1444, Byzantium Resurrects

In the Mediterranean Sea, a large fleet cut through the waves, its sails emblazoned with the coat of arms of the Eastern Roman Empire.

It consisted of two large galleys, eight oar-powered warships of various types to escort them, and over thirty transport vessels of various sizes.

The additional transport ships flew blue double-headed eagle flags, indicating that they belonged to the Montferrato trading fleet.

Following John and Isaac's strong insistence, the remaining shareholders of the Montferrato trading fleet finally agreed to allow Isaac to divert the fleet to transport the legions stranded in Pavia back to their homeland.

Isaac sat in the cabin, his eyes fixed on the map on the table. Several urgent letters from Isult, the Minister of Internal Affairs, were scattered casually beside it.

The first letter said that the situation was still under control for the time being. Isult had responded quickly; after a bout of looting, the Misurata troops were now facing off against tribal soldiers rushing to the border and had not advanced further.

The second letter contained Isult's detailed explanation of his troop deployment in Surt and his concerns about a possible attack from Cyrenaica.

The third letter reported that the situation had begun to deteriorate rapidly. Not only had Yusuf launched an attack, he had also emptied his coffers.

The Dobruja army assembled by Guhes and Seban was unable to stop the attack and fled to Sirte Port to defend it.

Isaac now regretted it immensely. Had he known this would happen, he would never have become embroiled in two wars simultaneously, causing turmoil along the entire border.

He now wished he could fly directly to Surt Port to join the defence of the city.

Isaac stepped out of the cabin and took a deep breath of salty Mediterranean air.

He must not let difficulties cloud his mind. He had to stay clear-headed and make the wisest decisions possible.

Isaac looked southward, his eyes deep and distant.

The so-called bottomless abyss was, in fact, a path to a bright future.

"Summon all legion and troop commanders to receive orders!"

...

Surt Port, Council Hall.

Isaac's seat was empty, and Isult was sitting beside it.

Knight Conte stood with his sword at his side, leaning against Isult.

The hall was filled with people, including tribal sheikhs who had been summoned from nearby areas, as well as various factions from the city.

Dobruja leader, Guhes, and his second son, Seban, were also present.

"Isult, you lied and said it was His Highness's order to summon us here. This is open rebellion!"

"You are only the Minister of Internal Affairs. What right do you have to summon us?"

As expected, as soon as the meeting began, several tribal sheikhs started shouting and arguing endlessly about the summoning of the tribes and vassals.

"When His Highness left, he authorized me to take charge of the duchy's affairs."

"Hmph! When His Highness left, he authorized you to take charge of political affairs, and Count Mikhail to take charge of military affairs. Now that Count Mikhail is away, how dare you meddle in military affairs?"

Isult stood up abruptly and slammed his fist on the table.

"We are here today to discuss how to deal with the upcoming siege, not to argue about who holds power!"

"If my actions are seen as treason, His Highness will imprison me when he returns!"

"Until then, everyone must obey my commands!"

These words caused everyone to look at him in surprise.

They all knew that the Minister of the Interior had been diligent and dedicated, working tirelessly to ensure the duchy ran smoothly. He had gone to great lengths to unite the various factions within the duchy and place them in positions where they could best serve it, all in an attempt to repay the ducal family for their kindness.

But wasn't he afraid that, by usurping power in this way, he would never again gain the prince's trust? "Nonsense! Without the prince's orders, I will never obey you. Surt is about to fall, and if you want to die, don't drag me with you!"

The tribal sheikh who had just spoken stood up and strode towards the door.

"Stop."

Conte said coldly.

"What?"

The tribal sheikh turned his head, unable to understand French.

Conte stepped forward and, to everyone's astonishment, cut off his head with a sword.

Blood splattered, and the smell of blood filled the hall.

"Anyone who dares to leave the city will be considered an enemy and killed without mercy."

Conte picked up the head, tore off the headscarf, and wiped the blood from his sword.

A group of soldiers ran into the hall, closed the doors, and stood on either side.

"After discussions between me, Baron Conte, and Chief Guhes,"

Isult said slowly.

"From now on, the entire city is in a state of war. All supplies, manpower, and money are to be placed under military control. All tribes are to be conscripted into the city's defenses and must not be taken away."

"Abusheh, what do you think?"

Isult turned to Abusheh.

He was the first tribal sheikh in the entire Duchy of Surt to be baptized and was notorious throughout the Islamic world.

"I, um, have no objection."

Isult shifted his gaze to the other sheikhs.

Everyone nodded in agreement.

"Very well."

"Then you shall stay at the city lord's mansion for the time being, to avoid harm during the war."

"Write a letter to someone you trust and hand over your command."

