Clash
Who dies first in a war?
The infantry, who must form a phalanx and fight cavalry that are essentially the tanks of this era, and who must be the first to run and scale the walls in a siege.
The cavalry, classified as nobles within the army yet forced to perform suicidal charges.
Or the commander,所处 a relatively safe position yet the enemy’s number one priority target.
‘The correct answer is the unlucky bastard.’
When a person is fated to die, they can indeed die in the most wretched manner imaginable.
In the twelfth century, nobles gathered at St. Peter’s Church in Erfurt for a council, when the second-floor hall collapsed and they fell into the cesspit in the basement.
In this incident, roughly sixty people drowned in the sewage, including counts of the Holy Roman Empire, eight princes, and numerous knights.
‘There was a reason I raised my Luck. If you can die like that, there’s no guarantee you won’t catch a stray arrow on the battlefield.’
Even someone as lucky as himself could die at any moment, so to be seriously injured by a catapult?
A pebble thrown from a catapult can kill a man if it hits him, so if it only resulted in serious injuries, the other side was rather fortunate.
‘It is indeed a good thing that the castle lord surrendered after being seriously injured.’
They had saved time and cement, and there had been no loss of troops.
Judging by the commotion outside at the news of the surrender, this was a victory that could undoubtedly be called a great triumph—but if this was the work of the Luck that had lain dormant for three years.
“Isn’t it frustrating?”
They had no idea how much effort had gone into preparing for this siege.
Unable to fire cannons and lacking in manpower, the only thing he could rely on was cement, and he had suffered tremendously to secure the quantity.
To the point that Hasan, who had been plump, had grown gaunt establishing a mass-production system.
‘If I had known it would end this easily, I would have paved roads between the cities.’
The amount of cement coming in was enough to build a fortress; he could have paved a fair number of roads.
The wasted opportunity cost was regrettable, and despite all his hard work, the conclusion seemed to have come down to luck, which left a bitter, uncomfortable feeling.
While Yusuf was feeling this strange mood, commanders came before him.
“As expected, Allah’s will seems to rest with the Prince. I never imagined the castle lord would be struck by a catapult.”
“The soldiers await only the Prince’s command!”
Yusuf raised his hand to calm the commanders, who were pouring out words with faces flushed with excitement.
“You seek the just rewards of victory, I presume.”
“That is correct. It is what the soldiers desire.”
At Yagiz’s words, the other commanders nodded.
An army was a double-edged sword to its commander.
If he failed to properly soothe the soldiers’ grievances, mutiny that threatened his life could occur.
So much so that when Selim, having become Sultan, waged war against the Safavid Empire, the Janissaries had fired blank shots at Selim’s tent as a sign of discontent.
‘It cannot be helped. A bland siege is still a siege.’
The situation was different from Bayburt, where he had not swung a weapon even once.
Having made his decision, Yusuf opened his mouth.
“Who could have known? That fortress would open after merely a few blows from a catapult. This is a sign that Allah watches over our holy war.”
“That is so!”
If one were to nitpick, it was luck rather than Allah, but.
“They did not recognize our hearts, which came to aid our brothers in faith, but we waged this holy war to aid them. Therefore, the plunder shall be limited to one day.”
One day of plunder was a compromise.
‘Thinking of the soldiers, I cannot forbid plunder, yet to win back the people’s hearts afterward, three days of pillage would be too long.’
Erzurum was a core defensive region, not some occupied territory to be passed through.
The commanders, understanding Yusuf’s intent, nodded.
“One day is regrettable, but the soldiers will understand.”
“Then I shall inform them as such.”
The commanders exited the tent, and shortly after, frenzied cheers rang out.
∗ ∗ ∗
Sounds of destruction and screams burst forth throughout Erzurum.
The inner fort that served as the castle lord’s command post was under strict guard by royal guards wearing light armor, and Yusuf asked Arda, who stood watch at his side.
“Arda, since others have taken up the watch, you too may indulge yourself with a decent woman if you wish.”
Arda, who had been matching pace with Yusuf, answered bluntly.
“I am fine. I promised Lord Burqa that I would watch over the Prince at his side.”
“Burqa. A nostalgic name.”
They had never been on good terms, yet he was someone who remained clearer in his memory than anyone else.
