the question.

    And yet, I could see the Pope’s reasoning.

    If he had gone so far as to send a request to a mere provincial ruler in Greece, he must have been truly desperate.

    That only deepened my respect for Jan Žižka.

    Defeating multiple crusades with his own strength alone—what experience could I possibly bring to a battle against such a commander?

    Even if I were to go, it would only wear down my already weary body.

    Challenging someone of his caliber was nothing short of a fool’s job.

    I had learned that lesson the hard way while facing Murad.

    One does not cross swords with an enemy unless multiple chains have been set in place to restrain their movements first.

    Rather than engaging the Hussites in battle, it would be far more effective to use the Council as a means to sow discord among them.

    In an ideal world, I would welcome all the Hussites under my banner and call for Jan Žižka to join my cause.

    But with the Pope already set on a crusade, such a proposal wouldn’t even be entertained.

    Instead of wasting my breath on a fruitless plea, it would be far more productive to list out the reasons I couldn’t participate.

    “Still, at least I now know that the Pope has his eyes on Greece.”

    No matter how many plans I devised, I knew better than anyone that without resolving the most fundamental issue, the Empire’s survival was impossible.

    Dreaming of victory against the ever-strengthening Ottomans without Western crusaders on our side was nothing short of a sin.

    The Ottomans were the chosen of history—the ones history had favoured.

    If nothing else, this letter confirmed that forming a crusade would be far easier than I had anticipated. Once the issue with the Hussites was resolved, a crusade for the reclamation of Greece wouldn’t be far off.

    Just thinking about it made it difficult to suppress the emotions welling up inside me.

    That uncertain, distant future—one day, a crusade would rise against the mighty Ottomans. If this letter had given me even the slightest insight into that possibility, then it had served its purpose.

    And more than that, it had forced me to reconsider the most pressing issue among the many that troubled me.

    “The Pope sent this letter because he foresees an impending succession dispute and wishes to lend his support to me.”

    Before the war had broken out, John had conspired with his younger brother Theodoros to purge or imprison my father and his loyalists, who had been sympathetic to my cause.

    At the time, I had been forced to bow my head due to the more immediate external threats.

    But the conflict between the capital and Morea had never truly ended. Ever since my father’s imprisonment, the rift between us had been beyond repair.

    The capital had succeeded in purging my influence entirely—it was only natural that hostilities persisted.

    Of course, the timeline of events had shifted somewhat, but Morea had once sought to sever ties with the capital by demanding the establishment of an independent archbishopric.

    Never before had a nation housed two archbishops. Since the archbishop’s coronation was a testament to a ruler’s legitimacy, Morea’s demand for an independent archbishopric was a clear declaration of its intent to reject both the Patriarch’s and the Emperor’s authority.

    I had done everything in my power to avoid this confrontation, but in the end, the clash between these two forces had become inevitable.

    In the upcoming [decisive battle], the Ottomans, having eliminated all internal threats, would bear down on the Empire with a united and formidable force. To stand against them, the Empire, too, needed to become one.

    John, who wielded his authority through the legacy and traditions of the thousand-year-old imperial capital, and I, who asserted mine by controlling southern and central Greece—our conflict was inevitable.

    “—Then what must I do?”

    Once the succession crisis erupted in full force, whether I had undergone a coronation would be a crucial factor in establishing my legitimacy as Emperor.

    The Patriarch, who stood with the capital and the Emperor, would never grant me such a ceremony. If I failed to receive a coronation, my rule would be seen as nothing more than rebellion, splitting public opinion in the capital.

    Moreover, Constantinople—the Queen of Cities—was encircled on all sides by the Ottomans. Protected by its formidable triple walls, breaking through with a mere handful of Morean forces was an impossible feat.

    And that wasn’t the only issue. A coronation done by a pope would provoke immense backlash, as hostility toward the Latins had yet to fade completely. The Empire would fracture beyond repair, collapsing helplessly before the nearing Ottoman invasion.

    Yet maintaining the status norm or lowering my head once more was just as unthinkable.

    The transfer of Thessalonica to Venice had been agreed upon through a secret pact with our other brother, Andronikos, but it was too great of a compromise for the rest of the Empire to simply accept.

    For now, people remained silent, relieved that the Ottomans had retreated, but opposition was inevitable. There would be those who questioned whether I even had the authority to surrender Thessalonica in the first place.

    And such legal disputes would be a severe liability for me, a direct threat to my claim to the throne.

    Worse yet, they would seek to strip me of my position altogether—to curb my growing power. If I bowed my head again, I would have no choice but to relinquish all authority and be dragged to the capital. The only fate awaiting me there was imprisonment or death.

    After much deliberation, I finally resolved to convey the Pope’s intentions to the capital.

    “Now then, what will you do?”

    Even without the Patriarch, I could still receive a coronation from the Pope. Just the knowledge of this possibility would put immense pressure on them. If the Prince of Morea were crowned by the Pope, the Empire would be split in two. If they still expected me to bow my head for the Empire’s sake, they would come to regret it.

    Time was running out.

    They could either swear loyalty—or I would take up my sword.

    After centuries of decline, only this choice remained.

  • About a Dating Sim Where Dating Is Impossible Chapter 131

    Europe in the 15th century was engulfed in chaos.

    Even the division within the Western Church had yet to be fully mended, while the power of the Ottomans continued to expand with each passing day.

    At such a time, Pope Martin V had one goal—to end the centuries-old divide between the Eastern and Western Churches. What greater achievement could there be to restore the shattered authority of the pope?

