I Became the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire

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A single finger rolling on the ground and drops of blood dripping from the blue blade.

The blood soaking my palm and the weight of the Silahtar pressing down on me.

Everything felt surreal, but the excruciating pain from the severed finger brought a sense of reality.

“I, I am an envoy! Do you think our kingdom will let this matter go?!”

As the wailing envoy said, it could lead to a diplomatic issue.

So, Yusuf flicked his finger.

“Cut off one more.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Before there was even a chance to resist, Silahtar’s blade pierced through the index finger of the right hand.

When he cut off the other finger just earlier, it seemed the blade had dulled a bit, crushing it rather than slicing cleanly, leaving only screams in the reception room.

“If a single finger can cause such trouble, then losing a few more would make no difference.”

As Aziz met the emerald ring glimmering on the freshly severed finger, his body trembled.

No matter how brilliantly the gem sparkled, its essence was that of a cold stone, and he felt that chill in the envoy’s eyes.

As fear painted the envoy’s face, Yusuf spoke languidly.

“People are truly foolish. The world is vast and people diverse, yet they think only through the lens of their own standards. Aziz.”

“Yes, yes! Your Majesty.”

“You must have thought this way. It’s difficult to oppose the Sultanate even if it’s an empire, so you thought it was okay to throw out provocative remarks.”

“No! It’s a misunderstanding!”

“Or did you genuinely think the empire was a bunch of pirates? Treated like a pirate captain, how amusing. Is it not?”

When Yusuf casually looked around, the Silahtar surrounding the room glared at the envoy with eyes full of fury.

Just their murderous gaze sent chills down his spine, and the envoy fell into an overwhelming dread.

“I-I’m sorry! I misspoke!”

“Stand him up.”

With a rough hand, Aziz was lifted, and Yusuf grinned.

“Then let’s start from the beginning. You’ve had quite a journey to get here.”

“Yes, yes!”

“But, it seems you encountered some pirates on the way. You look terrible.”

His expensive fabric was stained with blood, and saliva dripped down from his chin due to the pain.

Yusuf’s nonchalant attitude, as if all this was nothing, felt bizarre, and trembling with both hands missing fingers, Aziz barely managed to respond.

“I-I am fine. It’s nothing.”

“Oh? Since you say it’s nothing, then I suppose it’s not a problem. Right?”

“…Of course.”

“Still, it’s fortunate. It’s only two fingers you’ve lost. It would be worse if you were down to one finger on each hand.”

If he had only his pinky left, he wouldn’t even be able to eat with a spoon, and Aziz hurriedly agreed.

He realized that Yusuf was someone who could take the remaining fingers if he displeased him.

“Now, what brings you to the empire?”

“The Venetians have requested our mediation, claiming that our ships are disrupting their trade.”

“Hmm, they always seem to overstep their bounds and end up causing trouble.”

“That’s correct.”

Yusuf agreed with Aziz and rose from his seat.

As the Sultan approached closer, Aziz instinctively took a step back, while Yusuf crushed the severed finger with his foot.

“But why did you do that?”

“W-What do you mean?”

“Why did you step in between the Safavid and the Venetians like the Venetians themselves who can’t distinguish their place?”

As Yusuf growled the question, Aziz waved his hands frantically.

“That’s not true!”

“Really? Bring him here.”

At Yusuf’s command, Silahtar Aayin Alper Pasha briefly left the room and returned shortly with a man in tow.

Aziz looked at the shabby man thrown down on the floor with confusion, and Yusuf explained.

“He’s the envoy who traveled between Venice and the Safavid.”

“I know nothing of this!”

“Even if you don’t, your country must have known.”

The Safavid had never expanded their territories to the Mediterranean, and the Venetian ships couldn’t enter the Black Sea, so the envoy had to step on Mamluk land.

It was nonsensical for the Mamluks not to be aware of the significant affairs involving an envoy.

“You’ve heard of Ismail and what he’s been up to, haven’t you?”

Ismail’s attack on Trabzon was widely known to anyone paying even a little attention to the situation.

He had completely trampled Georgia and set the western Safavid ablaze, showcasing the Sultan’s immense wrath to the world.

“Your actions have helped him. Do you understand?”

Yusuf’s voice, still simmering with anger, thundered in Aziz’s ear.

Yusuf turned sharply and declared, “Go back! Return and tell Ashraf that anyone who interferes with my rightful revenge will not escape the blade of the empire.”

Having lost two fingers and faced threats as an envoy, Aziz retreated with wobbly steps.

As Yusuf leaned back in his chair, Ali Pasha, a former Grand Vizier, spoke with concern.

“Your Majesty, is it truly alright to send the envoy back like this?”

“Are you worried about a war with the Safavid or the Mamluk?”

“That is indeed my concern.”

Yusuf dismissed Ali’s worries nonchalantly. “Then let it be. What is there to fear?”

“Your Majesty?!”

Seeing Ali’s eyes widen in shock, Yusuf couldn’t help but chuckle.

It was not often one witnessed someone who had navigated such a treacherous political landscape rise to the position of Grand Vizier appear so startled.

Since he had entertained Yusuf with his surprise, Yusuf offered to clarify at least one question.

“I came across something intriguing in the report from Kemal Reis. It says there are many cannons aboard the Venetian merchant ships.”

“Isn’t that due to our fleet operating in the Mediterranean?”

“Merchants whose cargo holds translate directly to money wouldn’t be that foolish. Acquiring a few more cannons wouldn’t bridge the power gap.”

