The Bigger Picture
Dudududu!
The cavalry, numbering a little over two hundred, began at a slow walk, then picked up speed as they neared their targets.
As the straw bundles piled up like enemy soldiers drew close, they drew their bowstrings, and once the riders reached close range, they released.
With a chilling sound, the arrows flew and buried themselves in the straw. The cavalrymen pulled on their reins and turned their horses’ heads in perfect order.
Those with exceptional skill even showed the trick of merely twisting their bodies to shoot arrows behind them.
It was a sight that naturally drew admiration from anyone watching, and Yusuf nodded.
“Swarm tactics are good, yes.”
Simply put, it was hit-and-run, a tactic mainly used by nomads like the Mongols and Turks.
Its advantages were clear. It could force a war of attrition while steadily accumulating damage.
If enemy cavalry gave chase, they fled, then targeted the infantry that had been separated from the cavalry, and when the enemy retreated, they used delaying tactics to harass them endlessly.
‘People treat it like it’s invincible because it’s so vicious it makes you curse, but there’s no such thing as a perfect tactic in this world.’
The fact that it was only useful in open-field battles was a problem, but the bigger problem was that it was weak when fighting cavalry of similar speed.
If they tried something like shooting arrows and changing direction to flee, they would be swept away before they could even pick up speed, so they had no choice but to keep running or commit to a fight.
An army that only runs cannot win, and horse archers were lightly armed for a direct clash.
There was a reason people told tales of six sipahis being skewered on a single lance.
‘Meaning that if I fight Ismail, whose main force will be cavalry, this won’t do as it is. We’ll already be at a numerical disadvantage.’
The opponent would be light cavalry too, so either he had to train cavalry like the Winged Hussars, who charged with long lances, or hurry up and develop cement so he could build fortresses and seize land that way.
For now, those were the only two options that came to mind.
The former required pouring in money and putting them through tremendous training, while the latter was not some Great Wall or France’s Maginot Line; he had to consider whether it would actually be effective.
As Yusuf sank deeper into thought, Arda approached him with a stony face.
“Sanjak-bey.”
“What is it?”
When Yusuf asked with a serious expression, Arda furrowed his brow slightly and asked back.
“You asked me to teach you how to ride, so why are you just standing there?”
This was the reason he had left the safe and comfortable castle.
Since he had come to ride a horse and was merely staring blankly, Arda’s criticism was valid, but there was a reason.
“I’m in the middle of getting close to the horse.”
“By watching it from five paces away?”
“Even with an animal, manners are important.”
Personal space, after all. If you approached too closely, they would feel uncomfortable.
You grew close by keeping a little distance, chatting comfortably, and so on.
Just as doctors needed rapport with patients, he simply needed time to build mutual trust with the horse.
However, even these reasonable words did not work on Arda.
“Stop saying strange things and come closer already.”
“Fine, fine.”
He had made a fuss, but it was not that he was afraid of horses themselves.
He had dealt with humans who would make even ghosts flee in disgust; would he be scared of a horse?
When he stroked the horse’s head as it looked down at him with round eyes, it snorted with a soft whinny.
It was not as if they had caught some wild horse. A well-trained horse was an animal that followed people well, like a cat or a dog.
“Now climb on. I will help you.”
The horse’s height at the withers alone was about that of an adult woman, so it was not a height a child could mount alone.
With Arda’s hand practically lifting him into the air, Yusuf climbed onto the horse, and his field of view changed completely.
How on earth did people ride horses before stirrups existed? Even with his feet in the stirrups, the footrests, he felt dizzy enough to wonder that.
‘Where did this damned body sell off its nomad blood?’
Honestly, he did not regret not spending points on physical talent, but he regretted it every time he rode a horse.
The only memories weak little Yusuf had of riding, which was basic education, were of being terrified each time, so they were no help at all.
Still, thanks to his own efforts, he was fine up to the speed of a trot.
“Then let’s increase the speed a little now.”
He really could not run.
At Arda’s words as he kept pace beside him, Yusuf shook his head.
“How on earth do you run?”
If the horse sped up even a little, his body shook like mad, yet the people beside him said it was not difficult if he matched his body to the motion.
That was far too difficult a demand for an ordinary body with a physical talent of 3.
‘It’s not like driving. I’ve never ridden a horse in my life.’
If he were the sultan, he would not have had to suffer this much.
When those sultan fellows went to war, forget riding a horse—they even brought concubines along beside them.