    Yet, with the war against the Hussites ongoing, he lacked the means to act.

    His heart was already set on Greece, where a war against the infidels raged, but it was an impossible dream.

    As the pope looked at the grim news before him, he could only sigh.

    The heretical rebellion in Bohemia continued to spread its influence.

    Worse still, every attempt to suppress it had ended in failure—all because of a single man.

    “Astonishing. To think one man alone could accomplish so much.”

    The pope’s admiration was directed at none other than the one-eyed master tactician, Jan Žižka.

    Leading an army of untrained peasant soldiers, he had repeatedly defeated the Holy Roman Empire—no, the very best knights of the Western world.

    Even a Crusade had been repelled.

    There were no longer any princes willing to take up the banner of another crusade.

    Perhaps if the full might of the pope were invested, the tide could turn, but Pope Martin V’s focus had already shifted elsewhere.

    For Jan Žižka was not the only man to have overturned the odds on the battlefield.

    The pope’s gaze turned to Greece.

    A land ravaged by the Turkish invasions.

    Numerous resistance efforts and Crusades had been launched, only to end in failure, branding the presence of the Turks as an inescapable terror in the minds of Europeans.

    Until now, the pope had prioritized dealing with the Hussites over the seemingly hopeless situation in Greece.

    But the recent turn of events had changed his mind.

    The pope had heard the stories.

    Of a young ruler who, armed with frugality, endurance, asceticism, and fervent faith, had triumphed over the infidels.

    A mere boy, yet one who had flung himself into the jaws of death and defeated the Turks.

    A leader wise enough to force the enemy into retreat.

    And when he heard that this young ruler had wore crimson armor and raised his spear against the Turks, the pope let out an exclamation.

    “No king or prince in Europe possesses faith as strong as his.”

    Despite having both the justification and strength to seize the throne, he had cast it all aside, dedicating himself solely to the struggle against the infidels.

    It was a lesson the countless princes, locked in endless power struggles, would do well to learn from.

    As the pope pondered what name to call this remarkable young man, he uttered the one already known beyond foreign borders—

    “Dragases.”

    From the perspective of uniting the Eastern and Western Churches, Dragases was a figure of utmost importance.

    While the Patriarch of Constantinople and the emperor still wielded influence, their significance was diminishing in comparison to the rising power that had come to dominate central and southern Greece.

    Moreover, Dragases frequently clashed with the capital.

    Even the pope, far across the sea, was well aware of it.

    “I must learn where he stands.”

    If the pope was to plan a Crusade, Dragases could not be overlooked.

    The Christians of Greece harboured deep resentment toward the Turks, yet their repeated defeats had left them disheartened.

    Dragases was not only a leader capable of reigniting their morale but also a man of strategic insight.

    If the pope could properly support Dragases and help him claim the throne, he would likely become an ally in the eventual unification of the Churches.

    If such a union could be achieved, the pope was even willing to personally conduct his coronation in place of the Patriarch.

    How great was the humiliation suffered by the pope under the immense external pressure of the Holy Roman Empire?

    The struggle between pope and imperial authority had ultimately ended with the latter crushing the former.

    Had the emperor merely sought dominance, it might have been tolerable, but he had gone so far as to attempt the complete eradication of popes authority, shaking the entire Church to its core.

    This was precisely why the pope found himself so satisfied with Dragases’ actions.

    A true defender of the Church was not simply one who wielded great secular power.

    Only one who possessed unwavering faith could truly be recognized as the Church’s protector.

    Having reached this conclusion, the pope picked up his pen.

    The contents of his letter were as follows:

    If Dragases so desired, the pope was prepared to hold a coronation at any time, recognizing him as the rightful emperor.

    Not only that, but unlike other emperors, Dragases would be granted the independent right to attend Church councils.

    The Western Church stood in full support of him and eagerly anticipated his visit at any time.

    And finally, the pope requested that Dragases participate in the upcoming Crusade—even if he came alone, without an army.

    After writing these words, the pope let out a weary sigh, having already made his decision in his heart.

    “The forces to crush the Hussites—this will be our last chance.”

    The time had come when a council for negotiating with the Hussites could no longer be avoided.

    If there was ever a moment to suppress the Hussite rebellion once and for all, it was now, while the movement was divided between moderates and radicals.

    But given the repeated failures of past Crusades, the pope feared that participation would be disappointingly low.

    Even Pope Martin V, who had worked tirelessly to restore the authority of the pope, had to acknowledge this harsh reality.

    But above all else, what he truly wished for was for Dragases to prove himself as a rightful protector of the Church.

    And if there was one additional, minor curiosity lingering in his mind—

    “Jan Žižka and Dragases…”

    —he wondered which of the two would prove superior should they ever meet in battle.

  • About a Dating Sim Where Dating Is Impossible Chapter 130

    Prosperity does not come easily.

    Only lasting peace and unwavering trust can serve as its foundation.

    There may be countless other factors, but without these two, the path to prosperity remains heavy and burdened.

    And it was precisely for this reason that the prince had never anticipated what was about to unfold.

    His envisioned battlefield had always been Morea.

    The strategy required extreme patience—using the fortresses built across the mountainous terrain to wage a war of attrition, wearing down the Ottoman Empire’s strength until Murad was ultimately forced into negotiations.

    Fortunately, this strategy had been executed without major deviation, successfully driving back Murad’s forces.

