I Became the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire

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The Butterfly Effect (1)

In the harem, where the scent of women’s perfumes and their delicate laughter once echoed, a heavy silence now enveloped the air.

Looking at the woman sprawled on the ground with her hair a mess, Valide Hatun Fatima’s eyes were as dry as dust.

It was hard to believe this was the same person with whom she had shared smiles just a short while ago.

“Naime.”

“P-please, Valide Hatun! Forgive me!”

Naime, trembling and crawling, was so oblivious to the fact that her clothes had slipped, revealing her body.

Her pitiful gestures were blocked by the jabbing swords of the eunuchs, and with tears and fear staining her face, Fatima said coldly,

“Naime, you’re not being dragged in here simply because you received bribes from merchants.”

“Th-then why…?”

“First, you have been entrusted only with your ability. Do you think you can issue a canal pass just because you’ve been cradled in the Padishah’s arms a few times?”

Eastern trade through the canal was as lucrative as raking in money, and such permissions were not granted to just anyone.

Permissions were given only to those who could meet certain past performance standards and provide corresponding benefits.

Those wealthy enough to bribe usually had gained their wealth through unscrupulous means, and were hardly in a position to have a concubine grant them a pass.

“While in the harem, you are also one of the Padishah’s women. To speak falsehoods under the banner of the dynasty is to insult the Padishah’s flag.”

“I-it’s not like that…”

“Second, you made it seem as though a woman of the harem could impact policy, mocking the subjects.”

“I-I would never do that! I had no such thoughts!”

She vehemently denied it, but Fatima had no intention of changing the punishment that had been decided.

“Take her to the Bosporus.”

“Understood, Valide Hatun.”

To take her to the strait, a place where the bodies of the executed were disposed of, Naime hurriedly cried out.

“Padishah! I plead for mercy!”

Fatima clicked her tongue at Naime’s frantic plea.

It was pitiful that a woman who had been in the Padishah’s embrace still didn’t understand the nature of their world.

“This punishment is permitted by the Padishah. Take her away.”

Had someone so involved ever softened their heart? If they had, Aishe and Hatice wouldn’t have been sent after the prince either.

The eunuchs struck Naime, who tried to resist, and stuffed the fainted woman into a large sack.

The harem was not a place for shedding blood.

Fatima surveyed the harem.

As the empire expanded, the number of harem women also increased, surpassing five hundred.

There was barely enough room, necessitating the expansion of the harem, and she warned the women, each showcasing diverse charms.

“I trust you all understand how to conduct yourselves from here on.”

Passing through the women, who bowed their heads silently, the Valide Hatun entered her room.

“Welcome back.”

At Tazlu’s question, Fatima nodded and patted Mustafa’s head, who looked up at her.

With black hair and bronze skin, the innocently blinking eyes hinted at retained childlike innocence.

“Mustafa, thanks to you, everything has been resolved well.”

“It was just treasure hunting, after all.”

“I did allow it, didn’t I? Well done finding it.”

If they had discovered it any later, there would have been one less life to spare, so it could be said they accomplished something.

“Is there anything you want?”

“Um… a map.”

“A map?”

Fatima was taken aback by the unexpected request, while Mustafa beamed.

“My father said the world is vast and full of treasure.”

“Did he now?”

Yusuf wouldn’t say such things for just a child’s imagination, but Fatima didn’t ponder it deeply, instead focusing on the old silver ring she wore.

It was an unwanted treasure for a noble Valide Hatun, a memento from a friend, who had smiled shyly when she was given it.

‘There’s no need to worry too far ahead. Right, Nene.’

Life is finite, and its end isn’t far off either.

Fatima’s delicate fingers traced the grooves dully etched into the ring, filled with cherished memories.

“A map, eh? I shall ask the Padishah for one. He will likely allow it.”

Although a map held great value, it was not something a prince could not possess.

Mustafa smiled brightly.

