I Became the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire

신성불가침(2)

The Grand Vizier, Herzegovinian Ahmed Pasha, quietly raised his wine glass.

Muslims shouldn’t drink, but since the Ottoman dynasty came from a nomadic background needing to endure the cold for ages, they were quite lenient with drinking.

Ordinary Muslims, not bureaucrats, sometimes crossed over to Greek neighborhoods to enjoy a drink if they desired.

Of course, if you ended up drunk and collapsed at a tavern, you’d find yourself sold as a galley slave, but drinking itself wasn’t too difficult.

However, Herzegovinian had stayed as far away from alcohol as possible. It’s a political stage where one small mistake could cost you your head.

“Today, I have no choice but to drink.”

After all, conversing with Yusuf was shocking in many ways.

The position of Grand Vizier? Having served three times means you’ve also been dismissed twice from it.

It was a regrettable future that would eventually arrive.

But I never expected to step down in this manner.

“So you’ve been aware of the corruption but chose to look the other way.”

The wine that touched his lips after a long time felt bitterer than ever.

If someone knew about the corruption, it meant that even the attendees at the divan meeting were aware as well.

Having ascended the throne for less than two years, including expeditions, the fact he knew so much sent chills down his spine.

Given our previous relationship, it would be better to warn the other bureaucrats.

‘This is the Padishah’s test and a warning.’

Yusuf didn’t need to persuade the Grand Vizier with words; he simply issued orders, and even the Grand Vizier had to comply.

Bringing up the topic of corruption, which didn’t even need to be mentioned, was a blatant way of saying, “Don’t mess around with the organization that will be formed.”

Herzegovinian poured the remaining wine in his glass down his throat.

“Cough, it’s frightening. Fearful indeed.”

He had served three sultans, from Mehmet II to Bayezid II, and now Yusuf.

Mehmet II was a symbol of terror, and upon news of his death, westerners rang the bells of cathedrals.

There are stories that the Pope invited all his envoys in Rome and feasted with them for three days straight.

Bayezid II was gentle yet politically shrewd, manipulating the bureaucrats at will.

Both were great and fearsome sultans, but Yusuf instilled a different kind of fear than the two before him.

It was a fear that arose when witnessing the incomprehensible.

“I truly wish to ask Allah if he is of the same flesh and blood as us.”

Gathering public opinion and creating a manipulatable group wasn’t a unique idea.

It was akin to kings promoting their achievements, merely with heightened intent.

However, what truly shocked him was through deeper conversations.

He, who reflected on his past experiences, pointed out every issue that might arise when forming such an organization.

‘Every point I raised was answered. No, he even spoke one step ahead.’

Yusuf, having long been aware of the pitfalls and drawbacks of intelligence agencies, responded with ease, leaving Herzegovinian confused and scared.

He spoke of notions that could never be uttered without experience.

It felt more shocking than predicting an earthquake, and Herzegovinian wiped away unnecessary thoughts from his complex face.

“I must follow the Padishah’s orders and quietly watch over the empire’s future.”

The organization that would be formed would grow into considerable power, but Herzegovinian let go of greed.

He didn’t want to act foolishly by gaining small benefits only to lose everything.

“Only the useful ones in Safavid are left pitiful.”

Anyone who worked under such a Padishah would surely have their blood drained.

*

“Achoo!”

Coughing loudly, Hasan roughly wiped his dripping nose.

For Hasan, born in Trabzon where temperatures rarely dropped below freezing even in winter, cold weather below zero was a struggle.

Bundled up in thick fur clothing, Hasan clicked his tongue in disappointment.

“I’ve lost count of how many times this is.”

He cast his eyes on a family that perished from starvation while searching for food in the frigid weather.

It was too common a sight to show sympathy one by one.

“Lord Hasan, there are no people in the nearby village.”

It was the aftermath of the scorched earth operation.

With winter’s arrival and no stored food, many sought sustenance in cities or other regions.

Of course, most either froze to death or starved before finding a place to withstand the winter, just like that family.

The hunger was so severe that there were those who resorted to cannibalism.

Cities were making efforts to provide food to suppress chaos, yet with thieves and harsh weather, it wasn’t an easy task.

“The Shiite bastards are up to no good.”

“Indeed, they are truly vicious. I never thought they’d give up on recovery entirely.”

His subordinates wore faces of dismay.

Should the Ottomans invade again, this area would be the first to become a sea of flames, making rebuilding seem futile.

However, to forcibly relocate large populations and to abandon the rest was a level of decisiveness that was anything but ordinary.

Though it was pitiful how these people were dying in such a hopeless manner…

“Still, thanks to that, things are going smoothly.”

Although Ismail’s decision might seem correct on a larger scale, it instilled great resentment in the Kurdish people living in this region.

The resentment toward Ismail, who made such a decision, was even greater than against Yusuf, the direct cause.

So it added a bit of satisfaction to throwing in firewood.

“Where’s the next city?”

“To Mush. There’s a family there that might side with the empire.”

“Let’s hurry before it gets dark. Once this is over, I need some proper rest.”

Hearing Hasan’s lament, one subordinate stifled a laugh.

“Don’t get your hopes up. The Padishah won’t make it easy for you.”

“Shut it! Once this is over, I’m definitely resigning! I might even change my name!”

“You haven’t let go of that hope yet.”

The subordinates clicked their tongues as they moved on.

Even indulging in such impossible desires had grown tiresome.

*

Yusuf’s goal was to make the dynasty a sacred inviolability domain.

Regardless of religion, culture, or ethnicity, he wanted anyone living in the Ottoman Empire to submit to the dynasty as a matter of course.

Of course, he was well aware it wouldn’t be easy.

