Free Web NovelChapter 748: Deathmatch
The young Leo produced a sheet of draft parchment and read aloud, line by line:
"First: the Sultan shall abdicate immediately and spend a season of penance in Greece. All future Sultans will be nominated from Constantinople and must study and serve here for a term before ascending the throne.
Second: the empire will appoint heads of government, thema governors, and principal ministers; the Sultan may name subordinate officials to assist them.
Third: the Sultanate will pay an annual indemnity to Constantinople to repair wartime losses; precise sums to be fixed by imperial commissioners.
Fourth: customs and taxation will be integrated into the imperial system; the Sultanate’s budget must be approved by the emperor.
"As an act of mercy, I demand no transfer of land. Your territories shall remain under your administration as laid out by Emperor Antonius De’Ricci, and we will send teachers and build schools across your realm to aid recovery."
Leo set the parchment down and looked at the older man before him with an earnestness that belied his youth. "What say you, honorable Sultan? I believe this treaty will benefit the peoples of both realms..."
The Sultan’s face did not change. His eyes were bloodshot; his voice scraped like dry leather. "You Greeks have always been called sly serpents with poisoned fangs that taste like mead," he said slowly. "What sweetness do you offer now? Tell me—what will my Sultanate be in ten, twenty, thirty years under these terms?"
Leo’s smile faltered but he fought to keep it. "Sultan, I harbour no secret malice. Trust me. If we implement this treaty, we can stabilise the frontier and secure long peace between our peoples."
The Sultan fixed him with a look that could have eaten men. "If you ask whether I will sign," he replied flatly, "I will say no. To your face I refuse. There will be no further discussion."
Leo hardened his tone, each word deliberate. "You are defeated, Sultan. Your army lies smashed. Your capital is vulnerable. I could march through your lands in months. Your people go hungry. Their loyalty is fraying. You must face the truth."
The Sultan ground his teeth and answered in the same measured fury. "Even if I fall, my house will endure. My brothers and my lineage will carry my legacy on to the throne. Even if your gloss fools my people for a time, they will peel back your lies and rise again—then they will ambush your sinful Greeks from the mountains of Anatolia."
He paused; for a heartbeat his eyes went distant, as if seeing a thousand lost banners. Then his voice returned, steadier and fierce. "I surrendered to save blood. I yielded so more faithful men might live. That was my choice—and in that choice, my purpose is fulfilled. But mark me, young emperor—"
He rose, the old muscles protesting, and squared himself before Leo. "I will be remembered. Defeated, yes; surrendered, yes; but my spirit—my spirit will not be broken."
Immediately after that, to everyone’s shock, the Sultan lunged forward and seized the unguarded emperor by his chest. With a desperate roar, he dragged the young emperor out of his seat and charged toward the sea not far from them.
The Varangians, led by Cerberus, instantly sprang into action — but because the emperor had ordered them to keep their distance earlier, they could only watch in horror as their sovereign was pulled into the water, disappearing beneath the waves together with the old Sultan.
The emperor struggled violently, but the Sultan, with a strength far surpassing his frail age, clung to him like an iron chain, dragging him deeper and deeper into the dark water. The young emperor thrashed, trying to break free, but the Sultan’s hands were like steel claws, refusing to let go.
Panicking, Leo gasped — and swallowed two mouthfuls of seawater. His body screamed for air as he fought upward, kicking the Sultan desperately, but the old man forced him down again, trying to press his head beneath the surface.
On the shore, the Varangians were already diving in, swimming frantically toward their ruler. But the emperor, fueled by a final surge of adrenaline, kept struggling for the surface, his mind fading between life and death.
The Sultan tightened his grip, determined to end it here — to drown the young emperor in his grasp.
After nearly two minutes underwater, Leo began to lose consciousness. Strange visions filled his mind: his mother Anna and his sister in Constantinople, seated beside his late father, their backs turned toward him. Reaching out toward them, his movements slowed, his strength fading — and his sense of self slipping away.