Merchants would always try to maximize their load, and if they feared the empire, they would have abandoned trade rather than opt to increase their cannons.

“It means they are transporting cannons as trade goods. They are importing them through Venice, not us.”

The Mamluks were a backward nation in terms of gunpowder and had relied on the Ottomans for cannons and gunpowder during the conflict with the Portuguese.

If the cannons were indeed essential due to the Portuguese, they would’ve requested them from the Ottomans rather than bringing them in through Venice.

“So those cannons are likely flowing towards the Safavid.”

“Exactly. The Mamluks are aiding them as intermediary dealers. It wouldn’t be inaccurate to say they are in cahoots.”

However, the current Mamluks, being a protectorate of Dulqadir, had been passively observing as Dulqadir was invaded by Ismail.

There was no guarantee that aiding the Safavid meant they would participate in the fighting.

“If we raise an army to confront the Safavid, they will certainly act to contain us.”

“They would want the status quo to persist.”

Despite the internal turmoil within the Mamluks, a glimmer of hope had recently emerged.

“The canal. They are waiting for the completion of the canal. They see it as the only solution that can flip all issues on its head.”

What had begun as a secretive encouragement from the Ottomans, coupled with Venetian demands, now had the fate of the Mamluks hanging in the balance.

Though they were sucking up an immense amount of capital to the point of financial instability, they could eventually reap vast wealth once completed.

If they could sustain the current power dynamics for at least another decade, the Mamluks would undergo a complete transformation.

Yusuf’s lips curled into a smile.

“Ali Pasha, did you worry that my actions were too extreme? They are all cozied up. Would they really declare war over this?”

“There’s no way.”

“Then will they sever trade with the empire?”

“If trade with the empire were to break, it would be a significant blow to the already shaky finances of the Mamluks.”

“Then what harm could come to us from this incident?”

At the moment, there was no harm in sending the envoy back empty-handed, allowing Kemal to remain active for a longer interval.

Of course, due to this friction, the Mamluks might join the Safavid in the next war, but—

“It doesn’t matter. Everything is already part of the plan.”

If the Mamluks allied with the Safavid, then they could consume the Mamluks in the next war.

That was the purpose behind extending the war preparation period.

Yusuf rose from his seat and picked up two rings that had rolled away from the severed fingers.

“And from Kemal’s report, it seems piracy has been quite profitable.”

Yusuf burst into hearty laughter.

It was a laugh that could belong to a pirate captain without a doubt.

*

Clang! Clang!

As the hammer struck down, pieces of marble fell away.

The hand gripping the hammer moved delicately; a single slip could ruin all the effort put in thus far.

After three months of searching, this marble was finally found, and mistakes were not to be tolerated.

“Slave driver.”

Startled by a sudden voice from behind, Michelangelo hastily halted his hammer.

He nearly took off the statue’s nose, and turning his angrily contorted face, he immediately knelt.

“I greet the Padishah.”

Having seen a hundred portraits already, it was impossible not to recognize the face.

Yusuf welcomed Michelangelo’s greeting with a bright smile.

“Thank goodness. Just a moment longer and you would have been dragged back as a slave. Not by me, but by this lot.”

Many who stood behind Yusuf glared disapprovingly at Michelangelo, who was completely engrossed in his work without realizing that the Sultan had arrived.

Michelangelo scoffed at their stares.

“You called me the Padishah’s slave. How could they dare to touch me?”

“That’s not wrong.”

Perhaps it was the sculptor in him, as his original spirit began to awaken since he started sculpting.

His previously lifeless gaze now shone with intense passion, and when chiseling the statue, he wore the happiest expression in the world.

It was difficult to see him as anything but a free man.

“Have you been doing well?”

“I’m doing well thanks to the Padishah.”

Though he had fallen to the status of a slave, Michelangelo didn’t find his situation too bad.

There were no dastardly family members clinging to him for money, and his sustenance was even somewhat plentiful.

Aside from the occasional forced baths and changes of clothing, everything was alright.

“Your skills are remarkable. They depict both dynamism and the suffering of a slave very well.”

“That’s due to the strong inspiration from experience.”

Of course, he had no desire to become a slave again just to gain inspiration.

Yusuf nodded and glanced at the Janissary kneeling to the side. A young man in his twenties, he served as Michelangelo’s guard.

‘Mimar Sinan.’

Mimar was a title bestowed upon architects, and this man would become a prominent architect of the Ottomans.

His fame was such that he had reminiscent appearances on the Turkish 10 lira note, to say the least.

Although he was merely a Janissary as of now, he would surely grow into an exceptional talent as he gained more experience.

‘Since Michelangelo has left a significant mark on architecture, it would be beneficial for both to have a good influence on each other.’

Both were talents that could be used for over 50 years, creating immense expectations.

Suddenly, both Michelangelo and Sinan felt an inexplicable chill.

“Your Majesty, what brings you to this place with such difficulty?”

“I have a task for you. You must paint a portrait.”

The thought of the nightmare of painting a hundred portraits darkened Michelangelo’s expression, and realizing the misunderstanding, Yusuf waved a hand.

“Do not worry. It’s just one portrait, and it doesn’t need to be perfect. All that matters is that the recipient can recognize the face.”

Faced with the incomprehensible request, Michelangelo, ignoring common courtesy, boldly asked,

“Who is it for, and what will it be used for?”

To this, Yusuf calmly replied.

“It’s for the envoy who was once from Venice. It will go in the letter of threats.”

If there’s to be piracy, then why not throw in a hostage situation for good measure?