1444, Byzantium Resurrects

Whoosh—

Under the bright moonlight, a figure moved through the dense forest.

He wore a linen shirt and pants, boots made of animal skins, and a tattered leather armor over his upper body.

A curved dagger hung at his waist, and a homemade bow was slung across his back.

From his features, he appeared to be a young man of great resolve, with bright eyes and agile movements. He moved through the dense forest like a wild beast, running and leaping, casting a fragmented shadow in the moonlight.

He looked like a knight from a novel.

Suddenly, he raised his hands, sensing the cold glint of crossbow bolts in the darkness.

"The signal?"

A middle-aged man holding a crossbow slowly emerged from the darkness.

"Odysseus."

"Follow me."

The middle-aged man breathed a sigh of relief.

The two darted back and forth through the forest, avoiding the traps set up for defense, turning countless corners, when suddenly a light appeared ahead.

Pushing aside the bushes, they found themselves in a clearing.

It was a camp set up in the middle of the dense forest.

The young man looked around. There were trenches, arrow towers, palisades, and fire oil. There were also many horses in the paddock nearby.

The commander of this small team was a very capable person.

It was late at night. Most of the soldiers were resting in their tents, with a few guards on patrol. The arrow towers in the distance were also lit up.

The middle-aged man led him into the largest tent.

Inside, a man clad in iron armor was sharpening his long sword, which had a dark red hue, clearly having been drenched in blood.

"Sergeant Mehmed, this young man has answered the password correctly."

Mehmet put down his sword, nodded, and motioned for the middle-aged man to step back.

The middle-aged man bowed and left.

The young man stepped forward, pulled a letter from his trouser leg, and approached to present it.

"Captain Mehmet, this is an order from the commander of the Ibrahim Legion."

Mehmet took the letter, opened it, glanced at it, and suddenly laughed.

After laughing, he pulled a bottle of wine from under the bed and poured some for himself and the young man.

"My son is the same age as you."

Looking at the young man taking small sips of strong wine, a hint of longing appeared on Mehmet's wrinkled face.

The young man did not respond, but continued drinking his wine.

"The last time I received a letter from him, he said he seemed to be in a place called Mistris. Have you been there?"

The young man thought for a moment before understanding what Mehmet meant.

"You mean Mistras, the capital of the Grand Duchy of Morea. I hear it's a nice place."

"That's what my son said. He's studying Greek and astronomy there."

Mehmet was clearly very excited when he mentioned his son.

The young man looked at Mehmet's smiling face in the firelight and suddenly felt a little confused.

"You look like you're from the Caucasus. How did you end up here?"

Mehmet laughed heartily.

"I was a slave to an Ottoman bey from childhood. When I grew up, I married another slave and had a son,"

"I used to help the bey raise horses, but somehow I offended his brother, and our entire family was sold to Genoese slave traders."

"I rowed boats, fought in battles, mined in mines, and wasted my life being bought and sold by slave traders."

"During that time, my wife died. She was beaten to death by an Ottoman noblewoman because she accidentally fell asleep while cooking."

A flash of sadness crossed Mehmet's eyes.

"My last master was a large landowner, and I was his bodyguard. My son raised horses for him."

"My youngest son rode on horseback, clumsily waving his whip. One slight mistake, and he lost the horse, and was greeted with a beating."

"At that moment, I thought sadly that perhaps my beloved son would repeat my fate."

The man clutched his wine cup and drank it in one gulp.

"I prayed to heaven that someone would save us."

"Unexpectedly, the next day, the army of the despotic prince came and killed my master, and we were sold at the market again."

"We lived there for a long time until a young man dressed in purple appeared before us with a meticulous attendant."

"We were taken to a castle, where there were dozens of other slaves who had suffered the same fate as me. There, we ate our first full meal, took our first bath, and were given brand-new clothes."

"I remember the joy in my son's eyes. It was the first time he had smiled since his mother was killed."

"The attendant told us that we had to go far away to do something, and in return, our families would stay here and enjoy a good life."

"Some people sneered, while others hesitated."

"I didn't even think twice before agreeing."

"The rest, I'm sure you already know."

Mehmet poured out the last drop of wine and stared blankly at the empty bottle.

"So, I don't know where I'm from, I don't know what god I believe in, no one ever told me."

After saying that, Mehmet seemed to think of something else and clumsily drew a cross on his chest.

"Oh, my son is now a Christian, so I should be too."

"Then where did you learn all this military knowledge and how to read letters?"

"The commander of the Ibrahim Legion taught me some, and I figured out some on my own. I've been fighting for a year, so I can't have learned nothing!"

Mehmet pulled out the letter and threw it in front of the young man.

Before the young man could finish reading it, Mehmet began to speak on his own.

"The Ottoman army has assembled, and the commander has ordered us to retreat to the rear, south of the Great Wall of Corinth."

The young man shrugged.

"Congratulations, you'll get to see your son."

Mehmet smiled again. "The legion commander said that when His Highness returns, he will hold a baptism for us, and we will finally be free men."

