1444, Byzantium Resurrects

Yusuf sat in the camp with blank eyes.

The family sword that he usually treasured lay crooked in the darkness, as if shrouded in shadow.

He recalled yesterday's crushing defeat.

His army had captured a castle and driven the enemy back to the city walls.

All they had to do was hold their ground and wipe out the enemy forces remaining inside the city.

What a pity...

Yusuf did not want to relive the terrifying scenes of that day.

He drank the last of his wine and threw the bottle onto the ground.

Following the crushing defeat, Yusuf locked himself in his tent and refused to see anyone.

He paced slowly, trying to calm himself.

The enemy's main force had returned and it was clear that capturing the city was no longer an option. The main problem now was how to bring the remaining 4,000 troops back safely.

If he could not expand outward, he would have to protect his position in the Sultanate.

The Breiga region was separated from the rest of Egypt by a vast desert and was part of the Mamluk Sultanate. It had always been beyond the sphere of influence of Cairo and Damascus.

Although this land was far less fertile than the Nile River basin and Syria, it was densely populated and had vast amounts of arable land.

If he could hold on to this region, he would surely be able to stage a comeback!

Yusuf drew his sword and left the camp to find his advisor, Yumir, and discuss the withdrawal.

The garrison had also suffered heavy casualties and had basically lost its ability to fight, so it would probably not pursue them.

Yusuf walked out of the tent.

Panic, chaos and disorder reigned.

Several hurried soldiers saw him leaving the camp and saluted him hastily.

"What happened?"

Yusuf frowned and pulled a soldier over.

"Sir..."

The soldier stammered.

"Speak clearly!"

"The town of Ougay has surrendered to the enemy and the port of Breiga has fallen."

Yusuf felt dizzy. "I understand. Summon my advisor, Yumir, and the tribal sheikh."

He forced himself to remain calm and nodded.

"The tribal sheikhs were afraid of being left behind to guard the rear, so they ran away..."

"Advisor Yumir is nowhere to be found..."

Yusuf's legs gave way and he sat down on the ground.

"Sir..."

"Run, run for your lives..."

Yusuf laughed bitterly.

On 19 March 1448, Conte Mikhail returned to the city of Surt under the banner of Isaac and drove the enemy forces out of the city walls before they could establish a foothold.

The enemy soldiers, blinded by money and fame, immediately lost all morale when they saw the return of their main forces and fled in defeat.

The next day, news spread throughout the besieging camp of Isaac's surprise attack on the town of Ougay and the port of Brega. With their retreat cut off, the soldiers were in a state of panic.

Yusuf, the commander, sat alone in the main camp. His advisor, Yumir, was nowhere to be found, and the various sheikhs took advantage of the situation to stir up trouble.

Ultimately, the siege camp collapsed completely and the soldiers scattered and fled.

At this point, Surt was relieved.

...

"Your Highness, in this battle, we successfully assassinated the stubborn Governor Gelmian, seized the grain storehouses in the city and the main pastures outside the city, and persuaded the army to revolt."

In the governor's mansion in Port Breiga, Isaac flipped through Gelmian's records while listening to Ayyanas boast about his achievements.

He put down the books, rubbed his eyes and looked around.

Gelmian's records were very thorough. All the books were written in Arabic and contained extensive records of the population, water sources, tribes and merchant guilds.

Every sheep, every camel and every gold coin had a specific source and destination.

Such talent was very rare in the current Mamluk Sultanate.

Most Mamluk nobles were descended from Circassian slaves and did not bother to learn Arabic, let alone manage their fiefdoms and people with dedication.

The room was neat and tidy, filled with books and a few luxuries. The most precious item was a gem-encrusted knife.

After settling in the city, Ayyanas immediately had it cleaned and all the furniture with Islamic motifs removed. He replaced it with Christian-style furnishings.

Isaac approached the weapons rack and drew the sword.

"Your Highness, this is the late pseudo-governor Gelmian's relic. It is said to have been bestowed upon him by the former Sultan Balsbe and has been treasured ever since, rarely used."

Isaac glanced at it briefly. The blade was well-maintained, suggesting that its previous owner had cherished it greatly.

"I heard that some civilians in the city have organized a funeral for Gelmian. Is that true?"

"Is that so? Your Highness, wait here. I'll go and check it out right away."

Isaac stared at Ayyanas, who was jumping up and down.

Ayyanas' shouting gradually subsided.

"Your Highness, Gelmian served as governor here for more than ten years. He was always cautious and careful, and he stopped the raids of the southern tribes before they could get started.'

He also invited scholars from Baghdad to teach, set up Islamic schools and sponsored orphans.

In addition, Gelmian restricted the power of merchants and landlords, protecting the commoners in the name of religion.

Therefore, the commoners in the city are very grateful to him, but the aristocrats and wealthy landowners hate him with a passion.

