Became The Sultan Of The Ottoman Empire [EN]: Chapter 115

Became the Sultan of Osman – Episode 115 (115/213)

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A finger rolled on the floor, blood droplets falling from the sharp, blue blade.

Blood soaked his palm, the weight of the Silahdar [sword-bearer or arms-keeper] pressing down.

Everything felt unreal, but the terrible pain surging from the severed finger hammered home the reality.

“I… I am an envoy! Do you think our kingdom will simply overlook this?!”

The envoy’s howls threatened a diplomatic crisis.

So, Yusuf flicked his finger.

“Cut off another one.”

“Yes, my Padishah [Ottoman sovereign title].”

Before the envoy could resist, the Silahdar’s blade struck the index finger of his right hand.

Perhaps the blade had dulled cutting the other finger, because this one was severed in a crushing manner, filling the audience chamber with screams.

“If one finger is enough to cause a problem, a few more won’t make much difference.”

Aziz shuddered, meeting eyes that sparkled like an emerald ring on the freshly cut finger.

No matter how brilliantly a jewel shines, its essence is cold stone, and he felt that chill in his opponent’s eyes.

As fear washed over the envoy’s face, Yusuf spoke casually.

“People are truly foolish. The world is vast, people diverse, yet they think according to their own standards. Aziz.”

“Yes, yes! My Padishah.”

“You must have thought this way: even for an empire, antagonizing the Sultanate would be difficult, so throwing out provocative words would be okay.”

“No! It’s a misunderstanding!”

“Or did you truly think of the Empire as pirates? Being treated like a pirate boss… how amusing. Don’t you think?”

Yusuf looked around, and the Silahdars surrounding the audience chamber glared at the envoy with furious eyes.

The murderous glares felt like they were flaying his skin, and the envoy fell into a deep fear.

“I… I apologize. I misspoke!”

“Raise him up.”

Rough hands lifted Aziz, and Yusuf smiled brightly.

“Then let’s start over from the beginning. You must be tired from your long journey.”

“Yes, yes!”

“But it seems you encountered pirates on the way. You look a mess.”

His clothes, made of expensive fabric, were covered in bloodstains, and saliva dripped from his chin from the pain.

Yusuf’s attitude—asking as if none of this had happened—was bizarre, and Aziz, trembling with two missing index fingers, barely responded.

“I… I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

“Really? Since you say it’s nothing, there shouldn’t be any problems. Right?”

“…Of course.”

“That’s a relief. It’s fortunate you only lost two fingers. It’s better than being left with only one finger on each hand.”

Aziz hastily agreed with Yusuf, who joked that he wouldn’t even be able to use a spoon on his own if only his little fingers were left.

He realized this was a man who would take the remaining fingers at any moment if he didn’t like something.

“So, what brings you from the Empire?”

“The… the Venetians have requested our mediation, claiming their commerce is being hindered by the Empire’s ships.”

“Hmm, those people always invite trouble by not knowing their place.”

“That is correct.”

Yusuf, having received Aziz’s agreement, stood up from his seat.

Aziz instinctively took a step back as the Sultan approached, and Yusuf crushed the severed fingers with his foot.

“But why did you do that?”

“What… what do you mean?”

“Why did you interfere between the Safavids [Persian dynasty] and Venice, not knowing your place like those Venetian bastards?”

At Yusuf’s growling question, Aziz frantically waved his hands.

“That is not true!”

“Really? Bring that bastard here.”

Upon Yusuf’s command, Silahdar Agha Alper Pasha briefly left the audience chamber and returned, dragging a man.

As Aziz looked at the disheveled man thrown to the floor with a puzzled expression, Yusuf explained.

“This is the envoy who traveled between Venice and the Safavids.”

“I don’t know anything about this!”

“Even if you didn’t know, your country would have known.”

The Safavids were a nation that hadn’t expanded its territory to the Mediterranean, and Venetian ships couldn’t enter the Black Sea, so the envoy had to set foot on Mamluk [Egypt-based sultanate] land.

It was impossible for the Mamluks not to know about such a major event as an envoy traveling back and forth.

“You must have heard about it, right? What that bastard Ismail did.”

Ismail’s attack on Trabzon was something no one could be unaware of if they had any interest in the political situation.

Because he had completely trampled Georgia and burned the western part of the Safavid Empire, making it known far and wide how great the Sultan’s anger was.

“You helped them with that. Do you understand?”

As if his anger hadn’t yet subsided, his furious voice echoed like thunder in Aziz’s ears.

Yusuf turned his body roughly and declared.

“Go back! Go back and tell Ashraf. Anyone who interferes with my rightful revenge will not be able to escape the Empire’s blade.”

Aziz, who had lost two fingers and been threatened without achieving the desired results as an envoy, returned with staggering steps.

As Yusuf leaned back in his chair, Hadim Ali Pasha, the former Grand Vizier [chief minister] and current chamberlain, said worriedly.

“My Padishah, is it really alright to send the envoy back like this?”

“Are you worried it will lead to war with the Safavids, as well as the Mamluks?”

“That is correct.”

Yusuf replied nonchalantly to Ali’s concerns.

“If it happens, it happens. What is there to fear?”

“My Padishah?!”

Yusuf chuckled at Ali, who looked genuinely surprised with wide eyes.

It wasn’t easy to see someone who had risen to the position of Grand Vizier through the cutthroat political arena looking so surprised.

Since he had provided laughter with his surprised expression, he could answer his question in return.

“There was an interesting detail in the battle report that Kemal Reis sent. The Venetian merchant ships have a large number of cannons.”

“Isn’t that because of our fleet operating in the Mediterranean?”

