I Became the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire

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Rhodes Battlegrounds (2)

– Bang!

From the distant Rhodes Fortress under siege, cannon fire echoed, yet the soldiers busy fortifying the walls paid no heed.

Like a dog barking with disregard, a soldier mixed cement with water, while another soldier keeping watch called out.

“Sector 45!”

“Sector 46!”

“Take cover! Take cover!”

With the echo of orders and shouts, the soldiers associated with those sectors dutifully ducked behind the fortress walls and available cover as the sound of shells exploded nearby.

It seemed some shells struck the under-construction walls, as they shook, and a sound of crumbling stone was heard.

However, in the face of this threat, the soldiers remained calm.

“I don’t understand why they’re up to such pointless antics.”

Leaning against the wall, a soldier grumbled while chewing on tough, hard bread.

It wasn’t exactly top quality bread, but compared to the rock-like bread requiring much saliva to soften, it felt extravagant.

From a distance, bakers from Anatolia, sweating profusely over a bubbling fire, prepared bread—one of the few comforts available during wartime.

Tap

“I wonder if we’ll ever fight a war this safe again.”

As he brushed off the crumbs from his bread, the soldier bit into the chunk of meat he’d been supplied with.

The first to die in wars isn’t the strong or the weak, but the unlucky, and there were indeed comrades who had met such a fate this time around as well.

“Still, it’s better than dying trying to crawl up that wall.”

Following orders from the Janissary engineers, the process of constructing the fortifications was tough, but the physical strain was preferable to death.

Just the thought of stepping over a comrade’s corpse in hell to climb to survive boosted the morale of the Ottoman soldiers.

“Cease fire! Resume work!”

The artillery fire, which had barely done any damage, came to a halt, allowing the soldiers to continue their construction.

Yusuf, observing the scene where thousands were mobilized to build the fortress, leaned on his musket like a walking stick and asked Dukaginzade.

“Beylerbey of Anatolia, is there no issue with supplies?”

“Other matters are uncertain, but you need not worry about supplies.”

In war, uncertainties reign, and usually, one would not give such a confident answer about supplies, but this time was different.

The Anatolian Peninsula was just a stone’s throw from Rhodes Island, and places like Athens in Greece were nearby, plus it was sea transport.

Remembering the last war where thousands of camels were employed, it was hard to believe supply lines could get any easier.

“Complacency leads to mistakes, so we must not neglect supplies, and we should be vigilant about the soldiers’ hygiene to prevent the plague.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

There’s nothing more futile than soldiers dying from diseases instead of the enemy.

Rhodes Island, being three-quarters the size of Jeju Island, had ample resources for basic sanitation management.

Yusuf’s gaze was steady on the towering Rhodes Fortress.

Though it was still in the initial stages of construction and not high enough to serve as effective cover, once the walls exceeded shoulder height, they were past the point where bombardment would become a threat.

“We’ll soon begin the final act of desperation. Won’t we?”

“The judgment of the gods says so, Your Majesty. If they don’t surrender, they will certainly strike back.”

It was effectively a declaration of intent when the Knights began constructing the unwanted double walls, vowing to crush their opponent.

The moment the walls were completed, time would not be on the side of the Knights.

They would despair over dwindling food supplies and worry about internal strife.

Yusuf gazed at the fortress sinking into darkness and commanded.

“Let them learn how futile their last stand is.”

It was comical—a siege battle with the roles reversed.

Like the futile crumbling future of the Knights.

*

There was no clanking chainmail today to weep beneath the black cloak adorned with a white octagonal cross.

The heavy breaths of those in leather armor scattered beneath the night sky, and the lined-up knights and soldiers simultaneously knelt.

“Your Excellency, the preparations are complete.”

Kareto, the Grandmaster of the Knights, met the eyes of the assembled men one by one.

There was no fear of the imminent death in the strong gaze of his two eyes; under the meager moonlight, Kareto sighed.

