I Became the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire

신성불가침(1)

Every day spent at the same time is called routine.

When the sun rises, work begins, and when it sets, sleep takes over.

For the subjects who gaze upon the same landscape until death, rumors are more stimulating than any entertainment.

Currently, the most discussed story among the subjects is the Sultan’s achievement of punishing the treacherous Georgia and Safavid.

“When the Sultan set foot, the people of Georgia, ashamed before Allah, drove out their nobles!”

“No way, that’s nonsense.”

“Hey! Is that true? I heard from a merchant passing through a nearby village that that noble family has moved here. The one who sinned against the Sultan only lost their noble title, but they kept their life.”

“I heard the Shiite fellas in the east burned their own land without even fighting a battle.”

“Who do those cowards think they are to show their faces before the Sultan? Huh?!”

Gathered in the barley tea shop built across the empire at the Sultan’s directive, these folks raised their voices cheerfully.

Since Yusuf’s rise to power was accompanied by earthquake prophecies, many believed his words even if he claimed to make bread from stone dust, and they quickly accepted the strange barley tea shop.

In fact, cases of stomachaches and sick children decreased, and it became a gathering place for adults during the cold winter.

“By the way, have you heard that rumor? I got it from a merchant passing through the capital not long ago.”

“Is it about the portrait?”

As someone chimed in from the side, the man who was about to speak frowned dramatically.

“Hey?! Aren’t you supposed to shut up when it’s called for?”

“Don’t get mad, just tell us! What about the portrait?”

“Ahem, I’ve heard that the Sultan’s portrait is being painted in the capital. And it’s to be displayed across the empire for us common folks to see! How about that?”

Those who hadn’t heard the rumors widened their eyes in surprise.

Common subjects didn’t have the right to see the Sultan’s face.

Even residents of the capital had to bow their heads before the Sultan’s procession, so there were merely rumors floating around.

Some claimed he was a stunning beauty, while others said he looked so terrifying that enemies would pee themselves.

Even if it’s just a painting, the chance to see such a face of the Sultan filled everyone with excitement.

“He must come to our town too, right?”

“Well, who knows? The empire is so vast. He might not come.”

“Still, our Sanjakbey will surely make it happen!”

The expectations from these subjects weighed heavily on the Sanjakbey, who felt the burden.

It wasn’t merely about disappointing the subjects; there was a concern about the visible differences in abilities among the Sanjakbeys.

After all, every Sanjak would get at least one portrait, but anything beyond that depended on each Sanjakbey’s capabilities.

“At the very least, I need to get more than the Sanjak next to me.”

If it was just an ordinary painting, one could always make copies, but duplicating the Sultan’s portrait would lead to losing one’s head, and who knew when another chance to create such a portrait would arise?

With the possibility that they might be compared to others for a few years—or stuck under that forever—the Sanjakbeys moved with heavy hearts.

The first ones to reach out were the two Beylerbeys in charge of the Balkan Peninsula and Anatolia.

“We need to bring back at least more portraits than Rumelia, understood?”

“Of course, our Anatolian territory is far broader, right?”

“Can’t argue with that.”

Rumelia and Anatolia, the two pillars of the empire, were naturally quite different.

Take the Sipahi, for instance; Rumelia dressed like European knights while Anatolia fought like nomads.

There had to be a degree of competitiveness.

During the Sanjakbey period in Ankara, Duka Kinzade Ahmed Pasha, who assassinated Korkut under Yusuf’s orders, stroked his beard.

“Alright, I’ll make an effort.”

“Thank you!”

The Beylerbey of Rumelia felt the same pressure after making this decision.

Though Rumelia might have a smaller territory, it was a major tax-generating region.

Both regions lobbied the bureaucrats in the capital, and this movement eventually reached Yusuf’s ears.

With regional conflicts potentially arising over portraits, Yusuf firmly declared, “Each Sanjak will only have one portrait. However, Trabzon shall be an exception and receive two.”

Following this declaration, the previously raucous atmosphere quieted down.

Trabzon, where Yusuf served as Sanjakbey, became the only exception, and it was easy to understand why.

While the unrest over the portraits calmed, the subjects, aware of the commotion that had lasted for two months, grew increasingly intrigued about the portraits.

There was no longer a need to worry about backlash for placing portraits in cathedrals and mosques.

It would later be known among historians as the portrait commotion, and it quickly became gossip in the West.

Of course, the Pope, upon learning of Michelangelo’s half-finished masterpiece, grabbed his neck in despair.

Anyway, regardless of the ruckus outside, Michelangelo was determined to complete all the portraits, and they were escorted with great care to various locations.

*

With the Sultan’s return, Aishe and Hatice established new homes in the harem.

This was not just about adding two women but indicated a shift in power within the harem.

Nigyar and Gulfer, who had gained favor and become favorites of the Sultan, lowered their heads without resistance towards the two Hatuns.

‘They say it’s hard to earn the Sultan’s affection again if you annoy the two Hatuns.’

Hirem stayed attentive to survive in the harem.

Fortunately, even those in the harem, who were used to speaking freely, found themselves becoming light-tongued in front of the still young Hirem.

Additionally, as she was not yet of the age to be summoned by the Padishah, she could take a step back and observe the harem’s dynamics.

‘The factions have split into two.’

The easiest way to gain the Sultan’s favor was to make a good impression on the Valide Hatun and the Hatuns.

