Became The Sultan Of The Ottoman Empire [EN]: Chapter 102

Becoming the Sultan of the Ottomans – 102

Finishing Touches and Scheming (2)

Aristotle’s “Poetics” states, “Tragedy imitates men who are better than average, comedy men who are worse.”

This means that tragic protagonists, like Romeo and Juliet or Hamlet, should be superior individuals like nobles, while comedies should feature those less capable than others.

It accurately captures the human nature of feeling catharsis by observing the misfortunes of others, and the events unfolding in Georgia were a continuation of this nature.

“Not only are they revealing their base nature, but they’re also acting recklessly.”

Yusuf’s lips twisted upon receiving the information.

The joy of being able to bring down the nobles he had always looked up to with his own hands was driving them to madness.

In the early rebellions, he handed over the captured nobles to the Ottoman army that came to occupy the territory, but now he was directly carrying out executions.

Like Europeans of this era who treated the execution ground as a theater, the entire city gathered for the execution of nobles, and they were brutally executed regardless of age or gender.

‘It got to the point where more nobles surrendered, believing that surrendering to the Ottoman army offered a higher chance of survival.’

The Ottomans were seen as the better option because even women and children could live as slaves rather than the entire family being wiped out.

This was especially true for the lower nobles, who made up the majority and were not heavily involved in betrayal, so they ended up being forcibly relocated.

Of course, Yusuf wouldn’t have paid much attention if it had simply ended with the execution of nobles.

‘Executions are real entertainment in this era.’

After the French Revolution, when the guillotine, which cut off heads, replaced the gallows, people even asked to switch back to the gallows because it wasn’t as visible.

It’s an era where people take their children to see the gallows as if they were going to a sporting event, holding their hands.

The execution of nobles didn’t need to be particularly problematic, but the madness of the commoners was causing trouble in other areas.

“Thirty-two people died arguing over the property of nobles. People falsely accused those they didn’t like of hiding nobles.”

In addition, all sorts of unsavory stories reached his ears, such as killing refugees by falsely accusing them of being nobles and looting their property, or deliberately killing nobles who were trying to surrender to the Ottomans.

To put it coldly, these kinds of side effects were fully anticipated, but what truly disturbed Yusuf was something else.

“They’re doing this kind of thing while praising me, huh? What do you all think?”

As Yusuf looked around, those gathered there, including Shemsi and Arda, wore angry expressions.

“Daring to tarnish the Padishah’s [Ottoman Sultan’s] honor, they deserve to die!”

“The Empire must bring death to those who call its master in vain!”

Amidst those who were pouring out excited words, Shemsi, who had been silent, opened his mouth when Yusuf’s gaze reached him.

“It seems they have not yet realized that they have become part of the Empire.”

The master of the Empire is the Sultan, and the Sultan’s honor is the Empire’s honor.

Yusuf issued a firm order to those who had not even realized this simple fact.

“Inform the Sipahi [Ottoman cavalry] that I will temporarily grant them the authority to punish those who disrupt the Empire.”

“I will convey the Padishah’s will.”

Originally, the Qadis [Islamic judges] and the judges of each religion should determine the punishment, but it is impossible to bring judges during wartime.

Since the Sipahi usually acted as police in their territory, the Timar [land grant given to Sipahi], he temporarily granted them the authority to punish, considering the special circumstances of the war.

This fact alone would have the effect of suppressing the chaos.

-Padishah, a man claiming to be the new King of Kakheti has arrived.

Kakheti was the only place where the Ottoman army’s footsteps had not reached, as it was far away and had the larger Kingdom of Kartli as a buffer.

However, they were aware of his arrival in Akhaltsikhe, and Yusuf smiled deeply at the news that the opponent he had been waiting for had come.

“The last prey has crawled in on its own.”

Yusuf rose from his throne and slowly moved his feet.

It was time to face the foolish prey that had reduced his troubles.

***

The fact that the Ottoman army was a strong force was widely known in Georgia, and George had heard of it.

However, the feeling was bound to be significantly different when actually facing them compared to just hearing rumors.

‘This is the Ottoman elite.’

George swallowed hard as he looked at the soldiers surrounding him.

The bizarre appearance of wearing hats that drooped down to the back of their necks and only growing mustaches was not important.

