I Became the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire

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Gunfire echoed.

Blood flowed from the execution platform like tears.

Typically, executions are a festival.

Witnessing the convicts wail for their lives, trembling and cursing the spectators, was a favorite pastime of the era.

The sight of a dull axe striking down multiple times while the convict clung to life until the very end provided endless amusement.

However, the subjects gathered in the square could not utter a word.

Unlike the usual executions that felt distant, the pile of over a hundred corpses before them instilled a fear of becoming one of them.

Thud!

Nuri Ali Caliph slammed the blood-stained axe to the ground.

He shouted loudly at the cowering subjects as if the axe were dropping onto their necks.

“Allah does not love those who attack; it is written in the Quran that you should challenge your enemies but not attack first.”

“There is no god but Allah, and Muhammad is His prophet.”

The heralds proclaimed the declaration of faith that would later be inscribed on the Saudi Arabian flag, one of the five pillars of Islam, known by all.

Nuri Ali raised the Quran with bloodied hands.

“Look at those wicked Ottomans! They brutally killed the Shah’s envoy who sought peace and spread mistrust among each other like the tongue of Satan.”

It wasn’t important that Ismail, who had waged the Conquest Wars more vigorously than anyone else, had been the one to first attack Trabzon.

What was needed for incitement was not truth, but emotion.

“How can we forget that the prosperous plains were burned twice under the hand of a Sultan who blasphemes the Quran and poses as a false prophet!”

“They deserved to die!”

“They’re like pigs! They don’t even know shame!”

As the heralds rained curses, a mood of agreement spread, and Nuri Ali left them with one last remark.

“Don’t forget! If this place falls into the hands of the devilish Ottomans, it will soon become hell!”

Emerging from the platform, Nuri Ali’s face hardened amid the bizarre cry that seemed a mix of despair and determination.

He had quelled the subjects’ fear of death with violence, but this was only temporary.

Real death could shake them at any moment.

“Who is the one claiming to be from Elazi?”

“They have been brought inside the fortress.”

Nuri Ali nodded and stepped with a heavy expression into the deepest chamber of the fortress, where he found a man clutching a sword and looking around nervously.

From the rags draped over him, it was clear he was terrified.

Nuri Ali approached the man, covering his hand on the sword grip with his own.

“There is nothing to fear. Unlike Elazi, this place is safe, built from high walls.”

“R-really?”

“I swear by Allah, no enemy here will take your life. Now tell me what you saw and heard there.”

The survivor, trembling, managed to calm down enough to speak.

“There was an enormous noise. It was like the sky was howling, and the walls shook several times. When I turned to see what was passing, there were no comrades left, only bloody remains!”

“So?”

“The high walls crumbled, and looting began. I escaped here riding a nearby horse! They are demons! Demons! We need to run! This place will collapse soon too!”

The soldiers nearby, keeping watch, grabbed the panicking survivor, and Nuri Ali coldly observed the scene before pulling the survivor’s sword.

The survivor, pierced by his own sword, choked and coughed up blood.

“I-I swear…”

“You said there would be no enemy here, but I never said there wouldn’t be those who might kill you. Dispose of him.”

After throwing aside the blood-soaked sword, Nuri Ali ground his teeth.

“What a dirty trick.”

How could a soldier completely lose their mind and safely flee the city that had fallen to looting?

Such a thing could not happen without someone’s assistance.

Fear is contagious. Keeping that survivor alive would only spread a fear that high walls wouldn’t help against.

Observing the bodies being dragged away, Nuri Ali let out a heavy sigh.

“I’m exhausted.”

He felt as if he too had become infected by the fear.

Four days passed, and the Ottoman army, following the path of the survivor, emerged outside the Diyarbakır fortress.

*

Both Elazi and Diyarbakır were influenced by the Euphrates and Tigris rivers, leading to heavy rain in winter but hot and dry summers.

