I Became the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire

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# Chapter 44. Catching My Breath (1)

It was the middle of 1503.

At the age of 15, I had reached puberty by Islamic standards; I was no longer at an age to be treated like a child.

Four years had already passed since I started living as someone named Yusuf, and it became second nature to think and act like an Ottoman Prince.

Even though I had no clue why I was in Yusuf’s body, it felt futile to hope that I could return to the modern world. Sometimes I wondered if I could even adapt if I did.

‘If I make an enemy, I might be pondering ways to quietly eliminate them.’

I could thrive in society with the political skills I learned at the cost of my life.

‘But maybe I wouldn’t even want to return to the modern world at this rate.’

Of course, if I could go back right now, I’d gladly accept it.

The succession war was a gamble that required stakes on life itself. Winning battles and utilizing future knowledge only served to increase the odds.

No matter how hard I prepared, anything could happen.

‘To put it bluntly, the healthy Bayezid could drop dead from a heart attack tomorrow.’

I doubted it would come to that, but even if things went as planned, walking on thin ice would be the same.

But if I ascended to the throne, would I truly give everything up to return to the modern world?

It wasn’t just that I was granted immense power and could have hundreds of concubines that made me ponder such things.

It was the question of whether I could easily toss aside a decade’s worth of effort.

‘The longer I stay here, the more regrets I’ll accumulate.’

The reason I was thinking like this was that just recently, another item of regret had been added to my list.

Yusuf tapped the table.

“She’s pregnant.”

It seemed that Aishe was indeed expecting.

Given that child marriages were common in this era, Aishe being 19 and pregnant wasn’t all that surprising.

‘Setting age aside, this is actually a bit late in terms of timing.’

After all the nights we had shared, it was only now that she fell pregnant.

If there had been a little more delay, people would start to suspect one of us was infertile.

Aishe, now experiencing morning sickness, had done a pregnancy test and was currently waiting for the results.

Checking for pregnancy early was crucial for both the mother and child, and just like in the East where one checks the pulse, various methods were employed in the West.

In this era, so-called “Piss Prophets” would check a woman’s urine to determine if she was pregnant.

‘But how can I trust that?’

Honestly, saying, “Hmm, the urine is clear and the color resembles light lemon with bubbles on the surface, so you must be pregnant!” doesn’t sound very reliable, does it?

There was also a method of mixing urine with wine to check for protein coagulation, but even that seemed superstitious.

In the end, I had to rely on the ancient Egyptian method using wheat and barley, and I had to face knowing people looked at me with kind eyes while doing so.

Believing in such superstitions made me look somewhat juvenile.

“Who actually believes in these silly superstitions?”

The ancient Egyptian method involved filling two bags with wheat and barley and putting the urine of a pregnant woman inside to check for sprouting.

If sprouting occurred, she was pregnant; if barley sprouted first, it was a boy, and if wheat sprouted first, it was a girl.

Though it was superstitious to determine gender, it was a trustworthy way of checking for pregnancy.

According to an experiment in the mid-20th century, non-pregnant men and women showed no sprouting at all, while pregnant women had a 70% chance of sprouting.

This method was the most reliable one available.

It had been over a week since I began using this method, so results should be imminent. While working in the office, Yusuf was visited by Fatima and Aishe.

“Have the results come in?”

“They’ve sprouted. She’s definitely pregnant, right?”

If sprouting had occurred, it’s certain she was pregnant, and Yusuf nodded.

Based on Yusuf’s words, Aishe’s bright face indicated that she would even believe a person could fly.

She had worried a lot due to the delay.

“Aishe, come here.”

Aishe cautiously approached, cradling her belly with both hands, and Yusuf stood up to stroke her hair.

“Thank you. You need to take care of yourself during this important time.”

“Understood.”

It might have been redundant advice.

If she were from a peasant household where every set of hands was needed to survive, it would be one thing, but Aishe had no real need to do hard labor.

Nonetheless, I expressed my concern, and Fatima spoke up.

“Just leave it to me and Nene; you don’t need to worry at all. Let the women’s work be left to women.”

“Then I appreciate your help.”

I could trust Fatima and Nene completely.

After they exchanged light conversation and left, Yusuf was once again alone in his office, quietly closing his eyes.

Hearing the news that Aishe was certainly pregnant, Yusuf realized one important fact.

“I’m completely becoming an Ottoman Prince.”

While he was delighted to be having a child, his joy was more about the benefits it would bring rather than fatherly love.

He didn’t yet know if it would be a son or daughter, but just the fact of having a child itself was a good omen. At the very least, it proved there were no issues with producing an heir.

‘It would be even better if it’s a son.’

Even though he didn’t urgently need an heir due to his younger age compared to his siblings, having a son would be preferable.

Moreover, Aishe served an important role in connecting with the Circassians.

After the last war, when Ivan from Circassia was leaving, he had even met Aishe before he departed.

‘It wouldn’t be possible to send someone to replace Aishe from Circassia.’

If they weren’t planning to send one woman from each tribe within Circassia, it would be hard to formalize any political marriage.

For Circassia, which had to rely solely on Aishe, the news of her pregnancy would surely be good news.

Calculating such factors in his head, Yusuf opened his eyes with determination.

