I Became the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire

준비는 끝났다(3)

If memories have tangled with someone else’s, can one truly say that before and after they are the same person?

The vivid memories of two humans became intertwined, and Yusuf transformed into Ismail, a figure neither modern nor Ottoman.

Having analyzed like a modern man and acted like an Ottoman prince, he could no longer define himself as belonging to either side.

In that light, the situation where memories rather than modern information resurfaced felt quite special.

‘Four children. I never thought I’d have four when I was modern.’

As he looked at his son, Prince Kasim, wrapped in a bundle in Nigyar’s arms, that thought crossed Yusuf’s mind.

He remembered his friend’s question about how many children he wanted to have later; he had replied that two at most.

It wasn’t longing; he had resolved to abandon modern attachments.

It was merely a surprising sentiment.

“Daddy, Daddy.”

Sitting with Hasna on his lap, Yusuf gently patted the child’s head.

As the blonde locks, reminiscent of her mother, slightly disheveled under his touch, Hasna beamed with a smile.

Thinking that had it been modern times, he might have foolishly taken a photo, Yusuf glanced around.

Fatima, with a warm smile, looked at Yusuf, who held Hasna on his lap.

Mehmet read a thick book beside Aishe, who was having a quiet conversation with him.

Murad, not able to sit still, wiggled his legs as Hatice eyed him sternly.

And Nigyar looked at Kasim with a mix of love and concern as he gummed his food.

There were more women in his arms, including Gülfer, but these were all the family he could claim to have gathered here.

“Maybe it wouldn’t be bad to commission a family portrait later.”

Suddenly, that thought crossed his mind, but considering that in Islam, drawing people could be seen as idol worship, it was quite a radical idea.

Even Fatima, who had weathered much in her life, looked taken aback by this suggestion.

“When do you mean?”

“When this war is over, I hope.”

For the time being, there wouldn’t be time to leisurely paint portraits, and everyone gathered here well understood that.

They were aware that the Safavid envoy who had come not long ago had lost his head.

This act was no different from a declaration of war, and recalling that moment, Aishe cautiously asked.

“Your Majesty, forgive me, but may I ask a rude question as a woman?”

“What is it?”

“My limited knowledge suggests that during a war, the safety of an envoy is usually guaranteed. Why did you act otherwise?”

It wasn’t incorrect. Even during war, a minimum communication channel is typically kept open.

One must be able to negotiate a surrender or establish a truce.

“There is a reason. Back in the Mamluk days, it was to pressure Venice.”

The Venetians must have feared the Sultan’s move to cut off the envoy’s fingers. Just hearing about it would make one think he was insane.

Such a bold action—severing the fingers of an envoy from a fellow Islamic nation for having said something irritating—was not something a sane person would do.

Of course, it would indeed make the Mamluks uncomfortable, but the Ottomans would face no less discomfort if they attacked the Safavids.

Thus, there was no reason to act cautiously.

“Then why did you behead the envoy from Safavid this time?”

Naturally, cutting off fingers and severing a head were on entirely different levels.

In response to that question, Yusuf raised the corners of his mouth.

“Ismail wanted to rile them up.”

“…Your Majesty?”

Aishe looked bewildered, not expecting such an answer, prompting Yusuf to laugh out loud.

“If he gets mad, he won’t hide away; he’ll come out.”

In the original history, Ismail had charged forth, flaunting chivalry, and ended up disastrously against Selim, but he would surely take on a thoroughly defensive stance when facing Yusuf.

If Ismail recklessly charged out, it would be most appreciated by Yusuf.

‘Of course, no one so foolish as to die for the sake of just one envoy would come rushing out.’

To be frank, it was an act born of hope and indifference.

It didn’t matter if they didn’t capture much of Safavid territory in this war; his target was Ismail’s head for sure.

Ismail had learned cunning through continued defeats, and left unchecked, who knew what kind of monster he might become.

Thus, it was necessary to nip it in the bud, and there would be no further dealings with envoys.

“Don’t worry. The handling of envoys is managed appropriately according to the situation. Didn’t the envoy from Venice return with all limbs intact?”

Of course, he returned with a horrified expression, as if he had gone through something terrible, but he wasn’t lying.

His body was intact.

“Speaking of which, it seems winter is winding down.”

Though it was mid-winter with snow still falling across the empire, spring was but a moment away.

The war that would determine the fates of three nations was right around the corner.

*

It seemed that the severing of the Mamluk envoy’s fingers had become quite the topic among the Mamluks.

The new envoy who had arrived had no ring on his finger, nor could one see even the common ornaments on his body.

He tried hard to appear composed, but gripping his hand tightly as if to hide his missing finger revealed his fear all too clearly.

“Not that guy from last time—it’s a new one.”

“Yes. Aziz Yarbai has stepped down from all his positions.”

“How unfortunate. I still had six fingers left to cut off.”

Yusuf’s words felt far from empty flattery as the envoy forced a smile and got down to the business at hand.

“Sultan Ashraf Khan Safi proposed that those adhering to Muhammad’s intent put aside past grievances and seek coexistence for the peace of Islam.”

“Coexistence and peace? What nonsense.”

Yusuf scoffed.

