1444, Byzantium Resurrects

On the night of 28 February 1448, the town of Linton was under attack.

Outside the town, in the date palm grove, forest rangers were on night patrol, chasing away small animals eating the dates and keeping watch for thieves.

The flickering torchlight illuminated the scene as the tipsy forest guards hummed a tune while moving through the grove. Occasional rustling sounds and the flapping of wings echoed through the trees.

Rabbits and birds were the two main pests.

The forest rangers shouted loudly to chase away the rabbits gnawing on the trunks of the date palm trees and the birds stealing dates.

"Hm?"

The forest ranger rubbed his eyes. There seemed to be a dark figure ahead.

"Hey! You! Put down what you're holding!"

Whoosh!

An arrow suddenly shot out and hit the tree trunk next to him.

Startled, the forest ranger broke out in a cold sweat.

Thieves coming here to steal dates wasn't unusual, but even if they were caught red-handed, they would only be beaten up, not killed.

After all, it was just a few dates.

The forest ranger turned his head to look at the arrow, and his eyes widened.

This special bone arrowhead, adorned with tribal symbols, was only used by the Berber tribe in the Western Desert.

Was the tribe in rebellion? Was the Hafs dynasty coming? Still half-sober, he immediately threw down the torch and ran towards the town.

All he was doing was guarding a forest. Why risk his life? Although the town had no walls, there were many watchtowers and fortifications along the edges. He would be safe there.

He ran desperately through the jujube forest, the archers firing arrows continuously behind him. They were clearly more agile, firing arrows non-stop and running faster and faster.

The forest ranger used his knowledge of the terrain to repeatedly circle around them. He knew that if he couldn't shake off his pursuers in the forest, he wouldn't stand a chance once he reached the plains.

Gradually, the footsteps behind him grew fainter until he could no longer hear them.

Breathing a sigh of relief, the forest ranger ran towards his small house at the edge of the forest.

The trees gradually thinned out, and the house came into view.

He jumped over a ditch, ran into the stable next to the house, panted heavily, and climbed onto his old horse.

...

"Are the scouts back yet?"

The centurion asked from a hill in the distance.

"Not yet."

"We can't wait any longer. Tell the other two-hundred-man units to follow us!"

The centurion slapped his horse's back and led more than a hundred cavalrymen towards the town of Linton in the distance.

Their eyes were filled with excitement and cruelty.

The small tribes they had raided earlier were poor and sparsely populated, unable to satisfy their desires.

They had heard that the newly built town of Linton was prosperous and wealthy, and that its Christians were weak and helpless, easily crushed with a single kick.

What were they waiting for? They must hurry to the town to eat the fattest lamb legs and sleep with the most beautiful women! The cavalry shouted as they rode, kicking up a cloud of yellow sand behind them.

Ding—ding—ding—

The large bell in the central watchtower of Linton Town rang urgently.

The centurion knew something was wrong.

Some fool must have let the news slip! He turned his head to look at the cavalrymen, their eyes clouded by desire. He gritted his teeth.

"Charge on! The Kafirs aren't ready yet!"

As they entered the range of the watchtowers, the two outermost towers began shooting arrows. Several cavalrymen were hit by stray arrows, groaned, and fell to the ground.

"Charge!"

The centurion roared.

Over a hundred cavalrymen crossed the trench and charged straight into the residential area of the town.

In the east of Linton Town, Afif lay half-asleep in bed, hearing the sound of bells and shouts outside the window. His parents were calling his name anxiously from outside the door, and his younger brother was crying loudly.

He pushed the door open drowsily.

"Afif! Hurry up and put on your shoes! We're going to the central watchtower! The castle is there!"

"What's going on?"

His father threw his clothes and shoes at him, then pulled out a machete.

"The Hafs Dynasty is attacking! The western part of the town has fallen. They're coming quickly. The tribes on the outskirts didn't even have time to warn us."

His father opened the door, shielded his wife and two sons, and ran down the street towards the central watchtower.

Many residents were still on the street, all heading to the watchtower to seek shelter.

Afif's mind went blank.

Had the west city fallen? What about the tailor's shop? Was Sophie okay?

"Move aside! Move aside!"

A group of guards pushed through the crowd and headed west to set up a defense line.

They were the troops stationed in Linton Town by the Saint Joseph magistrate. Originally, there were 150 of them, but 100 were drafted last year due to the Milan War, leaving only 50.

However, many retired veterans and strong men had joined their ranks, and they were also heading to the battlefield.

Afif searched anxiously but could not find Sofia's father among them.