After hearing this, Isaac felt even more regretful.

What a talent — how wonderful it would be if he were on our side!

"Is Gelmian's body still there?"

Ayyanas nodded.

"Go and give him a proper burial according to Muslim customs.

"If anyone comes to mourn him, do not stop them."

After everything is done, I will ask the priest to baptize you and appoint you as the magistrate of Breiga. I will also grant you the title of lord. I will keep my word."

After bidding farewell to the delighted Ayyanas, Dillin and Eldosh arrived together.

Gazi had been left behind in Ougay by Isaac to guard against a counterattack by Yusuf, although that was highly unlikely.

"Your Highness, news has arrived from Ougay that the scouts they sent out have captured enemy prisoners. They are from the siege camp at Surt.'

"The siege of Surt has been lifted and the enemy army has been defeated."

The two looked at Isaac with admiration in their eyes.

If they had had any doubts about his strategic abilities before, they were now completely convinced.

"Very good!"

Isaac slapped the table, and the weight that had been pressing down on his heart finally lifted.

"Contact Surt and order Conte Mikhail to pursue the enemy after stabilizing the situation in the city!"

"Scatter our troops and intercept the enemy's fleeing soldiers!"

...

Linton Town, outside the cemetery.

Afif walked past rows of crosses and came to the large tombstone in the center.

The cavalry of the Hafs Dynasty had slaughtered half the town's population, leaving behind a field of severed limbs.

When Hussein Shah arrived with reinforcements, he was stunned by the bloody scene before him.

There was no shortage of tribal warfare, but it was usually motivated by gain, as people were a precious resource and would not be slaughtered indiscriminately.

However, this band of bandits seemed to be motivated purely by destruction.

They attempted to set fire to the houses, but their efforts were largely in vain as the structures were made of earth.

Hussein knew that the bodies could not be left unburied for long, or a terrible plague would be attracted.

With the help of the refugees, the reinforcements worked to find every dead or injured resident, identify them as best they could, return them to their families and ensure they were buried as soon as possible.

Any remaining bodies were collected and given a communal funeral by a priest before being buried outside the city.

Engineer Linton, who had rushed to the scene upon hearing the news, built a cemetery for the town and erected a monument to commemorate those lost souls.

Afif gently stroked the monument, tracing the uneven inscriptions with his fingers and feeling their cold touch.

One by one, the living had become cold, lifeless names:

Uruzi, a retired Purple Guard, died in the defensive battle.

Han'erduo, captain of the Dobrogea militia, also died in the battle.

Aldo, a salt miner, died in the battle.

Afif's fingers stopped there.

This name once belonged to his father: a kind man; a strong warrior; the best husband; the best father.

Afif did not shed any tears; they had long since dried up.

His fingers continued to slide down.

Filippo Neville, a retired Imperial Guard, died while protecting his wife and daughter.

Ira Neville, Filippo's wife and a seamstress, was massacred. Sofia Neville, a seamstress, was also massacred.

Although he had seen it many times before, Afif's heart still tightened.

He wished that it was all just a nightmare from which he could not wake up; that his father was not dead and Sofia was still alive.

But life had no 'buts'.

"Father, Sofia, I have passed the initial selection for the Slave Legion and will report for duty tomorrow."

"Father, I know you don't want me to go to war, but the truth is, war won't stop just because you run away. I will arm myself, protect my family and destroy our enemies."

"Sofia, you are a kind Orthodox Christian. May you remain as beautiful as ever in heaven. I love you."

Afif covered his face and coughed dryly; tears streamed down his cheeks.

A gentle breeze blew past the wooden cross, making a mournful sound as if it were mourning too.

The breeze brushed the young man's face, drying his tears.

He wandered back to his half-destroyed home and over to the dining table. He listened to his younger brother's cries while watching his mother hold back her tears as she told her youngest son that his father had gone away on a long trip.

His mother and younger brother waited by the dining table and Afif sat down in the empty seat before they began to eat.

This was his father's special seat.

Looking at his mother and brother, Afif suddenly felt a strange sensation.

He realized that he had become the pillar of his family.

Afif took the wine and, imitating his father, took a big gulp.

"Yesterday, I signed up to join the Slave Legion."

His younger brother blinked, and his mother immediately objected.

"Your father wouldn't want that..."

"I want money, and I want revenge."

His mother's eyes reddened as if she were about to cry.

"I'll go and pack your bags."

She wiped the corners of her eyes and walked into the back room.

She was a very traditional Muslim woman, even though she had converted to Christianity.

She knew she couldn't change her son's mind.

Early the next morning, Afif packed his bags and left home, his mother and younger brother watching tearfully as he headed for the military camp on the outskirts of the city.

On the way, he saw many other young men carrying their belongings. Like Afif, they were all survivors of the massacre.

