On September 27, 1446 AD, Skanderbeg led the Albanian League to once again repel the Ottoman Empire's land forces, winning immense renown for himself and bringing his nation a brief period of peace.
However, such a minor victory was far from enough to inflict lasting pain on the Ottomans, who continued to eye Albania's borders with predatory intent.
In Hungary, the local nobility agreed to recognize the Habsburg posthumous heir Ladislaus as king—on the condition that Frederick III, his current guardian, relinquish custody. After this proposal was rejected, the Hungarian nobility elected John Hunyadi as regent.
Meanwhile, the Hussites in the Kingdom of Bohemia refused to recognize Ladislaus's claim to the throne. Backed by the parliament, the Poděbrady family effectively seized political control in Prague.
All of Eastern Europe was in chaos.
At this time, Isaac had just returned to the city after a campaign of raids around the Port of Surt, bringing back slaves, livestock, and a small sum of money.
Many of the recently converted tribal sheikhs, under Isaac's orders, had sent their sons or brothers to the Port of Surt to board ships bound for Morea. They were to receive Greek-language education at the seminary in Mystras.
"Your Highness, I've returned. The second batch of Dobruja settlers has arrived."
Dust-covered, Isuelt stepped into Isaac's study.
"You're back? Sit, have a taste of the wine brewed in the desert oases around here. Those Muslims secretly drink it."
Isuelt didn't hesitate, taking a large gulp.
He smacked his lips."Not great."
"Haha!"
"Your Highness, the second batch of tribal migrants—two thousand in total—has arrived at the port. Knight Conti is escorting them to Saint Josephland."
Isuelt spoke formally.
"What do you think of the administrative structure I've set up in Surt?"
Isuelt thought for a moment."Overall, not bad, but still a bit crude."
"How about I put you in charge of creating a proper administrative framework for this region?"
Isuelt was both surprised and delighted."What about the immigration work?"
"I'll have Albert take over your duties and develop our intelligence network along the Black Sea coast while he's at it."
Then, Isaac announced the personnel changes he had prepared.
Andersen, the court steward, would become Minister of Foreign Affairs, temporarily based in Constantinople to oversee immigration affairs.
Albert would be stationed in Theodoro, in charge of immigration.
Isuelt, now officially Minister of Internal Affairs, would assume command over all territorial administration.
Riedel, the Minister of Finance, would be sent to the Port of Surt to establish a financial system.
"Your current priorities are twofold:"
"First, assist Minister of Works Lancelot in building the city walls and port."
"Second, quickly receive the Orthodox immigrants and fill the vacancies left by Muslims sold into slavery."
"Just as I thought."
"Good that you understand."
Isaac nodded.
The transformation of the Port of Surt was well underway.
Rebellious Muslims were rounded up and sold; Orthodox Christians were brought in to replace them.
Agrarian peoples like the Greeks and South Slavs were settled around the cities; nomadic groups like the Dobrujan Seljuks were placed in the oasis grazing zones.
As for the semi-arid grasslands and barren saline lands, they were delegated to local tribes that had converted to Orthodoxy.
Though still rough around the edges, the system worked well enough for now.
Shortly after Isuelt left, Fidel knocked on Isaac's door.
"How was the haul this time, Captain?"
Fidel grabbed a bottle and took a swig—only to spit it out."Your Highness, not bad. We sailed as far as the Syrian coast. The Mamluk emirs in Syria are rebelling again."
"We hijacked their grain and slave transport ships, sold the loot to Cyprus and the Knights Hospitaller—made 3,000 ducats."
"Their ships are still using the oldest galleys, not even equipped with firearms. Some don't even use crossbows."
This was true. The Mamluks, self-styled defenders of the Holy Land, resisted the use of firearms in both navy and army, considering them un-Islamic.
This was why, at the Battle of Diu, Mamluk ships surrounded a single Portuguese flagship and still couldn't bring it down.
"And what else?"
"Karaman is raiding the borders while the Ottomans are focused on Europe. There's unrest among Armenians in Ramazan's territory—nothing new."
Isaac pondered."Try establishing contact with any remaining Armenian forces in Ramazan and Karaman. We might gain something."
"Understood."
Isaac remained in Surt for a month.
During this time, sporadic revolts continued. Some tribal sheikhs who had surrendered rebelled again. Isaac crushed them one by one.
By October, the city had largely calmed down.
One day, Isaac walked through the streets in a hooded cloak, accompanied by agile bodyguards.
The city was becoming livelier with the influx of migrants.
Blacksmiths, butcher shops, grocers, taverns, and brothels had all reopened.
He overheard two pedestrians chatting:
"Did you hear? Lord Isuelt spearheaded the formation of a city council. Merchants, clergy, citizens, city guards, and local landowners all get to elect representatives."
"What does the council do?"
"They can make proposals—no real power, but hey, it's a position."
The City Council was an institution created by Isuelt under Isaac's suggestion.