“Would merchants, for whom cargo capacity is money, do that? It’s not like a few more cannons would make a difference in military power.”

Merchants would try to remove as many cannons as possible to load even one more item, and if they were really afraid of the Empire, they would have given up trading rather than increasing the number of cannons.

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

The Mamluks were a country backward in gunpowder technology and had been receiving cannons and gunpowder from the Ottomans to fight against Portugal.

If they needed cannons because of Portugal, they would have requested them from the Ottomans, but they were importing them through Venice.

“Those cannons must be going to the Safavids.”

“Yes, the Mamluks are acting as a middleman. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say they’re in cahoots.”

Of course, the current Mamluks were passive in war, as they had simply watched as Dulkadir, a protectorate of the Mamluks, was invaded by Ismail.

There was no guarantee they would participate in the war even if they helped the Safavids.

“If we raise an army to fight the Safavids, they will definitely try to restrain us.”

“They will want the current situation to continue.”

The Mamluks were shaking from the inside, but recently, they had gained a glimmer of hope.

“The canal. They are only waiting for the completion of the canal. They see it as the only solution that can reverse all their problems in one fell swoop.”

The canal, which had started with the demands of Venice and the secret encouragement of the Ottomans, now had the fate of the Mamluk nation hanging on it.

They were tightening their belts to the point where their finances were faltering, but once completed, they would be able to hold a huge amount of money.

If they could maintain the current state of affairs for at least 10 years, the Mamluks would be completely reborn.

Yusuf raised the corners of his lips.

“Ali Pasha, were you worried my actions were too extreme? They are crouching down as much as possible. They will only want to buy time, so would they declare war because of this?”

“That is impossible.”

“Then would they sever trade with the Empire?”

“If trade with the Empire is disrupted, it would be a major blow to the Mamluks, whose finances are already shaky.”

“Then what do we have to lose from this incident?”

There was no immediate loss, and by sending the envoy back empty-handed, Kemal would be able to operate for a while longer.

Of course, the Mamluks might participate in the Safavid war because of this conflict.

‘It doesn’t matter. Everything is already within the plan.’

If the Mamluks join hands with the Safavids, then the Mamluks can be swallowed up in the next war.

That’s why the war preparation period was set long.

Yusuf stood up from his seat and picked up the two rings that had fallen from the severed fingers.

“And after receiving Kemal’s report, piracy is quite lucrative.”

Yusuf burst into laughter.

It was a laugh that wouldn’t be out of place for a pirate boss.

***

Clang! Clang!

As the hammer struck the chisel, marble fragments fell in droves.

The hand holding the hammer moved delicately, as any mistake could undo all the effort so far.

It was marble that had been found after traveling for three months, and mistakes could not be tolerated.

“Oarsman.”

Michelangelo abruptly stopped the hammer he was swinging at the voice suddenly heard from behind.

It was a dizzying crisis where the nose of the statue could have disappeared, and Michelangelo turned his head with an angry face and immediately prostrated himself.

“I greet the Padishah.”

It was a face he had seen in a hundred portraits, so he couldn’t fail to recognize it.

Yusuf smiled and accepted Michelangelo’s greeting.

“That’s a relief. If you had been a few seconds later, you would have been dragged back to being an oarsman. Not by me, but by these guys.”

Behind Yusuf, there were many who looked very displeased with Michelangelo, who was so engrossed in his work he didn’t even know the Sultan had come.

Michelangelo scoffed at these gazes.

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

“That’s not wrong.”

Perhaps because he was a sculptor to the bone, his original self began to come alive after he started sculpting.

The eyes that had lost their spark were now filled with strong passion, and he had the happiest face in the world when he was carving a statue.

It was hard to see him as a slave.

“So, how are you doing?”

“I am doing well, thanks to the Padishah.”

Although he had fallen into slavery, Michelangelo wasn’t in a bad situation right now.

There were no damned family members clinging to him like leeches asking for money, and he was eating and living more abundantly than before.

It was fine except for being forcibly washed and changed clothes from time to time.

“More than that, your skill is excellent. It is dynamic and well depicts the pain of an oarsman.”

“That is because a strong inspiration called experience is melted into it.”

Of course, he didn’t want to become an oarsman again to get inspiration.

Yusuf nodded and looked at the Janissary [elite Ottoman soldier] kneeling on one side. He was a young man in his twenties and Michelangelo’s bodyguard.

‘Mimar Sinan.’

Mimar was a title given to architects, and he was the person who would become the representative architect of the Ottoman Empire.

His reputation was beyond words, as he had even been used as a figure on the Turkish 10,000 lira banknote.

Of course, he was still just a Janissary belonging to the engineering corps, but if he gained more experience, he would grow into an excellent talent.

‘Michelangelo also left a great mark on architecture, so the two will have a good influence on each other.’

Expectations were very high in that both were talents who could be used for more than 50 years to come.

At that moment, Michelangelo and Sinan felt an unknown chill.

“My Padishah, why did you bother to come all the way here?”

“I have something to ask of you. I need you to paint a portrait.”

Michelangelo’s expression darkened as the nightmare of a hundred portraits came to mind, and Yusuf waved his hand, realizing the misunderstanding.

“Don’t worry. It’s only one, and it doesn’t matter if you draw it roughly. The person who receives the portrait only needs to recognize the face.”

Michelangelo, unable to understand the request, asked, risking rudeness.

“Who is it, and what are you going to use it for?”

To this question, Yusuf answered nonchalantly.

“It’s the guy who was the Venetian envoy. It’s a portrait that will go into a threatening letter.”

If you’re going to be a pirate, you have to do hostage dramas, right?