Just as darkness began to take him, two Varangians finally reached their sovereign. With the last of their strength, they pried the Sultan away and pulled the emperor upward. Cerberus and two more Varangians rushed to assist, hauling both men back to the surface.
The emperor’s face was pale as snow, his body limp and unresponsive. The Sultan too gasped for air, his limbs weak — yet on his lips lingered an eerie smile, a silent declaration that he had won something greater than the battle itself.
The Varangians carried their emperor ashore, shouting in panic.
"Medic! Medic! Where’s the medic?!" echoed through the camp.
Inside a nearby tent, they stripped off his soaked garments, laying him by the fire as Cerberus and the others desperately worked to resuscitate him.
Not far away, the Sultan sat bound in ropes, left in the freezing cold. His body trembled, his lips quivered — but that same wide grin never left his face. As if, even in defeat and captivity, he remained the true victor.
While the surrendered Turkish noblemen stood under heavy guard, Roman soldiers surrounded them with blades drawn — eyes sharp with threat, ready to strike if anyone dared step out of line. The pashas and beys wore a mix of despair and defiance on their faces, yet more than half of them still kneeled toward their Sultan, imprisoned in a corner. Some began to weep quietly. If not for the wall of steel between them, they would have rushed forward to embrace their fallen ruler — a sight that made the Roman commander’s face burn red with fury.
"You deceitful fools!" he bellowed. "Is this your idea of bravery? Attacking the sovereign of another nation — when our emperor came seeking peace? Have you no shame?"
An aged pasha stepped out of the line, tears streaming down his face. "Please, honourable general, let us care for our Sultan! I beg you!"
The commander’s response was cold steel. He unsheathed his blade and thrust its tip toward the old man’s chest.
"Sit down! Do not make me say it twice!"
The pasha did not move. His trembling voice cracked with grief.
"Please... our Sultan is not afraid to die — then why should we be? We have already shamed ourselves, our families, our nation, and our ancestors by surrendering. Must we shame ourselves further by abandoning our Sultan when he needs us most?"
His words ignited the crowd. One by one, the nobles rose, pushing toward their Sultan despite the Roman soldiers’ warnings. The guards faltered — their orders were only to watch, not to harm the prisoners — and confusion spread.
"I shall kill thee if you do not stop!" the Roman commander roared. But the Turks pressed on, as if deaf to his tongue. The Sultan too noticed the commotion — the grin faded from his lips, replaced by a shadow of dread. freёweɓnovel.com
Then, from the distance, came the thunder of hooves. A small troop of riders galloped toward the scene. Their leader halted and barked in a commanding tone,
"Slay the first man who dares cause trouble — then take the rest into custody!"
It was Giovanni Junior, the newly promoted prōtonōbelissimohypertatos, finally arriving.
He dismounted swiftly, his face grim, and snatched a soldier’s spear. Without hesitation, he drove it straight through the chest of the nearest bey who had stepped forward. With a brutal pull, he withdrew the spear, blood splattering across the sand — and the screams that followed silenced the entire crowd at once.
The nobles froze. The air was heavy with fear and the stench of blood.
The old Sultan staggered to his feet, fury flaring in his aged eyes.
"Rumelian!" he roared. "If you wish to show your strength, face me! I am the Sultan! I alone bear the guilt — not them!"
But Giovanni Junior ignored him entirely. Without sparing even a glance, he turned to his men."Bind them all — hands and feet! Take them into custody!"
The Sultan went pale, his body trembling, as Giovanni strode past him like he was nothing more than a shadow.
Inside the emperor’s tent, Giovanni rushed to his brother’s side. The young emperor lay motionless, his skin pale, his lips cold.
"Leo! Your Majesty! Brother! Can you hear me?" Giovanni cried, voice cracking with panic. "Give me a response! We have just won this battle! We, we have restored all of our lost territories! Wake up! my brother! Do not leave me!"
The emperor did not respond.
