Whoosh!
An arrow shot through the sky, sticking firmly into the center of the target and quivering in the air.
Yergubai lowered his bow, looking somewhat smug, and turned to Isaac, who could see a glimmer of expectation in his eyes.
"Not bad, not bad. Keep it up."
Isaac stood to the side, while the young Conte smiled cheerfully.
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh—
The powerful bow thrummed three times, and three arrows flew out, striking the target one after another, forming a perfect equilateral triangle.
Mooli turned his head, grinned at Yergubai, and winked.
Yergubai pouted and looked away.
Both were currently studying at the Royal Knight Academy—one was ten years old, the other fourteen.
The first class of cadets from the Royal Knight Academy had just graduated and joined the Order of Saint Simon as squires.
After Isaac designated Bilinchi as the capital, Andronico Palaiologo, the executive director of the Royal Knight Academy, accepted his invitation to establish a branch there, appointing Dilin as its head.
In addition to selecting brave local youths, the Bilinchi Knight Branch would recruit the sons of tribal chiefs and nobles, strengthening the central government's control over the regions and reinforcing their loyalty to the kingdom.
Under Isaac's orders, local factions from Bilinchi and Surt regions sent their sons to Bilinchi to train in horsemanship and swordsmanship and to study Greek script and theology.
Yergubai and Mulila were among these students.
Both were of noble birth—one the son of the Count of Baidi, the other the son of the Count of Wugu. They held high status and quietly formed two factions within Isaac's court. Mulila led the sons of tribal chiefs from the Surt Despotate, who aligned with Isaac, while Yergubai gathered around him the sons of merchants and local gentry.
Isaac watched the two groups compete, a faint smile playing on his lips.
He often held small martial contests in the Black Castle, featuring events like swordsmanship, horsemanship, and archery.
After each contest, he would reward the most outstanding tribal youths with exquisite weapons or armor to stoke their pride.
This policy was useful for governing a territory with complex ethnic relations and deeply entrenched local powers.
A lack of ethnic solidarity could be compensated for with personal loyalties.
The Ottoman Empire frequently used this method to meddle in the internal affairs of its vassal states, and the sultan's court housed many nobles from Balkan countries.
However, if a ruler acted recklessly—as Mehmed II did, bossing around foreign princes and taking others' brothers into his harem—these diplomatic tactics would backfire, becoming flashpoints for conflict between nations.
"Your Majesty, Chancellor Isult has sent urgent intelligence!"
A young man ran up and handed Isaac a letter.
"Thank you for your efforts, Neville."
The young man's name was Neville. He was the eldest son of the Sheikh of the Ahmed tribe, currently studying under the Prime Minister and serving as his attendant and scribe.
As Isaac's rule over the Despotate of Surt continued, many of the tribal chiefs who had initially resisted began adapting to the new order.
There was no other choice. Tribes that refused to participate either faded away or were wiped out completely. There was no third path.
Isaac drew the gold-inlaid dagger from his waist and presented it to Mulir, who had performed exceptionally that day. Amid the crowd's enthusiastic cheers, he mounted his horse and rode off.
These young men, aged between ten and fifteen, were at a crucial stage in forming their worldviews and values. Winning their favor now would be far more effective than doing so after they had grown up.
Upon entering the grand conference hall of the town hall, Isaac found it already packed.
"Albert? Why are you back?"
Isaac looked at Albert, who appeared somewhat disheveled, and felt a vague sense of foreboding.
"Your Majesty, I apologize for disturbing you, but the situation is urgent—I had no choice."
Isult stood and guided Isaac to the head seat.
"Your Majesty, I take responsibility for this mission's failure. Please punish me."
Albert knelt on one knee, bowing his head deeply.
"No need for that. Tell me what happened first."
"On July 28, four days ago, Prince Nassirlan of Tripoli allied with the Tunisian envoy, Paier, and launched a coup under cover of darkness."
"Envoy Paier used the pretext of a diplomatic visit to smuggle three warriors loyal to Nassirlan into Zakariq's estate."
"Three? What about their weapons?"
"Their weapons were confiscated, and they were searched head to toe, but no one suspected their true objective wasn't assassination."
"The three assassins distracted the servants, slipped into the stables, and—by some unknown method—incited the normally docile horses into a frenzied stampede."
With no other option, Zakariq ordered his guards to chase down the dozen rampaging horses.
Immediately afterward, over a hundred elite soldiers lying in wait in a nearby tunnel sprang into action. They stormed Zakariq's mansion, slaughtering and burning everything in their path, nearly wiping out the entire family.
"Slaughtered to the last man?"
"That's what Nassirlan claimed."
Isaac nodded, motioning for Albert to continue.
"It all happened so fast. During the chaos, the city guard and other merchants' private guards did nothing."
"Then Nassirlan and Envoy Paier, bearing Yahya's edict, went straight to the city guard headquarters and secured their allegiance."
"Merchants with close ties to Zakariq were brutally punished afterward, while the rest had either already defected to Nassirlan or tacitly accepted his actions, watching in fear."
By the time the first rays of sunlight touched Tripoli's city hall, the city had already changed hands.
"Nassirlan declared he would only execute the ringleaders and spare the rest. He absorbed all the merchants' guards into the city guard, accepted a hefty bribe from them, and allowed them to continue operating."
After hearing this, Isaac could only smile bitterly.
The merchant class's inherent opportunism and profit-driven mindset meant they would never remain loyal to any regime or faction. When the stakes were high enough—or the losses too great—they would betray anyone without hesitation.
Question: How do you get a merchant to voluntarily open a window? Answer: Threaten to tear off the roof.
Zakariq had ruled for years, inevitably breeding resentment. With their lives at stake, these men wouldn't care about collective merchant interests. Betrayal came as naturally to them as drinking water.