"Sir, this..."

Deliberately or accidentally, Conte dropped the severed head on the ground, where it rolled across the floor, leaving a trail of blood.

"Any questions?"

Silence.

"As for the merchants, you know how much money you have made from the Surt Joint Chamber of Commerce over the years. I don't need to worry about you donating money and supplies, or organizing relief for the wounded, do I?"

"Sir, rest assured, we will do our best."

Isult nodded.

He raised his head and stared at the ceiling with tired eyes.

He had done everything he could. Now it was up to fate.

...

Surt Port, Lancelot City Wall.

After two years of construction, the Surt Port city wall was already quite large.

It was built under the supervision of the Minister of Engineering, Lancelot, with the assistance of Italian stonemasons and engineers who had been relocated to the area.

The semi-circular walls stretched across the south and, together with Surt Bay to the north, formed the capital's defensive line.

Originally, the Lancelot City Walls were constructed from dismantled houses on the outskirts of Surt. Made primarily of grass and stone, they had extremely poor defensive capabilities.

Following an influx of population, the walls underwent expansion, with castles and watchtowers being built at three critical locations. These were capable of housing troops and storing provisions, finally giving the city the ability to sustain prolonged combat.

To speed up construction, outlying houses were demolished and quarries outside the city worked overtime. Thousands of slaves died at the base of the walls during this period.

The three castles were equipped with crossbows, cannons, and small catapults, and the battlements could accommodate musketeers and archers, making the walls heavily armed.

Outside the city walls, Isult mobilized the people to dig trenches, which offered some protection.

Knight Conte led his personal guard on patrol along the city walls.

In the distance, Yusuf's camp stretched out like a black cloud, completely surrounding Surt.

Conte leaned on the wall and remained silent.

The enemy had 8,000 troops, whereas Conte's forces consisted of only 1,000 regular soldiers and 2,500 tribal militiamen.

Given the huge disparity in numbers, Conte was certain that there was no chance of victory, were it not for the natural barrier of the Mediterranean Sea.

Now...

All they could do now was wait and see which side time would favour. If His Highness returned with the main forces in time, the city would be safe.

If not, the entire duchy would cease to exist.

Having lost the port of Surt, the Jufra Oasis would be cut off from the Christian world and gradually overrun by Islamic forces.

"The enemy has arrived. Summon the commanders of all the city's combat units to the White Castle. I will arrange the defensive tactics."

Half an hour later, the commanders of the Oak Corps, the tribal militia, the city guard, and the merchant guards gathered at the White Castle, which was located in the center of the city walls.

The largest of Lancelot's three castles, the White Castle had strict security and towering walls and served as the command center for the city's defense.

At the time, Isaac had authorized the engineering minister, Lancelot, to demolish any city buildings to use the materials to construct the walls, thus enhancing the city's defenses quickly.

After much deliberation, Lancelot set his sights on the city lord's mansion. Built entirely of white bricks and stones, the old city lord's mansion of Surt had been under construction since the time of the Fezan Kingdom and was an excellent source of construction materials.

The stubborn Minister of Engineering demolished half of the castle without hesitation, spending a year and a half building this fortified city.

As the main building materials had been salvaged, the entire castle was not beautiful but rather grotesque in appearance.

Conte walked into the hall of the White Castle and stood beside the main seat.

The people below looked up at him anxiously.

"I believe Lord Isult has already informed you,"

"From now on, I will be the commander-in-chief of the entire defense, overseeing all military affairs."

"The enemy has mobilized all their forces for this defense battle, totaling more than 8,000 men."

"Our army numbers nearly 5,000 men, and the city has enough food and supplies to last three months—more than enough to defend the city."

"We only need to hold off the enemy and wait for His Highness to return."

Conte looked down at the crowd below, whose expressions had improved slightly.

"I will divide the city's military forces into four battle formations. Three of these will be responsible for defending the three sections of the city walls and will be stationed in the three cities of Lancelot."

"I will remain in the center and command the reserve forces."

Conte took out a piece of parchment.

"Below, I will name the commanders of the three sections of the city walls."

"Commander of the western section of the city walls: Guhz"

"Yes, sir!"

...

The battle had been raging on the middle section of the Lancelot city walls for the entire morning.

Yusuf Emir wrote a letter of surrender and sent it to the Isult mansion.

The next day, the messenger's head was displayed at the entrance to the mansion.

On 6 March 1448, after failing to persuade the defenders to surrender, the enemy officially began the siege.

From early morning, the Cyrenian army forced people from nearby tribes that they had captured to fill the moats, all the while depleting the ammunition of the defending forces.

