I Became the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire

The Mask of Fury (3)

The fleet of Venice, which had wasted time preparing for departure, finally moved.

Having suffered massive losses in the recent naval battle against the Ottomans, Venice learned its lesson and did not act alone.

The fleets of the Papal States and Spain were moving alongside them.

‘Unexpected allies. So Spain has joined. Given that they’ve taken over southern Italy, it makes sense.’

It wasn’t strange to lend a hand in keeping the Ottomans at bay since they had grown geographically closer.

Upon receiving news from the capital, Shamsi cautiously asked, “What shall we do?”

“It’s fine. Even if one more ally shows up unexpectedly, it won’t be a problem. I’ll leave it to Kemal.”

Even if three places formed an alliance, their military strength was on par with or even less than Venice’s own fleet.

Last year, Venice lost 15 galleys and over 2,000 soldiers to the Principality of Ferrara on Italian soil.

No matter how powerful Venice was, it couldn’t recover from such losses immediately.

The Papal States had authority but lacked the actual military strength to mobilize many ships.

Spain, which had suffered too many losses at the hands of the Barbary Pirates, also wasn’t eager to actively participate as they frequently attacked Algiers, the pirates’ base.

“Kemal can handle it. They probably aren’t genuinely willing to fight us, either.”

They wouldn’t be able to waste time when faced with France, which had emerged as a new threat.

Meanwhile, the troops in the Balkans had not moved, preparing for any unexpected situations, so even if they struggled in a naval battle, there wouldn’t be a major disaster.

Yusuf, noticing Shamsi’s stiff expression over the actions of the West, spoke leisurely, “There’s no need to worry. Time is on our side. Once we conquer the Mamluks, those merchants of Venice will show their true colors. We can deal with them then.”

“I’m sorry for the concern.”

“It’s fine.”

Yusuf didn’t particularly like Venice either, known for their backstabbing and sneaky little schemes.

After responding, Yusuf looked outside the citadel.

The workers who had gathered from nearby cities were hard at work restoring Trabzon, with cement playing a crucial role in this process.

“Hasan, how much cement do we have in stock?”

“Thanks to the reserves we saved for war, we have enough for wall repairs, but it seems difficult to restore the collapsed buildings.”

“That will have to be done slowly.”

If the cement production facilities had still been intact, there wouldn’t be any need for this concern, but they couldn’t produce cement in a short period.

“Ismael’s method of production has surely been destroyed, right?”

“Yes, we made sure to destroy it completely, even using gunpowder.”

Secrets don’t last forever, and the methods aren’t as extraordinary as they seem; they would be discovered eventually.

Even if the whole world found out the secret to cement, Yusuf didn’t want it in Ismael’s hands.

He was that troublesome of an enemy.

“Then the only thing that has leaked is the matchlock gun.”

“I apologize for not being able to hide that, Your Padishah.”

Shaking his head at Arda’s apology, Yusuf thought, holding onto the weapon’s secret while the fortress fell would be absurd.

In any case, the structure of matchlock guns wasn’t that complex, so Ismael had a good chance of making them.

‘There’s no need to be excessively worried.’

When it comes to gunpowder, the Ottomans were ahead of any country at this time.

There was no way they could catch up to the Ottomans in just a few years even if they made significant investments.

‘In those few years, we might get a few steps ahead.’

By then, the Flintlock type guns being produced in the capital would have been distributed to all Janissaries.

Unlike the enemy, who were stressing over maintaining fire, the Janissaries equipped with flint would have far greater combat power.

“Hasan.”

“Yes, Your Padishah.”

“Once this war ends, come up to the capital with Nene. I’ll give you a position.”

“Th-thank you, Your Padishah!”

This wasn’t exactly a reward; he needed to place him in a suitable position to assign tasks.

Shamsi clicked his tongue inwardly as he focused solely on becoming an official without knowing the hardships that awaited in the capital.

It was obvious he would regret it looking worn and torn.

“By the way, haven’t any envoys come lately?”

“Those who come invariably bow their heads and no longer visit.”

Even during wartime, it’s common to receive envoys, after all.

You can’t completely shut down the lines of communication, and out of curiosity for what they might have to say, you’d welcome them.

However, there had been none this time.

Despite the news that the envoy from Samtskhe had been annihilated, other nations thought they were safe since they hadn’t personally raised an army.

Of course, all of them ended up hanging from gibbeting posts, emitting a foul odor.

“The atmosphere must be ripening soon, don’t you think?”

“They must be trembling just from hearing the name of the Empire.”

Even if they tried to appease the Ottomans’ wrath, it must have been eating away at them to the core as they refused to meet.

‘Not just the nobility, but even the common folk.’

It had been over a month since troops had started gathering in Trabzon, with nearly 50,000 gathered there.

In an age with few proper external news sources, even a people blind to outside affairs must have sensed the strange happenings.

Additionally, spies they had planted quickly spread the news, ensuring it was disseminated rapidly and accurately.

“Inform all troops. It’s about time to harvest.”

It was time to reap Georgia’s neck.

The army, which had been lying in wait in Trabzon, slowly began to move eastward.

*

Despite hearing that the envoy from Samtskhe had been slaughtered, other Georgian countries were not so foolish as to neglect envoy selection.

They sent envoys, consisting of those with a certain relationship with Yusuf or who had participated in the last royal succession.