    The price, however, was staggering.

    An enormous number of soldiers had lost their lives. But in return, the blood they shed had secured Morea’s safety.

    It was only natural that such actions had drawn attention to the prince.

    Before the wrathful vengeance of the Ottomans, Bulgaria had been crushed, Serbia was ravaged, and even Wallachia, which had attempted to sow discord, was defeated.

    In the path of war, all that remained was devastation.

    Even those fortunate enough to escape the direct path of battle were not truly safe.

    The Balkans had become so unstable that no one could predict when their lands might turn into a war zone.

    Amidst this dangerous situation, the prince’s campaign stood out.

    He had committed deeds that would forever stain his name. He had reduced the city of Nemeapatre to ashes—an act that would be condemned by future generations.

    In an era where the concept of directly targeting civilians rather than pillaging them was nearly unheard of, his actions invited harsh criticism.

    Yet, beyond Nemeapatre, there had been no sieges, no raids, and not a single act of plunder, except for Athens. This anomaly captured people’s attention.

    It was precisely this reason that prevented them from easily condemning him.

    Thanks to the prince’s meticulous war preparations, the Morean army had managed to secure its supply lines despite overwhelming odds.

    Nowhere outside of Nemeapatre had forced requests taken place, further complicating public opinion about him. The devastation left by war was, in fact, strikingly limited.

    Ironically, despite Central Greece being the primary battleground between the prince and Murad, much of the region had suffered only minor destruction.

    And that was not all.

    Contrary to the widespread expectation that Morea would collapse, the opposite had happened.

    Despite many fears, the Ottoman army had not launched an invasion into Morea.

    Mistra had not fallen. These unexpected results, combined with the prince’s previous actions, led to an unprecedented development.

    “Forty thousand Albanians, you say?”

    “Yes, Your Highness. The refugees are traveling south through Epirus, seeking your protection.”

    “This is… impossible. That many people abandoning their homeland?”

    And not just any land, but Ottoman territory.

    Yet, instead of seeking Ottoman protection, they had chosen to risk the dangerous journey till here?

    The prince could hardly comprehend, let alone believe it.

    To the eyes of the world, his domain was a sinking ship. But such thoughts were his alone. The Venetian envoy, who had come in haste to deliver this startling news, shook his head at the prince’s reaction.

    “Your Highness, you have long been called the empire’s last defender. But now, even that title no longer suffices.”

    “Then what else could they call me?”

    “Look upon the great feats Your Highness has accomplished. With nothing but the remnants of a decaying empire, you have achieved what no one else could.”

    Sensing the moment was right, the Venetian envoy finally spoke the words he had long held in his heart.

    “The Knights of St. John, who have waged war against the infidels for centuries, could not prevail against the Turks. The renowned kings and princes of the world failed as well. Some managed to repel them briefly, only to ultimately kneel in defeat.”

    As he spoke, the envoy cast his gaze downward at the glass before him. The prince followed his eyes and saw the surface of the half-drunk wine trembling with faint ripples.

    “No one has ever achieved this alone.

    Your father, once hailed as the empire’s last hope, fought bravely against the Turks. But in the end, he was undone by the indifference of the capital and the infighting of his own kin. He was forced to kneel before the sultan.”

    The Venetian envoy paused, his voice heavy with implication.

    “And that was not the end. In a final, bitter irony, your father, a man who fought tirelessly to protect what little remained of the empire, was forced to destroy Philadelphia with his own hands—a city that had resisted the Turks until the very end, even as all of Anatolia fell under their rule.”

    “…Are you here to insult my father?”

    “How could I possibly disregard a man who fought so fiercely? To protect a thousand-year-old, crumbling capital, he abandoned those he was meant to defend. At first, I found it nothing but tragic. But now, seeing Your Highness, I realize that his choice was not in vain.”

    At last, he reached for the glass with his fingers. Ting. A mere tap, yet the wine inside rippled far more violently than before. However, the prince could no longer focus on the trembling liquid—because the Venetian envoy’s face was steadily growing flushed.

    “Your Highness, with only a handful of soldiers, you willingly courted death, stood against the Janissaries, and emerged victorious, proving both your martial prowess and that divine will favours you.

    Not only that, but even while facing the sultan’s vast army, you succeeded in drawing us—and Genoa—into your cause.”

    The prince had once been an hidden figure, known only to the Ottomans, who viewed him as a potential threat, and to Venice, which had been in contact with him for some time.

    To everyone else, he had seemed like nothing more than a reckless ruler or a mere puppet.

    But the war had overturned all those perceptions.

    “Even the Senate, bound as it is to national interest, has softened its stance toward you, Your Highness. After all, you have driven back the sultan’s forces, who had long pressured us, and even granted us Thessalonica, fulfilling one of Venice’s long-held aspirations.”

    “And despite such drastic measures?”

    “At times, people listen to stories that stir their hearts more than those that promise mere profit. This is one such time. Anyone who understands the shifting tides of power can see that Your Highness has humbled that arrogant sultan. Do you still not understand why forty thousand Albanians have chosen you over the sultan’s protection?—You have become the undeniable proof that the Turks can be driven out.”

    The storm of words that followed left the prince speechless.

    What was he trying to say?

    He could have simply stated his purpose outright, yet he was so impassioned that he left no room for the prince to speak.

    And then, at last, the Venetian envoy retrieved a sealed letter from within his robes.

    “Please accept this, Your Highness.