“Are you well, Prince? Is this not an age when you should be quite interested in women?”
“I have no such thoughts.”
Puberty had come, so he had his desires, and he could have taken women anytime had he wished, but he had deliberately kept his distance.
‘Because if I embraced a woman with an anxious heart as I have now, I feel I would fall for her.’
No matter how mentally mature he had grown living as Yusuf, not knowing when he might die remained a great fear.
So much so that he sometimes wanted to flee far away, Sultan or no Sultan, and there was no guarantee he would not escape reality by drowning himself in women.
‘If I get through this war safely, I will at least have some peace of mind.’
He could think of women then without it being too late.
Honestly, his standards had risen because of Aisha, so an ordinary woman could not sate his appetite.
After exchanging trivial words with Arda, Yusuf entered his destination.
“You have arrived, Prince.”
“So this is Abadan, the castle lord of Erzurum. Sinan, how is his condition?”
“His right leg was crushed by a catapult, and amputation surgery was performed. I believe we must observe his progress further.”
In an age without antibiotics, one had to assume that one in four died after amputation.
At least Sinan had learned the concept of disinfection from him, so the mortality rate would be lower, but it would not be strange if Abadan died at any moment.
While conversing with Sinan, Abadan’s eyelids trembled slightly before he opened his eyes.
“…So you are the Prince of Rum.”
Ottoman was not a country with a formal state name.
Within the empire, the name “Well-Protected Land” was mainly used; when referring to its dynastic character, it was called the “Ottoman State”; when emphasizing its religious aspect, the “Land of Islam”; and since its core region was formerly Eastern Roman territory, it was also called the Roman State.
Other Turkic peoples called the Ottoman Empire Ottoman, Anatolia, or Rum—the Arabic word for Rome.
“Seeing you here, has Ahun declared surrender?”
“Hmm, was that not your order?”
“How could an old man who fainted from being hit by a mere lump of stone give orders?”
It was not important who had surrendered.
What mattered was that he had taken the city without bloodshed.
Abadan, who had closed his eyes with a devastated expression at the faintly heard screams, spoke.
“Because of this lowly old man’s stubbornness, innocent people are suffering.”
“If you were going to open the gates this easily, it would have been better to surrender obediently.”
Futile as it was, at least he would not have had to worry about winning back the hearts of those who had been plundered.
At Yusuf’s sharp remark, Abadan gave a bitter smile.
“Prince, may I ask one thing?”
“I shall hear it, at least.”
“Having brought tears of blood upon so many, how can I continue this lowly life? I wish to go to Allah and confess my sins.”
Though he spoke nobly, it was essentially a request to be killed.
Yusuf watched him in silence for a moment, as if seeing through him, then spoke.
“…You mean it.”
“Of course.”
“You are different from the one I met at Bayburt not long ago, despite being the same kind of castle lord.”
“At least he did not bring tears of blood upon them, so he must be better than this old man. So what do you think?”
Before Yusuf could answer Abadan’s pressing question, a voice interrupted.
“You must not, Lord Abadan!”
“Ahun, this is not your place. This is a matter between the Prince and me.”
When Abadan spoke decisively, Ahun bit his lip tightly.
Watching the two, Yusuf spoke.
“Do you intend to shoulder all the blame and die for your subordinate and son-in-law?”
If Abadan declared that all fault was his and died, Ahun—who had surrendered quickly to reduce the damage—could gain support.
That much public opinion could easily be manufactured.
“Ahun would be of great help to the Prince, so I shall not regret it.”
“That may be so. But can you truly not regret it? Angry people will throw stones at you, spit, and insult you to vent their rage. Your death will not be honorable.”
Being treated so by those who had followed him until recently would be more painful than one could imagine.
Yet Abadan wore a small smile instead.
“If my death resolves their anger, then I can hold my head high even before Allah.”
“Foolish man.”
He was the second foolish man he had seen after Burqa.
Contrary to his personal feelings, it was an offer he had no reason to refuse. With merely one man’s death, a headache-inducing problem could be solved.
“Then I too shall make a promise. Your remaining family shall move to Trabzon and live in comfort.”
“…I thank you.”
No more words were necessary, and Yusuf turned away.
The subordinate shedding silent tears and the superior resigned to his death would need time alone.
