The Lesser Evil for the Greater Good

After John and his group successfully dispersed the civilian mobs, he turned his attention to the Turkish refugees.

Most of the refugees were old men, women, and children. The young men among them bore the marks of the perilous journey they had endured before arriving in Arcadiopolis.

To better understand the situation around Adrianople and the territories from which these people came, John approached an elder among the refugees.

Fortunately, the elder, like many in the group, spoke Greek, easing communication.

"Citizen, can you tell me your story before coming here?" John asked.

The elder and the refugees exchanged confused glances, wary of John's respectful address. Sensing their hesitation, John quickly explained,

"Everyone living within the Empire is my citizen, regardless of their origin. Please don't be uneasy when I address you as such."

The refugees whispered among themselves, their wariness beginning to ease, though doubt still lingered about John's sincerity.

"Your Highness," the elder finally said, his voice cautious. This unworthy old man wishes to understand something before I tell you everything that happened to us."

"Of course, citizen. Ask whatever you need."

"Will Your Highness allow us to leave this place in peace until we reach our destination?"

The elder's question was laden with desperation and hopelessness.

The Turkish refugees had faced countless forms of discrimination during their exodus across the Balkans—insults, assaults, and even murder.

Their experiences made them naturally cautious, especially toward John, who represented the people who had persecuted them and whose actions had indirectly caused their current plight by defeating the Ottomans in the region.

"Everywhere we go, we are not welcomed," the elder's voice cracked. "Just a few days ago, my family was brutally slain—my poor wife, daughter-in-law, and grandson, the only seed my late son left behind."

Tears streamed down his cheeks. "My grandson, he... he was just a child... They butchered him as if he were a pig."

"My wife and daughter-in-law had it worse; they were raped and left to bleed to death while I—"

He broke down, collapsing to his knees in tears. Others began to weep as well, their own traumas echoing his.

John didn't say anything as he recognized the role his actions played in the tragedies that had befallen these refugees.

They had lost their lands, their homes, as well as their loved ones.

He couldn't help but wonder: if he hadn't joined the fight against the Ottomans, would these tragedies have been avoided? Could the outcome have been any different?

As he pondered what could and should have been, a sobering thought struck him: he was not a god. Human conflicts have always existed, and war is the most devastating of them all.

Sympathy? Of course, he sympathized with their suffering, but what about the Bulgarians?

He joined the war because the Bulgarians sought his aid in stopping the Sultan's tyranny. And what of the Greeks living under Ottoman rule? They, too, had suffered the same oppression.

As a leader of the Greeks and other Roman subjects, he felt compelled to act when he had the power to do so. He couldn't simply stand by while his people suffered as much as the Bulgarians. The current situation mirrored the experiences of those who had persecuted these refugees.

In the end, the root of all this suffering stemmed from the Sultan's actions, and John's involvement was a consequence of that. If only the Ottomans hadn't engaged in such acts, there would have been no reason for him to respond as he had.

As John's thoughts deepened, another realization dawned on him: in matters like these, there are no clear lines of right and wrong.

Some must be cast as villains to fight for the greater good. Figures like Vlad the Impaler, Richard the Lionheart, and Salah ad-Din all embraced the role of the villain to be beacons for their people.

John's actions had avenged the Bulgarians and Greeks who suffered under the Ottomans, but they could not bring back the dead. He couldn't protect the innocent who had been caught in the crossfire.

Yet, John knew he had to take responsibility. As a monarch, he had no choice.

Men died fighting for other men's problems.

People had perished because of Sultan Mehmed I's actions, and John's involvement had caused even more deaths. War never changes, but it changes those involved.

John understood this now, more than ever.

With the past unchangeable, all he could do was act according to the present and the future. His hands were already stained with blood; nothing he did could erase the consequences of his actions.

He stared at the elder before him, steeling his emotions, and said,

"For your pain, I cannot say I am not responsible. But I cannot change what has happened. My people, yours, and others have been entangled in this twisted fate."