    You who will liberate all persecuted Christians of Greece—

    You who are the crimson spear of Christ, destined to break the sword of Islam—”

    What absurd titles were these?

    The prince felt as though he was witnessing the birth of an embarrassing chapter in his own history. Get rid of that nonsense immediately, he muttered in his mind.

    “—His Holiness the Pope has sent you a letter.”

    “What?!”

    —Something entirely unexpected had arrived.


    TL : You guys might not know, but in history most of the Crusades were initiated by the Pope, and people willingly joined them to receive divine blessings and forgiveness for their sins.

  • About a Dating Sim Where Dating Is Impossible Chapter 129

    While the prince pondered the matters of the future, his retainers were also moving busily in various ways.

    Among the news that reached him, the one that pleased him the most concerned none other than Francisco.

    The self-proclaimed cousin who had volunteered to lead the Sipahi on a chase, allowing for the retreat to Corinth.

    Since then, his whereabouts had been unknown, and the prince had assumed he had fallen in battle, unable to overcome the dire situation.

    But the rumors said otherwise.

    It was Demicleos, who had joined after the meeting with Venice, who relayed this news.

    “Your Highness, the Latin knights have been gathering those who were scattered from the army during the last war.”

    “Latin knights…”

    It was Francisco.

    The moment he heard the term “Latin knights,” the prince was certain.

    As he had sworn, this seasoned knight had survived.

    Not only that, but rather than immediately joining up upon hearing of the general pardon declared across central Greece, he had chosen to gather as many nearby forces as possible.

    No doubt, he had carefully considered which choice would benefit the prince the most before making his move.

    The prince, in a rare moment, smiled and nodded.

    “Good. Those who rendered great service in this war should be rewarded as well.”

    He had already been in need of capable administrators to govern the newly acquired territories.

    It would be ideal if the empire—or Morea—could manage all these lands through its own administrative structure.

    But unfortunately, the prince lacked such resources.

    Even the establishment of civic assemblies and new councils in the recaptured cities had already stretched his capacity thin.

    Rather than holding onto more than he could manage, it might be wiser to distribute lands in the form of estates, earning the favor of the Latins.

    Of course, these estates would have to be granted in a way that prevented hereditary succession.

    As he mulled over this idea, his worries about Francisco faded.

    He would return once he had gathered enough forces.

    Unless something extraordinary happened, no news was good news.

    Besides, there were too many other pressing matters to deal with—one of which, as expected, was diplomatic relations with Venice.

    The one who brought this issue to the prince’s attention once again was Demicleos.

    “Your Highness, the Venetians are requesting the right to dock their fleet in Larissa and the right for their resident merchants to settle there.”

    “So they are uneasy after all.”

    They had greedily seized Thessalonica, lured by the tempting prospect of a bloodless entry.

    But now that they had taken it, they could not help but feel anxious.

    Just as the prince had predicted.

    Their request for a trading post in Larissa was likely driven more by political concerns than economic ones.

    However, the prince had no intention of granting their request so easily.

    The empire had suffered too greatly in the last war.

    While the empire was undoubtedly the one in need, too many deep wounds had been inflicted for the Ottomans and Venetians to simply reconcile.

    Venice was not in an especially favourable position either.

    “Demicleos.”

    “Command me, Your Highness.”

    “You will handle the negotiations with Venice. Our demands are simple.”

    The cession of Thessalonica had already settled the score for their strict trade ban and for involving Genoa.

    The empire longed to build a more amicable relationship with Venice, to stand as brothers protecting one another.

    But sadly, the empire had suffered too much damage to afford such generosity.

    The Venetians were shrewd; they would understand soon enough.

    That was the prince’s only wish.

    Yet Demicleos remained unconvinced.

    And understandably so—after all, their counterpart was Venice, a state highly sensetive to its own interests.

    “Will those misers really help us so easily?”

    “Though they hesitate to fight outright for fear of disrupting trade, Venice’s true enemy—holding dominion over the Aegean—is ultimately the Ottomans. The Venetians know that when the right opportunity presents itself, they must fight the Ottomans if they wish to retain their colonies.”

    Ironically, the Ottoman ambition to become the dominant power of the new era was forcing Venice and the empire into the same camp.

    The empire, struggling to escape its fate of destruction.

    Venice, desperate to preserve its maritime supremacy.

    And with even more factions ready to intervene, the fate of the Balkans was anything but certain.

    And in the midst of such chaos lay the chance to alter a predetermined future.

    “I entrust this to you, Demicleos. Time is pressing.”

    The battle had begun. Every passing second was a risky tightrope walk, where even the slightest misstep could trigger their downfall. With annihilation just one mistake away, every action had to be both deliberate and swift.

    Remaining entangled solely in relations with Venice could jeopardize everything.

    “In the meantime, I will decide how to handle the Genoese and the Turks who remain in the occupied territories.”

    “As Your Highness wills.”

    As he watched Demicleos bow his head, the prince turned his attention to the matter of Genoa.

    The agreement with them was simple yet provocative enough to unsettle Venice.

    He had promised them the right to station merchants in Glarentza and even to dock their fleet there. This move served two key purposes.

    The first was a contingency plan in case cooperation with Venice fell through. If Venice chose to be uncooperative, the sea—Ottomans’ greatest weakness—could turn into a dire threat for the prince. Genoa was the countermeasure. And should the day come when a decisive clash with Venice was inevitable, the Genoese would be indispensable. Dominating trade in the Black Sea, their fleets had to pass through the Aegean to reach the Mediterranean, putting them on a collision course with Venice regardless.

