Became The Sultan Of The Ottoman Empire [EN]: Chapter 132

The blood flowing from the hideous wound began to slow.

It wasn’t that the bleeding was stopping; it was that he was dying because there was no more blood left to flow.

He was neither a subordinate nor an enemy. Therefore, this was nothing more than a venting of anger, not punishment or execution.

“…Shayish.”

The torture, carried out under the pretense of disbelieving his words, was over. Ismail looked down at the Mamluk soldier who had breathed his last.

Blood trickled from his tightly clenched lips.

“I secretly thought this might happen. It was my lingering attachment that made you suffer.”

“No! The Shah’s judgment was perfectly reasonable.”

Ustazlu flatly denied his self-reproach.

Even if they had been deceived by the enemy and attacked a fake supply unit, the overall situation wouldn’t have changed.

The enemy had to move supplies, and they had to find the real supplies and prevent their transport.

“Who would have known that they would have enough troops to pass through the north safely?”

They had already mobilized over 100,000 troops, and that excluded the forces of the Crimean Khanate. It defied common sense.

Ismail replied coldly to his subordinate’s consolation.

“There is no need to console me. So many troops marched south, but I heard nothing. Even if the enemy disguised themselves as you, the underlying problem remains.”

It was a painful reminder of how much control they had lost, even if it was due to fear.

Ismail responded to the anxious and worried gazes with burning eyes.

“Do not be afraid. Defeat does not mean the end! Even Muhammad overcame defeat and crisis. So shall I! Who am I?!”

“You are the incarnation of Al-Khidr [a prophet revered in Islam, said to have guided Moses], the prophet who taught Moses, the soul of Christ, and the guardian of the sacred fire.”

The Qizilbash answered Ismail’s question.

Ismail, who had been deified since childhood, sincerely believed in these claims about himself.

A man who had been as fragile as glass due to his excessive self-esteem had become strong enough not to be shaken by any hardship after meeting a formidable opponent.

It was enough to wash away the Qizilbash’s anxiety.

“In fact, we must consider Tabriz to have fallen into the hands of the enemy. So, we move south first.”

“Do you intend to go to Isfahan via Baghdad as planned?”

“That’s right. It will be a difficult time ahead.”

Isfahan, which had prospered through commerce and industry, gradually declined due to the continuous wars.

It was completely destroyed when it was occupied by Timur [also known as Tamerlane, a Turco-Mongol conqueror] two centuries ago, after its citizens killed Timur’s soldiers and tax collectors.

At that time, Timur killed 70,000 citizens and built 28 towers made of 1,500 heads. The city was still unable to recover from the damage and was half in ruins.

“I will rebuild Isfahan as the capital and take revenge on that bastard Yusuf. Even if it takes decades, I will definitely do it.”

Ismail was still in his twenties, so he could make such a resolution.

Ismail summoned the Qizilbash who had scattered in all directions to find supplies. Among those who returned safely, there were also those who did not.

Those stained with blood, as if they had fought fierce battles, knelt before Ismail.

“Ottoman troops! Ottoman troops are attacking our allies!”

It was a planned hunt.

***

Thwack!

“Ugh! Die!”

The Qizilbash, who had twisted his body after being hit in the left shoulder by an arrow that flew with a sharp whistling sound, swung his sword.

The hot blood splashed on his face told him that the collapsing enemy had been alive until just now; this was his last thought.

Behind the Qizilbash, whose head had been blown off by a thrown hand axe, two groups riding excited horses were engaged in a fierce battle.

-Heeheeheeing!

“Shayish!”

“I know! Those damn bastards are treating us like prey!”

Seeing his subordinates, who had turned their horses to stop the pursuit, dying among many enemies, anger boiled inside him.

While evading the pursuit, his troops had dwindled to about thirteen thousand, and the pursuing enemy seemed to be luring them.

Grasping the reins more tightly with feelings of anger, Ismail judged calmly.

“I don’t know what preparations they have made, but it can’t be helped. We move on like this!”

The encirclement was too tight to forcibly tear through and escape, and the direction they were being lured was the south they originally intended to go.