But a mere prince could not imitate that, and if he did not intend to stand idly by in future wars, riding was essential.
Even just considering the succession war, he had to lead troops to the capital; he could not be the only one running on foot among cavalrymen.
“Whew… Let’s do any more than this later.”
“If that is what you wish, I will do so.”
After returning to the castle with his escort, Yusuf let out a long sigh.
He had agonized over it, but today he had clearly felt it.
“As expected, I need help from a trait for riding.”
The points required for traits kept increasing exponentially.
The points needed for a second trait were 20, and with the 5 points he had obtained not long ago, he had accumulated a total of 21.
“The effects of traits are better than I expected, so I’m torn.”
Had he not made rather good use of Emotion Reading right away?
Talent Reading, which he had not obtained then, was tempting too, and there were many other traits that looked useful.
‘Still, the most useful one right now is this.’
[Excellent Riding Talent]
Of course, taking this would not let him immediately stand on horseback or perform tricks like clinging to the belly of a galloping horse.
It merely allowed him to learn riding a little faster and more easily. One could think of it as becoming a prodigy limited to horsemanship.
After hesitating, Yusuf pressed purchase, and it became his second trait.
‘The sooner I learn something like this, the better. If I go to war and expand my influence from now on, I’ll gather enough points to buy the next trait too.’
If things moved according to his plan, he would be living quite the explosive life, so the points would gather on their own.
His life would become dangerous as well, though.
It was a beautiful world of equivalent exchange.
“What a damned world.”
It was not even some tired cliché where one grew stronger after overcoming the danger of death.
Grumbling quietly, Yusuf spread out a map.
Compared to modern maps, it was crude, but perhaps because it was a map viewed by high-ranking officials, it was not so bad that he could not recognize anything.
The first thing to think about was, as expected, Ismail.
“By now, he should be moving toward Erzincan.”
Erzincan was about 140 kilometers south of Trabzon. To put it simply, it was about the distance from Seoul to Daejeon.
From there, Ismail would lead a force of seven thousand men made up of nine tribes and begin his conquest in earnest.
Honestly, if he was going to kill Ismail, now was the easiest time.
“If I were an only child, I’d have dragged out all my troops without a worry and killed the sprout of the future.”
Since he was in a position where he had to fight a bloody inheritance war with his brothers, he could not kill in advance the target who would give him military achievements.
And honestly, Erzincan was Aq Qoyunlu land, so it would be difficult to go attack it.
Since he could not touch Ismail right away, he shifted his gaze east.
“Georgia, huh….”
It was a country between the Black Sea and the Caspian Sea, and also Stalin’s homeland.
Because it was a passage connecting Asia and Europe, it was a place that always shed tears of blood. Later, it would be caught between the Ottomans and the Safavid Empire and become a major battlefield too.
At present, it was split into three kingdoms and five principalities.
Among them, the place worth paying attention to was the Principality of Samtskhe, which bordered the Ottomans.
“The other Georgian countries are on good terms with Ismail.”
Because they had helped Ismail in order to get rid of the tribute they paid to Aq Qoyunlu.
Of course, because Ismail treated his promise like dog food and threw it away, they would end up reduced to vassals of the Safavid Empire, but either way, for now, their relations were good.
By contrast, Mzechabuk, who would become king of the Principality of Samtskhe, was ambitious and obedient to the Ottomans.
Of course, that obedience would come after Selim became sultan.
“Still, it’s the most promising place. Then I should send people to Circassia in summer, and to Samtskhe around winter, after the current king dies.”
The current king was someone who coordinated with the other Georgian kingdoms.
Judging coldly, it would not be easy to draw in Circassia and Georgia.
They would not act impulsively on a matter that concerned the fate of their countries and peoples, so they would weigh matters this way and that, and that meant it would take a long time.
“When I clash with Ismail, I might not be able to receive their help.”
Well, it was not as if he could not fight Ismail without their help.
“When that time comes, I’ll have no choice but to use the Dad card and grab the nearby sanjak-beys by the collar, dragging them into the fire with me.”
If they did not like it, they should have been born princes.
It was something that, if another sanjak-bey heard it, would make him shriek and cry out to Allah.
Just as Yusuf had set his basic future policy and taken a breather, Shemsi entered with a knock.
“Has it been two weeks, Pasha?”
Since it was after he had completely taken control of the sanjak in the banquet hall, it was probably about that long.