"By the way, young man, what is your name, and why did you join the legion?"

The young man smiled.

"My name is Hakan. I'm a thief. I stole something I shouldn't have and had nowhere to go. Legion Commander Ibrahim saw that I was skilled, so I joined up."

Mehmet nodded.

...

The next day, Centurion Mehmet assembled his troops and joined up with Ibrahim's legion.

The entire legion was divided into six companies of 100 men, with Ibrahim leading three and the remaining three led by the other three centurions.

Of course, the ranks were not full.

After counting the number of men, Ibrahim's legion numbered 513 and set off for the coast.

Some of them missed their families, some were full of hope, and some were just going with the flow.

They would be transported in batches by the Northumbrian ship waiting at the coast to the port in the Corinth region. Local officials had already verified the documents left by Isaac and would provide them with weapons and food.

Ibrahim and several centurions stood side by side, watching the sailors load supplies and horses onto the ship.

The ship was not very spacious, and with so many supplies, it would take several trips.

I heard that Athens is also relocating its people south. I wonder if my wife and daughter have arrived in Mystras? When we return, His Highness Isaac should preside over our baptism, right?

Ibrahim looked at the busy crowd and couldn't help but laugh.

...

At the same time, on the vast Atlantic Ocean.

Captain Henry was writing his log again.

He no longer had the scholarly air he once had. His beard was unkempt, his captain's uniform was worn and tattered, and the charcoal pencil in his hand was much shorter, sliding across the parchment with a scratching sound.

"We've repaired the ship and are officially setting sail to find our way home."

"I had the navigator record the sea charts of this magical archipelago. Perhaps future generations will name one of them after me..."

"Our luck has been terrible. We encountered another storm, but fortunately, nothing serious happened this time. I wonder where we are drifting now."

"We still have enough food, but our fresh water is almost gone. We have done everything we can. All we can do now is pray to God."

"God! Almighty God, please save your followers! Save the people of Rome!"

Just as he was writing, there was a commotion on the deck.

Henry frowned and stood up.

Bang!

The door to the captain's cabin was suddenly kicked open.

Several sailors in ragged clothes appeared in front of Henry.

Henry saw tears streaming from the eyes of these rough men who were usually ready to fight even when they had been cut with a knife.

"Captain, look!"

Captain Henry rushed out of the cabin and climbed up to the lookout.

On a small island in the distance, a purple double-headed eagle was fluttering in the wind.

...

When Governor Lothair on La Palma received the report, he couldn't believe his ears.

"Wait, repeat that. What exactly happened?"

"Your Excellency, a French fisherman found a sailboat flying a double-headed eagle flag on the beach. The sailors claim to be crew members of the Saint Nicholas!"

Without waiting for further details, Lothair hurried toward the beach.

When he arrived with his men, a large crowd had already gathered on the beach.

The French refugees were chattering away in a language Lothair could not understand.

He pushed his way through the crowd and found the local priest.

"Father, is it the Saint Nicholas that has returned?"

The priest nodded and pointed to the center of the crowd.

Lothair looked over and saw a group of sailors in ragged clothes sitting on the ground, crying loudly.

The leader of the group struggled to his feet and looked at Lothar, saluting him in a naval manner.

He recognized Lothair's governor's insignia.

"The warship Saint Nicholas has successfully completed its expedition, Captain Henry reporting for duty!"

Lothair hurriedly supported the swaying Henry and took off his governor's robe to cover him.

"Quickly bring water and food for our heroes and clear all the accommodations!"

Lothair shouted at his attendants.

It was evening, and Captain Henry walked forward surrounded by the crowd, taking sips of water from his attendants and accepting bread that was handed to him.

The wind began to blow on the island, and the sea breeze blew through the crowd, gently caressing Henry's dry cheeks.

For some reason, he thought of his distant homeland, beautiful Crete.

He remembered how he used to lie on the beach as a child, blowing in the sea breeze and listening to the elders tell stories of the past.

"Before we were colonized by the Latins, Crete was the most dazzling jewel of the empire!"

"With a single summons from the emperor, the young men of Crete would board ships, take up their bows and crossbows, and under the purple double-headed eagle flag, punish enemies far and wide, spreading our fame throughout the world!"

"Our fire ships defeated countless powerful enemies. The Turks were defeated by us, the Goths bowed to us, and even the powerful Venice of today is nothing more than a province of the emperor!"

At such times, Henry would childishly wave the wooden stick in his hand, imagining it as a curved sword striking at the enemy.

Young and ignorant, he couldn't understand why the old man's voice would always choke up and his eyes would fill with tears when he got to this part.

As a teenager, he didn't know what ideals were, but when he grew up, his ideals became a distant and increasingly elusive dream.

And now—

Captain Henry finally relaxed his long-tensed nerves and suddenly collapsed into Lothar's arms, as if he had exhausted all his strength.

Before losing consciousness, he saw the eagle flag flying above the governor's mansion once again, with the two eyes of the double-headed eagle staring at him, changing expression in the evening breeze.

It seemed to be smiling.

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