I Became the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire

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The Set Ending (1)

The rain was falling steadily.

In Constantinople, where rainy days are rare as the heat intensifies, the downpour finally brought relief, soaking the ground.

“Prince Selim, it’s raining!”

“I can see that.”

A subordinate on one knee exclaimed with joy, and Selim answered indifferently while stretching out his hand.

Water pooled in his palm and trickled along the lines of his hand, and as it fell to the ground, the corners of Selim’s mouth slowly turned upward.

“It’s been a long time coming.”

Sworn to seize the heart of the magnificent Empire at a young age without a beard, he only stood here when his beard began to turn white.

The days of dreaming of losing his position and dying a defeated man were finally over.

As Selim gazed at the sturdy walls of Constantinople standing firm beyond the rain, he turned his body.

“Look! The long-awaited rain is falling!”

The soldiers who had been waiting for this moment in front of the capital shone with light in their eyes at Selim’s shout.

Despite knowing they would soon have to charge towards the thick city walls, the soldiers of the elite Crimean Khanate, hardened by countless wars and pillage, felt no fear.

Drawing his sword, Selim aimed it at the city wall and declared.

“Do not be afraid! Like my grandfather, the conqueror Mehmet, we shall cross those walls and seize glory!”

Cheered on by his declaration, the soldiers roared, and Selim wore a wide smile.

‘The victor of this battle is me, Yusuf.’

Though isolated by the Bosporus Strait, news was not definite, but he had no doubt that the winner between Ahmed and Yusuf would be the latter.

Since the rain came before Yusuf could arrive after defeating Ahmed, the victor of this battle was undeniably himself.

The rain was the key to victory.

The artillery that the central army boasted was rendered ineffective by the rain, and they had to hold back five times their number of enemies without gunpowder.

“Moreover, the rain is the promised signal.”

The traitors waiting for the rain would plunge their daggers into the Padishah’s back.

Hearing the horn of the call echo in the rainy sky, Selim opened his arms wide and embraced the rain.

“Allah chose me in the end, Yusuf.”

The attack to conquer Constantinople had begun.

*

The prolonged rain finally stopped.

Due to the difference in water levels and salinity of the two seas that divide Asia and Europe, the current in the Bosporus Strait was swift.

Usually, with a current speed of 3-4 m/s, they had to wait for the rain to cease to lay the bridge for boats.

Watching the scene where small boats were being connected one by one, Arda spoke, somewhat disappointed.

“It’s a pity we can’t make a boat bridge to the capital.”

“That would be greedy.”

Constantinople sat at the end of the strait, where it spanned 2 km wide.

Considering that the narrowest part of the Bosporus Strait was 750 m, it was too wide to connect with a boat bridge.

“If you were in such a hurry, you would have taken a boat to the capital.”

In haste, one might go to Allah first.

There was a limit to the number of troops that could be transported at once by boat, and given the complicated situation in the capital, entering without proper forces would be tantamount to suicide.

Still, the boat bridge, which had been commenced early in the morning, was taking shape by noon, with planks laid across the closely connected small boats.

“It’s a sight to behold, isn’t it?”

“It’s quite impressive. It would have been better if there was a proper bridge.”

In response to Yusuf’s words, the Grand Vizier smiled softly.

“It’s a difficult problem. The Padishah once attempted to construct a bridge at Halich, but it failed. Building a bridge here is even harder.”

Halich, which stretched out toward the land in a horn shape from the strait, gleamed gold at sunset, hence being referred to as Golden Horn.

With the capital near, this place was historically significant, and if a bridge could be built here, numerous advantages would follow.

What the Grand Vizier meant was, if they couldn’t build a bridge in a narrower location, how could they do so in this strait?

‘Well, that design was too ahead of its time.’

The person who designed the bridge mentioned by the Grand Vizier was Leonardo da Vinci.

With the current architectural technology, it was impossible to create a pier that could withstand swift currents, and da Vinci had proposed an arch-shaped bridge to bear the load instead of a piers.

Though it was too advanced for the era, Bayezid didn’t accept it.

‘But in modern times, bridges have indeed been built based on that design, so it might be worth bringing da Vinci here to try it out.’

Of course, ascending to the Sultanate took priority.

As the conversation lightened, a long boat bridge was completed between the straits.

The bridge stretched all the way to the visible land in the distance, truly a magnificent sight.

“Move! Move!”

The Janissaries and Kapikulu, seeing the unfamiliar boat bridge with unease, led the way across while mocking the soldiers like country bumpkins.

Despite the creaking sounds, they crossed safely, and Yusuf set foot on the bridge as well.

The rough sound of currents flowed between the small boats that formed the bridge, and though the bridge swayed with the wind, it was more stable than expected.

As Yusuf, who had crossed first, watched over thirty thousand soldiers lining up to cross the boat bridge, he was interrupted.

“Prince! Urgent news!”

The messenger who dashed over knelt on both knees and shouted.

“Constantinople has fallen into the hands of Prince Selim!”

At the messenger’s words, Arda, with a furious expression, drew his sword and aimed it at the messenger’s throat.

“How dare you bring such foolish rumors!”

“It’s true! Of the ten galleys I had sent out to confirm the capital’s situation, only one managed to escape! They relayed this information!”

Everyone present knew. There was no reason for the messenger to risk his life to spread falsehoods.