Yusuf, watching Shemsi stand before him with his chin propped on his hand, asked.
“So, have you thought it over?”
“As you said, I have thought a great deal about whether I should continue following Your Highness.”
This was the reason he had given him a period of two weeks.
Since he had perfectly taken control of the sanjak, he had become able to replace Shemsi to some extent, and that meant it was time to redefine their relationship.
Still, the more talented people he had, the better, and since he felt bitter about not obtaining Burka, he hoped a good answer would return.
“I have watched Your Highness from the side for nearly half a year, but to be honest, I still do not really know what kind of person you are.”
“In what way?”
“Your mind seems ordinary, perhaps even lacking, yet at times you show unexpected flashes of brilliance.”
…Was that a compliment?
Even though he had been struck by facts he already knew, it hurt.
“And your actions are extreme as well. You know very well how great the commotion caused by this internal purge was.”
“Did it not turn out well in the end?”
“I am saying that such thoughts are extreme.”
The two stared at each other in silence for a while.
It was Yusuf who spoke first.
“So you are refusing, Pasha?”
As Yusuf swallowed his disappointment and composed himself, Şemsi shook his head.
“On the contrary, I thought I should join you. Someone must guide Your Highness onto the right path.”
“I see no reason to accept you if you intend to stand beside me and hinder me.”
“I am merely an assistant. I mean to fulfill that role.”
In other words, he would not oppose him to the death, but he would speak bitter truths.
For gaining a talent like Şemsi, that was a cheap price to pay.
‘No matter how exceptional a person is, they can still make mistakes. One needs someone who will speak honestly.’
Had history not proven that countless times?
Yusuf was about to voice his agreement, but Şemsi’s next words came faster.
“And knowing Your Highness as I do, were you not planning to kill me if I refused?”
At Şemsi’s words, Yusuf grinned.
Ah, he had been found out.
∗ ∗ ∗
‘I’m glad Şemsi joined me.’
He was not a psychopath. After nearly half a year together, it was only natural to have grown attached.
No matter how strong the lesson Burka had left behind was, deciding to kill him if things went wrong was not easy.
‘Still, it couldn’t be helped. If he betrayed me, I’d have too much to lose.’
The fact that he knew Yusuf’s disposition and traits was a problem, but even more significant was that he knew the inner workings of the barley tea shop in detail.
Of course, since it used barley, a common grain, it was not a profitable business. But it had great value in that it could be used as a route for gathering information.
More than mere private information.
‘Şemsi for domestic affairs, Hasan for finances, Arda for military force, and Sinan for medicine, I suppose.’
Hasan’s name value was somewhat lacking, and more time was needed before he could fully trust Arda, but this was already a sufficiently satisfying lineup of talented people.
The problem was how to make use of them.
“Shall I sort things out first?”
For agriculture, clover had been planted last year to restore soil fertility, and from autumn onward they should be able to begin the four-field crop rotation in earnest.
The results would appear next year, and using that as a basis, he intended to introduce four-field crop rotation as widely as possible.
‘This is a plan that needs at least ten years or more.’
No matter how good a method was, replacing an existing one did not happen quickly.
At best, it was something one could attempt only when the highest authority possessed a strong will.
If agriculture belonged to the long-term plan, then cement belonged to the short-term plan.
“Lime and clay, the main ingredients of cement, are easy to obtain, so trying to make it won’t be difficult.”
Cement that hardens when mixed with water is called hydraulic cement. There was no need to use volcanic ash as in the Roman era; it could be made by adding lime and clay and firing them.
For this, rather than obtaining the raw materials, firing and crushing them was actually the harder part.
Since there were no factories, mass production would be difficult, and compared to modern cement it would have many shortcomings. Still, having something usable at all was enough.
“I’ll have to make Hasan do it.”
He already felt as if he could hear the screams.
“Even this isn’t enough to pay for his life.”
Since there was a former master waiting for any chance to dissolve soybean paste in hot water and boil him alive, giving him plenty of work would do more to extend his lifespan.
Next was barley tea, and for this he personally called in the key personnel.
Perhaps she was no noble lady, for she arrived quickly.
“Did you call for me, Your Highness?”
At Nene’s demure greeting, Yusuf tilted his head.
“Where is Ayşe? I’m sure I called you together.”
“I did not call her because I thought it would be better for you to see us separately.”