Turning in another direction would only make it more dangerous.

The Qizilbash tenaciously clung to the pursuers to stop the pursuit, and after shaking off the pursuit to some extent, they could see.

About 5,000 infantry lined up on the plain, and a flag fluttered above them.

It was a flag symbolizing the Sultan, which they knew well because they were enemies, and the face of a man standing in front of it was faintly visible.

Although they had never faced each other directly, the throbbing in his heart clearly told them who the enemy in the splendid attire was.

“Yusuf!”

Ismail, distorting his face like a demon, shouted roughly.

As if he had heard this cry through the sound of horseshoes echoing on the ground and the dust swirling like a whirlwind, the man standing in front turned his horse.

“We must capture that bastard!”

“You must calm down! It might be a trap! No, it will be a trap!”

Even if the person in front of them was indeed the Ottoman Sultan, it was strange to be with infantry on the plain.

However, Ismail’s judgment was also the result of rational thought, not just impulse.

“Even if it’s a trap, we just need to catch that bastard!”

If Yusuf died, the Ottomans, with only young children as successors, would be thrown into disarray.

And even if it was a trap, it was acceptable.

“They’re just infantry anyway! We can definitely win!”

Infantry on the plains are prey for cavalry, and there were more than twice as many of them.

Moreover, they had fought against enemy infantry armed with guns while targeting supplies, so it was not an unfounded confidence at all.

Based on this, the fleeing Qizilbash changed direction, and Yusuf slung the gun he was holding over his shoulder.

“Welcome, Ismail.”

Yusuf, who had been worried that they might not run away even after seeing such tempting bait, smiled as he watched the approaching enemy.

They were rushing in more fearlessly because they had fought with guns while looting supplies, but they were just soldiers who had received two weeks of intensive training.

The Janissaries [elite Ottoman infantry], who had been trained in firearms for over two years, were on a different level from them, and Yusuf smiled.

“Welcome to the age of line infantry.”

From now on, the paradigm of war will change.

***

Watching the Qizilbash rushing in like a mountain, the Janissaries gripped the guns they were aiming even tighter.

It was such a threatening sight that they were relieved to have their comrades next to them. As they swallowed their parched saliva, the unit commander, called Chorbaaji [a rank in the Janissary corps, literally “soup cook”], shouted.

“Fire!”

The sound of gunpowder exploding and the powerful firepower coming from the dense formation swept away the Qizilbash.

As the enemies at the forefront, who were already prepared for death, died, the rear ranks quickly came forward and fired.

The Qizilbash, watching their comrades die with bloodshot eyes amidst the gray smoke, quickly closed the distance based on their comrades’ sacrifices.

The Qizilbash, who had closed the distance so much that there was no room for the rear ranks to step forward, were horrified by the densely lined bayonets and turned their horses.

-Heeheeheeing!

“Aaaagh!”

The Qizilbash, who had failed to make a proper turn, knelt down and became skewers in the hands of the Janissaries who had set up their bayonets.

The Qizilbash, who had turned their reins to avoid the hedgehog-like bayonet formation, fell into utter chaos.

Even if they wanted to swing their swords to kill the enemy, there were bayonets everywhere.

The enemies, who had been lined up in 3-4 rows, had all formed square formations, and the Qizilbash, wandering between the formations, were easy prey.

-Tatatang! Bang!

“We, we have to run away. It’s a nightmare!”

“I don’t want to die! I don’t want to die like this!”

Corpses were piled up on all sides, shot without even swinging a sword once, and the horses that smelled the scent of death were barely under control.

No one wanted to die so futilely, like a bug carelessly stepped on, rather than dying fiercely and valiantly against the enemy.

Just as the Qizilbash, who were renowned as elites, were about to flee in confusion, a thunderous voice was heard through the sound of gunpowder.

“It’s the Sultan! Kill the Sultan!”

The eyes of the Qizilbash, who saw a larger and sturdier formation than the other formations, calmed down from the confusion and gleamed with murderous intent.

The Qizilbash, raising their swords, shouted loudly.

“Let’s kill him! For the Shah! Kill the Sultan!”

-Bang!