"The central watchtower has limited space! It cannot withstand a prolonged attack!"

"The fast horses have already been dispatched to St. Joseph's for reinforcements! What we need to do is buy time!"

The captain of the guard shouted. "All men, grab your swords and guns and join me in holding back the enemy! Protect your wives and children!"

The guard's interpreter repeated the order in different languages.

Soon, many men grabbed their swords and spears. Under the worried gaze of their families, they stepped out of the crowd and stood alongside the guards.

"Afif! Protect your mother and brother!"

His father held Afif tightly and looked into his confused eyes, hoping for a definitive response.

Afif nodded.

His mother wiped away her tears but did not try to stop him. She knew her husband's character.

"Hurry up!"

His father shouted.

In the distance, the sound of hooves could be heard.

Afif was pushed and shoved by the crowd and found himself in the central watchtower.

So this was war.

He thought to himself.

There were no flowers, no wine, no gold, and no glory.

Only farewells.

He stood on the tower and watched his father's back disappear into the crowd moving in the opposite direction. Then he watched the crowd disappear around the corner.

Before long, the sounds of fighting reached him.

The women and children in the central watchtower cried and held up crosses, praying to their gods to keep their loved ones safe.

The sounds of battle came and went for nearly two hours, until the last scream suddenly stopped.

The sound of hooves rang out, trampling over the pool of blood and making a sticky sound.

Those on the tower stared intently at the street, hoping their loved ones would appear.

They were disappointed.

The blood-covered cavalry of the Hafs Dynasty appeared in view of the crowd on the tower.

A low cry suddenly rang out from all around.

At the front of the cavalry, the centurion stood angrily, holding a severed head aloft.

When they had arrived, there had been three full companies of a hundred men each, but now fewer than 150 remained.

The enemy's fighting spirit was resolute. More than 400 militiamen, young and old, picked up whatever weapons they could find and held them back for two hours.

They divided into several groups and took advantage of their knowledge of the terrain and the structure of the houses to fight a guerrilla war, inflicting heavy casualties on the cavalry.

Ultimately, the centurion was forced to order the cavalry to dismount and fight on foot, leveraging their numerical superiority to push the militia into the final street.

Filled with rage, he refused to allow any surrender and ordered the militia to be slaughtered to the last man.

It was almost dawn, and even if the enemy were as foolish as they appeared, reinforcements would surely arrive soon.

Moreover, the tower opposite was no easy target. Thinking of this, he felt a wave of frustration.

Bang!

He kicked the head off the tower.

"Bring all the prisoners up here!"

The cavalrymen behind him dragged the prisoners up: men, women, and children alike. They were supposed to be the spoils of their conquest of the western district.

But now there was clearly no time to take them away.

"Kill them."

The centurion gave the order coldly.

The cavalrymen behind him grinned savagely and plunged their sabers into the prisoners' chests.

Looking at the numb expressions on the faces of the people in the tower, the centurion felt a surge of pleasure.

"Retreat!"

The remaining cavalrymen mounted their horses, took whatever gold and silver they could carry, and quickly disappeared from view.

Only a mess remained on the ground...

...

"My lord, last night the western border was invaded by a group of cavalry from the Emir of Misurata in the Hafs dynasty. They did not intend to occupy the land; they were probably just a vanguard on a raid."

Isult rubbed his sore eyes and furrowed his brow.

"Continue."

"Due to the Milan and Albanian wars, too many troops were deployed, leaving our border defenses vulnerable. We were unable to respond in time."

"The Saint Joseph Administrative District is the hardest-hit area. Gazi, who accompanied His Highness on his expedition, have not yet returned, so their response has been slow."

Currently, second-line tribes from various regions have begun rushing to the border. Hussein Shah arrived in Linton Town just in time to save most of the women and children.

"Ahmed Sheikh defeated a unit of a hundred men who attempted to bypass the southern route, capturing their centurion."

"Send commendations to Hussein and Ahmed. When His Highness returns, I will request rewards on their behalf."

The sheikhs of the large tribes who led the conversion fear the Islamic forces' counterattack the most. Other tribes may be accepted back into the Islamic world if they contribute a large sum of money.

However, if the Islamic forces regain control of this land, the fate of those tribes will be sealed: death and annihilation.

"Send a letter of inquiry to Urda, the executive president of the Surt Joint Chamber of Commerce. Why is their intelligence system in Misurata so backward?"

"My lord, Urda..."

"What is it?"

"He also accompanied His Highness on the expedition to expand the trade network to the Parma region."

Isult felt a headache coming on.