If someone else—even Hasan—had done this, thunderous scolding would have fallen upon them, but Yusuf did not get angry.
Nene was not someone who would do such a thing without reason. After Fatima, she was the person who most wished for his success.
“What is the reason?”
“If you called us regarding matters related to informants, I would prefer that child not be involved.”
This was meddling that crossed the line, but he had an idea what she meant.
“Is that also my mother’s will?”
“It is.”
“She must have taken quite a liking to Ayşe.”
This did not mean that Ayşe was a cherished child and should not be used for rough work.
Keeping her as far away as possible from matters related to power struggles meant they were thinking of Ayşe as a member of the harem.
Nene’s following words carried that same meaning.
“That child is far too clever. Simply by watching from the side, she can learn and apply things with ease. There is a risk she may use the knowledge she gains that way to win Your Highness’s favor.”
It was hard to imagine Ayşe resorting to sinister schemes out of lust for power, but harem struggles could also arise because one loved the other person.
‘You only need to look at the love story between Hürrem Sultan and Süleyman to know that.’
Just the letters the two exchanged were enough to make a romance film, but the actions Hürrem took to monopolize that favor were every bit as sinister.
She had even made Süleyman personally kill his own son.
With an example like that, it could not simply be dismissed as needless worry.
“I will leave Ayşe’s matter to you two.”
“Thank you.”
Of course, if Ayşe had a harsh nature like Hürrem, Fatima would never have thought of placing her by his side.
It was merely that they were acting as cautiously as possible.
Yusuf moved on to the main subject.
“You know that even if I want to obtain information from other sanjaks, it would be difficult to open shops there as we have now, don’t you?”
“I know.”
The barley tea shop was closer to a welfare benefit with low profitability, and they could not spend money to provide that in someone else’s territory.
Nor would the high and mighty figures of other sanjaks spend money for the health of those beneath them.
That meant they had to target another angle in order to gather information.
“I heard that coffee milk has become very popular in the bathhouses lately.”
“I understand that it is thanks to Lady Fatima introducing it to others.”
When he had explained it to Fatima, he had not had any particular term for it and had called it coffee milk, and that had simply become its name.
Since this was an era without the word coffee itself, it did not matter, but it felt somewhat strange.
‘It feels like selling a knockoff.’
In any case, coffee milk was rapidly gaining popularity around the bathhouses, which served as social venues for the upper classes, and variations mixed with things like sugar or honey had even begun to appear.
“Could we spread coffee milk to other regions and obtain information that way?”
“In that case, we would have to send slaves capable of making coffee milk directly to each bathhouse.”
After pondering for a moment, Nene’s attitude was negative.
“Since skill is required to produce the proper taste, planting people there itself will not be difficult.”
Just as roasting, the process of roasting coffee beans, greatly affects the flavor of coffee, the roasting process was important for orzo, barley coffee, as well.
If done wrong, it would taste burnt rather than like coffee.
The steeping time was also important.
“The important thing is that we would have to send female slaves, but the farther away they are, the harder it will be to control them properly. Is that not clear just from Hasan’s case?”
It seemed Hasan’s case had planted distrust toward slaves in her.
‘That was Hasan’s fault.’
If even someone who had been with him for ten years had betrayed him, how could he trust slaves stationed far away?
Yusuf himself had nearly died because of that, and he had not forgotten it already.
“Of course we’ll take measures. Those dispatched to other regions will not stay there for more than two years at most, and once that period is exceeded, they will be called back to Trabzon and made to remain here for at least half a year.”
It was a minimum safeguard, but that alone was not enough.
“And any slave who lives this way for ten years will be freed.”
By the standards of this era, it was a radical statement, and Nene’s eyes went round.
Female slaves did not cost a mere coin or two, so setting the period at only ten years must have seemed wasteful.
But he did not need any more than that.
“In any case, within ten years the outline of the succession struggle will be clear, and from then on, gathering information on the surrounding regions will be unnecessary. There’s no need to keep holding on to those slaves.”
Succession was a gamble with one’s life on the line anyway.
If one clung to pocket change, one could fail to save even the most precious thing—one’s life.
“If you do as you say, you need not worry about their loyalty.”
“I’m more worried that coffee milk will spread too slowly than about loyalty.”
It was an era with no proper means of promotion, so he had no choice but to rely solely on word of mouth.
At Yusuf’s concern, Nene smiled faintly.
“You need not worry. No one thirsts for something new as much as women do.”