∗ ∗ ∗
“Balas, why did you spread such rumors?”
“I-I know nothing of them!”
Balas, the ruler of Idir, trembled on his knees, while Ismail—who had recently routed the armies of the White Sheep Dynasty and taken the title of Shah of Iran—wore a cold smile.
Iran meant “Land of the Aryans,” and it essentially meant he had gained the support of many people.
Yet even in this favorable situation, Ismail’s heart was ill at ease. Rumors that grated on his nerves were spreading far and wide.
“Do you truly mean to say it was not you who spread them? The false rumors that I massacred the Sunni dogs and that I am not a descendant of the Imam.”
“I-It truly was not me! Please, you must believe me!”
Banging his head against the floor repeatedly, Balas cried out, and the floor was stained with blood from his split forehead.
Moved by Balas’s sincerity, Ismail nodded.
“It seems the rumors were not spread by you after all.”
“…Then?”
“But the fact that a rumor is circulating under your name is what matters.”
Ismail swung his sword mercilessly. Balas, his neck half-severed, convulsed and collapsed to the floor.
Turning coldly away from Balas, who was opening and closing his mouth in a plea for his life, Ismail wiped the blood from his blade with the cloth his subordinate handed him.
“I don’t know who he is, but this is amusing. Don’t you agree, Nebajar?”
“He will someday pay for his sins with death before the Shah.”
“Obviously. But more importantly, did you say Erzurum has been occupied by the Ottomans?”
“That is correct.”
Ismail furrowed his brow.
He did not know what the future held, but waging total war against the Ottomans right now was out of the question.
The saving grace was that the Ottomans did not have the leisure to move large armies eastward, and this matter was merely something led by a single prince.
“What of our occupying Erzurum?”
“It will not be easy. It is a solid fortress, and if the siege drags on and we are met with winter, we will have no choice but to retreat.”
The longer the occupation lasted, the harder it would be to sustain their position at Erzurum, so there was no time to spare.
Ismail made his decision.
“Then we must make it difficult for them to hold out in Erzurum. Nebajar.”
“Give your command.”
“I will give you five thousand troops. There is no need to occupy. Burn the foolish prince’s land and plunder it.”
Nebajar answered with a face full of exhilaration.
“Leave it to me.”
∗ ∗ ∗
While watching Abadan’s head hanging from the pole, Arda asked.
“What do you intend to do with all that cement?”
Because the city had been taken too easily, the unused cement kept piling up, and Yusuf, who had been worrying over it, answered.
“I suppose I’ll have to build a fortress at the pass.”
∗ ∗ ∗
Living as Yusuf, he had come to feel that there were truly many strange people in this era.
As warned, Abadan had borne the full brunt of the rage of those he had plundered, and he was beheaded while in a battered, tattered state.
In the East, where Confucian thought held sway, the less the body was damaged, the lighter the punishment; in the West, beheading—which caused less suffering—was considered the most lenient execution.
Since his neck was severed in a single stroke by a sword, which was regarded as more honorable than an axe, it was a relatively favorable death.
‘Until the very end, he was hard to understand.’
It was hard to understand how he died without regret, calling it the better choice. Even while hearing shouts to kill him at once, filled with rage, he had remained composed until his final breath.
He had even smiled and asked the very man who created this situation—himself—to take care of matters after his death.
Finding the faint smile on the displayed head irritating, Yusuf spoke to his bodyguard.
“He’s an eyesore. Give that head to Ahun.”
He would know the burial grounds here well; he would see to the burial himself.
Having given the order and turned away, Yusuf was addressed by Arda.
“Do you truly intend to build a fortress?”
“Yes. It is necessary, in any case.”
It was not the idle thought of some nouveau riche building a fortress out of boredom simply because he had cement to spare.
No matter how much it piled up, there were endless places to use it. Even if they simply used it on Erzurum’s walls, they could significantly increase their height.
Having returned to the fortress, Yusuf unfolded a map.
“By capturing our two target cities, we have managed to considerably restrict the routes by which one can enter our territory.”
Lazistan and Trebizond were long, narrow territories that shared a lengthy border with the White Sheep Dynasty.
Of course, there was a reason for such unusual borders: mountain ranges formed to the south of both territories.
