"In summary, Your Royal Highness, please support my return to Bulgaria." Inside Temesvár in the Principality of Transylvania, a handsome middle-aged man was making his request to the current de facto ruler of the Kingdom of Hungary, Regent Hunyadi. Not long after the Battle of Varna, in order to win over the most prestigious regent in Hungary, the Habsburg family, to which the young King Ladislaus V "the Posthumous" belonged, tacitly allowed the Hunyadi family to hereditarily rule Transylvania, thus elevating the governorship to a Principality.
And the person now petitioning the Regent was Fruzhin Shishman of Sracimir, the second son of Ivan Shishman, the penultimate Tsar of the Shishman dynasty's Sracimir branch of the Second Bulgarian Empire, who had contributed significantly on behalf of the Bulgarians in the previous Battle of Varna. He was also the patriot who, more than twenty years prior, had united with his cousin Constantine II in Vidin and other places to launch an uprising against Ottoman rule, and was the nominal holder of the current Bulgarian Tsar title.
Originally, this exiled Tsar, who ultimately held only an empty title, should have completely given up hope of restoration after Varna, and died in despair in Hungary in 1460. But thanks to the storm stirred up by Manuel, this butterfly, he was about to embark on a path completely different from that of official history.
And his patron, the "White Knight," after a long period of contemplation, finally made a decision that would disrupt the Aemos Peninsula for decades to come:
"Go, return to Vidin."
A few days later, in the palace of Edirne, the Ottoman capital, Sultan Murad II's state of mind became increasingly fractured. After choosing to retreat from Constantinople despite domestic risks and enduring the ambush outside the city, he had believed that the war was finally over, and both sides should have taken a step back. But the Romans, especially that Bosphorus Caesar, apparently had no intention of letting him go, and after only two days of rest, he directly led his army towards the heartland of the Sultanate, the capital Edirne.
Facing this unexpected situation, and opposed by the impending collapse of domestic livelihoods and secretly disloyal classes, the Sultan, lacking confidence to completely crush the Romans, had no choice but to repeatedly send envoys to express his desire for peace talks.
But to the Ottoman's requests, that Bosphorus Caesar consistently chose to refuse. However, while refusing, the other party also occasionally hinted that there was still room for negotiation, preventing the Ottoman from abandoning this glimmer of hope. Even if Murad harbored doubts about the Bosporus's sincerity, he could not resist this temptation and sent an envoy for the last time today to negotiate with the other party.
"I hope the negotiations go smoothly," the Sultan in the palace looked towards the east of the city, sighing helplessly.
Meanwhile, in the town of Boulgarophygon, east of Edirne, the negotiations between the envoy sent by the Sultan and the Romans were also drawing to a close.
"Your Majesty, what do you think?" The envoy looked expectantly at the Bosphorus Caesar, hoping he would agree to the conditions proposed by the Ottoman.
"Return Nicaea, Macedonia, Ottoman-controlled Epirus, the Armenian hinterland, and North Bucellarian to us?" Manuel rose from the chair he had been sitting in throughout the negotiations, a faint smile on his face, "That is indeed a generous offer, very difficult to refuse from every angle."
"Then Caesar..."
"But it is a refusal."
"!?"
Staring at the Ottoman envoy's incredulous gaze, Manuel's displeasure and sarcasm became increasingly evident, "You have been plundering the children of the Lord Christ for a hundred years, can a temporary concession repay that?"
"Your Majesty, we know we were wrong..." To achieve this peace treaty, the envoy had to force himself to speak against his will in a humble tone.
"Wrong," Manuel impatiently interrupted him,
"You don't know you were wrong; you just know you're about to die."
Before the Ottoman envoys could react, Manuel gestured to the guards beside him to seize them. By the time the envoy realized what was happening, the chief envoy immediately shouted in panic, "Manuel, 'when two countries are at war, do not kill the envoy'!"
"I am not at war with a country; I am merely chastising foreign enemies who have occupied Roman homeland." After he said this, his guards swung their scimitars at the diplomatic mission, directly beheading them.
"Your Majesty, this is too much..." Witnessing such a scene, his Chief Minister Serenus couldn't help but feel a sudden chill and a tingling sensation on his scalp.
Manuel's heart was somewhat helpless as his gaze met that of his prime minister and others. Even with him pressing hard, the Ottoman Army still retained its strength, and it was possible that, knowing there was no retreat, they might erupt with desperate courage and power under the leadership of the astute Sultan Murad. Therefore, to minimize the chances of this happening, before the final decisive battle, he had to find a way to offer the enemy a faint glimmer of a retreat, preventing them from easily finding the courage to fight with their backs to the wall. This was also why he had continued to negotiate with the envoys sent by the Ottoman until now.
As for why he so decisively slaughtered this diplomatic mission here, it was because if he continued to press westward, it would be Edirne, the capital of the Sultanate, and Murad was no fool. If he learned that Manuel had again rejected peace, no matter how much hope he harbored, he would surely know that he had no way out. To keep the Ottoman from knowing his intentions for a little longer, he could only kill the envoys on the spot. Even if they were imprisoned, there was no guarantee they wouldn't escape, was there?
However, he had no time to explain to his prime minister now. In order to engage Murad II in a decisive battle before he could fully realize what was happening, Manuel simply pursed his lips impassively, "No time to delay, advance!"