Council members came from all social classes. They received no salary but could submit proposals to the upper ranks—this helped ease ethnic tensions and strengthened a sense of belonging across social strata.
"City Guard Recruitment! No ethnic restrictions! Must speak either Arabic or Greek to apply!"
At the central square, city guards were being recruited.
The force, organized by Isuelt and Ulda, had its costs split between the merchants' guild and the administration.
It was capped at 150 men, responsible for public order and defense.
Recruiters gave speeches in both Greek and Arabic. A good number signed up.
Isaac continued his walk, eventually arriving at the city's largest well.
Rainfall here wasn't especially low—around 200–250 mm annually—but poor soil conditions meant water drained quickly into the ground.
As a result, groundwater was plentiful, and large wells—some dating back to the Roman era—remained in use. Locals called them "Roman Wells."
With only about 5,000 people in the city—half being new immigrants, mainly Greeks and Slavs, with a few Goths and Latins—water supply was adequate. But new wells would be needed in the future.
"Stop!"
At the military camp outside the city, guards from the Black Legion blocked his way.
Isaac lowered his hood.
"Salutations, Your Highness. Welcome."
Isaac nodded and entered the camp.
Everything was in order. Most importantly, sanitation—his top concern—was well-maintained.
All waste was collected and sent to a compost site for fermentation, later used as fertilizer.
Isaac casually interviewed a few soldiers. The main complaints were consistent: not enough entertainment, little food variety, and rarely seeing family.
All very real concerns.
"Any thoughts on our last raiding campaign?" he asked Mehmet, the officer on duty.
Mehmet considered."Our horses struggle in arid terrain. In semi-arid steppe, they're okay. But in desert? We'd lose before fighting."
"Go on."
"Our stock is mostly Cappadocian, with some Central Asian lineage—but not suited for desert life."
"Many horses fell ill during our last sweep, weakening our combat strength."
"You must have some solutions then?"
Mehmet cleared his throat.
"First, we can replace some draft and pack animals with camels—which you're already doing."
"Second, we can purchase local desert horses—mostly Arab mixes—that handle dryness better."
"Lastly, we should establish our own stud farms. The lands around Saint Josephland are ideal for breeding."
Isaac clapped him on the shoulder.
"Excellent. Proceed. I'll write to Ghazi immediately."
After another inspection, Isaac returned to the city hall.
He summoned Isuelt.
"Your Highness, what is it?"
"Four things:
Strengthen control over the city guard and village militias. Let retired soldiers serve as squad leaders.
Handle the relocation of military families. Reserve the best urban land for them. Half their moving costs will be state-covered.
Have your finance officials buy horses and camels from herders—send them to the army.
Establish military-run brothels. It'll improve morale and generate revenue."
Isaac spoke casually while Isuelt scribbled notes on parchment.
"That's all."
Isuelt saluted and left.
He had become the busiest man in the city. With little foundational structure in place, nearly every issue landed on his desk.
Busy? That's good—better to be busy.
October 10, 1446 AD.A delegation from Constantinople arrived.
Emperor John VIII Palaiologos commended Isaac's territorial expansion and formally established the Duchy of Surt, granting Isaac the title Despot of Surt.
The investiture ceremony was brief. Clergy from Constantinople and Rome acknowledged Isaac's sovereignty.
The Diocese of Surt was established, with Erst as bishop.
Few nobles attended, skeptical Isaac could hold the region.
Isaac chose a banner for his new realm: a white field bearing a black eagle wreathed in flames, sword in one claw, scepter in the other—symbolizing military and civil authority.
The eagle bore the Palaiologos family crest.
Isaac himself felt little change, but his followers were overjoyed.
Perhaps this legitimized their loyalty.
The day after his declaration, Fezzan's central government sent a hollow condemnation.
They stated they'd allow Isaac to retain control of the Port of Surt, but demanded the return of tribal lands and a ban on proselytizing.
Or else, war.
Maruna read the letter aloud with sarcastic flair, prompting loud laughter.
Once the envoy departed, Isaac addressed his court:
"Isuelt, your thoughts?"
"Your Highness, our intelligence shows Tunisia is about to descend into civil war—they won't aid Fezzan. Clearly, they lack the confidence to expel us alone."
Isaac turned to his military officers.
"If there is war, what's our strategy?"
"Your Highness, our forces are adapting to desert horses and camels—currently not combat-ready. We can't risk a desert offensive."
"But if we fight defensively, stretching Fezzan's supply lines and choosing the right moment to strike, our odds are strong."
Isaac nodded.
"Then let it be so. Let their envoy return and report back—if they surrender soon, there's still room for negotiation."
He flung the letter to the ground.
"Send word to:
Norwich: deliver the next grain shipment.
Fidel: deploy the First Guard Corps.
William: remit colonial profits.
All military units: prepare for combat.
All tribes: assemble at Saint Josephland."
Let them come!