He looked around at the refugees, their sadness and subtle grievances evident.

"Like those who tried to kill you today, they too have suffered. You might think, 'What does that have to do with us?' Indeed, you are not responsible, but some are."

"If it were me instead of the Sultan, how would you feel if the Greeks had suffered as you have? I do not condone their actions, but I cannot entirely fault them either; it is an ethically ambiguous situation, even for me."

"If only fate were not as twisted as it is, perhaps we could all live together in peace—eat, drink, laugh, and share stories."

John's tone grew distant, masking his underlying emotion.

"That is the nature of war... It demands unnecessary sacrifices to achieve necessary outcomes, even if it means embracing infamy and being viewed as a tyrant."

Silence. The refugees and the elder couldn't find the strength to respond, nor could they refute what John had said.

Indeed, had the Ottomans been victorious, the Greek and Bulgarian populations would likely have faced even harsher persecution. Living according to their defeated king's will would have been a bitter aftermath.

Those who live pity the dead. That is how John saw these people now. The elder pitied his wife, daughter-in-law, and grandson's deaths because they were cruel and unjust.

Others pitied themselves as much as they pitied those who had died.

Some showed anger at the injustice inflicted by those who had persecuted them.

Some could only hope that the future would be different from their present.

Finally, some accepted whatever came their way, not because they had lost hope but because they realized that reality is much harsher than painting rainbows in the sky and hoping for brighter days.

"What I can offer you is this," John continued, every eye trained on him. "I give you my word that you will be allowed to leave in peace. However."

He paused, looking over the crowd before sharing his thoughts, "I hope you will consider staying as my subjects and helping to make a difference."

Murmurs spread through the crowd.

Everyone was stunned by John's unexpected request. Not long ago, the townsfolk had armed themselves with pitchforks, intent on driving the refugees to the brink of death.

One person raised a trembling hand, struggling to comprehend the co-emperor's proposal.

"What difference can we make? The horrors we've endured cannot be put into words... there is nothing left for us here."

"Indeed," another added, "not long ago, people were ready to massacre us simply for being Turks... we have lost so much already—to ask us to stay and become your subjects is too much."

The crowd voiced their opinions, ranging from hesitation to outright rejection of John's request.

What choice did they have? They didn't want to leave their homes and journey across foreign lands. They were born here despite being Turks.

But circumstances had forced them to abandon their birthplace. The reason? They were Turks and Saracens.

For centuries, the Romans and Turks had been bitter adversaries, shedding blood in the name of their respective religious beliefs.

During this time, people identified themselves by their ethnoreligious affiliation, adding another layer to their ethnic identity.

These refugees, in fact, were mostly Greeks, Bulgarians, and other groups from the Balkans by descent. However, through Turkification under the Ottomans, they became Muslims rather than Orthodox Christians, like others of their ethnicity.

This divergence in faith led to them being disowned by their own people, forcing them to accept an identity as Turks, even if they were not truly one.

Such cases were almost universally identical among these people.

Their relatives, who still adhered to their original culture, began chastising them and even participated in persecuting them after the Ottomans' defeat.

He couldn't help but notice their visible reservations and doubts.

"I understand this may sound absurd, perhaps even like an excuse," John began. "But this is genuinely what I wish to do—something that has been on my mind since I joined the war with the Bulgarians. Consider it an objective, if you will."

"The fact that you were subjects of another monarch is not my concern. My only concern is the plight of the Empire."

John made his stance clear. It was something he had to address sooner or later.

The Eastern Roman Empire, once the more populous of the two before the split, has suffered severe depopulation due to internal and external conflicts.

Consider this: Constantinople's population alone once equaled that of the Despotate of Thessalonica and Morea combined. That was before the war.

Even after the conflict, it has not come close to bridging the population gap across the Empire.

Even Bulgaria, now an independent vassal of the Empire, surpasses Roman territory in terms of population.

