1444, Byzantium Resurrects

Isaac returned to his bedchamber and rang the bell. The chamberlain, Anderson, entered.

"Have Norwich and the others departed?"

"Yes, Your Highness. Albert, the head of intelligence, has taken over our informant network in North Africa and is following the Monferrato trade fleet to Rome. They will continue with their usual trade activities and then take the opportunity to patrol the Gulf of Syrte."

Isaac nodded.

"Tell Fidel to stop raiding the Ottoman coast and focus on the eastern Mediterranean instead."

"Tell him not to worry, we will find him a naval base."

"Yes, sir."

Anderson took note.

"By the way, have the bounties and rations for the various armies been distributed?"

"Everything is fine. The new finance minister, Riddle, is very professional."

"How is the recruitment and replenishment going?"

"The Black Corps is the fastest. They have already replenished their ranks and now have 1,000 men, all mercenaries who want money and don't care about their lives, but the quality is..."

"Continue."

"The Occitan Corps is slow to replenish its ranks and now has only 550 men."

"The Purple Guard Legion Commander Ibrahim has purchased some Turkic and Tartar slaves to use as new recruits. They are almost at full strength, with over 900 men currently."

"The Imperial Guard is temporarily behind schedule due to the need to form a second legion. There are plenty of Orthodox Christians willing to enlist, but the main problem is finding qualified officers."

Isaac couldn't do anything about this either.

To become an intermediate or senior officer, one must not only have combat experience and martial arts skills, but also be able to read and write, which discouraged many commoners from joining.

At this time, knowledge was often the privilege of nobility.

However, the current aristocratic system in the Eastern Roman Empire was in complete disarray. The only remaining noble family was the Palaiologos family, which was full of spoiled brats who spent their days fighting for power and profit.

This was why Isaac wanted to resolve the issue of the Royal Knight Academy as soon as possible.

Take your time. Difficulties are always to be expected.

Isaac spent the entire month of June in Mistras, sometimes accompanying his father to listen to matters concerning the domain, and sometimes visiting the Royal Knight Academy to check on the enrolment situation.

With Latin merchants occupying important ports, the development of the Morea Peninsula had basically reached its limit.

As refugees moved south, there was gradually not enough land to distribute.

Every day, local residents came to court to sue, complaining that refugees from Attica had seized their fields or that Albanian immigrants were grazing sheep near their estates.

Constantine was busy enough as it was, unable to offend either side, so he could only assign judges to mediate between them.

Isaac's new Minister of the Interior, Isult, began to gradually take over Isaac's miscellaneous affairs, and some unimportant decisions could be left to him to assist in making.

Although this Minister of the Interior was a figurehead, he still joined the team's operations with great enthusiasm.

"Your Highness, June is coming to an end, and our recruitment is almost complete. A total of 839 people took the exam, and 57 met the standards and were accepted."

"We now have 103 trainees, who will undergo a year of basic training, followed by training in their respective branches."

"Is the acceptance rate so low?"

"Your Highness, the physical fitness of the commoners is not up to par, and most of them were eliminated in the first round."

"Have you completed the tasks I assigned you?"

Isaac had previously instructed Andronica to visit the Imperial Forest every few days to deliver some gifts and try to persuade him.

"That old man is still unyielding."

Andronica was furious.

"Are the preparations for the orphan relief and the competition ready?"

"Yes, the orphanage for military dependents has already taken in more than 300 orphans between the ages of 5 and 9. They will receive cultural education and military theory training."

"The competition is just a few days away. I have already persuaded Prince Constantine to attend."

"Well done. I'll be there too."

...

Mistras, the Great Arena.

This largest city in Morea had a beautiful name in ancient Greece: Sparta.

This great arena is said to be the Spartan gladiatorial arena that has been passed down from ancient Greece.

From 1204 to the present day, this arena, which once recorded the glory of the Spartans, has not hosted a grand competition for a long time.

The people of the Morea Peninsula usually enjoy watching public debates between priests from various sects, and are unfamiliar with martial arts competitions.

