I Became the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire

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The sound of gunfire echoed.

Diyarbakır is a city located upstream of the Tigris River, part of the Mesopotamian civilization that was born around the regions of the Euphrates River and the Tigris River.

Just as the city’s civilization dates back to ancient times, the history of the city’s surrounding walls also stretches back to the Roman era.

The walls reach a maximum height of 12 meters, a maximum width of 5 meters, and a length of 5.5 kilometers, making them the second longest surviving walls to this day.

Normally, one would feel secure atop such imposing walls, but Nuri Ali Khalifa gazed down at the city with sunken eyes.

“Hurry up! We don’t have time! The enemy is right upon us!”

“The devilish Ottoman Army is coming! They’ll take your wife and daughter as playthings, and they’ll tear your little children apart! Move!”

Logs were laid down on the ground, and rocks were piled around the trebuchets, while the sweating subjects hurried their steps under the soldiers’ urging.

On one side, women were making a pale, unappetizing porridge that lacked both flavor and nutrition.

Amidst squeezing the laboring subjects, preparations for war were moving forward, but the lieutenant spoke with concern.

“They say discontent has been rising among the laborers recently. Would it be better to ease up a bit?”

This concern was reasonable.

No matter how sturdy and thick the walls might be, they cannot keep out enemies who are already inside.

In response, Nuri Ali tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword.

“It’s okay if discontent builds up.”

“Why would that be…?”

“The Shah has said that impure traitors have emerged everywhere. They’re like rats.”

In the northwestern region of Safavid, Ismail was directly executing suspicious individuals.

There may be innocent people among them, but such is the way of things. One cannot avoid setting traps for rats out of fear of hurting the cat.

“There will surely be such people here as well.”

Most of the subjects in Diyarbakır are Kurdish.

They have deep roots in this area and suffered greatly from the plundering done by Yusuf during his princely days and the scorched earth strategy that followed when he became Sultan.

The main culprit is Yusuf, but the discontent directed at Ismail for failing to adequately prevent this was also substantial, as it was a certainty rather than mere suspicion, especially after enduring Kurdish rebellions in the early days of the regime.

Nuri Ali looked down at a painting that had arrived recently.

Thinking about how it could easily turn into idolatry, the painting was strikingly realistic to the point of being groundbreaking.

No, to be precise, it was closer to a wanted poster.

“This pig should have been captured in Tabriz. Just thinking about the damage caused by this snake-tongued bastard makes my teeth grind.”

The subject of the painting had a gaunt face and a long scar across his cheek, likely from his escape from Tabriz.

Having captured this rat, it’s clear that his traces had long been rooted with the Safavid.

In the initial stage of the kingdom, rumors of the Shah massacring Sunnis caused trouble, and he helped Tazlu extract information from Tabriz, creating traitors while circling the West.

It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that the serpent-shaped Satan who led the first human into corruption had descended in human form.

“If discontent builds up, it will center around those lured in by his forked tongue. We can purge them then.”

“However, to withstand the Ottoman Army, we need the help of our subjects. I’m worried that this may lead to a misstep.”

In response to the lieutenant’s counsel, Nuri Ali, with a bitter smile, touched the long-standing walls with his hand.

“No matter how great the walls are, they cannot hold back every enemy. Even the walls of Constantinople, said to be more formidable, did not stand against them, did they?”

Nuri Ali shifted his gaze along the walls he touched.

The fact that they have endured for such a long time means they have faced many attacks.

Describing the walls of Diyarbakır as rags wouldn’t be an exaggeration. After numerous changes of hands and countless repairs, a patchwork of various architectural styles can be seen.

“This time, the owner of this castle may also change.”

“Why say that before we’ve even begun?”

“That is our role. To meet our end without shame before Allah.”

Having no cannons imported through Venice to fulfill that role spoke volumes.

They had to lure the enemy deeper, and this was just one of the passages.

“We are not just to block the Ottoman Army; we are to kill and die as many enemies as possible here. That is our final mission for the Shah.”

With Nuri Ali’s words, already resolved to face death, a profound silence fell upon the walls.

Breaking the stillness was the sight of a horseman charging from afar, kicking up clouds of dust.

The rider, who passed through the bustling gate crowded with laborers, knelt before Nuri Ali, who was waiting.

The breathless messenger, seemingly having rushed over so urgently that dust rose behind him, spoke in a dry voice.

“O-Ottoman Army! The Ottoman forces have crossed Malatya and are now near Elazi!”

The final moment had drawn near.

*

Light rain fell from the sky.

The soldiers surrounding the artillery-laden battle wagon covered it more carefully with a tarp.

If the management became careless and the cannon exploded, it would not be the enemy who died, but themselves, so they had no choice but to be extra cautious.

The process of stepping onto the land that the Armenians called the golden plains after passing Malatya was not easy.

“Have you buried all the dead soldiers well?”

“Yes, Padishah. They say they didn’t neglect it.”

Usually, a nation’s borders are marked by rugged mountain ranges or long rivers, and the border between Dulqadir and Safavid is defined by the Euphrates River, which stretches down to the Persian Gulf.

Due to the difficulty of crossing the river with the army, Ismail attacked Dulqadir through Erzinjan to avoid crossing the river.

However, Yusuf’s army sought to cross the Euphrates, while the Safavid forces aimed to destroy the connected bridges.

“Right, we can’t just let them be eaten by beasts.”

From the right hillside, Yusuf looked down.

Not all of the troops that had reached Malatya followed to Ain Tab.

Around 3,000 troops had remained to fortify the bridge with cement and protect this area, and the surrounding landscape revealed how fierce the battle had been.

