1444, Byzantium Resurrects

Inside White Castle, Isult and Conte listened to the casualty reports from the past few days, their faces grim.

The siege had been ongoing for a week, and the defenders had suffered a staggering 1,500 casualties under the enemy's relentless attacks.

The enemy had lost around 2,500 men.

"Lord Isult, are there any doctors left in the city?"

Conte asked softly.

"Many of our soldiers have sustained serious injuries due to a lack of effective medical care, and those in the most serious condition have died."

Isult shook his head.

In those days, the standard of medical care in the Christian world was far inferior to that in the Islamic world, and there were very few people with medical knowledge.

Isult had sent all the professional and non-professional doctors in the city to the battlefield, but it was like trying to put out a fire with a cup of water.

Not to mention that some of the doctors were complete parasites.

If you were vomiting uncontrollably, they would dare to bleed you.

If you were bleeding externally, they would give you an enema.

Some doctors particularly liked to use maggots and rats to eat rotten flesh, disregarding whether it was clean.

"I will organize another group of militiamen from the city to delay them for as long as possible."

They had no hope of winning the war and could only hope that His Highness would return immediately.

Isult and Conte exchanged bitter smiles, seeing deep despair in each other's eyes.

...

"The current situation is that more than 8,000 enemy troops are besieging Surt, the western border has been attacked, and the southern tribes are in turmoil."

"Everyone, speak up. What are your thoughts?"

In the bumpy ship's cabin, Isaac looked at the commanders.

"Captain Bram, you first."

Bram Palaiologo stood up.

The captain of the Guard came from the court of John IV. He was the cousin of John and William and was currently serving as captain of the Grand Marquis's Guard.

In honor of the alliance's promise, John IV lent Isaac the most elite Grand Marquis Guard to help him return to his country and quell the chaos.

Bram spoke slowly, his thick moustache quivering.

"Your Highness, we should hurry back to Surt to help with the defense."

These words were meaningless.

"I think you should go ahead in a fast ship to Surt, boost morale, command the defense, and inform them of the reinforcements."

Even if you cannot go yourself, you should send a nobleman of high standing to boost the morale of the defenders.

"Facing a powerful enemy without reinforcements, a prolonged siege will inevitably lead to defeat. Such a defensive battle will not only fail to kill the enemy effectively but will also embolden them."

This sounded more reasonable.

In a siege, morale is far more important than military skill. If reinforcements are not forthcoming for a long time and the troops are trapped in a besieged city, their fighting spirit will gradually erode until they collapse completely.

"That makes sense. Any other ideas?"

Isaac looked at the generals again.

Seeing that none of them spoke, he sighed.

These generals were all stupid. They were good at marching and fighting, but none of them had the strategic vision required for planning a campaign.

From what he had observed so far, only Mehmed, the deputy commander of the Purple Guard, showed any promise and could be developed further.

"I think we should just secure Surt and not concentrate all our forces in this small port."

Isaac spread out the map and said,

"According to intelligence, the enemy is approaching with a large army, having mobilized almost all their troops, so their old stronghold is quite empty."

"Your Highness, you must not take such a risk! Bilinchi City is surrounded by high walls and deep moats, and there are mountains all around. Even if they have few troops, we have no heavy artillery, so there is no way we can break through!"

"We can protect the port of Surt this time. Your safety is our top priority. We cannot take such a risk."

Before he could finish, Isaac's teacher, Count Mikhail, stood up and interrupted him.

Isaac looked at his anxious expression and felt slightly moved.

Mikhail had been a subordinate of Isaac's father, Constantine, since Isaac was a child and had remained loyal to him ever since.

"Count, I'm not stupid. I'm not going to attack the walls of Bilinchi."

Isaac motioned for the excited Count to sit down.

"Our target is here."

He pointed to a port on the Mediterranean coast.

Ougay.

It was a small port, located east of Surt and west of Brega. Sparsely populated and surrounded by desert and salt marshes, it had only a few freshwater wells.

During the Fezzan Kingdom, this area was used as a buffer zone between the Mamluks and the Fezzans; neither side considered it their territory, allowing it to develop freely.

Since the establishment of the Grand Duchy of Surt, there had been no spare troops to manage these marginal tribes as long as they did not cause trouble.

"From Bilinchi to Sirte, the middle area seems vast, but there is actually only one road, a curve connecting several wells."

These places are vast salt deserts and sand dunes where humans cannot survive, so it is impossible to resupply locally.

Isaac traced the map with his finger from Bilinchi to Sirte.

"Their supply lines are very long, but there haven't been any problems so far. This mainly indicates two things."

Isaac stopped and looked at everyone.

"Firstly, their main source of food must be livestock, such as sheep and camels."

"Secondly, there must be a food transfer station on this road, responsible for transporting food from Bilinchi to the siege camp in Surt."

"This transfer station was probably built many years ago and was probably not intended for us or the Kingdom of Fezzan."

"This transfer station was probably established during the heyday of the Mamluks to counter the Hafs dynasty, but it has only recently been put into use."

After he had finished speaking, the generals were all deep in thought.

"Your Highness, how do you know that this transfer station is definitely in Ougay?"

Bram, the captain of the guard, asked in confusion.

"I don't know."

"I can say with certainty, however, that this transit station is not in Ougay, as this place is too barren."

Ougay is the only large water source in the vicinity.

"But that is precisely why large herds must pass through here."

Everyone looked enlightened.