However, the news was something Arda didn’t want to believe enough to react so intensely.

With Selim seizing the capital, it was clear that he would ascend to the Padishah position.

In the dismal silence among those who hung their heads in despair, Yusuf, remaining calm, spoke.

“I’ll see it with my own eyes. We march toward Constantinople as planned.”

At Yusuf’s declaration, the soldiers who had crossed the boat bridge began their march.

With a dark atmosphere.

*

The Golden Horn Bridge would not be established until the 19th century, meaning Yusuf’s army’s route would inevitably be prolonged.

Though they hurried as much as possible, when Yusuf’s army, mostly composed of infantry, faced the capital’s walls, it was already around sunset.

Exhausted, they faced the city wall with a profound sense of despair.

“As reported, it has fallen into the hands of Selim.”

The remnants of the last battle, which hadn’t been washed away by the rain, remained throughout the walls, and the long battlement was densely lined with troops.

Before the walls, only the remnants of a campsite left behind without its owner was forlornly present instead of Selim’s forces.

As the commanders struggled to conceal their despair, a cavalryman approached as the tightly shut city gates opened and shouted.

– Prince Yusuf, hear me! It is the proclamation of Prince Selim, who shall ascend to the throne of the great Padishah!

Upon the arrogant words, Arda and his companions were about to rush out, but Yusuf raised a hand to stop them.

“Let us listen first.”

– Prince Yusuf, you must come into the capital at once to confess your past crimes and show your loyalty! If your loyalty is genuine, you shall not lose your life!

Yusuf let out a snort at the cavalryman’s message.

“Such nonsense.”

In the history of yore, Selim had killed Korkut, who had pledged loyalty.

If he were to enter the capital, he could guarantee that his head would be placed upon the sacrificial altar like a pig at a feast.

It seemed he had no need to listen further, as he drew his pistol and pulled the trigger.

– Bang!

Thud.

A casual shot fired off, but as he clutched at one eye, the enemy fell, drawing a bewildered gaze from those nearby.

Yusuf shrugged his shoulders.

“Lucky shot. I didn’t expect that to hit. Now go fetch that guy’s head and bring it back.”

At this command, one cavalryman dashed forward, cut off the fallen enemy’s head, and returned, tossing it near the walls.

Though Yusuf showcased near-masterful shooting skills, it was hardly a solution to just one soldier’s death.

Pondering with a stern face, Semshi spoke.

“Your Highness, it’s not too late yet. Become the Sultan of Anatolia.”

“Like the Şehinşah?”

“It’s different from that empty talker.”

Unlike the Şehinşah, Yusuf had support from various cities in Anatolia, and he could indeed split the Ottomans in half.

Of course, if Selim became the Padishah, he’d be at a disadvantage in justification, increasing the risks of rebellion and treachery, but having seen the results delivered by the gun and gunpowder in the last battle, he believed there was a good chance of winning.

As the thought of not giving up took root, supportive voices began to rise from all around, and Yusuf turned to the Grand Vizier, asking.

“Grand Vizier, what will you do moving forward?”

His stance would surely affect the actions of the Janissaries and Kapikulu, who were now allied with him.

Upon Yusuf’s inquiry, the Grand Vizier slowly bowed.

“My last order from the Padishah was to aid Prince Yusuf.”

At the Grand Vizier’s words, the faces of the other commanders brightened, and Yusuf nodded.

“Good. Then we must seek help immediately.”

“Command as you wish.”

“I need to send messengers to the cities of Rumelia to request assistance.”

The commanders thought they would invoke the Grand Vizier’s name to call for troop reinforcements but were taken aback by the words that followed.

“We need plenty of food and tents.”

“…Food and tents, you say?”

The Grand Vizier was bewildered.

At this moment, troops were far more critical than supplies.

Some commanders even doubted whether Yusuf had been shaken by the shocking news of Selim capturing the capital.

Of course, Yusuf’s mind was clear.

“Pasha, wasn’t it odd? To focus more on Anatolian information instead of the vital information of the capital.”

“…It was indeed strange.”

When there are gains, there are losses.

By concentrating on the information from Anatolia, the communication lines leading from the capital had nearly been severed.

Considering that any prince capturing the capital would be in a very advantageous position, this was peculiar behavior.

However, Yusuf had a reason for making such a choice.

‘Selim is mistaken. This succession battle is not a race against him; it is my race against time.’

Indeed, it was surprising. He had managed to seize the capital, a feat unthinkable.

Truly, Selim evoked admiration.

However, Selim’s actions would not alter the outcome of this succession battle.

‘As long as I arrive in Rumelia within the allotted time, the battle ends here.’

Had they failed to capture the capital, he could have led his army to eliminate Selim, and even if they had captured the capital as it was now, it would not matter.

In fact, it was fortunate for him that Selim had taken the capital.

“A great calamity shall soon befall the capital.”

The calamity known as the Great Earthquake of Constantinople, referred to as the Little Doomsday.

By now, as planned, his informants would be spreading rumors in the capital about ‘the unworthy ascending to the Padishah’s throne, thus disaster shall fall.’

‘Since the succession battle occurred conveniently in 1509, all endings were already predetermined.’

Yusuf spoke coldly.

“Become the source of calamity and the cornerstone of my empire, Selim.”