I Became the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire

덫과 덫(1)

At an altitude of 1790 meters, a highland region.

This place, which would later become the capital of Afghanistan and a massive city with millions of inhabitants, was just a small town with a population of less than 40,000.

The mountains, named Hindu Kush, meaning “the land where Hindus die,” were crowned with a thick layer of eternal snow.

Though it was a repeated view, I felt overwhelmed by the greatness of nature, and a coarse voice echoed behind the man who was gazing blankly.

“O Padishah, do you truly intend to head towards the land of the Safavid?”

It’s a small territory to refer to the emperor as Padishah, to the point that one might laugh if heard from a foreign land.

However, for the man who had claimed a vast empire, the descendant of Genghis Khan and Timur, Babur, it was a title he naturally claimed.

“Faruk, I truly like this city. The terrain is rugged, the people speak twelve different languages and struggle to communicate, yet still, this land has become a new sanctuary.”

He aimed to conquer Samarkand, the center of the Silk Road, alongside Chang’an and Constantinople, to recreate Timur’s glory.

But he had fled to Kabul, losing his homeland after a disastrous defeat to Uzbeck’s Shaybani Khan.

Despite facing numerous trials, including being driven out by rebellion even in the Kabul he fled to, Babur’s dream was not crushed.

“However, I am not satisfied with this place! I have the mission to restore the glory of my ancestor Timur. To do that, I must seize Samarkand with the assistance of the Safavid.”

“O Padishah, they have rejected our request for aid. Would a nation at war have the capacity to help us?”

“Look at the world broadly. The crisis of the Safavid may not necessarily be a bad thing for us.”

What Babur had learned from experiencing numerous crises was not to be mired solely in the immediate future.

“If we had reached out in the past, we would have ended up as a tributary. But if we seize this opportunity, we might start from an equal relationship. In the long run, it will yield better results.”

“If we prepare and depart now, we might reach the war-torn west by next year. Will the Safavid hold out until then?”

At the worried words of his subordinate, Babur clicked his tongue.

“Foolish talk. The Safavid and the Mamluk dynasty are joined at the hip. Do you think they will easily be defeated?”

“The power of the Ottomans is indeed formidable enough to force those two to unite. Besides, the Padishah leading them is said to be quite capable, to the point that the Shah has faced repeated defeats.”

Babur shook his head at the rebuttal.

“The Shah’s defeats were merely due to misfortune. He is the one who turned Shaybani Khan’s skull into a cup. We will surely overcome, and by the time we arrive, the Safavid will be steadfast.”

Babur, the first emperor of the great Mughal Empire, was certain.

*

Kuguggg! KUNG!

– The walls are collapsing!

Some of the walls, having endured several bombardments, crumbled down with a loud noise.

The soldiers atop the walls were buried beneath the rubble before they even had a chance to scream.

As the stones that formed the walls tumbled down the slope, the hands of the artillerymen grew busier in firing shells.

Who was it that said life is a comedy viewed from a distance and a tragedy when seen up close?

Likewise, the sight of cannons lined up, rolling back amidst flames, looked splendid from afar, but it was a terrible reality for the close artillerymen.

“Hurry up and push! If you don’t plan on firing for another half-day, push now, you fools!”

Lifting the cannon, which was being pushed back by the shells’ firing, back into position was a task that made muscles cry out in agony.

Moreover, sweating bullets as they advanced with heavy cannons pulled by camels didn’t mean the job was complete.

“You bastard! Why aren’t you running faster?! Are you collecting rainwater?!”

In the midst of chaotic bombardment, a young soldier who accidentally spilled a water barrel rushed over, panting with a newly filled container.

It was unavoidable, as they could not fire without a water barrel.

The waiting artilleryman dipped a wool-wrapped cleaning stick into the water barrel, and as his comrade blocked the touch hole with a thumb, he shoved the cleaning stick down the barrel.

– Chiiiiiick

The heat from the barrel was so intense that the sound of water evaporating could be heard.