Even Rize, the core city of Lazistan, took its name from the Greek word *riza*, meaning foothills, and to its south stood a mountain four thousand meters above sea level.
‘Still, a long border was always a burden. By capturing the two cities on the plateau, I have drastically reduced the danger.’
At Yusuf’s words, Arda spoke as if puzzled.
“Then there is no need to build more.”
“That is true if we only think of the present. If we succeed in the defense of Erzurum, how do you think they will respond? Do you believe they will simply give up and accept it?”
As if that would happen.
To sum up the man named Ismail, he was the very embodiment of boundless confidence and conquering ambition.
He was not the type to sit quietly after having his possessions taken from him.
“Even if he cannot attempt to occupy the city, he will harass us by raiding with small-scale forces.”
That was the tactic of nations whose armies were primarily cavalry. Even the Ottomans had used raiding units called Akincis in Europe.
In truth, Ismail had enjoyed causing turmoil by inciting the Shia within Ottoman territory.
“So you intend to seize the mountain passes?”
“Yes. They will be closer to gates than fortresses. There is no need to build them high. Merely buying time, or spotting the enemy first and alerting the nearby city, will be enough to serve their purpose.”
One must not confuse the means with the end.
Even if such small defensive structures were lost, as long as the surrounding cities remained intact, they could easily be retaken.
“If that is the case, it seems we could build them in several locations.”
Because the surroundings were mountainous, the roads passable by horse were limited, and if they were gates built on narrow paths, they could construct three or four simultaneously.
Since Arda acknowledged the plan’s validity, Yusuf need only discuss it with the other commanders to proceed.
“Hakan will be the most pleased.”
The region that stood to benefit most from the installation of the gates was Lazistan.
“In exchange, I’ll have to extract some of the plunder.”
A defense cost-sharing fee, in other words.
The plunder distributed as the commanders’ shares had been more substantial than expected, so they could certainly afford the cost of the cement.
Not long after, he secured a decent secondary source of income.
∗ ∗ ∗
“Have you heard that the lord of Idir has died?”
“A regrettable affair. He was of great help; who knew he would meet such a futile end.”
He shook his head as if saddened, but his face was full of mirth.
There was no need to feel a pang of conscience simply because an enemy leader had died.
“Moreover, it is hard to call it an unjust death. We deliberately allowed the rumors we spread to run their course, after all.”
There was no way he had been ignorant of the rumors circulating under his name; it was correct to view him as having played both sides between the existing White Sheep Dynasty rulers and Ismail.
He had likely never imagined he would lose his life over it, but the result was his head hanging from the gates of Idir.
He was a man whose life or death mattered little in the end, despite all the fuss.
“Where do you think those Shia bastards will move next?”
“Who can say?”
He served as an informant, but he was not especially learned.
The great power to the east of the capital had completely collapsed in the recent war, and its army, swollen to fifteen thousand, could move anywhere.
“Won’t they start by taking Erzincan, which can be easily seized?”
Erzincan was where seven thousand Qizilbash warriors who believed in Ismail and the Shia had gathered a few years prior.
They had gathered there because it was the most remote territory, and because it bordered the Ottomans, they had to move first if they did not wish to lose it as they had Erzurum.
“Then Erzurum should be safe for a while.”
If they occupied Erzincan and then advanced on Erzurum, winter would arrive in the middle of the siege.
To conduct a siege in the region that received the most snow in Anatolia was no different from saying they would freeze to death.
Perhaps it was a sufficiently reasonable argument, but the man wore a slightly uneasy expression.
“I do not think it will be so easily deterred.”
The man had been chosen as an informant solely for his sharp instincts, and now he caught the raw, metallic scent of blood.
This premonition became reality at the words of an urgently arrived rider.
“Five thousand Qizilbash have broken off from the main force! The remaining troops have set a course for Erzurum, but the Qizilbash are moving northeast!”
It meant they would ravage the rear with the Qizilbash, then attack Erzurum.
At movements far more aggressive than anticipated, the man shouted urgently.
“Release the carrier pigeons! Tell them the enemy is upon us!”
The Qizilbash were a monstrous band of warriors who had twice defeated an army of thirty thousand with a mere seven thousand.
Even without Shah Ismail among them, they were more than enough to sweep through the rear, and the troops holding out in Erzurum would have to be drawn out as well.