Women from the Circassian and Orthodox regions gathered around Aishe, while Muslims flocked towards Hatice.

Hirem could clearly see that the harem factions had divided, but today, they all gathered in one place without distinction.

“This is the portrait of the Padishah.”

The women stared blankly at the portrait hanging in the harem.

Had it not been for Fatima and the requests of the two Hatuns, this portrait would never have been hung, and those who beheld the Sultan’s likeness felt their hearts racing.

The painting was so lifelike it felt like the Sultan would step out of it, leaving the women spellbound.

This portrait prompted Hirem, who generally treads carefully like walking on thin ice, to act boldly for a change.

“Aishe Hatun.”

“What is it?”

With her bright blonde hair and warm green eyes in view, Hirem mustered her courage and asked.

“Hatun, how did you come to meet the Padishah?”

“Is that what you’re curious about?”

Aishe’s eyes narrowed in a playful manner.

The scene of Yusuf reaching out toward her when she was sold by a slave trader remained vivid in her memory.

As she absorbed the reminiscing tale recounted by Aishe with a glowing face, she could hardly hold herself back and picked up a pen the next day.

*

Yusuf gazed at the portrait of himself.

It was a work that undeniably made one feel Michelangelo’s genius. If even a mass-produced portrait looked this impressive.

“Grand Vizier, what is the reaction to the portrait?”

“The Ayasofya where the portrait hangs is so crowded that there’s hardly any space to stand. Other regions are experiencing similar situations.”

“That’s good. If there weren’t any reactions, it would have been embarrassing.”

“Is that even possible?”

Yusuf turned to the smoothly smiling Grand Vizier Herceg Zade Ahmed Pasha.

“Are you still in contact with Hatice?”

“Occasional messages are exchanged.”

“Come to think of it, your connection to Hatice is quite old.”

Having first met the Grand Vizier in his adolescence, quite some time had passed.

He was just starting to make a name for himself, but at that time, no one thought he would become the Sultan. They weren’t even eager to meet anyone of that rank.

So it was quite surprising when Herceg Zade, who would eventually become Grand Vizier, reached out.

“That time when I mentioned the diversion of gunpowder had me sweating quite a bit.”

“I apologize. That was rude back then.”

“Forget it. It was too long ago to dwell on. And the gift from that time was quite reassuring too.”

Yusuf thought he wouldn’t torment Herceg Zade over the old matter since their meeting had been beneficial overall.

He kept a keen eye on the slightly tense-faced Grand Vizier.

“Time isn’t kind to the aged. Your face is now filled with wrinkles compared to back then.”

“Isn’t it Allah’s decree?”

“Still, you must not be too disappointed. After all, you have a sturdy grandson like Murad now.”

Despite the calm smile on his lips, there was a chilling vibe emanating from his gaze, making the Grand Vizier lower his body further.

He sensed that the upcoming conversation wouldn’t be lighthearted.

“Grand Vizier, although Murad is my son, he possesses quite some talent.”

Even if guns and cannons were to dominate the future, personal martial prowess would still hold value.

There are regions like Africa or jungles where using firearms is difficult, and rainfall might hinder using gunpowder.

In adverse conditions, Murad’s martial skills would shine, and Yusuf planned to give him those opportunities.

“However, his rival Mehmed isn’t an easy opponent either.”

“…I understand.”

Having conversed with Mehmed, it became painfully clear.

Only monsters give birth to monsters, as the saying goes.

“If I were Mehmed, I would attack you to take down Murad.”

“Padishah?!”

“Why do you look so surprised? It isn’t impossible to take you down. Are you thinking that just because you’re clean, I’m merely watching you?”

“I-I’m sorry, Padishah!”

The Grand Vizier prostrated himself, and Yusuf waved his hand dismissively.

In a modern age where everyone must keep an eye on the populace, corruption still flourishes; in this era, it would be even worse.

At a certain level, it’s simply ignored despite being known.

‘Makes for a good justification when purging, after all.’

Paying to spare one’s life was decent enough of an exchange.

“Relax, I’m not calling you here to punish you. Anyway, you could be a significant weakness for Murad.”

If the opponent were merely a regular prince, it would not pose a problem.

Even for a prince, executing the Grand Vizier wouldn’t be a simple task.

However, it was a different matter when faced with Mehmed, whom even Suleiman feared.

The Grand Vizier finally calmed down enough to ask.

“What would you have me do?”

“It may seem harsh, but you’ll need to prepare to step down from your position.”

Should he step down this time, he wouldn’t dream of the Grand Vizier throne again.

Herceg Zade, who had served as Grand Vizier three times, felt a moment of regret but quickly accepted.

Once the Sultan makes up his mind, the outcome rarely changes.

“I’ll abide by the Padishah’s will.”

“Good. Then before you leave your position, let’s work on something together.”

“What is it?”

“I plan to create an organization.”

The Grand Vizier tilted his head at Yusuf’s words, completely caught off guard by the unexpected response.

“Are you trying to create a military like the Janissaries?”

That wouldn’t be hard to understand since preparations to conquer the Safavid were already underway.

“Not right now, but perhaps later.”

“Then what type of organization are you planning to start?”

“A group that gathers information within the empire and spreads the narratives I desire.”

There’s nothing in the world that says inciting and fabricating narratives should only be done to the enemy, after all.