    The second, though less desirable, was to project the prince’s influence into Genoa itself. At present, Genoa’s colonial holdings were concentrated in Crimea, the Black Sea coast, and parts of Anatolia.

    In other words, the empire’s leverage over them was shallow at best. So far, Genoa had always had the option of abandoning the empire if the terms were no longer favourable. But granting them a base in Glarentza would serve as a restraint.

    Furthermore, Glarentza lay at the entrance to the Gulf of Patras, making it possible to blockade and crush the Genoese fleet in coordination with Venice, should the need arise.

    “As for the Anatolian coast, Murad will handle the negotiations, so that’s settled.”

    Now, four major powers were entangled in this struggle— the Empire, the Ottomans, Venice, and Genoa. The more complex the web of conflicting interests, the less likely war would break out in the short term.

    Buying even a little time would be enough. The prince pressed his lips together, turning his thoughts to another pressing issue: the matter of the Turks.

    “…Now I stand at a crossroads.”

    In this era, nations were not only defined by culture but also by religion. The Turks and the Greeks were prime examples.

    Whether intentional or not, the two peoples had intermingled significantly over time.

    Despite the massacres and plundering that had occurred along the way, the reality was that the Turks of today were at least distant kin.

    Some customs had blended as well. But now, one thing alone divided them—

    Were they Christians, or were they Muslims?

    The prince’s contemplation deepened.

    In the path of the empire’s collapse, what was needed most was religious fervor.

    Yet, relying solely on religious devotion risked turning into blind fanaticism, leading to instability. Cruelty could not be allowed to take root. The prince slowly closed his eyes.

    And after a moment, he opened them again.

    “They must be asked to convert.”

    Of course, it would not be a brutal purge like the ruthless inquisitions against Jews and Muslims in Iberia.

    The prince had witnessed a more effective precedent firsthand.

    There were two things no human could escape—death and taxes. When a comparatively soft approach existed, why resort to the sword?

    (TL : 3 things actually and the third is me. XD)

    Regardless of whether they converted or not, they would still be recognized as citizens of the empire.

    However, all non-Christian subjects would be required to pay a religious tax, based on fair standards.

    At the same time, he planned to introduce a system of tax rebates for those who cooperated with the empire.

    For this, a strong financial foundation was essential. But with Morea’s current treasury, such plans were far beyond reach. For now, all he could do was resolve to make it happen someday. The prince slowly shook his head.

    There was simply too much to do.

    Expanding into Albania, consolidating control over the occupied territories, managing diplomatic ties—these were just the beginning.

    As the empire reclaimed more land, the religious conflicts and questions of tolerance would only intensify. He had to prepare for them in advance.

    And while the prince was lost in thought, an unexpected event was about to unfold—one he had never anticipated.

  • About a Dating Sim Where Dating Is Impossible Chapter 12

    War demands immense focus and vigilance.

    From the moment it begins until long after it ends, only relentless attention can ensure that one has truly overcome it. The war against the Ottomans was no exception.

    On the third day since entering Thebes, after barely finding time to recover, he had spent an entire day contemplating what needed to be done first. After much deliberation, he reached a conclusion: the scattered soldiers must be gathered.

    It would have been ideal to discuss the matter with a trusted advisor, but both Justinian and Ivania were currently leading their respective forces.

    In the end, he had no choice but to decide alone.

    And his decision was one of acceptance.

    “I declare a general pardon for those who deserted during the last war. If blame is to be placed, it is my own for failing to inspire faith in them. I will not hold them accountable. Return to your homes.”

    It was better for the soldiers to return rather than turn into bandits while wandering aimlessly. Of course, he had no intention of letting discipline deteriorate so easily. Order required both rewards and punishments, and now was the time to use rewards.

    The pardon served not only to maintain order but also to stabilize the shaken public sentiment. Though they had barely achieved victory, the losses had been immense.

    To make up for those losses, they needed every capable hand. Punishing all deserters for the sake of military discipline would have meant sacrificing too many. Furthermore, since this had been a intentional strategy, it was unreasonable to single out the deserters alone for blame.

    His decree soon became an official proclamation, spreading from Thebes across central Greece. It was uncertain when those hiding in remote areas would hear of it, but a significant number of soldiers would surely return.

    Next, his focus turned to Thomas, who would soon be joining the Sultan’s forces.

    He had not seen Thomas for some time due to the ongoing transportation of relief supplies from Thebes, but as soon as the summons reached him, Thomas arrived with his usual bright expression.

    “I heard you called for me, brother.”

    “Yes… The Sultan will likely summon you soon.”

    “I wish he would grant me more time… But I suppose that’s impossible?”

    Thomas’s weary gaze left him with no choice but to nod in silence.

    Anatolia had always been a nightmare to defend. If the enemy’s army was composed mainly of cavalry, the battles would be even more grueling. Just thinking about the struggles ahead, particularly in the Iconium region, was exhausting.

    Murad would undoubtedly want to pacify the region as swiftly and decisively as possible, with a fully prepared force at his command.

    “Do not recklessly pursue merit in battle. Instead, observe how the Sultan commands his army. Learn how sharp the blade in his hands truly is. Because one day, that blade will inevitably be turned against us.”

    “I will keep that in mind, brother. You already have your hands full as Prince of Morea, but I hope you can also manage your duties as regent of Epirus.”

    “…It won’t be too much of a burden.”