“Can we win?”
The man snickered.
“To be honest, I don’t think our prince will lose. Is he an ordinary man? He will find a way, somehow.”
“Well, even those Sipahi could not lift a finger against the prince.”
They began chattering noisily, recounting the prince’s martial exploits.
As if to shake off their worries.
∗ ∗ ∗
The construction of the gates proceeded more smoothly than expected.
Because the surroundings were mountainous, stone and timber were easy to obtain, and labor could be conscripted from the nearby households.
Yusuf exempted one year’s taxes in exchange for the conscription.
‘Since I have no administrators to send to the smaller villages, collecting taxes from them was difficult anyway.’
Of course, he could have collected them if he had pushed hard, but thanks to the Sultan’s favor, his pockets were full; there was no need to be desperate for such petty sums.
It was a way to make himself look good, but those conscripted called him merciful. Conscription was something where returning with all four limbs intact was considered fortunate enough, compensation notwithstanding.
Amidst everything proceeding smoothly, the carrier pigeon that arrived was enough to send tremors through Erzurum.
“Five thousand Qizilbash.”
Because carrier pigeons used for communication relied on their homing instinct, they were for one-way use only, and the chance of them going missing was high.
That it had arrived without incident was lucky, but the news was anything but good.
“How long do you think it will take the Qizilbash to arrive?”
“It will depend on which route they take, but if they are coming with plunder in mind, we should have about two weeks to spare.”
Horses were indeed the fastest means of travel, but horses were living creatures.
If they advanced by constantly changing horses, they could arrive incredibly quickly, but if they intended to return after plundering, they would move while giving the horses sufficient rest.
“We do not have much time. What of the eight thousand soldiers coming to seize Erzurum?”
“I expect it will take less than a month.”
With only two weeks between the two, Ismail was telling him to choose between two options.
Whether to hand over Erzurum, or to watch helplessly as his own territory was plundered.
‘As expected, he is no easy man.’
It clearly revealed that he had no intention of surrendering Erzurum peacefully, and that he knew the Ottoman central army was not in a position to be mobilized for his sake.
Of course, there was a chance the Sultan might move the central army if unexpectedly provoked by the pillaging.
‘In that case, he would execute scorched-earth tactics.’
The scorched-earth strategy of deliberately devastating the west to disrupt local logistics was a tactic Ismail later used against Selim, and it had nearly left Selim defeated without ever getting to fight.
Even with such a contingency, it was a bold maneuver.
While Yusuf was deep in thought, Hakan, the sanjak-bey of Lazistan, spoke in an uneasy tone.
“Erzurum is indeed an important strategic point, but it is not more important than our own territory.”
“I know. Of course we must stop them.”
If Trabzon were reduced to ruins, they would be unable to recover from the damage even by the end of the war of succession. Goods could be replenished, but a reduced population could not be easily restored.
At this, Ahun cut into the conversation with an angry voice.
“Then you mean to abandon Erzurum?!”
It would not be easy to stop the five thousand Qizilbash even using all currently mobilized troops, so it was understandable that Ahun thought that way.
With even the sacrifice of Abadan about to be rendered meaningless, it was no wonder Ahun was beside himself with rage, and Yusuf raised a hand.
“Calm yourself. Who said anything about giving up Erzurum?”
Holding and defending Erzurum was vital.
It allowed them to secure the safety of Bayburt and the rear areas, and even to set their sights on Erzincan.
Erzincan lay close enough to Erzurum that it could be isolated simply by cutting off a few roads in between.
‘If we just hold out well this time, it is entirely possible.’
Thus he had no intention of handing over Erzurum, and to Yusuf, the current situation did not feel particularly bad.
While everyone wore dark expressions, Yusuf smiled broadly.
“I do not know why you all think so grimly. I rather believe this is a good thing.”
At Yusuf’s words, the others looked bewildered.
“I mean it would have been far more difficult had they attacked all at once. How could I not be grateful that they have kindly divided their army for us?”
The cavalry currently stationed in Erzurum numbered four thousand three hundred, including five hundred Circassians, and the infantry numbered two thousand five hundred, as five hundred had been left in Bayburt.
The soldiers originally garrisoned in Erzurum had been about five hundred.