The head of the instigator was blown off by a gunshot, but the spark he had ignited was enough to change the atmosphere.

As they rushed towards the formation without fear of bayonets, the thick formation was shaken in an instant.

The Qizilbash, who rushed in like madmen, grabbed and clung to the bayonets that pierced their bodies, and relentlessly dug into the blunted gaps.

“Block them! Block them at the cost of your lives!”

The unit commanders encouraged them to the point where the veins in their necks bulged, and a melee broke out in an instant.

The damage to the Qizilbash, who were trying to break through the formation by force, snowballed, but as much as the enemy died, the Janissaries’ formation also lost its strength.

And they allowed the enemy to invade.

“Sultan! Where is Yusuf!”

“How dare you call his name so carelessly?! You bastards!”

The Silahhtars [Ottoman palace guards], who were in charge of guarding the Sultan, swung their swords with angry faces at the incoming enemies.

The plain was filled with gray gunpowder from the continuously fired guns, and the screams of those who had lost their grip on life were piled up one by one.

Ismail, who had broken through the formation at the end of his subordinates’ sacrifices, ran towards the most splendidly dressed man.

“Yusuf!”

Ismail, who met the brown eyes while wielding his sword fiercely, felt a chilling sense of unease.

This feeling did not subside even when he deflected the oncoming sword and cut off Yusuf’s forearm, which he had reflexively raised, in half.

And a gunshot rang out.

-Thaaang!

Gunshots were heard from all directions to the point where his ears were ringing, but that one shot was heard clearly.

As pain rushed in along with the shock of being punched in the chest, Ismail looked down at his chest.

The chest, turning red, felt too unreal.

“Shah, Shayish! Save the Shah! Save him, you bastards!”

Ustazlu’s tearful voice was faintly heard.

Ismail, turning his head towards the place where the gunshot was heard with a fading vision, made eye contact with a man wearing a Janissary uniform.

A raised corner of his lips and curved green eyes.

“…Yusuf?!”

“Who dares to call my name so carelessly.”

Yusuf, who responded with an arrogant voice, trampled on the fallen Ismail.

He was famous for his excellent martial arts skills and, as Ismail, who always participated directly in battles, made his spine chill until the very end.

If he hadn’t set up a decoy, he might have been the one to die.

“Do you have any last words?”

“Puhuhu, last words.”

Ismail, spitting out a mouthful of blood, looked up at the sky with a hollow laugh.

“Ah, Allah, cough. Did you choose you over me?”

“Don’t be mistaken. No one can choose me. I am the one who chooses.”

The eyes that had contained bewilderment slowly lost their light, and he asked in a voice so small it seemed like it would break.

“Could there have been a future where we were together?”

A future where the Ottomans and Safavids coexist peacefully.

“Even if the past were repeated tens of thousands of times, there would be no such future. Don’t you think so too?”

No matter how valuable a talent he was, he could not be with someone who harbored poison.

Ismail nodded as if agreeing with this assertion, and Yusuf felt all sorts of emotions for a moment.

Ismail was the one Yusuf had set as his goal to become Yusuf for the first time and to achieve great achievements.

He was a formidable opponent who had given him several crises that made his spine chill, and he was someone who had influenced him a lot, both in terms of status and mentally.

Yusuf, feeling emotions that he could not express in words, closed Ismail’s eyes and got up from his seat.

“Padishah [Ottoman Emperor].”

At the call of Silahhtar Aain Alper Pasha, Yusuf shook off his emotions and said coldly.

If he had closed his eyes as a person, now it was time to act as Padishah.

“Cut off his head and let it be known. That we have won.”

Alper, who had cut off Ismail’s head, raised his head and shouted loudly.

“Shah! Shah Ismail is dead!”

-Shah Ismail is dead!

The monster who founded the country at the age of 15 and defeated 30,000 enemies twice with 7,000 soldiers was dead.

It was in 1512, when he was 26 years old.

***

The walls that had held the prosperity had collapsed, and an army carrying a man’s head entered the entrance of Tabriz, where the horrors of war remained everywhere.

It was the moment when the fall of the Safavids was known to the world.