John knew he needed a new plan.

He could either assimilate the Turks or wait for natural population growth. This process could take years, even under ideal conditions where everyone had enough to eat.

But vultures exist, and waiting is a luxury he could not afford while the Empire was just beginning to rise from its ashes.

So, bringing in the Turks as subjects would be the most viable option, given that the other one seems unlikely.

"To be honest, I never expected things to escalate this severely for each of you. Though I must admit, I did foresee some trouble—but not to this extent. For that, I take full responsibility."

John's voice grew more intense, and his emotions became more evident. "It seems the seeds of resentment sown by your Sultan have taken deeper root than I anticipated. His oppressive policies have brought this situation to a boiling point."

The refugees hung their heads even lower, the weight of their circumstances pressing down on them. They were once subjects of the Sultan, and now, in his absence, the tide of hatred had turned against them.

"The reason I am here, rather than remaining in the capital, was to set this plan in motion. Yet now, it feels as though the universe itself conspires against me."

"My original destination was Adrianople, where I was to serve as Despot. But that wasn't my only purpose."

"When I heard that the city was under siege by mobs intent on harming the Turkish residents, I immediately set out to take command. I had already dispatched trusted men to quell the unrest, but as the news grew more dire, I had no choice but to act."

"My arrival here in Arcadiopolis was unplanned. I assumed that being closer to the capital, the flames of hatred wouldn't reach these walls. But I was gravely mistaken."

"For reasons I cannot fully grasp, these unfortunate events seem to be pushing me into making decisions I would rather not make."

"Let me be clear: my primary concern is the Empire. While the well-being of the people is also a priority, it remains a delicate issue. No one in this Empire should harm another, not as long as my father, the Emperor, and I still breathe."

John's words were powerful and carefully chosen to persuade the refugees, who were determined to leave the region.

"I assure you, if I can extinguish this dissent against you, I will guarantee your rights as subjects under the laws of the Empire. I swear this by the name of my Lord and Savior, by my own name, and by the name of my father."

"Moreover, I will treat you better than your former overlord. As your ruler, I will strive to provide for your needs and, as much as possible, fulfill your wants."

His tone began to echo the rhetoric of modern politicians, addressing campaign promises to their constituents.

John believed that adopting this approach would be effective, considering how modern politicians often succeed in winning over their voters with similar speeches.

Indeed, the effects were beginning to show.

The hesitation that once clouded the refugees' faces started to lift like the sun emerging from behind the clouds. John's rhetoric struck a chord with them, though there were still hurdles to overcome.

"If... if we choose to stay and become your subjects, will you truly fulfill your promises?" one refugee asked, the others watching with cautious hope.

"I swear it by the name of my Lord and Savior, by my own name, and by my father's name," John replied sincerely.

He then added, "Not only that, but I will also ensure your protection until this crisis is fully resolved. For those who choose not to accept my offer, I will personally provide an escort to accompany you safely to the capital and across the strait to Anatolia."

As he concluded with these assurances, the refugees began discussing their options among themselves. It was a lengthy conversation, and John gave them the time they needed by temporarily leaving the plaza.

He made his way to the town's garrison commander, Droungarian Antonios, who was busy directing his men to clear the wreckage left by the riot.

"Droungarian Antonios, you did an excellent job preventing this disaster from becoming even worse,"

John commended, gesturing towards the commander, who accepted the praise albeit with hesitation.

"Your Highness, it was due to your intervention. I was merely assisting."

"I don't deserve such high praise... it was my oversight that almost allowed the situation to spiral out of control. And if not for Captain Thomais, who led the guards in protecting the refugees, it could have been far worse."

At the mention of his name, Captain Thomais lowered his head humbly towards John.

"I only did what was necessary, Your Highness. The soldiers deserve all the credit."

He gestured towards the exhausted soldiers, who were sitting on the ground, catching their breath after what had felt like a hard-fought battle.