“Is it not simply a matter of enduring ten thousand besiegers with three thousand soldiers, while using the cavalry we pull out and the troops left in the rear to eliminate the Qizilbash?”
“That is not as easy as it sounds.”
If they were not careful, they could be led around by the nose and waste precious time.
But that was only if there was no chokepoint.
“If we simply block the pass leading to Artvin, the Qizilbash will have no choice but to come through the road where we have set our gate, will they not?”
Artvin was the easternmost holding of Lazistan, and it constituted a chokepoint.
“But we have no troops to hold Artvin.”
“If we lack them, one can always borrow what is necessary.”
Yusuf, having answered Hakan, spoke to Arda.
“Contact Mzechabuk. Tell him to hold Artvin with the promised troops.”
“Understood.”
If you have laid the groundwork, you are meant to use it.
Those who had never imagined he had close ties with the Principality of Samtskhe looked shocked, and Yusuf grinned broadly.
When the prey, convinced it is the hunter, is coming straight to him of its own accord, how could he not smile?
“Then let the rabbit drive begin.”
∗ ∗ ∗
Screams echoed through a small village situated along the middle of the long Chorokhi River, which stretched from beyond Bayburt, past Artvin, all the way to the sea.
To those who had led simple lives cultivating grapes and olives, the five thousand Qizilbash who descended upon them out of nowhere were no different from demons risen from hell.
Men, elders, and children alike were slain like playthings, and as for the women, even those who had cursed reality and bitten off their own tongues to die became sport.
The Qizilbash, who had enjoyed their revelry in the village turned to ruins overnight, snickered as they mounted their horses, but Nevajar, who led them, spat in annoyance.
“Damn those Samtskhe bastards! I’ll kill them all later!”
The Qizilbash, who had advanced near Artvin, were forced to turn their horses around by the Samtskhe army blocking the pass.
They could have broken through the fortifications built by a force of three thousand and the wooden palisades of driven stakes, but the losses would have been staggering, so the detour was unavoidable.
Having wasted three full days, he could not help grinding his teeth.
‘At least finding that village let me suppress their discontent, so that is fortunate.’
Though they had united under Shah Ismail, the Qizilbash were a coalition of many tribes; there were internal power struggles, and he had not yet secured firm command.
Should their discontent mount, they might disobey orders, and there was no telling what those waiting only for a mistake to steal the Shah’s favor might do.
That was why the once peaceful village had become a ruin without a single survivor.
“Parktan! We need only follow this river, is that correct?”
“If you follow this river and then take the waterway branching north, you can reach the border between Lazistan and Trabzon.”
“If this operation succeeds safely thanks to your guidance, I shall report your merits to the Shah.”
“Thank you!”
Nevajar gripped his reins and shouted.
“For Shah Ismail! For Allah!”
“For the Shah!”
A village of barely a hundred was woefully insufficient to sate their lust for plunder, and the Qizilbash shouting Ismail’s name began their march.
After marching unimpeded for some three to four hours, Nevajar raised his hand to halt the column as his scouting cavalry came galloping back.
“What is it?”
“We have found walls the enemy was constructing up ahead!”
“Enemy walls?”
“They appear to have withdrawn during construction. We scoured the surroundings, but we could find no trace of the enemy.”
Taking the report that it was safe for the moment, Nevajar led his troops to the site and saw the structure the scouts had found.
The wall, about two stories high, was shaped such that, had it been completed, it would have completely blocked one side of the riverbank, and Nevajar tilted his head after touching the half-finished structure.
“This is a material I have never seen before.”
He was not lacking in experience from a lifetime of wandering, yet he had never seen such building material.
Since the material itself was not important, Nevajar surveyed the surroundings and pondered.
‘What is certain is that the enemy knows our movements.’
His role being to harass the rear or draw out Erzurum’s troops, he had moved openly; thus it was no surprise that they knew his path.
Yet there had been no interference whatsoever, and he could not fathom why they would so easily abandon a wall that could still be used, however unfinished.
“Lord Nevajar, what do you intend to do?”
He could not keep an army of thousands waiting forever; he had to decide.
“We press on.”
There was no other road anyway. Would he tuck tail and flee without even seeing the enemy’s face?
If it ended with mere mockery, he would be fortunate.