As long as they occupied this small town, they could cut off Yusuf's supplies and retreat route, trapping his 8,000 men in the desert.

This was Isaac's risky move.

If it succeeded, not only would the crisis in Surt Port be resolved, but the enemy's morale would also be severely damaged, causing them to surrender without a fight.

"Your Highness, I have one more question." Urdal, who had been listening, stood up.

"I've been to Ougay on business before, and it's very barren. Including the surrounding areas, there are only a few thousand people. How are we going to get supplies?"

"Even if we have plenty of food on the ship, where are we going to find water?"

Isaac smiled slightly.

"You said yourself that the local area can support several thousand people."

"Coincidentally, there are only several thousand of us, so it's enough."

...

Surt's siege camp, Yusuf's private tent.

Bang!

A wine cup was thrown out of the tent and shattered.

"Damn it! Is there really no one around?"

"We can't even find cannon fodder!"

Yusuf yelled at a middle-aged man.

"Sir, most of the tribes in this area were relocated before we arrived, while others hid in the port of Surt and the Jufra Oasis in the south afterwards."

"The remaining small tribes have been wiped out."

The middle-aged man explained quietly to his angry lord.

"Since our sheikh can't find any local cannon fodder, he should let them go themselves! Hold off the enemy's first round of cannon fire!"

Yusuf always followed the same strategy when he commanded troops. First, he would use the local captives to fill the trenches and deplete the enemy's long-range weaponry, such as cannonballs and arrows.

Next, the subordinate tribes would charge forward with siege ladders, depleting the enemy's close-range defenses such as fire, oil, and lime.

Finally, they would deploy their siege engines, and the elite troops would prepare to storm the walls.

This strategy achieved tremendous success on the first day, nearly breaching the walls.

However, as the war progressed, there were fewer and fewer local civilians, and the subordinate tribes could no longer afford to sacrifice their lives in vain.

While it was somewhat justifiable to demand that they attack the city walls, it was too much to ask to push them directly onto the battlefield to block arrows.

The sheikhs were not fools; their patience had limits too.

"Sir, many sheikhs are already very dissatisfied with us. You cannot push them any further."

Upon hearing this, Yusuf's emotions, which had previously calmed, erupted once more.

He stepped forward and gripped the middle-aged man's neck tightly.

"What did you say? Say another word!"

"Isn't this what you taught me to do in the first place?"

"The local people go first, followed by the tribesmen, then the siege weapons, and finally the elite troops. Isn't this your strategy?"

"Sir, on the first day, I suggested that you send all the elite troops, especially the heavily armored Mamluks."

The middle-aged man grabbed Yusuf's iron-like hands and defended himself fiercely.

"Yusuf, you are my advisor. You should think of ways to help me, not anger your lord!"

Yusuf stared angrily at Yumir until he gasped for breath, then released his grip.

Yumir rolled onto the ground and gasped for air.

After a while, Yusuf's anger subsided.

"Yumir, don't forget,"

"If you want to return to the political stage, you can only rely on me. I am the only one who will accept you."

With that, he strode out of the tent, leaving Yumir gasping for breath on the ground.

Yusuf looked at the city walls in the distance, feeling anxious.

It was as if the enemy army had divine assistance. Every time his army was about to take them, the enemy would muster their remaining strength and drive his warriors back down.

He couldn't delay any longer. If he waited until the enemy's main force returned, he would lose his chance to capture Surt forever.

Would the resentful tribesmen take this opportunity to cause trouble?

Yusuf kicked a stone in the road.

"Summon all the tribes! Today, we will attack with all our forces and leave no one behind!"

The bugles sounded, the military flags were raised, and the siege camp sprang into action. Pairs of soldiers picked up their weapons and gathered at their designated positions, preparing to launch the final assault.

...

On top of the white castle, Conte stood at the window, looking at the army gathering in the distance. Guhes and Isult stood beside him.

Over the past few days, they had exhausted the city's resources and thrown everything they had into the battle, fighting the enemy until the very end.

There were still plenty of defensive weapons and ammunition, but fewer and fewer professional soldiers knew how to use them. More and more militiamen were being pushed onto the city walls.

"Everyone, this may be our last day."

Conte turned his head and smiled.

"His Highness will return."

Guhes said firmly.

"Why?"

"He will return."

Conte was helpless.

"Well, before he returns, we must defend his legacy."

The defending soldiers began to gather. After several days of intense fighting, the people who had been driven into a corner had become numb to war. They walked onto the city walls in a daze, forced by the supervising troops, and swung their swords and spears mechanically.

Their eyes were vacant and filled with panic.

The most elite Orc battalion had also suffered casualties of almost 50%. The remaining 500 men were gathered by Conte and prepared to fight the enemy who had broken into the city to the death.

"Break through the city walls! You are allowed to loot for three days!"

"The first to enter the city will be rewarded with 500 ducats!"

Yusuf shouted at his soldiers, whipping them into a frenzy.

The mournful sound of horns echoed through the air, cannons roared, and boulders flew through the sky.

"Kill!"

Driven by greed, the Occitan soldiers mustered their remaining strength and charged like a tidal wave towards the already battered city walls.

The defenders buried their heads in their hands, pulled crosses out of their tunics, and trembled in prayer until a patrolling officer kicked them aside.

The militiamen looked up and saw that the officers' eyes were just as confused. They were occasionally glancing back towards the port and murmuring, as if they were praying too.

They were praying for the return of their king.

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