At dawn the next day, Isaac did not slack off; he trained alongside his guards and Constantine's troops.
After breakfast, the army set out northward.
The journey was uneventful, without any trouble along the way.
By noon, Constantine had arrived at his loyal city of Thebes.
His dependable younger brother, Thomas, was already waiting at the city gates, and the garrison guards saluted Constantine in unison.
After a three-day siege, Thebes' local garrison had surrendered to Thomas just the day before.
They were all Romans—why fight to the death?
Isaac stepped forward and greeted Thomas.
"Long time no see, dear uncle, esteemed Despot of Achaea."
"Long time no see, little Isaac!" boomed Thomas.
Another member of the Palaiologos family—currently the Eastern Roman Emperor's younger brother, and in the future, the maternal grandfather of the Tsars of Russia.
His daughter, Princess Zoe, would one day marry Grand Prince Ivan III of Moscow, becoming the mother of Vasili III and grandmother of Ivan the Terrible.
The dynastic link that would form the doctrine of the "Third Rome" began here.
But for now, Princess Zoe was not yet born.
At this time, Prince Thomas of Byzantium was only thirty-five—at the height of his strength.
He was Constantine's closest brother and most loyal comrade-in-arms.
Previously, Thomas had joined Constantine in many military campaigns.
Later, he would stand with his dim-witted brother to defend the Hexamilion Wall to the bitter end.
After the greetings, the army entered the city.
The Greeks of Thebes welcomed the return of the Palaiologos family with complex feelings.
Since the Fourth Crusade sacked Constantinople in 1204, this region had mostly been under Latin colonial rule.
That had continued for over two centuries.
Everyone knew they were Roman Orthodox believers, but no one knew anymore what it was like to live under Roman rule.
With the recent rise of the Ottomans, the Duchy of Athens had walked a tightrope between two powers, trying to appease the Sultan with their limited wealth.
The Duchy of Athens, situated near the Ottoman border, often suffered from Turkish raiders.
The Grand Duke from Florence, both cowardly and incompetent, did nothing and even paid tribute to the Ottomans annually.
If the Byzantine emperors paid, why couldn't he?
Under such circumstances, the local Greek Orthodox population still clung to dreams of their homeland.
But the empire was on its last legs, barely able to protect itself.
Another year of watching for the imperial army—and all that remained was a single platoon.
This time, Constantine had returned like a lightning bolt, and at first, he was welcomed by the people.
At the moment, Constantine and his dim-witted brother were secretly celebrating.
But Isaac knew very well: the locals admired strength, not patriotism.
When the Sultan marched south with his army, they would turn on a dime—without a second thought.
After lunch, Constantine held a military-political council.
It was chaired by Constantine and Thomas, with participation from all ranks of military and civil officials.
Isaac was granted permission to sit in.
The meeting began by reviewing recent victories, followed by logistics and supplies, and finally turned to the main topic—whether to continue advancing and how to handle the Duchy of Athens.
Contrary to Isaac's expectations, the political camp pushed for continued advance, while the military side urged a halt.
Several white-bearded old men gave passionate speeches about boosting morale, restoring the empire, and similar empty platitudes. Some even squeezed out tears.
Isaac felt nauseated.
Where were you when we were fighting? But now you want a slice of the pie?
Uncle Thomas, annoyed, slapped the table and argued back.
Constantine, on the other hand, remained silent, deep in thought.
The meeting dragged from midmorning to sunset. In the end, Constantine made the decision—first eat, then talk tomorrow.
At the mention of dinner, the white-beards dropped their patriotism, wiped their tears, and rushed to the table.
Isaac hadn't spoken a word throughout.
The decision still lay with Constantine. If he wanted to advance, no one could stop him.
Isaac had already said his piece. Hopefully, his father would come to his senses.
The meetings continued fiercely over the next few days—but of course, no conclusions were reached.
Classic Byzantine politics. Everyone was used to it.
Until a certain piece of news arrived—
The seemingly stable city of Athens had erupted in chaos.
A group of Ottoman stragglers had looted a Latin merchant's horse farm and made off with fine steeds.
They then attacked a supply convoy and captured a large cache of firearms and other weapons.
For several days, surrounding villages were raided. The stragglers didn't kill wantonly, but they robbed food and money clean.
Panic spread. Refugees streamed southward.
At that moment, Steward Andre, in the name of Prince Isaac, generously opened granaries to feed the refugees.
Countless displaced peasants felt immense gratitude toward Isaac.
The Athenian city guard couldn't catch the elusive Ottoman raiders and sent a plea for help to Constantine.