However, this time, it was rumored that Prince Constantine and Prince Isaac would be watching the warriors compete in person, and that Andronica, the vice-president of the Royal Knight Academy, would offer the top ten competitors a place at the academy.

These rumors immediately aroused the curiosity of the citizens of Mistras.

Everyone called their friends and family and headed to the large arena to watch the competition.

The previous week's matches were just warm-ups, with the most skilled soldiers from General Isaac's army brought in as the first batch of gladiators.

Once everyone's competitive spirit was aroused, registration was opened to the general public.

Similar competitions could greatly stimulate the people's desire for bravery and combat, while also improving their sense of happiness.

Bang—bang—bang In his father's blacksmith shop, Garwin swung his hammer, striking the already-formed axe blade.

The furnace was burning fiercely, casting a red glow on his sweat-soaked face.

Wiping away the sweat, Garwin put down the large hammer and picked up a smaller one to continue shaping the axe.

His father couldn't afford a water-powered forge, nor did he want one.

He repeated the process of hammering until the axe was completely finished.

"Garwin! Over here!"

Looking towards the window, he saw Bitri's small face peeking in.

"Are you going to watch the afternoon martial arts competition? I heard that a Turkic barbarian is participating. He's very skilled, and no one can beat him."

Garwin shook his head. His father would never let him go.

"Your father is too strict. You have to live for yourself once in your life, don't you?"

Garwin shook his head again, his mind focused on swinging the hammer.

Clang!

He hit it too hard, and the axe broke.

"This is what we'll do. I'll ask my wife to call your father away so we can discuss ordering the sickles. That way, you'll have the afternoon free to watch the competition!"

Bitri's father was the largest tool merchant in the city, which was how the two men had become acquainted.

Garwin hesitated.

"It's settled then! I'll go back and get ready!"

After a while, Old Dilin mounted his old horse and left the house.

"Hurry up! It's about to start!"

Bitri called out to Garwin.

Just this once, just this once! Garwin gritted his teeth and followed Bitri out the door.

The arena was already packed with people.

"Look! That's the royal box! I heard that on the last day, the two princes will award the top ten!"

"They will also receive admission to the Royal Knight Academy!"

Bitri was excited and pointed to the box under the Palaiologos family crest at the highest point and said loudly.

Garwin didn't say anything, still feeling a little worried.

"Don't worry, we're already here, just enjoy the competition!"

Garwin found a place to sit and stared intently at the arena.

The arena used a knockout system, with 64 people competing each day to decide the top eight, with the competition ending when a contestant was knocked out, and no killing allowed.

At the same time, the top eight from the previous day would face challenges the next day, with no mercy. The challengers who succeeded would directly inherit the positions of those they challenged.

Today's elimination round was coming to an end, and it was already the final match. A Latin knight was pressing down on a Greek warrior.

"It looks like the Orthodox Christians have failed again today."

Bitri said dejectedly. "The winners from the previous days were either from the Latin countries or the Turks, and the only Orthodox Christian was from Albania."

Garwin shook his head and stared at the battlefield.

"The Latins are going to lose."

"What? He's about to break his opponent's shield."

Bitri sneered.

The situation on the field suddenly changed.

The Latins were no longer satisfied with suppressing their opponents and charged forward, stabbing at them.

The Greek warriors raised their shields and moved forward.

A wave of regret rose from the stands.

The shields were clearly unable to hold out any longer, and once they lost their only means of defense, it was impossible to withstand the enemy's fierce attack.

Pfft!

Sure enough, the wooden shield was pierced by the long sword, which rushed straight towards the Greek warrior's heart.

At that moment, the Greek warrior grabbed the shield with his left hand and pushed it away with all his might.

Ssshh!

The Latin warrior's long sword pierced his opponent's left shoulder.

The Greek warrior dodged the Latin sword, which was still coming at him, and lightly tapped the Latin's right hand, which was holding the sword, with his right hand.

Clang!

The sword slipped from his hand, signaling the Greek warrior's victory.

The crowd erupted in cheers.