"They didn't try to harm you, did they?"
Albert shook his head.
"Nassirlan privately sent word for us to leave Tripoli."
"He doesn't seem eager to sever ties with us."
Isaac stood and paced anxiously.
"Wait—how do you know so much about what happened?"
"On the way back, I met a Bedouin named Hofen, who had close ties to President Urda. He was also on Nassirlan's hit list but happened to be traveling to New Belpa to buy slaves that night, so he escaped."
"The remnants of Zakariya's faction are now secretly led by him. A black servant who survived the attack on Zakariya's mansion fled the city under cover of night, and Hofen learned the full story from him."
"So, in other words, Zakariya's fate is still uncertain?"
Albert nodded.
"Your Majesty, Zakariya's fate no longer matters."
Chancellor Isult interjected.
It was the truth.
Isaac sighed heavily.
Nassirlan had outmaneuvered them all.
Tripoli's walls were sturdy, complete with deep moats and high ramparts—impossible to assault directly.
If he raised an army and attacked by land and sea, he might breach the walls regardless of casualties, but that would drag him into a protracted war with Tunisia. Even if he prevailed, the losses would leave him exhausted.
What would he face in the great war three years from now?
"Any suggestions?"
Isaac collected his thoughts and looked at his advisors.
"Your Majesty, I see no point in continuing this war."
"Your raiding fleet has already plundered Misurata's surroundings—there's no supply base left to sustain a prolonged campaign."
Chancellor Isult's tone still carried resentment over Isaac's pirate decree.
Isaac ignored him, studying the map as he forced himself to stay calm.
"First, order Conte Mikhail to occupy Misurata while simultaneously threatening Milfa."
"There's no point wasting more time here."
"Second, send an envoy to Tripoli to secretly contact Nassirlan."
"I refuse to believe he'd easily hand over a city he spent years scheming to seize to the Tunisian central government."
"Third, gather the remaining fleet and pirate forces to prepare for support operations on Djerba Island."
"Do it immediately."
Isaac dismissed the ministers with a wave.
If the Tripoli plan had failed completely, then Djerba Island must be taken.
Giovanni, don't disappoint me!
Djerba Island
Djerba was a small island in the Gulf of Gabès, connected to the North African mainland by a narrow causeway. At high tide, it was submerged; at low tide, it left behind vast stretches of mudflats and salt marshes.
Djerba wasn't large, with little arable land. Most inhabitants lived off fishing, while a few areas grew dates and palms. The northern harbor was excellent, capable of resupplying large ships.
Though the island itself held little value, its location was crucial for Isaac's strategy of bleeding the Hafs dynasty dry.
If turned into a naval base, the entire Gabès coast would lie vulnerable to raids from his privateer fleet.
Decades later in history, a pirate family would seize the island, amass wealth, and—backed by the Ottomans—eventually dominate North Africa through relentless plundering.
Djerba was where the legend of Barbarossa began.
According to rough estimates, the Barbary pirates would later enslave over 20,000 Christians annually from Europe's southern coasts.
"General, the village ahead is cleared. You may proceed."
Giovanni Giustiniani nodded and stepped into the still-burning village.
"Casualties?"
"This village was small—barely a hundred people, fewer than our troops."
"One dead, a dozen wounded."
"The unlucky one stepped on a hunter's trap and bled out."
His lieutenant handed him a report.
"Interrogations match the last two villages."
Giovanni skimmed the notes.
Djerba had scarce freshwater—no rivers, few people. There were about a dozen fishing villages like this one.
Near the mainland stood a small castle, guarded by Hafs troops and administrators.
Ancient Roman wells around it sustained a small garrison town.
Each spring, tax collectors from the mainland came to collect dates and salted fish as tribute.
Otherwise, the nobles ignored this poor, desolate rock.
Before the Barbary pirates, nobody realized its strategic value.
"How many troops in the castle?"
"Unclear. Some say a hundred, others two hundred."
"Probably accurate. Local supplies couldn't support more."
Giovanni studied a crude map seized from a villager, trying to orient himself.
After a long while, he still couldn't make sense of it.
"Prisoners?"
"Some survivors."
"Find me a guide."
"And signal Captain Fidel—we need naval support."
"Keep the prisoners. They'll be useful later."
"The castle has sea on two sides. With our fleet, taking it won't be hard."
Giovanni frowned.
"Once it's ours, fortify it against counterattacks."
"Yes, sir!"
July 26, 1449 After clearing four villages, the sluggish Hafs garrison finally reacted.
Giovanni disguised his marines as South Italian pirates, hiding some troops to mislead the enemy.
Seeing his small force, the defenders hastily mustered 300 men and marched toward his camp.
Giovanni led 100 sailors in a feigned retreat toward the coast.
The garrison, thinking they had the pirates cornered, chased eagerly—only to find warships, not small pirate boats, anchored offshore.
Morale collapsed instantly.
Giovanni wheeled around and charged, while Captain Fidel ambushed from the flank. Over a hundred defenders died in the rout.
July 28 Giovanni approached the castle with captured banners and prisoners, demanding surrender. The defenders refused.
July 29 Using prisoners as human shields under naval bombardment, Giovanni wore down the garrison's resolve.
August 2 With defenders too few to man the walls, the castle fell that night.
Giovanni entered the near-empty fortress, renamed it La Spezia after his hometown, and ordered slaves to reinforce its defenses.
Over the next days, he swept Djerba clean, suppressing resistance and mapping the island—especially its wells.
August 4 With local forces crushed, Giovanni sent fast ships to Birken with victory reports and maps.
The Slave Legion had its first stronghold.
Barbarossa's legend was beginning.
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