Those opportunists waiting like beasts of prey could use this as a pretext to split the army, and to maintain his command, he had no choice but to go forward.
‘No matter what schemes they employ, we can smash them.’
They who had reaped consecutive great victories could not possibly lose to feeble Ottoman scum.
“Still, there is no need to leave an eyesore standing. Tear down that wall.”
“Yes!”
With thousands of soldiers swarming it, the wall was reduced to rubble in short order, and watching that, Nevajar’s unease subsided.
Nevajar bellowed.
“Increase the marching speed!”
After the Qizilbash vanished, moving at a quicker pace.
Two hours later, Yusuf arrived with his soldiers and let out a whistle.
“They’ve smashed it to pieces. Was he more cautious than I thought?”
The enemy commander’s temperament did not matter. Once he had crawled into the snare, there was only one future in store.
Watching his men move swiftly as if there were no time to waste, Yusuf asked Arda,
“It needs time to set, so you can finish before sunset?”
“Of course.”
There was no need to build it prettily, or sturdily, or high. It did not matter if they had to tear it down and rebuild after this battle.
Because however shoddily built, it would be nothing but despair for them.
Yusuf, a matchlock resting on his shoulder, wore a wicked grin.
∗ ∗ ∗
“Parktan! Why did you not tell me such a thing existed!”
“I—I swear, it was not there until recently!”
“Then did that wall sprout from the earth!”
Roaring with bloodshot eyes, Nevajar glared at the walls set on either bank of the river.
Even the river, the sole opening, was blocked by iron chains and wooden stockades, while the soldiers atop the walls nocked their arrows.
To cross to the opposite bank and seek an opening was impossible, for hundreds of cavalry held their bows ready, waiting for them to attempt a crossing.
‘Nor can we take to the mountains.’
They could not climb mountains on horseback, and wandering the mountains in enemy territory would lead to obvious results.
Realizing there was no way forward, Nevajar drew his blade and severed Parktan’s neck.
“N-Ne... ghurk...”
Withdrawing his gaze from Parktan collapsing as he clutched his spurting neck, Nevajar seized the reins and cried out.
“All of you, retreat! Retreat!”
It was nearly evening when they discovered the wall, and the Qizilbash, having turned about, had to ride their horses through the night without a moment’s proper rest.
They wanted to escape this obvious trap as quickly as possible, yet there was simply no time to rest.
“Damnable cowards!”
Some fifteen hundred cavalry pursued them from the wall they had fled, maintaining a fixed distance, and whenever the Qizilbash turned to attack, the enemy veered away without hesitation.
Besides cavalry trailing behind like cowards, the sounds of movement and arrows falling without warning were more than enough to grate on their nerves, suggesting hidden troops in the mountains.
The Qizilbash were furious.
‘How dare they treat us as prey.’
Since they were being openly herded like game, they could not feign ignorance, and they turned back along the path they had come, vowing revenge.
Retreating while radiating fierce killing intent, the Qizilbash arrived the next morning at the place where the walls they had destroyed had once stood, and were left speechless.
“…Is this the work of an evil jinn?”
In Islam, the evil jinn was Satan, and they believed it performed strange sorcery.
The sight before them was so incomprehensible that it made them think of such a jinn. For the destroyed walls stood tall once more.
It was bumpy and grotesque in shape, as if lumps of stone had been clumped together, which made it all the more frightening.
Unlike the other Qizilbash who were frozen in shock, Nevajar surveyed the surroundings and bit his lip hard enough to draw blood.
‘I don't know how it was made, but we can't get through without casualties.’
Where gaps might have existed on either side of the walls, densely packed barricades of wooden stakes had been driven in, while on the opposite riverbank—where there were no obstacles—nearly a thousand cavalry waited to cross.
Ahead were walls and obstacles, behind were fifteen hundred cavalry, to the left was a mountain, and to the right, nearly a thousand cavalry waited only to cross the river.
“Damn it all!”
Nevajar cursed at this completely surrounded situation and admitted it.
The operation had already failed, and what remained for him was to escape this trap while minimizing his losses as much as possible.
There was no point holding out like this; they would only starve to death, so Nevajar made a swift decision.
“Hodaram! Take five hundred soldiers and attack the cavalry in the rear.”
It was practically an order to become bait and die, but Hodaram accepted the mission willingly.
