ALL NOVEL Chapter 50
# Chapter 50: Ismail and the Princes (2)
Yusuf referred to the fortress that produced cement and firearms as a workshop for convenience, though he rarely visited it despite having a deep interest in it.
His mind teemed with various knowledge, but translating that into reality was another matter entirely.
A person who had never swung a hammer against metal should ideally just provide guidance and leave the actual work to others, and this judgment turned out to be correct.
After all, he had achieved satisfactory results.
The fortress, usually bustling with the noise of grinding and baking cement, was so quiet you wouldn’t even hear a breath, and the previously dusty air was clear.
All work had paused in anticipation of Yusuf’s visit.
“Welcome, Your Highness.”
“Tahir, it’s been a while. I’m glad to see you’re well.”
“I guess Allah still hasn’t taken an interest in this old man.”
Watching Tahir burst into laughter, Hasan, who stood behind Yusuf, slightly frowned.
If all the insults Tahir received were compiled into a book, it would surely exceed the thickness of the Quran, and seeing him wear such a benevolent face made it almost surreal.
Of course, no one here paid any attention to Hasan’s feelings.
“I’ve come to check on the firearm production situation, as previously mentioned.”
“Please, this way. I’ve made them according to the blueprints you provided.”
What Tahir had made was a lathe.
Not a furniture shelf, but a machine tool that rotates the material to carve or hollow it out with fixed cutting tools.
“Is it usable now that you’ve made it?”
“Needless to say! I lamented why I hadn’t thought of this at my age.”
Gun barrels cannot be produced using casting methods, where molten metal is poured into molds.
While cannons might be an exception, creating narrow-cylindrical gun barrels through casting is difficult, and if air bubbles form during pouring, the barrel could explode upon firing.
‘It’s more like detonating a grenade right in front of you.’
Not an ideal way to meet one’s end.
So, they wrapped heated metal plates around rods to create the barrels, and with a machine capable of hollowing the insides, production difficulty could be significantly reduced.
‘If I set my mind to it, I could also carve rifling, but that would be greedy.’
The spiral grooves inside the gun barrel increase accuracy significantly, but they aren’t without their drawbacks.
Even with a machine tool, achieving uniform grooves inside the barrel is an incredibly challenging task, which in turn raises production costs.
Moreover, rifling weakens the barrel’s strength, increasing the risk of explosion, and Napoleon even favored smoothbore muskets for this reason.
Having ambitions for rifling while trying to make matchlocks is excessive.
“How many matchlocks can you make in a day?”
“About one or two. Of course, if you provided additional artisans, we could produce them quicker.”
“That won’t work. Just bringing you here was a challenge. However, I can provide enough useful slaves for help.”
Tahir licked his lips but understood well enough. He knew how vigilant they were about maintaining security.
He had no desire to become entangled with any unsavory characters, fearing he’d end up stripped to his underwear and dead.
Shaking off his disappointment, Tahir retrieved a beautifully crafted gun he’d kept aside.
“I made it from the metal you previously gave me.”
The firearm handed to Tahir was a flintlock design, which ignited the gunpowder when the trigger was pulled, striking the part containing flint.
Yusuf inspected the gun from side to side and even pulled the trigger to test it.
“So, was it worth making?”
“I’d prefer not to make another if I can help it. Better to call a clockmaker to create one.”
Seeing Tahir’s disgust, Yusuf simply chuckled.
He never intended to make more, as it was primarily crafted for personal use.
“Make good use of this. Now, we need to start producing matchlocks in earnest.”
“Hm, that’s earlier than planned.”
He had originally thought to gather more technology for about a year or two before commencing production.
“Feels like the time to use them is coming rushing at us.”
Historically, there would still be four years left until the Sultan and the princes would showcase their family ties in the actual succession war, but history had already twisted enough.
Just looking at the princes’ faster movements showed that anything could happen at any moment.
Tahir cautiously spoke as instructed by Yusuf.
“Producing them isn’t an issue, but I’m not certain how practical my output will be.”
Such words could be seen as ungrateful, but Tahir spoke them bravely.
The last thing he wanted was to take the field and become a scapegoat for failure, risking his life in the process.
At Tahir’s words, Arda, who was guarding Yusuf, chimed in.
“Considering you couldn’t hit anything at close range in the last battle, it’s not entirely incorrect.”
“…That was just bad luck.”
A pitiful excuse of luck 10.
Ignoring his first shot, which remained an embarrassing memory, its practicality was sufficient.
“Considering production costs, firearms aren’t significantly more expensive than bows.”
Though firearms use costly gunpowder and have high production costs, bows were no cheap weapon either.
The wood used to craft bows isn’t just ordinary wood, but rather well-maintained high-quality material that costs quite a bit.
Additionally, the time taken to manufacture them was lengthy; a simple longbow could take over a year to acquire elasticity and durability, while a composite bow made with glue would take three years.
Considering the materials and production time, guns and bows were similar in price.