Once the cannon fodder had been exhausted, the tribespeople were conscripted to replace them. They were divided into several echelons and launched repeated assaults on the city walls.

Yusuf Emir stood outside the range of fire, watching the desperate siege from afar.

The enemy's artillery fire was fierce, and they had an abundance of fire oil and arrows. The soldiers were somewhat inexperienced, but they were performing quite well overall.

The tribesmen he had recruited were threatened by the supervising troops and kept screaming as they rushed up the ladders, only to be knocked down by arrows or stones.

Soon, half of the squad was killed or wounded.

"Sir..."

Sheikh stepped forward and looked anxiously at Yusuf.

The tribesmen were his private property, and every loss felt like a stab in the heart.

Yusuf raised his hand to stop Sheikh from pleading.

After a while, the tribesmen had completely lost their will to fight. They stumbled forward under the pressure of the supervising troops and numbly knelt on the ground, waiting for death.

"Let the Geller tribe attack and replace the Jalu tribe,"

Yusuf said slowly.

A newly reorganized troop stepped forward and shouted as they charged towards the ladder.

Yusuf looked at the increasing enemy casualties and smiled cruelly.

He had powerful siege weapons; it was just that the time wasn't right yet.

He narrowed his long eyes and looked at the tribal sheikhs standing beside him; their faces were ashen.

This was a good opportunity to weaken these local forces and strengthen his control over his territory.

Yusuf was not worried about having no one left to fight. Once the city of Surt fell, he would have plenty of cannon fodder.

He ordered his attendants to bring chairs, then sat down to enjoy the tragic scene unfolding before him.

From morning until now, the defending forces had suffered increasing casualties, weakening their bodies and will and causing the tide of war to shift in favour of the Sirte army.

It was time.

"Bring the cannons and catapults forward!"

He sat up.

"Sir! My tribe has not yet withdrawn!"

Jalushah hurriedly tried to stop him.

"Let them make the ultimate sacrifice for the holy war."

Meanwhile, heavy horses pulled the catapults onto the battlefield, and the gunners removed the covers from the cannons.

Boom!

The cannons roared in unison, and boulders screeched through the air. Soldiers on the city walls screamed and scattered in all directions, hiding in corners.

Soon, the castle's cannons and crossbows began to fire back. Smoke filled the air, and enemy and friendly forces clashed in a chaotic melee on the city walls.

"It's time! Let my guard charge forward!"

Yusuf ordered.

As soon as the elite guards entered the battlefield, they demonstrated their exceptional skills.

Forming groups of two or three, with two soldiers holding giant shields and one shooting arrows, they quickly made their way to the city walls.

The first guards to arrive climbed the ladders excitedly, fantasizing about looting and the rewards they would receive from their lord after capturing the city.

Yusuf's bloodshot eyes were fixed on the city walls. His soldiers were about to take control of the walls, then the white castle, and finally the entire city.

"Good!"

As more and more elite soldiers climbed onto the walls, the enemy's hastily formed formation began to falter.

Then, his smile froze on his face.

Two groups of soldiers, clad in blue and purple cloaks, charged out from both sides of the castle. Their hands were raised, holding long-handled spears, and their breastplates were adorned with the Cross of Constantine.

They shouted as they charged towards the enemy in the centre.

Pfft!

The long spears easily pierced the unarmored tribesmen and continued towards the elite guards who had just climbed the walls.

The first dozen or so guards who charged forward did not panic. They formed a formation in an attempt to block the spears' charge, but to little avail.

They were quickly forced to the edge of the city wall.

"Retreat! We still have time!"

Yusuf slammed his fist on the table and stormed back to the camp.

The enemy army, which had seemed so formidable just moments before, slowly retreated, leaving behind a broken city wall.

The defenders on the city wall felt no joy at their victory, only relief at having survived.

Conte leaned to one side, panting heavily, while a monk bandaged his wounds.

The enemy's strength had been much greater than expected, forcing his reserve troops into action on the first day.

He looked around at his men, who were silent and had gloomy faces.

As a veteran soldier, he knew that, in a situation like this, a charismatic commander would give a speech to boost his men's morale.

He opened his mouth, but he didn't know what to say.

"Drive out the invaders! Long live France!"

He remembered that, whenever morale was low, Joan would shout this slogan and lead them in singing the folk songs of Orléans.

What would Prince Isaac say?

The image of the young man's face flashed through Conte's mind.

He would always pat the soldiers on the shoulder with a warm smile.

"Follow me, and I'll ensure your prosperity in the next life!"

Then he would empty his pockets and distribute his sword and crossbow to his men.

Without the duke, the entire city of Surt felt as though it had lost its soul.

Conte sighed and ordered the battlefield to be cleaned up.

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