The five hundred cavalry who received Hodaram's orders turned their horses, and Nevajar shouted loudly.
“Do you think you can stop us with mere wooden stakes!”
“Never!”
“Let us go, brothers! Salvation is ours!”
“For the Shah!”
The Qizilbash responded with booming voices and spurred their horses without fear.
Watching the Qizilbash rush in like moths to a flame from atop the wall, Yusuf gave the order.
“Fire!”
A rain of arrows poured down upon the charging Qizilbash.
Hiiing!
“Gack!”
Even when a comrade hit by an arrow fell from his horse and became a lump of meat, the Qizilbash did not slow their speed. Avoiding the walls, they split to both sides and crashed into the wooden stakes with nothing but their bodies.
The stakes with corpses impaled on them failed to serve their purpose, and those who followed trampled over the barricades.
Piling up corpses into a mountain, the Qizilbash had created hundreds of casualties in an instant, crushing the four-layered barricade and breaking through the dreadful barrier.
But the wall awaiting them was not the last of it.
“Raise your spears!”
At the commander's order, Yusuf's imperial guard, equipped with light armor and long lances, raised their spears in unison.
The wall of hundreds of spears bared its vicious teeth, and the commander shouted.
“Charge!”
“A-avoid them!”
The Qizilbash, unable to even form proper battle lines, hurriedly tried to resist, but the imperial guard rushed in before they could loose a single arrow.
Thwack, thwack.
Along with the bizarre sound of tearing flesh, the five-meter-long spears pierced three or four men at once, and the Qizilbash, turned into skewers, tumbled to the ground.
As the imperial guard who had released their spears moved aside, the second wave that followed swept through the Qizilbash once more.
“Uwaaaah!”
They were dying futile deaths. These men who were supposed to help the Shah achieve the great cause!
Nevajar, his entire body soaked in the blood of subordinates he had trampled over to get here, looked around with the face of an evil spirit.
Those who turned their reins toward the mountains to avoid the cavalry charge rolled down the slope and broke their necks, while those who tried to flee to the opposite riverbank were killed by arrows shot by Sipahis who had been waiting for just such an opportunity.
The river water had long been dyed red with the blood of his subordinates, and screams and voices crying out to God echoed from all directions.
In this nightmarishly terrible situation where Nevajar had nearly lost his mind, he saw a boy looking down at them from atop the wall.
“So it was you!”
Nevajar drew his bowstring.
∗ ∗ ∗
The matchlock is truly difficult to fire.
By the time he finished preparing with great effort to fire a single shot, the battle was nearly over.
‘I'm going to get PTSD at this rate.’
The smell of blood spilled by thousands and the terrible carnage were his own handiwork, yet they were enough to make him nauseous.
Yusuf, who had slightly furrowed his brow, saw what appeared to be an enemy commander firing an arrow at him.
As he blankly watched the arrow flying slowly as if in slow motion, his vision darkened.
Thud!
“Are you alright?”
With Arda's heavy voice, his vision cleared, and he saw Arda with an arrow lodged in his shoulder.
Before answering, Yusuf pulled the trigger toward the enemy commander, who was drawing another arrow.
The burning match cord touched the gunpowder and ignited it, and moments later, heavy recoil and acrid smoke obscured his view.
“As expected, it missed.”
It wasn't a problem with his marksmanship; the gun was the problem. Really.
Yusuf withdrew his gaze from the enemy commander, who had been struck by an arrow and fallen, and asked Arda,
“Did you really have to take it straight on to block it? You could have cut it down with a sword.”
“If it is acceptable for it to end up lodged in your head should I miss by mistake, then I shall do so next time.”
Why so sulky, going that far.
“Thanks. I'll ask you again next time.”
Honestly, he was still short enough that it probably would have just missed even if Arda hadn't blocked it, but he didn't bother pointing that out.
Arda, whose ears were slightly red, seemed to know that too.
He was really going to sulk.
“That must be the commander. Arda, cut off his head and send it to Ismail as a gift.”
“Understood.”
Yusuf glanced at Arda, who nodded, then looked around.
‘If Ismail had been here, I wouldn't have won this easily.’
It was hard to imagine that monster of a man falling for such tactics.
Well, still.
“It's a great victory.”
The victor was him.