    “Then I shall take my leave to prepare. Please take care of yourself.”

    With a quiet smile, Thomas withdrew.

    It was painful to see such heavy burdens placed upon one so young.

    But Thomas understood what it meant to be of imperial blood.

    He also understood what the Ottomans feared most.

    The Ottomans never forgot those who had once defeated them. No matter what, they would devise a plan to bring about his downfall. Given time, the capital itself might have moved to remove him from power.

    But if Epirus was brought under his influence, the situation would change.

    With control extending from southern Greece to central Greece, would the capital dare to cast him aside so easily?

    At last, the landscape was shifting according to his original intent.

    The empire had fallen into ruin largely due to its failing administration and political instability. These two factors could not be treated separately.

    To consolidate his strength, he needed to lessen the Ottoman pressure.

    And to achieve that, he had to draw another foreign power into the geopolitical struggle, forcing the Ottomans to divide their attention.

    Left alone in his chamber, he gazed down at the map spread across the table, lost in thought.

    By relinquishing Thessalonica to Venice, a potential point of conflict had been established between the Ottomans and the Venetians.

    But that alone was not enough.

    There was no guarantee that Venice would be fully committed to the upcoming [decisive battle].

    For that battle, countless forces would be needed—not only the support of the Western Christian powers to lead a Crusade but also smaller factions capable of striking at the Ottomans’ rear.

    The negotiations to enlist Genoese mercenaries had been a step toward that goal. These Genoese mercenaries would not serve under Thomas but would instead fight as Ottoman supports. Their true objective was to monopolize or at least secure a foothold in trade along the Anatolian coast. While relinquishing entire cities might be excessive, they would surely later insist on establishing agreements.

    For the Ottomans, who sought to build their own fleet and secure naval dominance, this would be a bitter expense. But if they refused, they would only be adding another troublesome enemy to their list.

    There was only one possible conclusion.

    “Murad will have no choice but to give in again.”

    The Sultan’s pride was formidable.

    He had felt that acutely during their private meeting.

    At the same time, Murad was neither one to easily forget grudges nor one to lack patience. If he could not act immediately, he would prepare relentlessly until the moment he could strike with precision.

    No doubt he would do everything in his power to reclaim Thessalonica and regain control over the Anatolian coast. He might even attempt to exploit the infamous discord between Genoa and Venice to win them over.

    That was why the Crusade had to be considered—not just as an alliance but as a counterweight to any potential Ottoman-Genoese pact.

    When considering which nations could form the Crusade, three came to mind: Wallachia, Serbia, and Hungary.

    Wallachia was one of the few states bordering the Ottomans that had managed to maintain its sovereignty. Founded to resist Ottoman expansion, it had even contributed forces during Mustafa’s rebellion. With the Danube as a natural boundary, it could always threaten Ottoman-controlled Bulgaria. Its participation would be a great aid to the Crusade.

    Serbia was in a similar position. It had been a long-time adversary of the Ottomans, suffering devastating defeats before becoming a Hungarian colony. Unless fully subdued by military force, Serbia would never lay down its arms. Moreover, there was a marriage tie between them. While Serbia had not yet joined in battle against the Ottomans, necessity might bring them together.

    But the most crucial nation was Hungary.

    Historically regarded as the protector of Christendom, Hungary had stood at the forefront of the struggle against the Ottomans. More than any other Western Christian power, it understood the gravity of the Ottoman threat.

    Although Hungary was currently weakened by the Hussite Wars, its potential remained immense.

    The key question was: how could they be persuaded to join the Crusade?

    I categorized the motivations for their involvement into two major factors: strategic reasons and ideological reasons.

    Without both, the Crusade would not take shape.

    Staring at the map, I traced two possible routes in my mind.

    Then, I spoke aloud the most critical objective that needed to be secured early on.

    “A land route for the Crusaders to join the fight.”

    A gathering point was needed where the Crusaders could unite without suffering heavy losses from Ottoman attacks.

    There were two main options: advancing south through Bulgaria or marching east through Macedonia. Each had its pros and cons.

    Bulgaria offered vast territory, allowing for greater maneuverability. But that advantage applied to the enemy as well.

    Macedonia, on the other hand, was mountainous, making it difficult for the Crusaders’ knights to operate effectively. However, if the borders were well-guarded, the risk of the Ottomans launching a preemptive strike would be lower.

    I found myself leaning toward the latter.

    Not just because of the terrain.

    While mapping out the eastward march through Macedonia, I had identified the most suitable location for the Crusaders to rally—one that offered both defensive advantages and a harbour for easy resupply.

    “Albania will be the next stronghold.”

    Albania would serve as the staging ground for the [decisive battle].

    As I resolved myself to that course, I couldn’t help but anticipate an unexpected encounter.

    Though I had been unable to meet Jan Žižka, the one-eyed warlord, due to circumstances beyond my control, he was another commander—one who had fought the mighty Ottomans for decades.

    Preparations would begin to reclaim this land, where the Ottoman banner still flew.

  • About a Dating Sim Where Dating Is Impossible Chapter 127

    TL Notice : As you know, the previous name of the city Constantine burned was Nemeapatre. This confused me since no cities named Nemeapatre exist so I thought author named it himself but now that city is called Thebes which makes sense since Thebes was also a major city in ancient Greece.


    The pacification of central Greece, led directly by the prince, concluded with ease.

    The difference between the prince, who had meticulously devised his strategy while considering every possible scenario, and those who had been swept up in their own fleeting rebellion was immense.