Though young as they are, they have shown remarkable courage in defending the Turkish refugees, even at the risk of their own lives.

The soldiers, like their captain, bowed their heads respectfully toward John. But John quickly waved it off, bowing his own head in return, a gesture that left the guardsmen and their captain deeply moved.

"Thanks to all of you, the dignity of the Empire remains intact," John genuinely said full of praises, filling the soldiers with pride.

At that moment, the loyalty of the entire town garrison towards John grew immensely.

Next, John sought out Klaudius Thaddeus, the young citizen who helped clear the mess he and his fellow townspeople had caused from earlier.

"Klaudius, son of Thaddeus."

John called out to him from behind, catching him by surprise. Klaudius quickly turned and knelt before the co-emperor.

"What can I do for you, Your Highness?"

Unlike his previous brave demeanor, Klaudius now spoke with a tone of self-consciousness and respect.

"I like you," John remarked casually, leaving the young man bewildered.

"Th—thank you?" Klaudius stammered, unsure of what the co-emperor meant.

"I meant what I said. Your fiery composure, even when facing me, is commendable," John continued, his warm smile only further flustering the young man.

"I'm not sure I deserve such praise, Your Highness... after all, I defied you," Klaudius admitted.

His anger and hatred toward the Turks had clouded his judgment during their earlier encounter. Still, now, with a clearer mind, he was surprised by the co-emperor's understanding.

"A man should have his convictions. I understand where you were coming from, even if your actions were unjustifiable. I just hope that in the future, you channel your fervor in the right direction and not against innocent people," John advised.

"Now, tell me what exactly happened here. This kind of riot shouldn't have occurred, especially after my father, the Emperor, explicitly forbade any retaliation against Turkish citizens."

John's tone grew serious as he sought the truth from Klaudius, who hesitated, glancing around as if searching for someone.

"I—I'm not entirely sure... it all started when someone from the Kephale's manor spoke to the townspeople. He claimed it was your will and that the Kephale had permitted the riot. Beyond that, I know nothing else," Klaudius began to explain, recounting the events as best as he could.

John was perplexed.

'Someone is using my name as justification, and it's coming from Archon Kosmas's manor?'

This was entirely unexpected.

Someone had attempted to cause chaos by invoking his name. The intention behind this was unclear, but John suspected it was an effort to undermine his authority or, in this case, his fame.

He needed to find out if this was the Kephale's doing or if someone had disguised themselves as the Kephale's aide to further complicate matters.

'Smells like a conspiracy is brewing against me… and it doesn't sit well.'

The attempt to create tension between him and Kephale Kosmas seemed far too simple and crude.

John knew Kosmas from their time in Constantinople—a diligent scholar, deeply respectful, and fiercely loyal to the Emperor's cause.

A man like Kosmas would never resort to something as blatant as conspiring against him, especially not after the victory over the Ottomans.

Kosmas had been the first to congratulate him, even pledging his eternal loyalty.

When John was announced as the Despot of Adrianople, Kosmas had been overjoyed by the news not long after he was appointed as Kephale of Arcadiopolis.

Once he took on the role of Kephale, Kosmas immediately set about rebuilding the town, strengthening its security, and ensuring the Turkish residents' rights were upheld.

To John, it seemed highly suspicious that someone with such dedication to the Empire would suddenly become the antagonist in this situation.

'I need to meet with the Kephale… that is if he's still alive…'

A dark premonition began to cloud his thoughts.

It was clear that the person or people behind this conspiracy intended to spread terror throughout the Empire by using his name and the Kephale's authority. John was acutely aware of the Empire's vulnerability, especially given its overextended resources and the fragility of its internal and external security.

But despite these challenges, he had believed that as long as their influence remained close to the capital, such treachery would be unthinkable.

These events stirred a dreadful memory within him, bringing to mind a person he despised so profoundly that just the thought of him made John's heart seethe with anger.

'It better not be you... Vernon...'