"Send an urgent message to His Highness. The Misrata fleet is not strong enough to hold back the Mediterranean fleet. Request that they return immediately."

"Send an urgent message to Ibrahim, commander of the Purple Guard Legion, requesting that he lead part of his forces north to Saint Joseph."

"Summon all the tribes and vassals to gather at Narcissus Fortress."

He paused and looked at his assistant's worried expression.

In theory, this was far beyond his authority. Even the highest-ranking military commander, Mikhail, did not have such power.

"If His Highness returns and blames me, I'll just resign."

"Send a letter to Guhs, the leader of Dobrogea, and his second son, Seban, requesting that they contribute troops to defend the eastern border."

"The Occitan Battalion in Surt must remain stationary until His Highness returns."

"My lord, do you mean the east?"

Isult shot his assistant an impatient glance.

"Yes, the east!"

"The Hafs are in such a bad state, yet they dare to provoke us. They must have the support of Sirte, or even Cairo!"

...

It's east of Tripoli and west of the port of Sirte, near Misrata.

"You bastard! Who told you to advance so quickly?"

A young, richly dressed Muslim shouted at a middle-aged man dressed as a general.

"Neither Bayrga nor Cairo has given a definitive answer. How dare you advance on your own!"

"Prince Omar, please forgive my presumption."

The middle-aged general apologized respectfully, but his eyes betrayed his contempt.

"Intelligence reports indicate that the Milan War has just ended and that Prince Isaac of Surt has not yet returned with his army. This is our best opportunity to act!"

"You... Father-in-law, couldn't we wait for the Emir of Bayrge, Yusuf, to respond?"

Omar was about to curse, but, seeing the general's gaze grow colder, he swallowed his words.

"There's no time."

"But what if we suffer heavy losses? Hamza, you promised me that you would kill some of my brothers and take Tunis and Kairouan!"

Hamza looked at his son-in-law disapprovingly.

His family had been a powerful clan in Misurata since the time of the Muawiyah Caliphate, and the Hafs Dynasty coup d'état had not affected their growth and expansion.

By the time Hamza came into power, the family had become deeply rooted in Misurata, generation after generation.

Thus, Hamza began to involve Prince Omar in the power struggle.

Early on, when the Grand Duchy of Surt had just been established, Hamza sensed a looming crisis and advised Tunisia to attack.

However, the intensifying power struggle spread from Tunisia all the way to Misurata.

Omar's brother, the Emir of Tripoli, tried to support his allies in overthrowing Misurata.

This eventually led to war.

Although there were no large-scale battles, small conflicts were constant.

It was common for tribes affiliated with both sides to cross the border and fight each other.

By the time he was finally free again, the Grand Duchy of Surt had stabilized and was no longer weak and easily bullied.

If he didn't take advantage of Surt's main forces being away to crush them, there probably wouldn't be another opportunity in the future.

"If I had known you were so short-sighted, I would have married my daughter to one of your brothers."

Omar panicked and apologized immediately.

Hamza sighed.

This son-in-law fit everyone's stereotype of a spoilt rich kid: a useless piece of trash.

But hadn't he liked that about him in the first place?

If he had married a prince with great ambition, Hamza probably wouldn't have been able to sleep a wink every night.

"It's time to rest, Your Highness."

Hamza got up and left, leaving Omer standing there, dejected.

Hamza walked out of the hall and looked at the eastern sky.

He was anxious, too.

Was Yusuf really a fool, waiting for someone else to do the work for him?

In the distance, to the east, beyond Hamza's view, a large army was gathering.

It consisted of tribal militiamen who had been summoned, private soldiers belonging to various Islamic nobles, the Emir's elite cavalry, and even a small squad of Mamluk heavy cavalry.

In total, there were 8,000 men.

Contrary to Hamza's speculation, Yusuf was preparing to attack and destroy the Grand Duchy of Surt, not trying to reap the benefits from the sidelines.

For this holy war, Yusuf had gathered almost all of his forces.

Looking at the army and its thunderous roar, he felt his heart fill with passion.

How could tiny Surt possibly stand against his overwhelming forces? He gazed into the distance, looking westward.

Surt—Misurata—Tripoli.

"Sir, we are ready!"

Yusuf nodded and swung the long sword that had been left to him by his father.

"Let's go!"

-----------

You can read +70 advanced chapters on my Patreon

Patreon(.)com/Magnus27

TIER 1 you'll get +15 ADVANCE CHAPTERS

TIER 2 you'll get +40 ADVANCE CHAPTERS

TIER 3 you'll get +70 ADVANCE CHAPTERS