I Became the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire

---

＃8화. 술탄의 시험(1)

Being Yusuf for even a single day brought no ease.

On the first day, poison came before breakfast, then there was a close call with a knife, despite my efforts to provoke it.

Fortunately, everything went according to plan, and I managed to trick the Sultan while shouting “Allahu Akbar,” but just when I thought I could finally catch my breath, a traitor nearly sent me off to see Allah instead of becoming the Sanjakbey.

All this happened in just four days; at this rate, I’d deserve a wrestling match with Allah for my troubles.

‘What would I have done without Lady Luck?’

Wasn’t it just for nothing that Zhuge Liang proclaimed “Repair human affairs and await Heaven’s decree?”

No matter how much a person strives, if the heavens (luck) don’t cooperate, one is bound to fail. Yet, I had managed to overcome a crisis thanks to fortune.

That said, I had no intention of hoping for luck in the future.

Because misfortune tends to find those who are intoxicated by luck.

‘Isn’t it said that the probability of lottery winners going bankrupt is 1 in 3 at NYU Law School?’

Lottery winners may go bankrupt, but for me, a simple misstep could mean death, so I needed to stay alert.

What I should be aiming for with a luck score of 10 isn’t to succeed by chance, but to ensure my perfectly laid plans don’t go horribly wrong.

So I had to keep myself busy.

Hassan.

“Hassan!!”

“Yes! Your Highness!!”

“Leave the military supplies and grain prices you found here. Estimate how much prices will change after about four years of war. You should be able to figure it out by comparing it to the last war, right?”

“Understood!”

Watching Hassan, his pudgy body disappearing like the wind, Yusuf couldn’t help but smile with satisfaction.

Hassan may lack dedication, but his abilities were quite useful.

His knowledge rivaled that of ordinary scholars, and his experience gained after over ten years as a merchant was essential to Yusuf.

‘Of course, having only Hassan is hardly enough.’

He constantly complained about the ages of his brothers, claiming it was unfair, but it wasn’t merely because others had built their power first.

With child marriages being the norm of the time, there were many nephews I had never even seen.

If it were just a matter of having many nephews, I could throw them a toy and say, “If this uncle becomes the sultan, I’ll spare your lives. How about that?” But the problem was that these nephews had the title of Sheikhzade before their names.

‘Sheikhzade doesn’t simply mean prince; it specifically denotes an heir to the throne.’

In a somewhat special case, Selim I’s son, Wievis, was treated as a bastard because his mother was expelled from the harem during her pregnancy and married another man, so he didn’t bear the Sheikhzade title.

Anyway, the conclusion was that since my nephews were also Sheikhzades, they would likely become Sanjakbeys and thus competitors in the future.

‘And they’d have the support of their father, making them solid allies, which complicates things even further.’

Selim I himself started a rebellion but after losing to the sultan, took refuge with his son Suleiman for a while and later seized the sultan’s seat again.

Even aside from such examples, when pondering whom to support as the next sultan, evaluating if there would be successors in line was a critical point.

It was a gap I couldn’t fill no matter how much I racked my brain.

‘But I can’t just assassinate all my nephews…’

If I had the capability, I would kill the other brothers instead of offing a bunch of kids.

I couldn’t even see my own offspring and now it was too late to start having kids at this point.

“Really, there are more than a handful of disadvantages, and thinking it through, it’s mainly just me who bears the burden. Plus, I’m not even a Sanjakbey yet.”

I was worrying about running when I hadn’t even stood yet.

Shaking off my worries, I started reading the documents Hassan had left behind.

As I concentrated, a knock and a servant’s voice reached my ears.

“Your Highness, the Padishah commands you to enter the palace immediately.”

Finally, the time had come to determine my fate.

*

The Sultan’s palace was called Yeni Sarayı, meaning “New Palace.”

Later on, with cannons placed at both sides of the palace entrance, it would be referred to as Topkapi Palace, combining the terms for cannon and door.

Seeing a place that would one day become a tourist attraction being used as a palace felt more surprising than I had anticipated.

“Make way!”

There was no time to leisurely take in the sights.

The first courtyard, divided into four sections, was accessible to the common people and bustling with places like a hospital, wood storage, and a bakery.

The Janissaries stationed at the entrance of the courtyard split the crowd, allowing easy access to the second courtyard.

With public access prohibited starting from the second courtyard, this was where the real palace began, and as Yusuf passed through the Gate of Salutation, a putrid smell assaulted his nostrils.

Turning to identify the source of the stench, Yusuf spotted severed heads atop the marble.

“Were these my guard and the eunuch who issued orders?”

“Yes, indeed. Do they look gruesome?”

Seeing the faces filled with pure terror, the Janissaries erupted into cruel laughter.

It was my first time seeing a dead person, and since those who died did so because of my judgment, I felt nauseated but showed no signs of it.

Though I had resolved to become the Sultan, this was no light-hearted matter.

Thinking of the blood and bodies I would accrue in the future, those were just a miniscule part of what lay ahead.

‘I will end up in hell instead of meeting Allah.’

Responding coolly to the Janissaries enjoying my reaction, Yusuf said, “You stand guard next to these heads despite the awful smell. Clean them up before it gets worse.”

“…Understood.”

Showing no visible sign of disturbance, Yusuf keenly observed the Janissaries’ actions.

At the Gate of Salutation, there usually were wells for executioners to wash their hands and weapons, and two marble platforms for displaying severed heads.

‘Even if this is a palace, leaving rotten heads lying around? Anyone seeing this would think it was an assassination of the Sultan.’