“Knights in white and six hundred soldiers. Tonight, I shall become a sinner before the Lord.”

It wasn’t a matter of whether they could die; it was that they had to face a mission from which there was no escape.

Kareto’s heart sank as he looked at them, and in a sign of understanding, the deputy commander who volunteered for the suicide mission smiled.

“It has been an honor to be with you, Your Excellency.”

“And I, too, am honored to be with you.”

The variety of reasons for joining the Knights, from honor and money to revenge, ultimately led to the most valuable thing they found there: comradeship.

It was a separation laden with the agony of carving flesh from bone, and the troops, including the deputy commander, moved quickly so as not to burden Kareto’s heart further.

There were 11 gates into Rhodes Fortress, but half were sealed on the coastline, while the remaining gates served as the first defensive area against unexpected attacks from the Ottomans.

Ultimately, the soldiers hung from the ropes descended into the entrenched moat with military precision, and Kareto turned his gaze toward the enemy lines.

“The guard is tight.”

On the enemy’s walls, countless tiny fireflies were visible.

This meant there were that many Ottoman sentries whirling torches to keep the slow-burning fuses lit.

However, as Kareto surveyed the stringent defenses, there was no sense of defeat in his wrinkled eyes.

“While it’s good they have a tight defense, using muskets is a blunder.”

Though it was an excellent weapon that instilled fear in the Ottomans, all weapons must be used situationally.

If they could gauge where the guards were, it would be easier to infiltrate enemy territory.

How long would it be before he would be waiting for the Knights’ movement? With the sound of crossbows firing, screams erupted.

– Aaagh!

– Enemy, enemy! The enemy has appeared!

– Kill all infidels! Stone them!

The Ottoman forces, alarmed by the emergence of enemies, clashed with the Knights leaping into their last fight.

Watching the shadows of his subordinates easily leap over the under-construction walls, Kareto clenched his fists in determination.

If he could successfully delay the Ottoman construction, it was his duty to find a new breakthrough so their sacrifices wouldn’t be in vain.

As he pondered the next step, he noticed things were unfolding strangely.

– Uagh! You filthy infidels!

– May the Lord punish you! Cough!

The screams he ought to hear from the infidels were missing; instead, he only heard his allies’ screams celebrating their safe crossing of the walls, coupled with a tremendous burst of gunpowder that dazzled his eyes.

It felt like the wails of those who had lost their lives vacantly, and a terrible silence began to gnaw at Rhodes Fortress.

*

Yusuf sneered at the pitiful state of the prisoners.

“You should have been more careful entering the construction site. That’s basic knowledge.”

Though he anticipated an ambush, the bigger problem was maintaining the long walls.

Any traps set up during wall construction would only be visible, so the idea was to place construction materials around the walls being built.

The materials, barely noticeable on a dark night, served as traps and obstacles in themselves.

‘Intentionally using sentries with matchlocks was also a deception.’

By revealing sentries fiddling with burning fuses, attention was drawn away from the Janissaries using flintlock rifles, who could have been lying in wait.

Of course, it wouldn’t matter if the Janissaries were clever enough to figure out they were biding their time to pounce on their prey.

Regardless, the Ottomans were not aiming for outright damage to the enemy; their goal was merely to buy time until the walls were sufficiently completed.

“You cowardly infidels…! Cannot you fight fairly?!”

Through the translator, Yusuf heard the prisoner’s words and chuckled lightly.

“Did you say you were a deputy commander? You’re talking about fair play while engaging in piracy. How hilarious.”

“It’s not piracy; it’s a holy war! What we do to the infidels will please the Lord!”

Whether he truly believed that or wrestled with doubts didn’t matter.

Yusuf casually responded to the deputy commander, who was vehemently denying it.

“Even knights can engage in piracy. I, too, delight in piracy and plundering.”

It was simply a twofold tactic of tormenting the enemy while gaining benefits.

Where in the world could one hope to get a lucrative investment returning a masterpiece like Michelangelo just for offering a little support?