“I can’t avoid it. I must become Sultan by any means.”

Yusuf steadied his shaky resolve in that moment.

After all, he was an Ottoman Prince capable of ruthlessly killing his own blood.

*

Following the joyful news of Aishe’s pregnancy, the army headed for Georgia was also advancing triumphantly.

The commander leading the troops was Shamsi, who didn’t gain his Pasha title without good reason, charging forward without restraint.

Having supported the army, the nations of Georgia, which had been betrayed by Ismail and fallen under Safavid suzerainty, felt intense fear towards the army from Trabzon.

They had witnessed firsthand the might of the Qizilbash—7,000 troops beating back an army of over 30,000, so they knew what kind of power they were up against.

The army from Trabzon, which had effortlessly taken down 5,000 Qizilbash with little loss, had become known as the army of demons from hell by mere rumor.

The mere sight of the coalition with Samtskhe made the cities raise white flags, to the extent that soldiers who couldn’t pillage due to the absence of a proper siege were feeling disgruntled.

Eventually, before winter, the kingdoms of Georgia declared they would pay taxes, effectively surrendering.

“Shamsi will handle the negotiations well.”

If they hadn’t dealt a significant blow to the Qizilbash, they wouldn’t have easily taken Georgia.

If the Safavid had supported with troops, a mere sanjak-level force wouldn’t have sufficed for the conquest.

Of course, Selim also conquered Georgia and collected taxes, but there was a reason he could act without restraint in the year 1507, the recorded history.

“The Safavid were too occupied with Dulqadir to distract themselves with Georgia.”

Dulqadir was a principality located south of Trabzon.

Thanks to its borders with three powerful nations—the Ottoman Empire, Mamluks, and the White Sheep Dynasty—it was still managing to survive.

The Ottomans had formed blood relations with them multiple times, having ties back to Selim’s mother, who was the daughter of the reigning Sultan of Dulqadir.

In any case, this land functioned as a sort of buffer zone, making it difficult for anyone to meddle in, but the growing Safavid attacked Dulqadir in 1507.

“It wasn’t so much about taking Dulqadir; it was more of a probing attack.”

It was an attempt to see how the Mamluks and Ottomans, who claimed Dulqadir was theirs, would react to such a move.

The Mamluks remained completely silent, and the Ottomans stayed quiet until public sentiment began to sour, then Bayezid assembled his army.

When over 110,000 troops gathered, Ismail was taken aback and retreated.

“What’s important is whether the Dulqadir incursion will happen.”

The princes were like predators crouching low in the grass, waiting before the hunt.

It was crucial to predict when they would make their move to seize the opportunity.

A Dulqadir invasion could indeed provide a trigger for the princes to take action.

Yusuf, deep in thought considering Ismail’s past and future actions, reached a conclusion.

“There’s a high possibility that Ismail will invade Dulqadir.”

Though he lost 5,000 Qizilbash, Ismail was waging his conquest wars faster than ever, making up for troop losses.

Regarding public sentiment, the massive defeat was perceived as not Ismail’s fault, but rather the incompetence of Nebazar.

The speed of conquests was surpassing that of proper history, and Ismail, having been wounded in his pride, was likely to invade Dulqadir.

‘It seems he’s taking out his anger in the wrong place, but if he targets the Ottomans instead, it would lead to an all-out war.’

Killing among princes was acceptable, but being killed by an outsider was a different story.

It concerned the dignity of the nation.

In any case, it was the ideal place to release anger and speed up probing actions.

Yusuf unfurled a map.

“Selim will definitely make a move. After all, he has a firm justification for helping his grandfather.”

Of course, there wouldn’t be any genuine affection for a grandfather he had never properly met, capable of killing his own father, but that was how justifications often worked.

“How will Ahmed and Korkut, who formed a miraculous brotherly alliance in the Ottoman Empire, respond?”

Korkut, recently appointed as a new sanjakbey, was close to Amasya.

If it were merely proximity, they wouldn’t have formed an alliance, but having moved to the interior, Korkut had no choice but to bow to Ahmed for survival.

‘Korkut’s powers are at sea.’

He held considerable influence among sailors just as he had supported Barbarossa (Redbeard) with ships.

He even paid a hefty sum to rescue captured sailors.

Moving Korkut inland was akin to cutting off his arms and legs.

“I can’t say for sure since I’m not one of them, but the likelihood of them acting is high.”

With Yusuf’s presence shaking Ahmed’s previously solid position, he felt a crisis significant enough to form alliances with brothers.

Ahmed would want to prove he was not any less than Yusuf, while Korkut aimed to achieve merit to return to his original domain of Saruhan.

“As for the fourth, Şehinşah, honestly, I have no idea.”

A variable, perhaps? In Konya, near Teke, was the fourth prince, Şehzade Şehinşah.

He was one of the princes who survived until the formal succession war began in 1511, but there isn’t much information known about him in the future.

The cause of his death remained a mystery, though there was speculation he fell victim to opium addiction.

Thinking about the unpredictable Şehinşah, Yusuf coldly stated, “I hope he stays quiet like in recorded history. If he ascends to the Sultan’s position, I’ll make sure to kill him cleanly.”

The princes braced themselves, waiting for the day they could bare their teeth.