By now, June had arrived, causing the flow of the Tigris, which runs west of Diyarbakır, to narrow compared to before.

Yusuf, who had ruthlessly trampled the fields once tended by farmers hoping for a harvest last year, joked while looking at the fortress.

“Grand Vizier, anyone who sees me would think I’ve already conquered that fortress. What do you think?”

“Since it resembles the gates of Elazi that you conquered, I can see why you’d think that.”

“Ah, there are others with such refined tastes. The world is truly vast.”

Over a hundred heads hung on pikes towered above the eastern gate.

It was partly a joke; he did bring heads to place on the crumbled walls of Elazi, but it wasn’t for decoration like a floral arrangement.

The heads served as reminders that those who were looted were to be blamed, and a warning that those who resisted could meet the same fate.

“I’m curious as to why they were displayed. Grand Vizier, do you think we should send an envoy to negotiate surrender?”

“It’s better to act according to procedure.”

“Procedure, huh.”

It wasn’t so much that procedure mattered, but based on the atmosphere emanating from the fortress, it would be strange if the head of the envoy who went there didn’t get launched by a catapult.

In a normal situation, Yusuf would have already fired cannons, but he looked at the Janissaries with intense eyes and asked:

“Is there anyone willing to go?”

“Leave it to me, Your Padishah!”

“It is not terrifying to face Allah while following the Padishah’s orders!”

Yusuf raised his hand at the volunteer Janissaries.

The reason they volunteered for a suicide mission was not loyalty.

To become a Silahtar, who serves as the Sultan’s bodyguard within the elite cavalry known as the Kapukulu Cavalry, they had to survive such missions.

Even if one transferred, Janissaries and Kapukulu Cavalry members would betray them, but many volunteered for the chance at great wealth and fame.

Yusuf pointed to the first person who spoke.

“Go, and don’t come back until you have something to report.”

“I will obey!”

The Janissary performed a salute and mounted his white-flagged horse, arriving before the Diyarbakır fortress gates, which creaked open.

A moment later, the gates opened again, and the horse returned in a panic, riderless.

“Tsk, he ended up coming back dead.”

The Janissaries have a hairstyle similar to a queue with only a topknot left on their heads, made to grip during battle.

The hair was tied to the horse’s side, leading only the head to return; the Janissary, with a grim face, discovered a paper clenched in his mouth.

As the soldiers looked at the paper with puzzled expressions, Yusuf gestured.

“Bring it here. What’s written that has you all staring?”

Seeing the paper, Yusuf also wore an odd expression. It was a blank piece of paper.

There was only a face drawn on it.

Yusuf called out to Hasan, who had been pushed into a corner by the other servants.

“Hasan, you’ve made quite the career for yourself. You look like you’re waiting for a death sentence just by wandering around as a Safavid with your face.”

Hasan, receiving the portrait of his own face, made a sour expression, and Yusuf patted his shoulder before turning back to the fortress gates.

From what he saw of Hasan’s portrait, the dead must have wished to side with the Ottomans.

He felt no pity. It was their fault for not hiding their teeth properly.

However.

“I’m furious. How dare they kill my envoy? Prepare for battle. We must collect the price of blood.”

I can kill, but I cannot tolerate when others do. The ultimate hypocrite was angry.

Soon, the drums of war sounded.

*

The drumbeat, which thundered like heartbeats across the plains, quickly morphed into the roars of battle.

-BOOM!

Cannons lined up along the long wall erupted with thundering sounds, spewing thick smoke.

Hundreds of iron projectiles flew through the air and rained down upon Diyarbakır fortress.

The sight of black projectiles falling from the sky like rain felt unreal, and the subjects stared blankly at the scene.

Then calamity unfolded.

-BOOM! Crash!

“Get d-down!”

Buildings struck by the heavy projectiles crumbled and fell, while those caught fleeing cried out as they were crushed.