It wasn’t excessive to admit a love for piracy and plundering.

“However, it must be within manageable limits. Otherwise, you end up looking like the pitiful sight you are now.”

“Your Majesty, how should we handle the prisoners? Shall we execute them all?”

Displaying the severed heads of enemies was no lofty hobby.

It was only done out of necessity, and in this case, it would likely backfire.

“No, don’t do that. It would only rally the enemy together.”

Though he dismissed them as mere pirates, it was true they were knights unafraid of death.

There was no reason to stoke the flames of resentment in their hearts.

“What shall we do then? Please give your orders.”

About 200 prisoners, soaked in the blood of their comrades, glared at Yusuf, who twisted his lips.

“Cut their tendons and return them to the enemy by morning’s military band.”

Heroes are made in death, and surviving wounded are nothing more than burdens.

With orders to throw a bone of discord to the enemy, Dukaginzade burst into a hearty laugh.

Given their shortage of resources, predicting the dreadful situation the enemy would find themselves in was easy.

“The more they are cornered, the more cruel they can become.”

Whether they died cursing their comrades in neglect or became points of conflict between the knights and the citizens trying to save each other, it surely wouldn’t be the honorable outcome they envisioned.

Hearing Yusuf’s orders, the Janissaries cut the tendons of the prisoners, and blood and screams flew amidst the torches.

“Murad.”

“… Yes, Your Majesty.”

Placing a hand on the shoulder of Murad, still unripe despite his adult size, Yusuf spoke.

“Cutting off the enemy captain’s head and claiming victory is one aspect of war, but probing their weaknesses and maximizing our strengths is also war. Remember, the most important thing is victory.”

“I understand.”

“Then go back to Cairo for now. I’m off to return to the capital.”

The war had, for all intents and purposes, already been won, and in a battle with an obvious outcome, the empire’s ruler did not have the luxury of wasting time.

Having not been gone for even a month, it seemed his words about quickly returning after saying goodbye to the Grand Vizier were becoming a reality.

Yusuf’s eyes turned to the construction of the fortress.

‘There’s really no need to go so far with the construction.’

This fortification carried not just the significance of occupying Rhodes Island but also of showing off, or flexing, a bit.

When the Ottomans could present themselves not as amiable neighbors to the West but as a symbol of terror, they truly shone as a nation.

What would Europe, monitoring the situation, think?

Far from believing the Knights would endure, they would likely fear the crazy fellow intent on crushing their enemy by erecting walls.

The Rhodes Battleground would not be a battle echoing the Knights’ glory but rather an event instilling fear of the Ottomans.

“That’s enough. Silahtar, ah.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Prepare to return.”

The knights felt a dreadful despair as they watched the dimming purple flag of the Ottoman dynasty, now distant from those who returned in tatters.

What remained for them wasn’t a glorious future.

*

“Mother, everyone has assembled.”

“I see.”

At Mehmet’s words, Aishe veiled her face with her hijab and rose from her seat.

In the port city of Cape at the northern end of the Black Sea, a city she would soon call home, her steps felt light.

As the door blocking her way opened, the internal commotion vanished as if washed away, and the assembled crowd simultaneously took a bow.

“We greet Prince Mehmet and Aishe Hatun!”

Seated one step below the highest honor, Aishe, now in her new place, gestured gracefully.

“It’s been a long time, Saadet Khan and Ivan.”

“It’s truly an honor that the Hatun remembers us.”

Saadet led the cluster of officials from the Crimean Khanate, standing to the right, while Ivan led the Circassian officials to the left.

As Aishe looked at them, she smiled.

The strict limitations on female political participation in the harem felt like shackles, which would have seemed hellish without Yusuf.

“Your Highness, please commence the meeting.”

No woman here enjoyed the delight of being favored by the Padishah.

Only one Hatun who had thrown off the shackles and was living with the prince remained.

The eyes of the mother and son sparkled like jewels.