I Became the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire

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#43. Power Struggle (3)

From the Sultan’s perspective, the nation known as the Ottoman Empire is incredibly well-structured.

The timar system is centralized and controlled from above, unlike the feudal systems of the West, allowing the Sultan to wield significant power without much hassle in managing the state.

This is why the Safavid, Mughal Empire, and the Russian Empire have similar systems known as iqta, jagir, and pomestie.

“Not only does one have the power to kill anyone they wish, but they also don’t have to worry about running the country.”

The Ottoman Empire was so well-established that it could function efficiently even without a Sultan. Even during the later days of Selim II, who was famously known as the drunken Sultan, the empire continued to run smoothly.

There’s no need for the Sultan to be overly invested in the operations of the state.

In essence, what I mean to say is:

“This implies that the person I’m waiting to meet is not as busy as they’d have me believe.”

I had been staying in the capital for well over a week now.

It struck me as strange that a person who had summoned me on the very first day would draw out the meeting like this.

“There must be a reason for it.”

Just looking at the cunning Ahmed Pasha, I could tell that the power players of this era were not to be underestimated.

It would make no sense for the Sultan, sitting atop such a hierarchy, to delay without cause.

“It might be safer not to poke around too much, but…”

It felt like a waste of time to shrink back in fear.

I’ll deal with the results later. If it interferes with the succession, I won’t hesitate to kill my father, who is also the Sultan, Bayezid.

Yusuf visited Topkapi Palace at the designated time, and the Sultan welcomed him warmly.

“Welcome. How has your time in the capital been?”

“Thanks to your care, Padishah, it has been comfortable.”

“That’s a relief.”

The Sultan smiled slightly and waved the paper in his hand.

“I found the content you submitted to be very interesting. It has many fascinating stories.”

“In what way?”

As the Sultan slightly lifted the document detailing the progress of the war, he poked one section.

“Especially this thing called cement.”

I figured the Sultan would take an interest in it.

This was the Ottoman Empire, a country that waged wars whenever it had a chance, so there’s no way they wouldn’t recognize the military value of cement.

“Is it true that it sets quickly and is a solid material as described in the document?”

“How could I lie? Everything written is the truth.”

“A marvelous item indeed.”

The Sultan stroked his long beard, giving off subtle hints, which I couldn’t miss.

“If he’s going to give, he won’t do so empty-handed.”

I had to ensure I got something in return.

“If it pleases you, I will share the method of production.”

“Oh, that’s admirable.”

“However, I do have a concern. If this technology spreads to other countries, it could hinder the Empire’s future.”

This was Yusuf’s cunning strategy.

The Sultan wasn’t a petty person; he would provide financial compensation for receiving valuable technology.

“But I can’t just take the money and leave. It might cause headaches later on.”

Other princes might use this cement to create troublesome issues, and since cement had appeared 200 years early, any leaks could lead to unpredictable variables.

The Sultan, finding Yusuf’s concerns valid, nodded and asked, “You mean to strictly control production. Is production in Trabzon a problem?”

“Of course not. Since I considered military use from the beginning, the method of production has been kept thoroughly secret.”

There are no eternal secrets, and numerous spies will be after the method, but I was confident I could hold out for quite some time.

“Good to hear. I will honor your wishes.”

“Thank you.”

Yusuf bowed deeply.

I don’t know when production of cement will start, but the quantity made by the Sultan should flow toward fortifications in Europe for a while.

It was essentially equivalent to securing exclusive rights for a time.

“I may not have a patent, but with the Sultan’s guarantee, it will suffice.”

Violation of the patent would result in monetary compensation, but defying the Sultan could cost one their life.

At this point, I had secured all I could from the capital.

Perhaps because the major issues of the Trabzon territory and cement had been resolved, the conversation that followed was almost casual.

The Sultan listened to Yusuf’s lively explanation of the current war situation like a kind father.

When he heard about how the catapult had easily conquered Erzurum, the Sultan sought Allah. When told that Ismail sent the head of Nebazar to taunt him, he burst into laughter.

The pleasant conversation between the father and son eventually came to an end, and the Sultan asked, “Will you stay in the capital a bit longer?”

“I’m fine. I’ve already stayed quite a while, so I think I’ll return to my place now.”

That was a troublesome suggestion, especially since accepting it too eagerly could give the wrong impression.

“I shouldn’t linger too long and give the feeling that I am eyeing the Sultan’s position.”

Power is not something to be shared, even with sons, and that’s why princes can find themselves expelled from the capital at a young age.

The capital was the Sultan’s sanctuary, a symbol of authority; the longer I stayed, the more uncomfortable things would become.

Even the Sultan’s gentle smile upon my firm rejection said it all.

“If you feel that way, so be it, Yusuf.”

“Yes, Padishah.”

The Sultan, with a kindly voice, took Yusuf’s hand.

“I pray that Allah’s will always be with you.”

“Thank you. I also wish you always have Allah’s grace, Padishah.”

Yusuf offered polite respect as he took his leave.

Once Yusuf departed, a soldier clad in armor entered the room, kneeling down.