The Janissaries [elite Ottoman infantry] waiting for their master were without the slightest disarray, and a strong smell of blood flowed from the atmosphere, which could not be hidden even by their neat attire.

-The Padishah is entering! All, take your positions!

At the command of the Janissary Agha [commander of the Janissaries], the Janissaries simultaneously took their positions without a single error, and George hurriedly took his position as well.

Yusuf, who entered the reception room, looked down at those who were taking their positions.

“Raise your heads.”

When Yusuf saw George, who carefully raised his head, he was reminded of when he first saw Mzeçabuk.

George resembled that man, who had the face of an ordinary middle-aged man with a deep-seated, sticky desire for power.

Of course, even if he was reminded of a fragment of the past, it would not be enough to change the already determined ending.

“So, what is the reason you came all the way here to find me?”

George clenched his fist slightly at Yusuf’s unexpectedly cold attitude.

He didn’t expect a warm welcome, but he didn’t expect such a cold reaction.

A sense of foreboding soared, but he had already come too far to turn back, and George bowed his head.

“I have come to pledge allegiance to the great Padishah.”

“Allegiance… By whose authority?”

George, his eyes wide at the unexpected words, was momentarily breathless at the sight of the menacing eyes looking down at him.

He was not even aware that his body was shaking pathetically.

“Did you think everything would be over if the king of Kakheti, who made a foolish decision, died? Don’t be mistaken. You cannot escape responsibility either.”

At the words that were like a death sentence, George cried out urgently.

“Padishah! Please reconsider! I and Kakheti can do everything for the Padishah!”

“You, of all people?”

Yusuf wore a sneer.

He killed his father and blinded his brother for power. It seems like a cruel act, but it is a common occurrence in this era.

Even the Ottomans killed their own blood as if it were a ritual.

However, posterity gave him bad reviews such as bad, crazy, and evil.

‘The real problem isn’t morality. It’s incompetence.’

Belligerent but incompetent. He was just the kind of person to ruin a country.

In the original history, he attacked the Kingdom of Kartli, was captured, and ruined the country only three years after his accession.

The bad reviews that criticized his morality were virtually the same as ridiculing his incompetence.

“There is no place for an incompetent person like you by my side.”

George was engulfed in anger at Yusuf’s short assessment.

The face of his father, who had kept his younger brother closer than himself, the eldest son, came to mind, and he forgot his fear and shouted violently.

“Who are you calling incompetent…! Argh!”

“How dare you speak carelessly in front of whom!”

There was no mercy in the hands that suppressed George, whose fate had been decided even before the visit, and Yusuf indifferently looked down at George, who was roughly slammed to the floor.

“He came crawling without knowing where his grave was, so it’s an incompetent thing to do. And it seems to have begun.”

-Taang! Ta-dang!

It was the sound of the 3,000 Kakheti troops who had followed George being suppressed in front of Akhaltsikhe.

George, who now realized that he had come to find his grave, laughed as if he had lost his mind, and Yusuf turned his body away from the foolish George.

“Shemsi Pasha.”

“Yes, Padishah.”

“Now that we have Kakheti in our hands, the conquest of Georgia is over.”

There were still some cities that had not submitted, but it was not wrong to say that they would have no choice but to bow their heads even if left alone.

“The conquest is over, but it cannot be said that it has entered the Empire’s embrace. There is a vacuum in administration as all the nobles have been killed.”

If they didn’t want to leave Georgia as a lawless zone, they had to appoint administrators quickly, and it would take quite a long time to find administrative stability.

This was inevitable as they had crushed the local forces.

“So, you’re going to have to suffer a little.”

“…Padishah?”

It was rude to question the Sultan’s orders, but Shemsi was not in a situation to worry about etiquette.

It was because he seemed to have heard something ridiculous.

“I’m thinking of grouping the conquered land of Georgia into the Georgia Eyalet [Ottoman province]. And you will have to be the Beylerbey [governor-general] of this place for a while.”

There were only Eyalets in Rumelia, which meant the Balkan Peninsula, and Anatolia, which meant the eastern peninsula, and if one was created in Georgia, it would be the third Eyalet.

That meant that Shemsi had to create a new administrative foundation for Georgia.

“Padishah, would you not allow me just one act of rudeness?”