As the remaining gunpowder residue was cleaned and the barrel cooled slightly, they hurried to load gunpowder measured in a cloth.

“Enemy! The enemy is coming out!”

At the shout, the artillerymen raised their heads and could see.

The battered gate suddenly opening wide, revealing cavalry soldiers brandishing swords pouring out.

– For the Shah!

– Allah is with us!

These cavalrymen had the mission to halt the bombardment.

Their momentum, matched with the will to face death, was contrary to the unfavorable situation.

The scholar adjusting the cannon angle, considering the pockmarked ground from the cannon fire, was anxious.

“Shouldn’t we be fleeing?! At this rate, we’ll all die!”

“Shut your mouth and focus! Either raise the angle properly or scribble something on the ground, you imbecile!”

At the growl of his commander, the scholar shrank back.

As the enemy quickly descended the slope, a fierce drumbeat resonated.

Clang!

“Get out of the way!”

The scholar, pushed to the ground by a rough hand, looked up in alarm and anger, only to quickly bow his head.

The piercing eyes of the Janissary, with a long hat drooping to the neck and a rifle slung over his shoulder, glinted with malice.

The Janissaries, the elite soldiers of the Ottoman Empire title, quickly formed up and aimed their rifles at the enemy.

The cavalrymen, battered by stray cannonballs and descending down the perilous slope where rubble and dirt fell like rain, approached close enough to see the faces and the stones kicked up by their hooves.

Then came a thunderous voice.

“First row, fire!”

– TADADADADAD!

– Hiiiiiing!

At the signal, bullets surged forth, and the cavalrymen, transformed into a honeycomb of bodies, crashed to the ground.

The corpses that fell off horses tumbled several meters away, and the heavy horses went down with broken necks, creating a scene far too surreal.

Though the lead fell, the cavalry that followed did not relent and pressed on with even greater speed.

One might expect the gods to take pity and provide an opportunity, but the second row, stepping in after the first, was merciless.

In the crossfire that followed, only a handful of cavalry remained, and the few survivors were met with glinting bayonets.

Those who were frightened by the sight of enemy forces turning to blood lost their senses, and soon a shout snapped them back to reality.

“What are you standing there in a daze for?! Move quickly!”

“You madman, are we all trying to die?! Why are you reloading twice?!”

At the shout of the experienced commander, more cannon fire continued, and the walls, which had previously cracked like small fissures, fell like dominoes.

Observing this scene from a chair, Yusuf asked the Janissary commander, “How’s the state of the cannons?”

“Among the iron cannons, several have cracked and need to be discarded. Most of the bronze cannons should be fine if cooled.”

“That’s a relief. How much gunpowder have we used?”

“It seems we’ve used over half of our stock.”

They had bombarded the walls for three days.

There was a joke that they had brought more gunpowder than food, yet the grim faces of those around him showed the reality of having less than half left.

The Janissary commander, who was leading the army, spoke cautiously, “The gunpowder consumption has been excessive. If we had deployed troops sooner, we could have reduced the usage.”

It might have been possible to scale the walls faster at the cost of sacrifices, but Yusuf waved his hand dismissively.

“That’s enough. The time taken to create gunpowder is longer than the time needed to raise men. And this is sufficient.”

They had already put on quite a display of fireworks.

No matter how good the bombardment was, it ultimately takes people to drive the flag into the ground.

“Bring me Diyarbakır.”

“Yes! O Padishah!”

Soon, the sounds of drums accompanied by the cries of soldiers gripping their weapons filled the air.

It was a sign of the grand finale.

*

“It’s not too late even now! You must flee!”

Arrows rained down upon the advancing enemy troop, staining the hill, but it was merely a final struggle after losing the last bastion.

Despite the cries of his subordinate, Nuri Ali slowly surveyed the castle.

There were no intact buildings near the walls, and even the mosque that praised Allah had its roof collapse.

Amidst the sight of the crumbling, bug-eaten city, Nuri Ali’s eyes caught the dark smoke rising alongside the flames.