"Well done, you guessed right!"

Bitri clapped excitedly.

Then, the challenge began.

A warrior dressed as a Turk walked onto the field, circled around, and waved his sword provocatively.

The audience shouted insults, but no one dared to step forward to fight.

"That man became the top challenger on the first day of open registration, and everyone who challenged him died a miserable death."

"I'll go!"

A burly man jumped over the fence.

In just a few moves, the burly man was injured. The Turk smiled faintly as he stabbed and slashed at him. The burly man screamed loudly and knelt down begging for mercy.

The Turk walked over and cut off his head with a sword.

The crowd fell silent.

"Romans are weak and can't take a beating. No wonder they lost their land and money."

"Remember my name, I am Yerhan, from Ramzan!"

Yerhan shouted in Greek, raising his sword and looking around. All the people he saw lowered their heads, not daring to look at him.

In the stands, Garwin's face was red, his hands clenched tightly.

"Let's go!"

Garwin pulled Bitri away from the stands.

Garwin returned home and couldn't sleep, the Turk Yerhan's mockery ringing in his ears.

At midnight, he got out of bed, pulled out the iron sword from the woodpile, and swung it around.

Garwin made it himself from scrap metal from the blacksmith's shop.

What should I do if my opponent is Yerhan?

Over the next few days, he always found excuses to sneak out of the house and go to the arena with Bitri to watch the games.

Dilin was busy doing business and didn't pay much attention.

The Turks were still as cruel and arrogant as ever, deliberately provoking the Roman spectators in the stands and crushing their confidence.

The audience in the stands were furious but powerless.

"Tomorrow is the last day. Garwin, will you come back tomorrow?"

Garwin nodded.

"You seem a little unhappy these past few days."

Bitri was a little puzzled.

"A Turkic barbarian insulted your homeland like that, and you're happy?"

"We are weaker than them after all..."

"Nonsense! The Ironclad Holy Knights will crush them all!"

"That was centuries ago... If they really had such strong soldiers, how could they have allowed the empire to decline?"

Garwin's face suddenly turned red and then pale.

Bitri shrugged and ran away.

Walking home, Garwin found that the royal messenger had come again, carrying many gifts, but he was again chased away by his father.

Garwin apologized to him and pushed open the door.

His father was sitting at the dining table, still angry.

Garwin had no appetite.

"Father, have you never thought that Prince Isaac is different from the other Palaiologos?"

"How is he different? He's just a smooth-talking diplomat."

"He went on a distant expedition and brought back a powerful fleet for the empire. He defeated the Ottoman navy and saved the Great Wall of Corinth. He brought hope to Rome!"

"Enough! Shut up!"

Dilin was furious.

"You know all this! Everyone outside is talking about it! Even the Grand Patriarch has nothing but praise for Prince Isaac. You just don't want to face it!"

"You're just looking for an excuse for your own weakness!"

Dilin stood up abruptly, pointing his trembling finger at his son's stubborn face.

"You... get out of here!"

Garwin ran out of the house like a madman, ignoring the cries of his mother and sister behind him.

He walked aimlessly and found himself at the small chapel.

It was completely dark, and the old priest had finished telling his story and was tidying up the chapel.

"Child, why are you here?"

"Your parents will be worried."

The priest asked kindly.

For some reason, tears suddenly welled up in Garwin's eyes.

The old priest put a robe on him and brought him a bowl of soup.

"Child, if you have something on your mind, why not tell me about it? I may be useless, but I've seen a lot in my life and can offer some advice."

Garwin wiped away his tears and told the priest his story.

"Father Marvey, I want to become a knight, charging into battle like my ancestors and fighting for Rome like them, but I can't bear to leave my sister and mother."

Marvey smiled.

"Child, we are a people driven to desperation. If the Turks or Latins conquer this place, what will become of your mother and sister?"

"You don't need to become anything. Follow your heart, and God will protect you, child."

"Go home. Your father must be waiting impatiently."

Wiping away his tears and finishing his soup, Garwin forced a smile at the old priest.

"I understand."

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