People, pinned under the collapsed buildings, waved their hands for help as a terrified crowd trampled over them, and a woman, having lost her husband, clutched her child as she sought Allah in the corner.

The chaos atop the walls was no less than that inside the fortress.

“AAAAAHH!”

“Fire the catapults! What are you standing there like fools for?!”

“Don’t run away! Those who run will die first by my sword!”

Soldiers knocked off the wall, trembling as the walls shook like they were in an earthquake.

A soldier blinded by the debris screamed as he clutched his eyes.

All the commander could do was order the catapults to fire at the enemies producing thick smoke and threaten the terrified soldiers.

The chaos was mirrored among the Ottoman troops firing projectiles from below the walls.

The gunners crammed powder and projectiles into the cannons and adjusted their aim based on the trajectory of the projectiles they had just fired.

“So, you ink-smelling bastard! How much higher do I have to aim?!”

“Just wait a moment! This isn’t something that can be calculated in an instant, you know?! It seems the wind is stronger; we need to rethink the trajectory!”

“What the hell! Cannons don’t fly with a parabolic arc! They just fly straight and drop!”

“Are you blind?! I’m telling you it has a parabolic trajectory! The Padishah himself mentioned it!”

With the thunderous sounds ringing in their ears and the acrid smoke triggering fits of coughing, the scholars and gunners raised their voices in a heated argument.

Except for a few sharp-eyed individuals, this was still the era when it was widely believed that projectiles shot out traveled in straight paths before dropping straight down after reaching a high altitude; it dated back to the battles fought from Elazi.

As they bickered, a dark shadow dropped in front of them.

-BOOM!

“It’s a catapult! Shields! Raise shields!”

Realizing the stone that landed before him was shot from a catapult, the scholar yelled.

“What are you waiting for?! Shoot already! Just aim and fire!”

Though it was almost comical, it was a natural response for the scholar, whose mind turned blank with the very real threat of death looming.

As projectiles flew in succession, the soldiers of Diyarbakır gritted their teeth and moved stones.

Due to the range differences, many of the stones from the catapults failed to reach the enemy, but it was all they could do at that moment.

Hands carrying stones grew weary, and the smoke rising from the fields began to engulf the fortress walls above in a persistent battle.

An accident occurred around this time.

-CRACK!

“The cannon has exploded! The cannon has exploded! Cease fire!”

One of the firing cannons could not withstand the heat and blew up, scattering the soldiers nearby.

The Janissary commander, Janissary Aga, spoke to Yusuf with a serious expression.

“Your Padishah, the cannon seems to have overheated.”

“Good. Pull the firing cannons back.”

As Yusuf’s order rang out, the heated cannons retreated behind the battle wagons, and cheers erupted from the Diyarbakır fortress.

“HAHAA! The devil’s weapon is retreating!”

“We have held on!”

To celebrate the fact that only the enemy’s weapons were retreating was testament to how immense the shock of the constant bombardment had been.

Witnessing the scene, Nuri Ali bit his lips.

‘It wasn’t damaged; it was being doused to cool down. It will surely come back once night falls.’

Taking into account how much cooler it becomes at night, it was clear they would return soon, but for the moment, Nuri Ali felt a sense of relief.

If they quickly repaired the damaged walls, they could hold out for over two weeks.

*

“I suppose they’re thinking such foolish thoughts.”

Cheers echoed from atop the walls as the cannons, still exuding heat, passed by him into the rear lines.

Nuri Ali took in the scene, chuckling.

“Your Padishah, we are ready.”

“Show them that the nightmare isn’t over.”

As Yusuf’s command issued forth, wagons cluttered with supplies surged to the forefront, revealing the remaining 500 cannon pieces they had kept back.

The cheers that had resonated in response to the new cannons lining the wall vanished, and Yusuf slung his rifle over his shoulder.

“Continue the bombardment.”

The Ottomans.

The nation with unmatched sincerity towards firepower.