Isaac awoke on a soft bed.
Looking around, he saw ancient relief carvings on the walls and furniture of various styles, some with obvious Gothic colors and others with exquisite Eastern objects.
Compared to the room's ancient opulence, the decorations seemed rather forlorn. The cabinet where the purple crystal pendant should have been placed was embedded with dim glass, and on the silver base stood a marble statue. The gold inlaid in the bronze mirror was nowhere to be found, stolen by someone unknown.
Isaac rushed to the mirror and examined his newborn self.
The young man in the mirror was about ten years old, with a pale face and regular features. His brown eyes sparkled with melancholy, his straight nose was in the center of his face, and his lips were slightly upturned, showing a hint of pride. His brown-black curly hair was slightly messy, covering half of his handsome eyebrows.
Looking at his handsome face in the mirror and the extraordinary decorations around him, Isaac smiled with satisfaction.
With such conditions, this great opportunity to travel through time had not been wasted.
Didn't the immersion come all at once?
Dong, dong, dong!
"Come in!" Isaac was a little surprised to hear himself speak a language he had never heard before so easily.
The heavy wooden door slowly opened, and a man dressed as a servant walked in and bowed.
"Your Royal Highness, it is a pleasure to see you awake. Your uncle, the great Basilius, is deeply concerned about you. If you are feeling well, please dress and follow me."
What a man of few words!
With that, he bowed again.
"Wait!"
The servant stopped in his tracks.
Big brother, I don't understand the situation yet. You have to give me some more clues!
How should I ask? Will I give myself away?
Ahem—
"Who am I?"
Never mind! Since he's a prince, he has the right to be capricious. It wouldn't be nice to be mysterious.
The attendant was taken aback.
"You are Isaac balaiolo Palaiologos. Your uncle, the great John, is the emperor of Rome and the Romans. Your father is Constantine, the despot of Moriah and the entire region."
Isaac's face changed dramatically.
It's sent!
He had traveled back in time to the late Byzantine Empire. His uncle was the second-to-last emperor of Byzantium, and his father was the famous Constantine XI.
That's not right. Constantine XI had no children. Could it be the effect of his time travel?
A servant rushed in,
"Your Highness, the steward, the emperor has finished the mass at Hagia Sophia and is now receiving the envoys from Rome. He ordered me to summon you."
"An envoy from Rome?" The steward furrowed his brow. "Is it about the union of the churches again?"
The servant cautiously glanced at the steward's expression. "No, it seems to be about the Crusaders in the north."
"The emperor seems quite pleased."
After thinking for a moment, he added.
Half an hour later, Isaac was dressed and seated in a carriage bound for the Grand Palace.
Along the way, the carriage passed through most of the city of Constantinople, giving Isaac a deeper understanding of this dying empire.
The Constantinople of today was no longer the "Emperor of Cities, Mother of Cities" of old, but rather resembled a large rural marketplace. Along the city walls, a dozen or so villages stretched out, and as they passed one of them, peasants dressed in simple clothes knelt before the carriages adorned with family crests, muttering prayers. Along the way, farmers and citizens hurried about; artisans and local merchants were scarce. The most bustling districts were home to Latin merchants from Italy and Turkish immigrants from Anatolia. The Venetian flag of St. Mark flew high, gleaming in the sunlight and stinging the hearts of every Byzantine.
The horses panted as the carriages passed through Theodosius Square and Constantine Square, where ancient statues stood on the edges—the marble and bronze bodies still intact, but the gold, silver, and jewels embedded in them were nowhere to be found. In the great catastrophe of more than 200 years ago, the wealth accumulated by the empire over hundreds of years was plundered, and although the warriors of the Laskaris family eventually recaptured the capital, the pain of this loss has continued to this day, leaving the empire in ruins.
"We're here," said the steward briefly.
The carriage came to a stop in front of the Grand Palace, with the famous statue of Justinian nearby. The barren grassland in the distance was once the imperial horse racing ground, and in the distance, the spires of the Hagia Sophia Cathedral could faintly be seen.
This was the emperor's residence, the center of Rome, the capital of the empire, and the center of the world.
Once upon a time, the racecourse was filled with strong and proud knights in armor, and the square was crowded with Roman soldiers who shook the world!
Once upon a time, grain from Egypt, porcelain from the distant East, amber from the Baltic Sea, precious wood from the Black Sea coast, and slaves from North Africa gathered here.
Once, edicts that could change the world were issued from here, healthy and strong city militias gathered here, military district leaders summoned well-trained cavalry and archers, and the emperor would ride a horse covered in purple horse blankets, wearing a purple cloak, with the Roman eagle emblem shining brightly on his armor.
The patriarch and monks of Hagia Sophia prayed for the empire's victory, wealthy merchants donated grain, weapons, and slaves, and citizens shouted "Victory!" as they threw flower garlands at the troops marching through the streets.
The victorious troops threw captured military flags and treasures at the statue of Justinian, which was increasingly encrusted with gold.
Now, however, the Great Palace lies in a state of semi-ruin. The emperor has few guests to entertain and not enough gold coins to maintain the vast palace complex.
The hippodrome is gradually deserted, and the gold on Justinian's statue has been looted, leaving ugly scars. The bells of Hagia Sophia in the distance seem to ring with a sense of tragedy.
This was Byzantium in its final days, the last days of Rome.
Isaac composed himself, bowed deeply to Justinian, and slowly walked up to the throne.
The elderly eunuchs in the palace led Isaac to the council hall, where he heard bursts of laughter.
He pushed open the door and entered.