*

Yusuf gazed over the Golden Horn, also known as the Goldens Horn, located to the north of Constantinople.

Thanks to the Golden Horn, the capital was surrounded by the sea on three sides, making it difficult to capture, but the inconvenience of transit was unavoidable.

The wasted distance alone exceeded ten kilometers.

‘I can’t just set up a temporary bridge all the time.’

It wasn’t a military objective, so they couldn’t set up a makeshift bridge for common people’s transit.

The bridge under construction in the Golden Horn had significance in that regard, and Yusuf smiled at the displeased figure standing before him.

“Michelangelo, do you dislike that bridge that much?”

“To be honest, yes.”

“It’s dead already. Is there really a need to care?”

“The man Leonardo once said, he thought the sculptor looked like a baker covered in flour, and I still can’t forget that.”

It was incorrect to belittle sculpture, but Michelangelo contemptuously looked down on painting too, so to Yusuf, they were all cut from the same cloth.

Yusuf responded to Michelangelo’s occasional childlike behavior.

“He was right.”

“I’m glad to hear the Padishah thinks so too.”

Yusuf looked at the bridge under construction.

It was a bridge proposed by Leonardo da Vinci to his father, Bayezid II.

The most significant feature of this bridge was that it had no piers to support it, as the swift currents of the Bosporus Strait would make its supports untenable.

Instead of piers, this innovative design relied on an arch bridge to endure the load, but it had been rejected by Bayezid for lacking practicality.

‘One can’t blame him. A 280m bridge requires at least ten piers or more.’

It wouldn’t be until the 21st century, after various methods were validated, that it would be deemed feasible, but until then, it had seemed utterly absurd.

“It wouldn’t be so bad, you know? Just think of it as your statue covering a bridge designed by Leonardo. It would feel like applying a fresh coat of paint.”

Michelangelo stroked his beard and gazed at the Golden Horn.

Once completed, it would be the world’s longest bridge, and having his statue adorn it didn’t sound too shabby.

“Cough, let’s talk about such things after the bridge is fully finished. I still don’t trust that design he came up with.”

“Sure, there’s no need to rush. We have a long time ahead of us.”

If history played out as it should, Michelangelo would live for another forty years or so. There would be plenty of time to work together.

While conversing with Michelangelo, Hasan rushed in to pay his respects.

“Your Majesty! Welcome.”

“Thank you for your hard work, Hasan.”

Hasan, who was deeply engaged in the grand project, looked worn out, but he appeared more lively than when they’d last met after Nene’s death.

“How’s the construction progressing?”

“No issues at all. The iron provided by Prince Mehmet has arrived on time.”

Da Vinci had designed the construction to fit stone blocks together without using adhesives like mortar, so there was no need to replicate that exactly.

The most important thing for the bridge was safety, so they had no intention of being stingy with iron or cement.

Yusuf patted Hasan’s shoulder and said, “This bridge itself holds meaning, but it also serves as a practice run before building the bridge over the Bosporus. Let’s not forget that.”

“I understand well, Your Majesty.”

Of course, he didn’t plan to follow da Vinci’s design to the letter with the Bosporus bridge.

‘It’s insane to think of them as being the same when the length difference is over three times.’

The narrowest part of the strait was at least 750m, and the limitations of an arch bridge would soon show.

Nevertheless, if they could merge da Vinci’s design to reduce the numbers of piers, it would have been worth it.

‘How long until both bridges are completed?’

It would be a miracle if they were finished before Hasan grew old and died.

Despite having cement and steel, one couldn’t overlook the limitations of an era without heavy machinery.

It was possible they might not be finished even before Yusuf himself grew old and died.

‘It can’t be helped. Just because I start studying steam engines doesn’t mean I can create heavy machinery right away.’

Moreover, Yusuf had no immediate plans to create steam engines.

Any half-hearted attempts at industrial revolutions right now would only result in suffering for the common people below.