Indeed, the activities of upper-class women in this era, when chastity was so highly valued, were extremely limited.
They even had to cover their faces when going about, so they could not go out freely either.
That much was clear from the fact that bathhouses, where they could move about freely, had become major social venues.
This was not Hasan but Nene answering confidently, so he could trust her and leave it to her.
“I feel sorry to you and to my mother for continuing to entrust such work to someone who must attend her.”
“I am only glad to be of help. Lady Fatima feels the same.”
“Thank you.”
After Nene left with a small smile, Yusuf let out a light sigh of relief, and then Arda’s shout faintly reached his ears.
If it could be heard through thick stone walls, then had he been nearby, it would probably have felt as if his eardrums were bursting.
“He really must be working them to the bone.”
As previously planned, he had gathered those who had been cut off from their families and formed a unit, and Arda had declared that he would personally take charge of them and raise them into elites.
‘He won’t have any fond feelings for them, so I don’t have to worry about him going easy.’
Because of the last words Burka had left behind, Arda did not show his old resentment toward Yusuf.
However, that did not mean he had forgiven those who had driven the situation that far, and that was why he had volunteered to take charge of their training.
Naturally, the unit members had been horrified when they heard that Arda would personally be in charge of them.
“If they can’t endure even this, they’re useless.”
Cavalry was not something one could become with ordinary courage.
A horse’s stamina had its limits, so they could not charge at the enemy soldiers from the very beginning; they approached slowly until they were within close range.
That meant they could only fulfill their role if they advanced without fear, even when arrows and cannonballs fell to stop their approach.
At the shouts that sounded like screams, Yusuf shook his head.
“If they’re trained like that, even men with no guts would grow some.”
In any case, as the problem of manpower was gradually being resolved, there were those whose value had relatively declined.
They were the five Circassians he had purchased along with Ayşe and used as guards.
If he set his mind to it, he now had hundreds of troops who could move within half a day, so it would not be a great loss even without them.
“So I should use them elsewhere.”
There was one last place where they could prove useful.
Yusuf had the guards outside summon them, and it did not take long for them to arrive at his office.
“You called for us?”
Asker, who served as the leader among the five, bowed his head in greeting.
Yusuf smiled faintly and asked,
“You’ve softened quite a bit compared to when I first saw you. And you speak our language fairly well now, too.”
Their village had been devastated by raiders, and they themselves had been waiting only for the day they would be sold as slaves, so it would have been stranger if they had looked cheerful.
Still, back then, they had been so sharp it seemed one would be cut just by approaching them.
If not for the fact that half of his blood was Circassian, he probably would not have been able to take them on as guards at all.
“It is thanks to Your Highness.”
Of course it is.
They had been treated well for slaves, and considering the task he was about to entrust to them, there was a need to remind them of that once more.
After some more light conversation about trivial matters, Yusuf moved on to the main subject.
“I intend to send you back to Circassia.”
They looked surprised, as if they had not expected it, and Asker asked on their behalf.
“What task do you wish of us?”
“Information on Circassia.”
Asker nodded.
When trying to obtain information from a place with a different language, the best method was to make use of locals.
There was just one problem.
“Can you trust us enough to entrust it to us?”
That was it.
There was no guarantee that slaves who gained their freedom would fulfill their role.
Yusuf answered as if he had asked something obvious.
“I can’t trust you.”
At his firm reply, the faces of the five stiffened, and Yusuf continued.
“Since I can’t trust you, I must make it so that I can entrust it to you with confidence. First, I will free you from slavery.”
“Truly?”
“And if you fulfill your role, I’ll see that you receive plenty of money as well. With this much, are you worth trusting?”
Threats could not buy loyalty, but money could.
At Yusuf’s question, coming from a world where this fact was utterly obvious, the five Circassians willingly bowed their heads.
“Please trust us and entrust it to us.”
“I’ll be expecting much.”
A few days later, the five Circassians and those who would serve as intermediaries left Trabzon.
∗ ∗ ∗
As hands busily planted the spring crops, and days passed as they always did,
Şemsi came to see Yusuf with a hardened expression.
“We have received word from Circassia.”
“Is that so?”
They were people who had not been in contact for some time.
When Yusuf looked curious, Şemsi spoke the contents of the letter in a stiff voice.
“They say a plague is spreading through Circassia.”
<Continued in Volume 2 of 『I Became the Sultan of the Ottomans』>