‘In that regard, Confucianism has its advantages.’

While the power of subordinates was strong enough to threaten the monarchy, they trembled at the name of rebellion.

When the nation seemed on the verge of collapse, voluntary troops would rise, and although subordinates would install puppet kings, they would not bring down the dynasty.

The many crises overcome allowed the Joseon dynasty to endure for a long time, largely influenced by Confucianism.

Of course, it had its drawbacks, but which nation immersed in religion doesn’t have flaws?

In any case, establishing the Ottoman dynasty as a sacred inviolability domain meant taking things slow, like boiling a frog, and results were gradually starting to show.

“Your Majesty, praises for abolishing the Devshirme are nonstop!”

At the words of the archbishop of Constantinople, his face filled with excitement, Yusuf smiled.

Although he declared the abolition while sending a portrait, the delayed response was somewhat uncertain.

However, it hit home properly when the trainees returned.

“Still, it’s not all good reactions. They’ve made themselves candidates for conscription, not just Muslims.”

“The abolition of Devshirme was a significant matter, enough to stifle that resentment.”

Some even underwent castration so that they wouldn’t be chosen for Devshirme, and there had even been rebellions in Albania sparked by this system.

It wasn’t surprising that a traditional folk song cursing the sultan survived into modern times.

‘Still, it’s too early to celebrate.’

It would be reckless to celebrate just yet.

There were still plenty of areas that had been conquered less than fifty years ago, with many yet to serve fully under the Ottomans.

“Let me know of any other changes.”

“Understood, Your Majesty.”

After the archbishop left, Yusuf, now alone, tapped his fingers on the chair.

He had instructed to select personnel to manipulate public opinion through the Grand Vizier and Janissary Aga, so suitable individuals would soon come forward.

It was a pity that Hasan, skilled in agitation and fabrication, was in the Safavid, but on the bright side, more usable personnel would emerge.

“Hmm, this is awkward.”

The personnel were about to become available, yet there were no stories worth spreading.

The acts of playing prophet and successfully completing the campaigns in Georgia and Safavid were already common knowledge in even smaller towns.

No matter how far a wordless tale can travel a thousand miles, the rate at which this news spread showed just how keen people were on the sultan’s news.

Both the method and the response were good, yet appropriate material was lacking.

“Huh, it is what it is.”

That said, he couldn’t spread outlandish rumors of using shortcut magic like the people of a far northern country.

Such rumors would only cause trouble later on.

Just as Yusuf was about to rise and return to his room from the audience chamber…

-Your Majesty, Valide Hatun requests an audience.

“My mother?”

It was an unexpected visit for Yusuf.

Fatima, now Valide Hatun, rarely visited.

Not due to a lack of affection, but to avoid giving off a vibe of meddling in politics. So, his curiosity about her sudden appearance was piqued.

“Let her in.”

Once Yusuf granted permission, Fatima entered the audience chamber confidently.

Though still breathtakingly beautiful in middle age, Yusuf tilted his head at the sight of the girl trailing behind her like she had committed a sin.

“Welcome. I’m glad to see you in good spirits.”

“Thanks to the Padishah’s grace, I’m alive, so how could I look ill?”

“Indeed, but what brings you here? And with a child no less. Surely you didn’t bring her here to ask me to hold her.”

“Why, you can do so if you wish. All Harem women belong to the Padishah.”

“Not a chance! I’m not that starved for women to be carrying a child like that. If it’s not that, then please tell me why you brought her.”

At Yusuf’s inquiry, Fatima glanced down at Hirem, who was shivering in a state of anxiety and replied delicately.

“Recently, there’s been a strange book circulating among the women in the harem.”

“A book?”

Yusuf asked curiously, and Fatima coldly looked down at Hirem.

“Alexandra, hand over the book.”

“Yes, yes….”

Hesitant, Hirem handed over the book, which Fatima snatched away and presented to Yusuf.

Wondering what kind of book could provoke such a response from Fatima, Yusuf burst into laughter upon seeing it.

“Was this book popular among the Harem women?”

“Regrettably, yes.”

Written in the cultured language of Persian, it was frankly riddled with grammatical errors and misspelled words.

Once you got used to Persian, you might as well toss the blanket off in your sleep because the book was that bad.

Alas, it was filled with cheap yet enticing content much like junk food.

“This is a tale about me and Aishe.”

It described how a Circassian male slave was sought out only for Aishe to be found, as if a prince had come to rescue a princess.

It vividly recounted the concerns shared for each other when Aishe was forced to leave for Circassia, where smallpox had spread, etc.

Many discrepancies from reality existed, but viewed as a romance novel, it wasn’t half bad.

It felt a bit like reading an internet novel from the early 2000s, chock-full of emoticons.

“Why did Valide Hatun bring me this book?”

“Because this child had the audacity to pen such an unseemly book.”

“B-Balid Hatun, I never meant it like that!”

“Silence!”

Feeling her life was in danger, Hirem hurriedly protested, but Fatima cut her off harshly.

“Do you dare create a book that portrays the great Padishah as weak?”

It could have been a problem.

As Yusuf had faced myriad adversities and hardships, all of that was laid bare in this book.

It was a book that contradicted the belief that a ruler must appear strong.

“Hmm, it doesn’t seem that bad.”

“…Your Majesty?”

The unexpected comment left Fatima, Hirem, and even Silahtar Agha, who had been standing guard, wide-eyed.

“Is it not true that I have had moments of weakness in my past? More importantly, what matters is that I overcame all of that to stand here now.”

Being in a position of weakness isn’t entirely bad. It’s easy to gain sympathy and goodwill.

“If panned correctly, it could be quite useful. This book.”