Yusuf smiled at the intensely burning eyes and said firmly.

“No.”

Yusuf, who lightly patted Shemsi’s shoulder, who was trembling at the status of a gangster, gave him comfort.

“It’s a year and a half from now. You only have to suffer for that period. You have to go on the Safavid conquest with me anyway.”

“Can I give up my official position?”

“Of course not.”

While groaning, Shemsi quickly began to think about what he had to do right away, and Yusuf, who smiled at this, thought.

‘It’s a year and a half from now. The time it takes to put a hole in Ismail’s head.’

It was the period needed to prepare the supplies needed for the war and to arm the troops with better weapons.

If he wasn’t careful, he would have to face not only the Safavids but also the Mamluks, who usually checked the Ottomans, so he needed to prepare thoroughly.

Of course, if there was time, the Safavid side could also prepare for an attack.

“So, I’ll have to eliminate that time.”

Yusuf wore a deep smile.

***

The appearance of the man walking aimlessly while looking at the slowly setting red sun was not very good.

The man, wearing clothes that looked like rags that he hadn’t changed in a while, was as unsightly in appearance as he was in shabby attire.

Even if he was normal, his face would not be average, and his nose was so crooked that anyone would evaluate him as an ugly man.

“Damn world. You bastards! I should just hang myself.”

The Italian peninsula was swept up in the flames of war, and people tightened their belts, starting with things that were not urgent, to fill the war expenses.

The art world was the most severely affected, and the man walking was also a victim.

It had been a year since the Vatican, which had requested the work, had not paid him properly, and all the assistants had left for Florence.

It would have been fine if it was just this. As you can see from his shabby attire, he was an ascetic person.

However, the owners of the letters that arrived yesterday turned his insides upside down.

“You’re asking for money again?! Why is the person who opposed my work so much talking about money!”

The memory of being beaten by his father and uncle for saying he would do art was still vivid, but now they were urging him why he wasn’t sending money.

The man gritted his teeth as he recalled the letters from his rogue father and brother.

The Pope who commissioned the work was also not to his liking. He cursed when he thought of the eccentric old man who didn’t know art properly, didn’t give money, and only thought about squeezing him.

“Why are you fighting with the Ottomans when you can’t even give me money properly!”

He complained, recalling the Pope, who had created an enemy and further worsened the finances.

Anyway, these complex reasons combined to make him cross the Aurelian Walls [ancient Roman city walls] that protected the city of Rome.

He thought it would be better to go back to Florence and do new work rather than worry about contracts.

The man, who was walking to Ostia, the port he would soon arrive at to take a boat to Florence, felt that the atmosphere was strange.

Black smoke was rising, and screams and shouts were faintly heard.

Feeling that something was wrong, the man was about to quickly turn around when a group of people on horseback came running.

“What is this beggar doing?!”

The man trembled as he was surrounded by those with turbans on their heads, blood on their swords, and different appearances from Europeans.

Those who appeared to have attacked Ostia frowned, whether the man trembled or not.

“I came to catch the fleeing rich guys, but there’s a beggar wandering around?”

“Let’s just kill him! He doesn’t seem useful anyway.”

The man didn’t understand the words being exchanged, but he cried out urgently when he saw the tip of the sword pointing at him.

“S, save me! Is there no one who can understand my words?! I am a great artist!”

Fortunately, there was someone who could understand his words, and he conveyed his words to the red-bearded man who was leading the group.

“Hajir, this guy says he’s a great artist? What do we do?”

“An artist? Not a beggar?”

The man frowned slightly and pondered for a moment before answering.

“What’s his name?”

“He’s asking what your name is.”

At these words, the man shouted his name.

“Michelangelo Buonarroti! Michelangelo!”

“I don’t know the name. Should we just kill him?”

Hajir slapped the subordinate’s head at his foolish words.

“Would we know if we heard an artist’s name! Let’s take him to 형님 [Korean word for older brother, used as a term of respect]. If he’s useless, we can make him a rower like the Venetian guy we caught then.”

“Yes, Hajir!”

The man who was rubbing his aching head tied Michelangelo tightly with a rope and shouted.

“Let’s go back. To Barbarossa!”

Some time later, the Papal States were turned upside down by the news of the pirate raid on the port.