Around half-rotted corpses attracted scavengers, and five massive graves appeared to have buried the bodies of their allies.

“Here’s the list you requested. It’s about 300 names.”

“Quite a lot.”

“They’ve been constantly attacked day and night. Moreover, it includes the engineers who died in accidents while reinforcing the bridge with cement.”

Yusuf scanned the paper with his eyes.

Although it was a list of deceased, not casualties including the injured, the densely written names reminded him that these were lives lost.

While looking at this, Yusuf clicked his tongue.

“Fifteen of the dead are named Yusuf?”

Due to the meticulous documentation, how they died was briefly noted, further dampening his mood.

“Grand Vizier, we should create surnames after this war ends. With so many people sharing the same names, it’s bound to lead to some unpleasantness.”

In the Arab cultural sphere, where many similar names are used and the Ottomans traditionally don’t have surnames, this was a chaotic situation.

For someone of some renown, they were referred to by their title and name, and even this became confusing; often, their place of origin would be added to clarify.

It was akin to being named after a construction worker born in Chungcheong Province in Korea.

Upon mentioning introducing surnames in the Ottoman Empire, the Grand Vizier replied with a subtle smile.

“Padishah, you should discuss this with your successor since I will be stepping down after this war.”

“I’m aware, but that’s not something I need to hear from you, right? It’ll be quiet after retirement, so it wouldn’t hurt to have something to keep you occupied.”

“…A simple task, you say?”

Introducing surnames in a land without them is no small feat.

At least ten million people would acquire new surnames; that’s a monumental task that feels more like being buried under work than a simple diversion.

Although the weather wasn’t hot, he felt beads of cold sweat trickling down his back.

“Think carefully about how it should be introduced during war. Once the work is done, I’ll ensure you spend your remaining days in comfort.”

“…I will obey.”

No matter how he thought about it, finishing such a task felt like it would take a lifetime, yet the Grand Vizier had only one choice available to him.

Although the grave expression on the Grand Vizier’s face reflected the tremendous workload he had undertaken, that was merely a minor incident.

A war was approaching that would stain the golden plains with blood.

The once fertile fields where grains grew were now covered by a daunting army, and battle wagons laden with cannons took the lead.

As he thought about the imminent battle, the grip of the soldiers holding their weapons tightened, and Yusuf’s horse, sensing its master’s tense energy, began to snort excitedly.

Yusuf, leisurely patting the horse’s head before the war, turned his head sideways.

“Hasan, is it? The one I asked to capture.”

“Yes, indeed. He’s the one who undermined the friendship with Dulqadir and caused our soldiers to perish.”

He was young. No, to put it precisely, he was just a boy.

The male captured by Hasan, who bore a long scar across his cheek, seemed to be no more than twenty years old, and it was easy to tell that he had been marked as a scapegoat.

“Do you not have any regrets?”

It was a question of whether he regretted becoming a scapegoat.

The terrified young man raised his head and answered.

“I do not regret it.”

“If you regret it, you might live. However, your family that abandoned you will not escape retribution.”

“I said I have no regrets.”

Nuri Ali, who was indifferent to the young man trying hard to overcome his fear, turned his head away and said.

“Take him away and execute him. Don’t make a mess; send him off neatly.”

“Understood, Padishah.”

In those times, if one’s family did not slip some money behind the scenes, a painful execution was common.

This was the extent of consideration one could show to a spirited individual, and soon after, the soldiers’ cheers echoed as the execution took place.

As Yusuf gazed at the walls of Elazi, seemingly uninterested in the events unfolding behind him, the Grand Vizier spoke.

“Padishah, all preparations for battle have been completed.”

“Thank you for your hard work.”

“By the way, will the scholars you’ve brought be of any use?”

The Grand Vizier looked at the trembling scholars huddled near the cannons with skepticism.

“To achieve precise shots with the cannons, their input is essential.”

It was an era where ballistics was still in its infancy.

It was not yet common knowledge that firing a cannon at a 45-degree angle in the absence of air resistance would yield the farthest distance.

“From now on, the outcome of wars will be determined by how many artillerymen know how to shoot cannons accurately.”

The fact that cannons could be produced not by molds but by cutting them with a drilling machine indicated that they had been standardized.

This meant that if the same amount of gunpowder and shells were used, they would fire at the same speed, thus indicating that the foundation for the use of ballistics had been established.

The Grand Vizier clicked his tongue while watching the frightened scholars.

“Seeing you all so scared, I’m afraid many of you will die during this war; is that alright?”

“Whoever Allah has destined to go will die. If someone survives and creates a theory, they will become an effendi and acquire fame.”

Becoming an effendi, equivalent to sir, was no small achievement.

Only those who survived various crises could claim everything; that was the way of the Ottomans.

As around 600 cannons readied cartridges and gunpowder, the gates of Elazi opened, and a single cavalryman emerged.

-I warn you! This is the territory of the Shah, blessed by Allah! Withdraw your troops at once!

Frowning at the booming voice, Yusuf gestured to the nearby Janissaries.

“I wonder why Ismail’s lot have such long tongues before the war begins. It’s so noisy. Tell them to shoot.”

“I will deliver the order, Padishah.”

As per Yusuf’s command, the cannon’s muzzle pointed toward the cavalry, and a deafening roar erupted.

As the cannonball fell beside him, the cavalryman hastily fled, and Yusuf coldly stated.

“I’ll give you three days. Bring me the head of that arrogant fool.”

The sound of cannons rang through Elazi, and it took less than two days for the small town to fall.

The real war with the Safavid had begun.