Coexistence and peace sounded nice, but in this age where allies could unexpectedly turn into enemies overnight, those were merely sweet nothings.

Rising from his seat, Yusuf walked up to the envoy.

“Stop your nonsense. What were you doing when those Safavid bastards invaded Dulqadir?”

“…We were too occupied fighting the Portuguese to spare time for that.”

“Then when the Safavid scum attacked Trabzon, did you not speak a word? Did you even pretend to stop them?”

Of course they hadn’t. Being Mamluks, who feared the Ottomans, they must have been cheerfully applauding inwardly.

The envoy, who had bitten his lips at Yusuf’s scorn, spoke in a cold voice.

“This decision was made by the Sultan. Will you not regret it?”

“You’ll be the ones to regret it. Go back and tell them they can do whatever they want.”

Yusuf stared intensely at the envoy, who then turned to leave.

Eventually, the Mamluks had turned against them, but it was something he had expected, so he felt no fear.

The Grand Vizier smiled as he watched the envoy safely leave the palace, trying to lighten the mood.

“It’s fortunate that we sent off the envoy safely this time.”

“I don’t always act so radically. I merely act according to the situation.”

If necessary, he could eliminate the Mamluk envoy right there, but conversely, if it weren’t required, he could overlook a degree of rudeness.

Unlike the Safavids, the Mamluks were of the same Sunni creed, and since they had maintained relations for a long time, there was no benefit in cutting off the envoy’s head.

“And such a one should be handled discretely. Who would care if a ship disappeared in the Mediterranean? They would assume it was lost in a storm.”

“…Your Majesty?!”

The Grand Vizier’s eyes were filled with disbelief, while Yusuf wore a mischievous smile.

“Just kidding, just kidding. I have no desire to go on a needless killing spree.”

“Please do not disturb this old man’s heart.”

“I think you seem a bit too spry to be calling yourself old—stop indulging in such dramatic talk.”

After joking lightly, Yusuf wiped the smile off his face and said.

“Grand Vizier, the Mamluks have turned against us. What do you estimate their forces to be?”

“I’ve heard that mobilization among the Mamluks has already begun. They’ll likely gather around 60,000. Of those, Mamluks should be about 5,000.”

The Mamluks originally referred to enslaved soldiers who converted to Islam, but the powerful Mamluk chieftain deposed the Sultan and established the Mamluk dynasty.

Since then, it had come to denote the elite cavalry of the Egyptian Mamluk dynasty.

One must master magic, spear fighting, swordsmanship, and archery perfectly to become a Mamluk, and they could easily be called the most formidable military group of the Middle Ages.

‘But, that only counts before firearms come into play.’

With firearms in use, there was no need to fear cavalry.

“Removing the 5,000 Mamluks, the rest must be Bedouin nomads.”

“That’s right. You can consider that most of their combat strength comprises cavalry.”

If over 40,000 soldiers from the Safavid rallied, it would lead to a large-scale war with over 200,000 troops clashing.

It was greater in scale than any war he had experienced thus far.

“Grand Vizier, the future of our empire hinges on this war. Isn’t that right?”

“Indeed.”

If they lost this war, they would never dare to extend beyond the Anatolian Peninsula.

The strong support they currently received from their subjects would be shaken to its roots, akin to a massive gambling table.

“We’ve completed all preparations we can. It couldn’t possibly be more perfect.”

Had Selim in the original history seen this, he would have been envious of the flawless preparations possible within the Ottoman realm.

Thus, only one thing remained.

‘To emerge as the victor in this gamble.’

Carrying victory was all that was left.

*

The winter chill passed.

Streams that had been frozen solid began to flow beneath the thin ice, and the fields turned green.

It was a scene of spring, a season when all things come back to life, but for humans full of ambition, it was merely a season ideal for taking others’ lives.

—Heeeing!

The horses bearing armored cavalry moved forward, and the Janissaries with guns hurried their steps.

“Damn fools! Push harder!”

Cannons strapped to carts lined up and were loaded onto ships docked in the harbor, while the cannon-filled ships began sailing closer to the assembly point.

The colossal city of Constantinople bustled with activity, and the subjects of the capital held their breath in the face of the soldiers’ formidable presence.

They knew well how critical this moment was.

—Bwooow!

With the continuous sounds of horn blasts, the music of the military band resounded.

To the lively tune, the Sultan’s flag fluttered down from the Topkapi Palace.

This meant that the Sultan would not be residing at Topkapi Palace for a while and that his flag was now flapping on a massive Karak that could carry a thousand men.

“This is a view I always see.”

Standing on the deck of the Karak, Yusuf surveyed the capital.

The cheers of subjects wishing for victory pierced through the music of the military band, and throngs of people rushed to the harbor to witness the departing ships.

In their eyes, there was not a shred of worry about potential defeat.

They only had expressions brimming with the anticipation of victory, hoping to see what achievements the Sultan would bring back.

It was an emotion that could be burdensome for a common man.

“The burden is felt only by those who consider defeat.”

Feeling confident in victory, there was no need for him to feel pressure.

He merely had to meet their expectations.

Yusuf commanded towards Kemal.

“Set sail.”

“Set sail! Set sail!”

The echoes of the command resonated through the ship as the heavy Karak began to leave the harbor.

It was the true beginning of war.