It was a storeroom filled with food and weapons, the last assignment he had received.

“I have become. You must flee, even if it’s just you. I pledged to Allah that I shall meet my end here.”

“We shall die with you.”

“Nonsense. This moment calls for anyone capable of aiding the Shah’s grand cause. Depart!”

At Nuri Ali’s command, his tightly gripped subordinates respectfully bowed and ran away.

Left alone, Nuri Ali bitterly murmured, “If there’s a chance to survive, make sure to survive.”

Before he knew it, the Ottoman army had reached the broken walls, sweeping away the Safavid forces like waves.

A soldier fleeing was struck down, and a woman’s sharp scream pierced the air.

It was a signal for plunder, and as Nuri Ali looked over the landscape that had turned into hell, the sounds of angry footsteps approached from behind.

“Nuri Ali Khalifa! You are bold enough not to flee!”

It wasn’t the Ottoman troops.

It was the Kurdish people, destined to suffer as their food burned and they were plundered.

To the soldiers who brandished the stolen swords, Nuri Ali spoke.

“Take me to the Padishah of the Ottomans.”

“What nonsense?!”

At his unexpected words, the leader of the rabble shouted angrily, and Nuri Ali replied calmly, as if death were not imminent.

“I merely wish to see the one who has consistently blocked the Shah’s path for the last time. It would be better for you than taking my head.”

At this, the man pulled out his sword and swung it toward Nuri Ali.

*

In Diyarbakır, the madness of war settled in.

The fear of not knowing when one would die erupted in a vile way during the three days given for plunder.

It was an unbearably harsh time for the vanquished, stripped of all rights due to the defeat in the siege warfare, and one filled with the anger against it writhed from the ground.

“You wished to see me? Nuri Ali Khalifa.”

The state of being alive was indeed a remarkable one.

Nuri Ali, unable to even stand, much less sit down as if all the tendons in his body had snapped, could only lift his head to gaze at Yusuf.

“Cough, I merely wished to see the greatest obstacle in the Shah’s path before leaving this world.”

“Foolish man. How significant was it for you to see my face, enough to not flee? Grand Vizier.”

“Yes, O Padishah.”

“You should have thought to send a portrait along with the severed envoy’s head.”

“That would be excessive consideration for those about to ascend to Allah.”

As they exchanged idle banter, Nuri Ali scoffed.

“It seems a poor show of bravado from one who has already killed my fleeing subordinates.”

Yusuf smiled broadly.

“You know well.”

With that comment, Nuri Ali was left biting back his teeth as he looked down at the head that had rolled to his feet.

He had assumed that the meticulous enemy would leave no escape route, but reality was utterly desolate.

“Ah, seeing you so satisfied from tossing your master into Allah’s embrace.”

“… The last victor will be the Shah.”

“Such a defeated dog’s delusion. Go on ahead. I will send your master shortly.”

At Yusuf’s beckoning, the soldiers roughly grabbed Nuri Ali and dragged him away.

As Nuri Ali was taken away to be torn apart without leaving a single corpse for the furious Kurds, the Grand Vizier issued a warning.

“Do not take the words of that man lightly. Have we not received reports that approximately 40,000 Mamluks gathered from Ain Tab to Aleppo have begun mobilizing?”

“I am aware. They will make one last desperate attempt. But to catch a big game, one must take risks.”

Yusuf looked in the direction of Tabriz, which was set to become a trap.

*

“O Shah, Diyarbakır has fallen, and the Ottoman forces have begun their march toward Tabriz.”

“… What of Nuri Ali? What has become of him?”

At Ismail’s question, Ustajlu bowed deeply.

“It is reported he completed all tasks given by the Shah in Diyarbakır and was executed.”

“Is that so.”

With the news of a trusted subordinate dying after long years spent together, Ismail gripped the reins tightly.

“I will pray for my brother’s soul before Yusuf’s head.”

“As commanded!”

The 20,000 Qizilbash who followed Ismail headed south to cut off Yusuf’s supply lines.