This was an excessive display for a mere assassination attempt on a prince.

And since it was the heads of the guards who failed in their duty, one could only predict one thing.

‘A trial, eh? How creative.’

Deliberately showcasing those who died because of me.

Given how the Janissaries, who only obey the Sultan’s commands, were clearing away the severed heads without a word, my suspicions only grew stronger.

It was a grotesque yet distinctly Ottoman trial.

‘Becoming a Sanjakbey is tougher than I thought; I’ll have some serious trauma from this.’

Despite the grim thoughts running through my mind, Yusuf moved forward without a care.

Since I hadn’t heard the Janissaries’ mocking laughter, I could consider myself to have passed this phase safely.

In the second courtyard, there was a massive kitchen, named the kitchen palace, on the right side consuming 200 sheep daily, and on the left side, a building for where the Divan convenes.

The Divan is a court meeting where ministers gather to discuss and review state affairs—politics, administration, military, customs, religion, and judicial matters—like a Joonsung (similar to the State Council of Joseon).

Starting from the second courtyard, only palace members were present, and those passing by greeted Yusuf with respect and curiosity.

‘Is it still just curiosity? Well, better than indifference.’

One can’t fill their belly on the first meal.

Turning those gazes into support would be something to achieve in the future.

The entrance to the third courtyard, the Gate of Felicity, appeared at first glance like a building with a domed roof, unlike the previous gates.

The Gate of Felicity was guarded far more strictly than any other place, accessible only to the Sultan and his closest confidantes.

As Yusuf passed through the gate, he caught sight of the beauty of the third courtyard, which he hadn’t been able to appreciate previously due to the darkness of night.

‘Here, a lavish coronation could be held, or one could meet a miserable end.’

Being a prince really was like being a moth drawn to flame.

As Yusuf was lost in pointless sentimentality, the chief eunuch approached him.

“Your Highness, please follow me.”

He was led to the Sultan’s quarters, just like last time, and upon entering the open door, he found the Sultan was not alone.

“I bow before the Padishah.”

As Yusuf showed his respect, the Sultan gestured for him to come closer.

“Come nearer.”

Approaching as instructed, Yusuf could see the person standing beside the Sultan more clearly.

Though Bayezid II was at an age where he could be considered elderly, the man next to him looked as though he could drop dead at any moment.

Noticing Yusuf’s gaze, the Sultan smiled and asked, “Do you know who this is?”

“Isn’t it the Grand Vizier, Kandi Ali Ibrahim Pasha?”

“Haha, that’s right. You saw him during your circumcision, didn’t you?”

Yusuf felt uncomfortable at the Sultan’s mention of that painful memory and simply nodded in agreement.

Pasha is a title for high-ranking officials or military leaders, and the Grand Vizier is the pinnacle of Ottoman status.

Aside from the Sultan, he could be considered the most powerful person in the present era.

‘But so what? He’ll be dead within the year anyway.’

Ibrahim would die during war against Venice, and following him, Mesih Pasha, the last emperor of the Roman Empire, Constantine XI’s nephew, would rise to the role of Grand Vizier.

That Mesih Pasha would also perish in just two years.

Though they held the title of Grand Vizier, many would die in war, during the quelling of rebellions, while putting out fires, or survive to be executed by the Sultan.

It was hard to find anyone who ended well.

“By the way, what brings the Grand Vizier here?”

“Ibrahim has something to ask you.”

Yusuf, realizing that this was also a sort of test, looked at the Grand Vizier, who took a step forward.

“You’ve changed quite a bit since the circumcision. It seems the future of the empire is bright. Thank you for making me feel the grace of Allah.”

“No need to mention it.”

What was he trying to say? Did he have a longer tongue now?

Of course, he pretended to be humble, and the Grand Vizier continued.

“The Padishah has told me. He foresees the emergence of a Shia state in the east and has said he will prevent it?”

“That’s correct.”

“But is there an imam among them to lead them?”

The most significant difference between Sunni and Shia lies in their sources of authority; Sunnis follow Muhammad’s teachings, while Shia rely on bloodline descendants.

In Sunni Islam, an imam is akin to a Protestant pastor, but in Shia Islam, it refers to someone of Muhammad’s lineage.

In the case of the Shia state of Iran, the reason the supreme leader, Rahbar, holds significant power post-Islamic Revolution is due to being the imam as well as the president.

The Grand Vizier’s insight was sharp, yet Yusuf responded carelessly.

“There’s no need to find a real imam. They can just declare themselves as one.”

“That doesn’t make sense…”

Yusuf rudely interrupted the Grand Vizier, refusing to back down to a political monster who had seen it all.

“Why wouldn’t it work? I believe it’s plausible for constructing a Shia empire.”

In reality, Ismail I, the figure behind the soon-to-be-established Safavid Empire, called himself a descendant of imams, but research later revealed he was more likely of Kurdish origin, speaking Turkish.

Of course, I couldn’t persuade him of that right now.

“We’ll see later who is right here.”

“Understood.”

Both of them knowing this topic would yield no conclusion shifted to the next agenda.

“What do you think about who will win in the impending war, Your Highness?”

“Of course, it will be us.”

There might be a butterfly effect, but considering I had only been Yusuf for a few days, how could there be a significant change that could lead to defeat in war?

With a firm response, the Grand Vizier smiled slightly but then asked sharply.

“Then, what choice should our empire make after victory? Should we devote all our resources to obliterating the soon-to-emerge Shia empire?”

At this question, Yusuf couldn’t help but chuckle.

It was ridiculous for someone who had never seen a globe to engage in discussions about world history battles.