“Unlike bows, firearms don’t require the same level of skill. With minimal training, conscripted soldiers can be turned into sharpshooters.”
Does it fail to work in the rain? Well, neither does a bow perform well in the rain.
“How lethal they are in actual combat will have to be tested, but their value for use is sufficient.”
If you worry about dying after firing the gun only once or twice, you can always add a bayonet later. That way, even if you can’t shoot properly, you can at least serve as a pike soldier.
Both simply exhibited their concern and moved on without further fuss.
“Then Tahir, please proceed with the firearms production.”
“Leave it to me.”
Just as Yusuf finished everything in the workshop and was about to return to Trabzon, a soldier rushed in in haste.
“Shah Ismail’s army, gathered in Erzinjan, has begun advancing towards Kayseri.”
“Return to the castle!”
*
By the time it was 1507, Yusuf had two matters on his agenda.
Firstly, he had received a score after a long time.
With Mehmet’s death from smallpox, the previously optional mandate by the Sultan for variolation had been issued.
There was no reason to refuse this imperative command, leading to variolation being implemented throughout the nation, and after some time, a system window appeared.
[Group immunity for smallpox in the Ottoman Empire, Score +60]
While receiving the substantial score of 60 points, he still needed 20 more points for the next trait purchase.
One encouraging thing was that as the points were earned within the Ottoman Empire, spreading to foreign lands could yield additional points.
The other matter was that Hatice, with whom he had been periodically intimate, was now pregnant.
She was due to give birth early next year.
‘If things go wrong, I might not even be able to see my newborn’s face.’
Hatice might feel upset, but there was no helping it.
Upon returning to Trabzon Citadel, Chemsi, who had already heard the news, awaited him in the office.
“Pasha, Ismail in Erzinjan has started moving towards Kayseri?”
“That is correct.”
Including Kayseri, the region Ismail was marching through strictly belonged to the Ottomans.
It was tantamount to a declaration of war, but Ismail had no intention of directly engaging the Ottomans.
‘How much longer will he test the waters?’
Soon, he would send a letter of apology to the Sultan regarding territorial incursions, and during the time it took to receive that letter, he would lay waste to Dulqadir.
Advancing through Kayseri was akin to mowing down grass, making it difficult for Bozkurt Bey, the landholder of Dulqadir, to escape to the Ottomans.
“What will you do?”
“Do we have any reason to help that bat-like Borukur?”
“We don’t.”
This wasn’t merely a matter of friendship or benefit.
In a small state, it was natural to navigate between great powers, but after this war, he had been openly siding with the Mamluks.
When Selim had set out to conquer the Safavids in the original history, he hadn’t only failed to help but had pillaged the supply routes, ultimately leading to his execution alongside his four sons.
This was not someone likely to be grateful for any favors.
“I also have no desire to struggle against Ismail.”
After years of Conquest Wars, the Qizilbash had become a veritable war machine, and with that, the monster known as Ismail was leading them.
Sticking their heads into such a place would likely result in having them chopped off.
“My situation is not much different from my brothers, who need to achieve notable feats. There’s no reason to overextend.”
“Then will you just watch?”
While enjoying watching Ismail and the princes smash their heads against each other would be entertaining, it felt like a waste to sit idly by.
“We’ll invade deeply enough to ensure Ismail finds it hard to retreat, seize Erzinjan, and run a raiding party.”
Paying the entry fee for invading someone else’s territory might turn out to be quite costly.
*
If anyone has ever experienced group living, they would understand that controlling people is typically a difficult task.
Especially when dealing with 20,000 cavalry who revel in pillaging, Ismail managed to control his army perfectly.
The army, which marched without any looting, silently changed direction from Kayseri towards Elbistan, and once they entered Dulqadir’s territory, their true nature was revealed.
Unluckily, small villages in the way were reduced to ashes without leaving a single survivor; Ismail’s army advanced mercilessly into Elbistan, indulging in looting, arson, rape, and slaughter.
Terrified, Borukur abandoned his capital of Elbistan and fled south to Maraş, while the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire, Bayezid II, remained silent.
This was the moment the princes had eagerly awaited.
“Since when has our Empire become so weak?! What is the Padishah so afraid of that he merely stands by and watches this atrocity?!”
Selim shouted with an enraged face.
To face the 20,000 strong Qizilbash, they required forces beyond the central army, necessitating the daunting task of summoning soldiers from across the nation.
However, this reality was unimportant. What was vital was that the Sultan’s actions did not resemble that of an Emperor.
“It’s time to put an end to the heretical defiance that the Padishah has merely watched over! It is the time for a crusade!”
As Selim’s roar echoed, the thousands of soldiers lined up stamped their feet on the ground and mounted their horses.
Selim’s pronouncement contained the frustrations held by the military, and with his onset, his words spread rapidly.
Not to be outdone, the princes rallied their armies and began converging towards Dulqadir.
Thus began the bloody prelude to the succession war.