Seated in the main seat was a middle-aged man with half-white hair, a thin face, high cheekbones, and wrinkles around his eyes and forehead, signs of long-term stress.
At this moment, however, his face was flushed with excitement, and the corners of his mouth turned up slightly, full of joy.
"Ah, Isaac, my child, I hear you are feeling better. Come, let me take a look at you!"" Emperor John VIII said cheerfully.
"Let me introduce you to the envoy from Rome, Assistant Bishop Fojar."
Isaac glanced over and saw a smiling middle-aged man sitting on a chair beside him, dressed in a white priest's robe and wearing a Roman Catholic cross. Isaac bowed slightly.
"Your Majesty, I am completely well now. I am very happy to see you and your distinguished guest. I wish you all good health and happiness."
John VIII waved his hand, motioning Isaac to sit on the chair beside him.
"Your Majesty, what makes you so happy?"
"Bishop Fojar has brought us good news. The Polish and Hungarian king, Władysław III, has captured the Turkish border fortresses and arrived in the Varna region. The Serbian prince and mercenary troops from Bohemia will join them under the command of Hunyadi, and at that time, their forces will surpass those of that young man Muhammad in both numbers and quality."
"Not only that, but at the command of Pope Urban IV, the Venetian fleet has blockaded the Dardanelles Strait. Murad II, who has withdrawn from the Karaman front, will be trapped in Anatolia and unable to provide timely reinforcements. The odds of victory in this holy war are very high." Bishop Fojar added with a smile, emphasizing the words "the Pope's command."
John VIII clearly understood the implication of Fojar's words. He stood up and placed his hand on his chest.
"May God forever bless him—the great Pope and the holy warrior." He bowed his head slowly, his expression unreadable.
Fojar also stood up with satisfaction and prayed for the Pope.
Isaac had no choice but to pretend to be devout, his mind racing, sincerely sending his regards to the Pope and the mother of Władysław III.
In a few days, you won't be laughing anymore.
Opening champagne at halftime is a sure way to court death.
After sending off the Pope's messenger, the empty hall was left with only the smiling uncle and the miserable nephew.
John VIII was still immersed in the beautiful dream painted by the messenger, fantasizing about taking this opportunity to recover his territory and recreate the achievements of Alexius and Michael VIII.
Isaac, however, already knew the outcome.
The Venetian fleet had indeed blockaded the Dardanelles, but their arch-enemies, the Genoese, had let Murad II's army go free—after receiving a huge sum of money.
Murad II crossed the Bosporus Strait, marched a thousand miles at a breakneck pace, and fought a decisive battle with the Crusaders at Varna.
The war was going well, but the young Władysław III, for reasons unknown, ignored the warnings of the Huns and led his knights to charge the Sultan's central camp.
The knights fought their way to the Sultan's tent, and Murad II's red and gold flag was already in sight.
At the critical moment, the Crusader commander Władysław III shouted for his men to charge, spurred his horse forward, and led the charge—only to be stabbed to death by a common soldier.
Instantly, the entire army collapsed.
Władysław, the united king of Poland and Hungary, was killed in battle, while the legendary general Hunyadi János narrowly escaped with his life.
With this, the large-scale military aid from the Western Catholic world to Constantinople came to an end. The Ottoman Empire's fame spread throughout Europe, and the Latin states were completely broken, dare not challenge the Ottomans for a long time.
Over the next few centuries, traditional Christian territories continued to be lost, and the Ottoman iron hoof trampled across all of Southeast Europe, from the capital of the Eastern Roman Empire to the capital of the Holy Roman Empire.
But that is all in the past.
"Isaac, you are almost twelve years old, which is not young anymore. If you can recapture a few territories this time, I will appoint you as governor!" John VIII was clearly in high spirits.
"Thank you, Your Majesty. I do not seek a fiefdom, but only wish for the empire to endure and for Your Majesty to remain in good health."
John VIII pouted unhappily.
"You really don't take after your father. If he were here, he would have started bargaining with me."
"By the way, your father is currently marching north on the Corinthian Peninsula, coordinating with the Crusaders of Varna. I hear that things are going quite well."
With that, he handed a letter to Isaac.
The handwriting on the letter was bold and fluid, clearly written by a strong warrior.
After skimming through it, Isaac understood the current situation. Constantine's military operations on the peninsula were progressing smoothly and had not encountered any significant resistance, but there was a serious shortage of food and military equipment, and he was requesting support from the capital.
In addition, Constantine expressed his wishes for the health of his brother and mother, and his longing for Isaac, whom he had not seen for a long time.
"Your Majesty," Isaac raised his head.
"Leave the transport of military supplies to me. I also want to do my part for the empire's war."
John was clearly a little surprised and looked closely at his nephew.
"You are only twelve years old. Your father was still relying on me to ride horses at your age..."
"But Muhammad next door became Sultan at the age of twelve."
Isaac raised his head and looked into his uncle's gray-brown eyes.
That night, Isaac sat at the table, thinking about the news he had received that day.
The crossing was a foregone conclusion, but it seemed like a dead end.
The defeat at Varna was inevitable—Murad II had probably already crossed the strait.
Constantinople was now in chaos, and the joy of the moment would turn to panic when news of the crusaders' defeat reached the city.
His uncle had agreed to his request, and he could leave the capital for the wide world.
No, he had to do something to save Byzantium and his own fate!
With that in mind, Isaac quickly scribbled a few lines on a piece of paper and handed it to the attendant outside.
"Andrew, send someone to find out about these people immediately. Come back and meet me in the south."
Andrew, the chief attendant, remained as silent as he had been in the morning. He took the note and nodded.