The city's constable was perplexed—how did the raiders always know where horses and weapons were? How did they always escape before the guards arrived?
Then he sincerely thanked the generous and noble Prince Isaac.
If not for him, the hungry refugees might have torn the constable apart.
Damn those Ottomans!
After the news reached Thebes, Constantine finally stopped hesitating.
"This military campaign is concluded. As for what happens next…"
"Isaac, tell us your plan!"
Isaac, who'd been relaxing in the corner, was suddenly called on and caught off guard.
He stood slowly, glancing around.
"My lords, regardless of whether we continue to advance, there are certain matters we must act on immediately."
"First, pacify the refugees. We should require wealthy merchants to donate funds and supplies to aid our fellow citizens, sending them south to Morea as pioneer settlers."
"Second, the disposition of the Duke of Athens. This involves many factors—we must not antagonize the Catholic Church by abolishing the duke outright. Rather, let him stay, demand a proper tribute, and ensure religious freedom for Orthodox believers, along with our garrison rights in Athens. Perhaps we can also borrow their fleet."
"Third, repair the Hexamilion Wall at Corinth. Gentlemen, your estates are south of it—I trust you don't want your homes raided."
"Finally, dispatch raiders to the north to plunder wealth and slaves, and lure Orthodox believers south."
The room buzzed with murmurs as everyone evaluated the feasibility of the plan.
The white-beards tried to speak again but were silenced by Constantine's stern gaze.
You're here for ceremonial value—don't overstep your role.
"Since there are no objections, let's proceed," Constantine declared.
After further discussion, he decided to remain in the north to stabilize the situation and oversee the raiding expeditions.
Thomas would lead troops south to supervise the repair of the Hexamilion Wall.
Isaac pledged a military oath—he would eliminate the Ottoman stragglers around Athens or die trying.
Returning to Athens, Isaac boarded the Saint Nicholas and met with Ibrahim, who had been waiting.
"Father!" Ibrahim's daughter rushed into his arms.
Isaac gave them time to reunite, then summoned Ibrahim.
"Well done. You have great talent—I was right about you."
Ibrahim said nothing.
"I had your family baptized by an Orthodox priest. Your daughter is now learning Greek in a church school. No need to worry."
Ibrahim didn't object. His wife and daughter had already told him everything.
Their life had improved significantly, though they missed him.
"The raids around Athens are complete. Take your men to Epirus in the northwest. Keep raiding and drive the population southeast."
"Horses. Men," he said simply.
"Three days from now, a Genoese convoy will head north—horses and slaves."
Ibrahim nodded and turned to leave.
"This time there won't be much intel. Avoid big targets. Get horses. If you can't win, run."
"I'll have Kerman patrol the coast with the Northumbria. Coordinate."
Isaac waved him off.
At the door, he called out.
"I won't have you doing this forever. Once it's done, you'll serve under me. I'll make you a commander and have the Patriarch of Constantinople baptize you."
Ibrahim turned, exhaled deeply, and knelt on one knee.
His once-dull eyes now gleamed faintly.
Isaac smiled with satisfaction.
After Ibrahim left, Isaac happily examined the loot he'd brought.
Part of the plunder would go to recruiting deserters, part to maintaining the troops.
The finest portion ended up on Isaac's dinner table.
Over 9,000 ducats—a true fortune.
Isaac planned to use this as a foundation to recruit new soldiers from the refugee population.
More importantly, the formation of a firearms unit had to begin.
To achieve this, a dozen villages had been displaced and six merchant caravans bankrupted.
The next day, Isaac was invited to a rally hosted by the Orthodox Church to pledge the extermination of the raiders. Merchants and refugee representatives were in attendance.
Both groups profusely thanked Isaac for opening the granaries—even the church honored him.
Though, somehow… the grain tasted a bit familiar.
Of course it did. You grew it yourself!
"Your Highness, when will you lead the troops out to eliminate the raiders?" the bishop asked.
The merchants looked on eagerly.
Isaac made a troubled expression.
"We can't say for sure—likely this month. There are still many difficulties."
"We're preparing provisions and weapons. We're still short on manpower…"
"The merchants will donate funds. We of the Church will provide men and supplies!"
"Firearms are still lacking…"
"We'll buy from Italy!"
"Cannons are lacking…"
"We'll buy from Hungary!"
"Armor is lacking…"
"We'll buy it!"
"Bows and crossbows—"
"—Buy!"
Only then did Isaac stand up, satisfied.
"These raiders… they must be eliminated. Always. There's no other way."
"Tomorrow at noon—we march out!"