Just as Manuel had thought, it wasn't until dusk the next day that Murad, who had been hoping to negotiate with the Romans for a period of recuperation, learned that the Bosporus Army had been approaching Edirne. Only then did the Sultan realize that the negotiations had broken down, and as for the envoys he had sent, they had most likely met with misfortune.
"Despicable Romans, vile Manuel Gavras! Why does Allah not punish you!?" After cursing his nemesis, Murad, who had been recuperating in the palace, had no choice but to brace himself and prepare to lead his large army out of the city to confront the enemy. Before that, to alleviate the pressure of command, he summoned his eunuch and ordered him to call his son to accompany him out of the city to resist the Romans.
"Then Sultan, should we call Prince Muhammad?" the eunuch asked with a fawning smile.
After a moment of thought, Murad waved his hand and made his decision, "Bring him along. Although he is the son of a Greek woman, he is still my blood, and he has been trained in horsemanship and martial arts." What he didn't say was that bringing Muhammad along would make it easier to control the boy, preventing the succession of his beloved son Sultan Aladdin Ali from being obstructed by his fourth son in the city if he were to meet with an accident.
"As you command, Sultan."
A quarter of an hour later, another part of the Edirne palace—
"Father wants me to lead troops with him to resist the Roman invasion." Upon receiving the order from his father, whom he rarely saw, the eyes of 13-year-old Muhammad immediately turned cold.
"Really? This is good news!" His revered teacher, the jurist Aksham-Sadin, known as "Gourani Molla," whom the prince had considered a foster father for years, heard the news and offered his sincere congratulations to his student.
But Muhammad did not feel as joyful about it as his teacher. Instead, he pursed his lips tightly, remaining silent. He did not believe that his father, who had always been cold towards him, was taking him to the battlefield to gain merit, but rather had another motive.
"I'm already like this, and he still doesn't let down his guard?" The young prince silently clenched his fists, his eyes gradually turning red.
"Your Highness, are you alright?" Aksham-Sadin, seeing his student on the verge of tears, couldn't help but ask with concern, while pulling out a silk handkerchief and offering it to him.
"It's nothing," little Muhammad blinked hard, holding back the saltwater that was about to flood, making his expression as resolute as possible, "Teacher, no matter what choice I make, will you support me?"
The old man was startled; after a long moment, he nodded solemnly, "This is my duty as your teacher." As soon as he finished speaking, he smiled helplessly: he had only come to the Ottoman Sultanate to spread the faith, but at some point, he had unconsciously come to regard this prince, whose fate was sorrowful, as his own child. For him, who had never married in his life, dedicating himself to the study of Sharia and the sayings of the Prophet, this was a paradoxical happiness.
However, isn't this also quite good?
"Then, my child, what will you do?"
"Teacher, that's a secret." Muhammad showed the smile appropriate for his age, "Also, before I go, I want to say goodbye to the Dula brothers. And then, there's this letter, could you give it to him for me?" As he spoke, Muhammad's face couldn't help but turn red.
The Dula he spoke of naturally referred to the younger of the two sons of Vlad II, the Prince of Wallachia, who had been left in the Ottoman court; the elder brother was named Vlad. After the Battle of Varna, Sultan Murad, for the sake of appearances, eventually spared the brothers. However, not long before this, Muhammad had already had contact with Dula.
"Go yourself!" Aksham-Sadin's eyelids twitched uncontrollably, "Or send a trusted servant. I am a Ulema who serves Allah; to pretend not to see such things is already out of respect for being your teacher!"
At the same time, several miles outside Edirne, the Bosporus Army's marching speed also began to slow down.
"Murad should have received the message by now, and the Turks should also be gathering all remaining available forces." Gazing at the large city, which glowed with lights even at night, Manuel's eyes were filled with longing and excitement. Yet, at this very moment, every military order he issued was terrifyingly calm, "Let's rest for a moment. Next, will be the final decisive battle."
Upon receiving Caesar's order, the entire army immediately immersed themselves peacefully in this moment of tranquility. It was then that his two Army Commanders, who had always followed him, approached him to discuss the morning's tactical deployment with Caesar.
As the sky began to turn white like a fish's belly, the final discussions and deployments were all completed. By this time, after giving his final assurances to his subordinates, Manuel took out an exquisitely crafted hand cannon from his waist. It was a birthday gift given to him by his naval teacher, who was now the Autocratic State's Grand Admiral Francesco Falero, when he was 18. Because it felt like a revolver from his previous life, Manuel was very fond of it and even later had artisans modify it to a quick-fire mechanism.
"It's a shame that no matter how much it resembles a pistol, it's still essentially a hand cannon, capable of firing at most one bullet. In all these years, it hasn't taken a single head on the battlefield." Although he muttered this to himself, Manuel still loaded it with gunpowder and lead shot, and took it to the battlefield.
And before this battle was about to begin, just after dawn, the accompanying priest also delivered his final sermon to the officers and soldiers who were about to enter the decisive battlefield:
"My brothers and warriors, in the name of God, ensure that this attack is sustained and skillful, so that you will not be accused or mocked by our enemies. Those who show cowardice on the battlefield must be cast out from the glory of our Lord.
"You should clearly know that those who die for God in this endeavor will have their souls gloriously ascend to heaven; and those who walk out alive from this endeavor, their lives will forever be respected, and after death, they will forever be sung of.
"May God eternally bestow glory and grace upon all warriors of the Lord Christ."
On the morning of February 5, 1445, outside Edirne, the capital of the Ottoman Sultanate, formerly known as Adrianople or Hadrianopolis, the decisive battle between the Romans and the Turks finally began.