That didn’t align with the future Yusuf envisioned and, as far as possible, he intended to leave the industrial revolution as a task for future generations.

Regardless, prepared for the long wait for the bridge to be completed, Yusuf pat Hasan’s shoulder.

“Live long and prosper.”

“…Yes, Your Majesty.”

Yusuf smiled at Hasan’s somewhat reluctant response and walked away.

While waiting for Hasan, he had heard some interesting news.

As Yusuf entered the reception room, a man quickly bowed.

“I present myself before the Padishah.”

“Is it Piri? I remember you greeting alongside Kemal Reis.”

“Thank you for remembering, Your Majesty!”

Piri wore an emotional expression.

Considering the countless officials under Yusuf, it was a mark of honor to be remembered by one not even an admiral.

Sitting in the high seat, Yusuf nodded.

“Let’s skip the pleasantries. Are those the ones who sailed with a man called Magellan?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

There were many surviving sailors, but the two bound before Yusuf were the only ones present.

“Juan Sebastián Elcano, Antonio Pigafetta.”

As their names were called, the two quickly lowered their bodies.

They knew all too well how dangerous and formidable a person was, looking down on them from the high seat as mere sailors.

“Did the fleet leader Magellan perish?”

“Yes, yes! He was slain in battle against the chief Lapu Lapu!”

“That must be because of your blunders. Were you attempting to forcibly convert him?”

As Yusuf guessed correctly, both men trembled, and he clicked his tongue.

It seemed that while situations had changed due to his influence, some things remained the same.

‘Perhaps it’s because the nature of people hasn’t changed, even if circumstances have altered.’

Had they not been greedy about conversions, they might have returned with a fortune in spices.

They likely wouldn’t have wasted time, either, and thus wouldn’t have been captured.

“I should send a gift to the chief Lapu Lapu later.”

“I will remember that, Your Majesty.”

Being an Islamic chieftain, sending a gift with the title of Caliph wouldn’t be strange at all.

Yusuf looked at the frightened two.

Elcano could truly be said to have completed the first circumnavigation of the globe, having returned with the remaining survivors.

Pigafetta was noteworthy for having recorded various details during the three-year voyage, significantly impacting later explorers and cartographers.

“Your Majesty, I have been translating their sailing records into the capital on the way here.”

“Bring it to me.”

Piri respectfully handed the book to the attendant, and Yusuf received it through the attendant, scanning its contents.

The details of their journey through South America to the Philippines were well documented, and there were plenty of noteworthy points for Yusuf.

“Interesting. Charles will turn in his grave. Won’t he?”

“Indeed, it appears so.”

As a navy officer and cartographer, Piri understood the value embedded within the voyage records better than anyone.

Given how the spices were completely taken by the Ottomans, losing these sailing records could be a hard blow.

‘Who knows how the course of history will shift from now on.’

The New World wasn’t a money-making land yet, so he couldn’t be certain how Spain would react.

They could push even harder into the New World or explore new routes yet again.

In any case, word of Magellan’s arrival in the Philippines would surely reach Spain’s ears.

‘Perhaps they would discover a route connecting Cebu and Mexico faster than history would suggest, advancing Eastern trade decades ahead of its time.’

Future events remained uncertain, so it required a more watchful eye.

Yusuf shifted the topic.

“By the way, where has the Governor of India you were chasing off to?”

*

“G-Governor! Are we really attacking?!”

“If we keep this up, we’ll starve to death! We have no choice!”

The Ming Dynasty treated them like pirates and had continuously denied them entry, and ultimately, they were forced to flee to this tiny country in the Far East.

With this country denying them even proximity, Giorgio ordered the attack, and the Portuguese fleet fired their cannons.

*

“Y-your Majesty! The Chinese are raiding Ganghwa Island and advancing south!”

“W-what?!”

The distant echo started to unravel, causing Jungjong to leap up from his seat.

Thus began the butterfly effect.