    The resistance forces fell into the prince’s trap exactly as he had intended, and, unprepared for what awaited them, they were effortlessly swept away.

    The casualties on the prince’s side were virtually non-existent. With precise planning, he had wiped out the mere twelve hundred soldiers who had dared to resist.

    Only then did the people finally turn their eyes to him.

    Centuries of decline. Plagues and calamities so cruel they made it seem as though even the gods had abandoned them.

    A brutal civil war, born of insatiable greed for a throne that ruled over little more than a handful of dirt.

    The people had come to accept the inescapable fate they had long feared—that the cold and inevitable end, promised to all golden ages, had finally arrived.

    And who could blame them? The despair had lasted for so long.

    So even when the prince began to distinguish himself, the people paid little attention. Outside of Morea, which clung to him with absolute devotion, none could bring themselves to trust him.

    Was he not the very man who had set an entire city ablaze in order to drive out the Ottomans? His name was inseparable from that unshakable scandal. To many, he was not a saviour but an object of hatred.

    —And yet, he was their last hope, in both name and reality.

    Had he been nothing more than a brute, he would have burned the city and been done with it. Had he been a man who relied only on willpower, he would have died long ago.

    But the prince was a man willing to walk to the very edge of death itself. If he was certain that his homeland could be saved, he would not hesitate to throw himself into the fire.

    He was the final light, the one who knocked upon doors everyone believed would never open—until they finally did.

    And that light was drawing near.

    After annihilating the last of the resistance forces, the moment he received Justinian’s report of victory, the prince marched straight into Thebes.

    The Morean soldiers followed in his path, their armor in tatters after countless brutal battles. Yet not a single one of them showed signs of exhaustion.

    They had witnessed the Miracle of the Virgin with their own eyes—had seen the Ottomans crumble before them. And they all remembered whose prayers had been answered. Their bodies were weary, but their spirit remained unbroken.

    No one dared to look down upon such an army.

    For a long while, an awkward silence stretched across the streets. The only sound was the metallic clatter of weapons shifting with each step.

    Even if Thebes refused to welcome them, so be it.

    Had this city not once chosen the Sultan over the prince? And had it not paid the price by becoming his army’s first target? No one expected a warm welcome.

    But something had already begun to change in Thebes.

    As the prince, clad in his crimson armor, stepped into the plaza, a sudden voice rang out—

    “Constantinos Dragases Palaiologos, son of the Emperor and Prince of Morea, has arrived!”

    In that instant, the people’s gaze, filled with a mix of love and resentment, tilted in one direction.

    Would they continue to hate the man who had once burned their city to the ground?

    Or would they accept him as the hero with the power to liberate Greece?

    They chose the latter.

    The uncertain air that had gripped Thebes shifted in an instant.

    “The Liberator!”

    “Prince Dragases has triumphed!”

    The Morean army, once dismissed as mere invaders and conquerors, was now hailed as saviours. Even the soldiers, marching with confidence, were caught off guard.

    This was not the reaction they had expected.

    Their tension eased, if only slightly.

    Even the prince was no different.

    He halted his march and, in silence, looked across the city.

    The crowd erupted in cheers, raising their hands high into the sky.

    The soldiers, caught off guard by this sudden outpouring of welcome, stood in uneasy confusion.

    Beyond the lively crowd, collapsed walls and burned buildings still bore the scars of war. Yet, unlike before, the prince did not sigh in sorrow. He did not let out a breath heavy with sorrow.

    Instead, he fought to suppress the surge of emotion welling up in his chest.

    Of course he did.

    Because in this very moment, what flashed through his mind were the faces of the fallen.

    Among them were the soldiers who had followed him, those who had once resented him for arriving too late, and those who, after long hesitation, had ultimately raised their swords against him.

    As he cut them down, he had made a vow—to fight for the sovereignty and freedom of those who stood by him.

    And in doing so, he had steeled himself.

    —He would become a hope so radiant that none could deny it.

    But the cruel reality remained unchanged.

    The empire lay in ruins, reduced to nothing but ash. The very idea of searching for something worth saving seemed laughable.

    Yet the prince had already reclaimed the most important thing of all.

    Something the empire had long lost.

    Something that must be restored.

    “…Once more.”

    —Once more, he would make them believe.

    Believe that this nation was not beyond salvation.

    Believe that they could still find shelter under its protection.

    Believe, without doubt, that the hour of their downfall had not yet come.

    With his own hands, he would prove that not everything had been reduced to ash.

    Resolute in his conviction, the prince lowered his gaze to his own hand, still gripping the reins.

    Perhaps the weight of that unshakable resolve was simply too much to bear.

    His hand was trembling ever so slightly.

  • About a Dating Sim Where Dating Is Impossible Chapter 126

    After confirming the Ottoman army’s retreat, the prince, along with Thomas, led his forces to reclaim central Greece.

    There was no resistance anywhere. The Ottomans’ sudden withdrawal signaled to the cities of central Greece that something unusual had occurred, and the prince’s army, despite its fatigue, still carried the momentum of victory.

    Moreover, was he not the very man who had burned an entire city to the ground in his fight against the Ottomans? But if he had been nothing more than ruthless, the cities would have gritted their teeth and fought back.

    It was already too late for that.

    The prince’s military achievements had spread throughout Greece.

    Against the formidable Ottomans, he had somehow prevailed—an almost unbelievable feat.

    Now, the cities faced a choice.