It was Silahtar Ağa, the commander of the elite unit known as Silahtar, comprised solely of the most formidable warriors in the Ottoman army.

He was the Sultan’s martial arts master and the closest aide, spending most of his day with him.

“Padishah, what are your orders?”

After a moment of contemplation, the Sultan reached a decision.

“The soldiers who smuggled the gunpowder are to be executed as planned, and as for Yusuf…”

Even if he was a prince, smuggling gunpowder is a grave offense. Even if execution isn’t warranted, he must be reprimanded severely.

Yet, strangely, I felt no inclination to do so, which was precisely why I had summoned Yusuf to assess him in the first place.

“Let it be for now. I want to observe how things unfold.”

“Then I’ll proceed with the execution once the prince’s gunpowder smuggling is completely wrapped up.”

The Sultan nodded, inwardly pondering.

If Yusuf, who was taking away much more than I expected, had wanted to stay longer out of greed, what would I have done?

I can’t be sure.

“…Perhaps I would have punished him.”

As the ruler of the Empire, not as a father.

The Sultan coldly flicked the gold coin that Yusuf had given him.

*

Ahmed believed that he could secure the Sultan’s position.

Most officials supported him as the next Sultan, and with five sons compared to Selim’s single child, his succession was looking stable.

Staying in Amacia, a considerable distance from the capital, he didn’t worry too much.

But now, with Yusuf acting, many plans were going off course.

“That beast, Selim, moving from far-off Trabzon to Teke bothers me.”

Stretching the distance, he was getting uncomfortably close to the capital.

To make matters worse, the youngest brother’s great achievements were now attracting the nation’s attention.

“Was it Hasan? If it weren’t for that slave’s betrayal, things wouldn’t have turned out this way.”

Missing the chance to kill him, thinking he was on the brink of escape weighed heavily on Ahmed.

Just the notion that he was played by a mere slave sent teeth-grinding frustration through him.

In his heart, he wanted to send an assassin to tear him apart, and his anger toward Hasan soon started to extend to the Sultan.

“Father, did you cherish the youngest so much?”

Though he had always lived in obedient submission to the Sultan’s will, doubts and misgivings now plagued his mind.

The thought that another brother could ascend as Sultan over him filled him with a dark emotion that crushed his heart, and Ahmed let out a sticky sigh.

“If my father continues to act this way, then I have no choice but to seize it for myself.”

Before ascending to the Sultan’s position, he would eliminate all of his brothers if necessary.

A smirk graced Ahmed’s lips as a visitor arrived.

The familiar face from childhood now bore the marks of time, looking slightly haggard as if he had experienced considerable distress recently.

Ahmed embraced the guest who had traveled from afar with warm hospitality.

“It’s great to see you again, Korkut!”

“How have you been? Brother Ahmed.”

Entering into another brother’s territory felt like stepping into a tiger’s den, yet Korkut had come personally upon receiving Ahmed’s letter.

Well aware of the danger he was stepping into, Korkut’s tension was palpable, and Ahmed softly patted his stiff shoulders.

“We gathered here to have an honest conversation between brothers, so do not worry too much.”

“I understand.”

Sitting across from Korkut, Ahmed opened the conversation.

“Your coming here means you agree with my letter, right?”

“…That is correct.”

“Good thought. I wondered if there was really a need to kill my brothers. If they don’t become a threat, why go through with that?”

Now that they were here, there was no reason to hesitate, and Korkut nodded in agreement.

“Please keep your promises.”

“Don’t worry. As long as you don’t have a son, I swear to Allah, I won’t take your life.”

With no sons to become a target and sworn to Allah, Korkut was no longer a danger.

Having sworn to Allah, Ahmed fully intended to keep his promise.

“I won’t kill you as promised, Korkut. Instead, you’ll have to live your life in confinement.”

Ahmed wore a deep smile.

The alliance of two princes was formed.

*

While they may think they are moving quietly, Yusuf was aware enough of the brothers’ movements.

“Seems the Crimean Khanate is planning to ally with brother Selim.”

In actual history, the Khan of the Crimean Khanate entered into a political marriage with Prince Mehmet, who was responsible for nearby Kefe.

After Mehmet died, the daughter, now a widow, would marry Selim, forming an alliance.

This union came much earlier than in actual history.

“Ahmed and Korkut. It’s surprising that a bond has formed between them.”

To see brothers who target each other’s heads forming an alliance is something that will go down in Ottoman history.

Well, whether the end will be beautiful remains to be seen.

As rivals began to build factions, I wasn’t about to sit back and relax.

“Yusuf, preparations for departure are complete.”

Yusuf stood on the city walls, looking down at the assembled 3,000 soldiers.

The army, looking sharp and disciplined, was indeed an elite force, and Yusuf shouted towards them, gathered to conquer Georgia.

“March out!”

– Buuuu

As Yusuf’s command echoed, the sounds of trumpets and drums filled the plains.

Watching the troops begin their march with heavy footsteps, Yusuf vowed to himself, “I have no intention of falling behind in power.”

I will seize Circassia and Georgia.

The princes’ time was beginning to ripen.