Even if it wasn’t Samtskhe, they slightly hoped they could evade the Ottomans’ wrath.

However, it soon became evident that this was an illusion.

It didn’t matter what kind of relationship they had with the Sultan or what assistance they had provided.

The fact that they hadn’t even crossed the Trabzon Citadel and all found themselves hanging was dizzying for the leaders of each nation.

It meant their anger was not to be trifled with.

“What shall we do! Quickly, propose some measures!”

“Are we not in contact with the Safavid?! Who do you think caused this?! They won’t send a single reinforcement!”

Watching the envoys who raised their voices as they entered his palace, Kvirkvare resorted to drinking.

As the strong smell of alcohol wafted through the air, the envoys frowned, prompting him to sneer.

“Wouldn’t it have been wise to help to avoid this situation? You bear no responsibility in not sending any reinforcements.”

“What do you mean by that!”

“If you had sent troops, we could have seized Trabzon before it was too late. Perhaps things would be different now.”

Kvirkvare burst out laughing after saying that.

“Having promised to be cautious, you merely handled secrecy and provided supplies, yet you ended up in the same predicament, which is quite amusing!”

“Don’t worry about us! You should worry about yourselves! We’ll be just fine!”

While those gathered here slightly aided in the betrayal, everyone genuinely believed they would remain unscathed.

Unlike Samtskhe, which had a high chance of being wiped out entirely, they didn’t believe they would face severe repercussions for merely sending supplies.

Sending envoys to the Ottomans and showing up at their doorstep, they only intended to minimize their impending losses.

“Well, time will tell.”

Kvirkvare casually recalled the conversation he shared with his uncle, Mzechabuk.

Staying on such a small plot of land, they were dreaming of grand visions that he could hardly imagine.

Those who dream large.

“One typically doesn’t get hung up on minor gains.”

Meanwhile, the families in front of him and the Georgians were merely little profits.

As the envoys stared at Kvirkvare’s inexplicable remarks, the door suddenly burst open in haste.

“Big trouble! The Ottoman army is advancing!”

Though he had anticipated this event, Kvirkvare felt his heart drop.

He stared blankly at the envoys fleeing like madmen and downed the entire contents of his cup.

The wine carried a sharp, fishy scent. Soon, it would be a smell he would grow weary of.

*

With nearly 40,000 cavalry and around 10,000 central troops, the Ottomans moved leisurely, like big cats suffocating their prey.

It was unfortunate for Georgia, but the Safavid, who had used scorched earth tactics to block the Ottoman advance, couldn’t even dream of such strategies now.

While the Safavid needed to dig inland, Georgia was adjacent to the Black Sea, making logistics easy.

Though slow, they did not stand still and soon reached the cities separating Samtskhe from the Ottomans.

“It’s Artvin!”

This was the city that had once blocked the path of 5,000 Qizilbash.

According to history, this was a city that would fall to Safavid in 1502, but thanks to Yusuf’s efforts, they had managed to protect it.

On the solid walls, anxious enemy soldiers could be seen packed in tight.

“Looks like quite a number.”

“No matter how many there are, they are nothing more than straw figures.”

At the confident words of the Janissary officer, Yusuf nodded.

The soldiers stationed to block Rajistan and Erzurum were fairly numerous, but the enemy was already gripped by fear.

Cannons, including the large ones brought from the capital for the siege, were aimed at the enemy’s walls.

Shamsi, watching this scene, cautiously asked Yusuf, “I apologize, Your Padishah, but do you really plan to eliminate all the Georgian nobles?”

He understood well what Shamsi was worried about.

In an era of a class system, the idea that everyone is equal didn’t apply even in war.

Commoners who bore the brunt would be plundered and killed upon defeat, but the nobles—who were the culprits behind the war—would continue their lineage.

Take the Grand Vizier, Herzegovinian Ahmed Pasha, for example. He was the son of the Duke of the Bosnian Kingdom.

Though his family opposed the Ottomans, they eventually produced a Grand Vizier.

Even aside from such examples, the Ottomans frequently granted autonomy to the families holding dominion over the territories they conquered.

‘Because that’s easier.’

With a shortage of competent people to send and reducing resistance is a smart maneuver to let the existing families reign.

It would be better to leave things in their hands rather than deal with rebellions.

However, Yusuf didn’t plan to witness such a scenario this time.

“Shouldn’t we show our wrath? There’s no need to unnecessarily spill blood among the subjects.”

It would be difficult to demonstrate their fury by slaughtering so many people, besides it would only serve as an occasion to unite nobles and commoners alike.

Moreover, the Ottomans had a significant weakness compared to Western countries.

‘The population is too low.’

As time progressed, the population of the vast Ottoman Empire would fall below that of Italy.

An age was looming where population equated to military strength, which was a fatal flaw.

Massacring hundreds of thousands in lands that would soon belong to them wouldn’t yield any benefits.

“And wouldn’t it be the nobles who should be terrified about what happens to them if they betray? They’ll be the ones to determine their fate.”

“Indeed.”

“Then we need to make them tremble.”

They must truly feel that betrayal will lead to their destruction.

That way, no one would dare betray again, like Georgia.

“Of course, before that, an example must be made.”

Stirring the commoners to betray the nobles requires them to instill considerable fear in the nobles.

Artvin would serve as that example.

The sound of cannon fire echoed across Artvin.

It was the signal announcing the tragedy soon to come.