Driven by hatred for their enemies and love for their families, they took step after step towards the battlefield.

...

"Your Highness, a new batch of prisoners has arrived."

The imperial instructor entered Isaac's study and reported.

The more than 200 trainees he led had played a significant role in the Milan Succession War and the Surt War, gradually maturing in the process.

"There are 201 in total, more than half of whom are tribesmen and the rest are Yusuf's regular infantry."

Isaac nodded.

Since the enemy army had collapsed, he had ordered the cavalry to spread out and cast a wide net to intercept the enemy's defeated soldiers and take them prisoner.

Isaac also warned the nearby tribes not to shelter the defeated soldiers passing through and threatened to execute anyone who disobeyed.

Under such circumstances, it was difficult for the defeated soldiers to escape Isaac's grasp.

This was already the fourth wave of prisoners this week, bringing the total to one thousand.

It was said that Yusuf had brought a squad of his beloved Mamluk heavy cavalry with him, which he had been reluctant to use during the siege.

Now, however, neither this elite force nor Yusuf himself could be found, and the captured soldiers were evasive and unclear about their whereabouts.

"Your Highness, we have captured an important figure this time."

"Oh?"

Among the previous waves of prisoners, there had been many sheikhs from large and small tribes who had surrendered directly to Isaac and had proved very efficient.

In response, Isaac imprisoned them all for future use.

"That man claims to be Yusuf's advisor."

Half an hour later, Yumir appeared in Isaac's study, followed by two guards with fierce eyes.

"I hear you claim to be Yusuf Emir's military advisor?"

Isaac asked in Arabic.

Yumir bowed deeply and nodded.

"Where is Yusuf?"

"I don't know."

"So you abandoned your lord and fled alone?"

Yumir saw that Isaac's expression was growing increasingly hostile.

"Your Highness, he is not my lord."

"I am from the Bahri dynasty — a Turkic people. You must have heard of that name."

The Bahri dynasty was the previous dynasty of the Mamluks and was mainly composed of Turkic slaves.

In 1382, however, Bakr, a Circassian slave, overthrew the Bahri Dynasty and established the Burji Dynasty, which was mainly composed of Caucasian slaves, particularly Circassians.

Isaac nodded, motioning for him to continue.

"We are the descendants of Bahri, the heir to the Lion of Islam!"

At this point, he stood up proudly.

"But now, no ruler is willing to give us important positions. Only Yusuf, who was also overthrown, is willing to offer us positions that appear important but have no real power."

He treats us like servants, calling us whenever he wants and beating and cursing us when he is angry."

Yumir pointed to a deep scratch mark on his neck.

"I don't care who you are or why you fell out with Yusuf.

Isaac looked at Yumir. "I just want to know what you can offer me."

Yumir knelt down with a thud.

"Your Highness, I heard that your new governor of Breiga is a native Arab. Is that true?"

Isaac nodded.

"I know the composition of Yusuf's army and the situation in Bilinchi. If you promise to treat the Bahraini people equally, I will serve and advise you."

Isaac found this amusing.

"If you truly have such exceptional military insight, how did you allow such a defeat to occur?"

Yumir stood up, his expression solemn.

"Your Highness, it's because Yusuf didn't listen to a word I said."

"At the beginning of the siege, I had already devised a four-stage attack plan for him.

First, the conscripted cannon fodder would fill the trenches to deplete the enemy's arrows and cannonballs.

Second, the tribesmen would launch a fierce assault to wear down the enemy's morale and deplete their supply of fire oil and stones.

Thirdly, our siege engines would begin their bombardment, crushing the enemy and forcing them to surrender.

Fourthly, all our elite troops would storm the walls and capture the city in one fell swoop.

Isaac was somewhat surprised. The report from Surt stated that such tactics had inflicted heavy casualties on the defenders in a short period of time and nearly resulted in the capture of the city.

"I heard that Yusuf did exactly that."

Yumir sneered.

"Yusuf is a complete fool.

He didn't have enough cannon fodder, so he was reluctant to use regular troops to fill the gaps. He was afraid that the siege weapons would be destroyed, so he only sent half of his troops each time.

He kept his most elite, heavily armored Mamluks in the camp, treating them like treasures, and refused to let them attack the city.

He was too cautious. How could he not lose?"

Isaac laughed.

"Do you think I am a cautious ruler?"

"Your Highness has exceptional vision. You broke out of Surt's vortex and hit the enemy where it was weakest.'

Such decisiveness is beyond a cautious ruler."

Seeing Isaac's joy, Yumir secretly breathed a sigh of relief, smiling and flattering him.

My life is saved.

"From now on, you will be my military advisor."

"I can guarantee that, as long as you continue to perform at this level, you will always be highly valued."

"Thank you, Your Highness!"

Yumir hurriedly thanked him.

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