    Had the prince truly achieved this, or was it mere coincidence?

    Most cities chose to wait and observe. A smaller number submitted to the prince. Only a handful resolved to resist him.

    That was their mistake.

    The prince was determined to secure central Greece swiftly. Any resistance that openly declared itself merely presented an opportunity to be swiftly eradicated. He would not waste this chance. The thought of losing precious time by besieging each city one by one was unbearable. Instead, the prince chose a method that required no direct military engagement—diplomatic encirclement.

    “Cities hostile to us will inevitably band together. If they unite, their forces will likely exceed a thousand. But those who have merely watched without preparing for war will not have stockpiled enough supplies to sustain such an army for long. Eventually, they will either strain their finances, resort to forced requisitions, or turn to plundering other cities.”

    Morea had been stockpiling supplies ever since Murad’s ascension, anticipating a prolonged conflict.

    Though many soldiers had been lost, the forces of Genoese mercenaries and the Epirus army had bolstered the ranks to nearly five thousand—an encouraging number.

    The prince decided to use this to his advantage.

    “That is why we will make an example of the undecided cities. Ivania, Justinian—I want each of you to take two thousand troops and protect the cities aligned with us.”

    “As Your Highness commands, I will do as much as needed.”

    Since proving herself in battle, Ivania had returned to her usual composed demeanor. There had been a time when she was reserved and expressionless, but the prince now felt a strange sense of relief as he turned his gaze away.

    “And Thomas, you and I will oversee the dispatch of relief supplies to refugees near Thebes.”

    “You intend to test them, don’t you?”

    Sharp as ever, Thomas quickly grasped the prince’s intentions. The cities that had declared neutrality had done little more than watch the situation unfold. Sending supplies to such places would provoke different reactions.

    The greedy would attempt to seize them.

    The more discerning would see it as a bid for allegiance.

    The paranoid would suspect the neutral cities of secretly siding with the prince.

    “The first shipment will be genuine relief supplies. After that, our response will depend on how the enemy reacts. If they attack the cities, all the better. If they do not, we will send aid elsewhere. If necessary, we could even dispatch a small number of troops to assist in defense—but only as a secondary measure.”

    The most difficult case would be dealing with those who tried to interpret the aid as a political maneuver.

    But the prince had already devised a countermeasure. That was precisely why he intended to distribute supplies to multiple cities.

    He had anticipated how the enemy would respond.

    “The key moment will be after each of the cities near enemy territory receives their aid. Justinian, you will lead your forces toward one of the neutral cities, but ensure that your numbers do not exceed theirs. Engage them in a way that lures them out beyond their walls, but do not fight them—simply draw them out and slowly advance toward the enemy forces. Ivania, you will take a northern route and strike directly at the enemy’s heart.”

    “Why take such a risk…?”

    “To sow doubt.”

    The cities that had declared neutrality would send out small forces to confront the Morean army but would not engage in actual battle. Even the most unquestioning would inevitably begin to harbor doubts.

    “We will continue advancing without fighting either the enemy or the so-called neutral cities, allowing doubt to take root. That is the role you must play, Justinian. The enemy will have no choice but to remain wary of you. And when they finally turn their attention away, Ivania will strike at their heart. At that moment, the enemy will be forced to question the true intentions of the neutral forces.”

    Had they been swayed by the prince, or had they truly mustered their forces to resist Morea? No one would be certain. What was clear was that the enemy would no longer trust the neutral forces so easily. They would have two choices—either send envoys to establish contact or strike first. If things ended there, the plan might fall apart.

    “The crucial moment will come when the enemy and the neutral forces are locked in a standoff. Justinian, that will be the time for you, as a brother in faith, to act once more. But even then, you do not need to fight. Simply leading your forces closer to the enemy will be enough to disrupt any potential negotiations.”

    Once the enemy failed to confirm the true allegiance of the neutral forces, they would be overwhelmed by the nearing threat. To escape, they would focus on pushing away the neutral forces standing in their way.

    At that point, they would have only two choices—engage in battle or flee.

    “With a single strike, resistance will be crushed. If they choose to fight, we will attack them from behind. If they flee, we will pursue them relentlessly and tear them apart. Either way, they will not have the luxury of falling back into a siege.”

    Beyond that, a mountain of tasks awaited.

    There would be no compromises.

    This time, the empire would reject all those who had denied its authority.

    The long-overdue rebuilding of the people’s assembly, the establishment of a judicial system, the formation of a new army, and the forging of alliances—this was only the first step in solving those countless problems.

    But too much had already been lost.

    Some might say it was too late—that simply fastening the first button would never be enough to gather all the spilled beads.

    But standing still meant not even being able to reach for them.

    Merely watching in despair would accomplish nothing—only time would pass.

    They had to pick up each bead, one by one.

    It would take a long time.

    And some might slip away again.

    But in the end, they would be gathered.

    So long as they kept reaching out and grasping.

    The prince did not turn away from the reality before him.

    The empire had become a ruin.

    The long war had taken more than just peace and stability—it had stolen lives and hope itself.

    Even the remnants of past glory had crumbled into dust.

    There was no time to cling to old glory.

    The brilliance once carried by the name “Rome” had long since faded.

    The empire could no longer afford to stake its survival on bygone traditions and ideals.

    Instead, it had to endure the harsh reality before it and seize the future.

    Amidst the ashes of everything that had burned away—

    To retrieve something from the ruins, one must first plunge their hands into the ashes.