Life Is the Wager
He had nearly been poisoned from the very start, but that didn’t mean he refused breakfast.
The palace prepared meals twice a day—breakfast and dinner—in the Kitchen Palace for twenty thousand people.
Since even the Sultan’s food was prepared here, putting poison in the food was an incredibly dangerous idea.
‘If I made a fuss trying to catch a successor who isn’t much of a threat, I might end up seeing thousands die.’
If one were unlucky enough to get caught, it would be like burning down three thatched houses trying to catch bedbugs, so the chances of playing a dirty trick with food were slim.
Rather, strangling someone to death in their sleep was far more realistic.
After all, Mehmed II’s second older brother had died by strangulation in his sleep.
‘Anyway, Mehmed II—this guy is the problem.’
He was this body’s grandfather, but so what? He was no different from an enemy.
He had started the meal thinking that even a ghost who died eating would have a fine complexion, but this was no ordinary empire.
It wasn’t served all at once like a feast upon a single table, but came out plate by plate like a course meal, and the lamb-based dishes were enough to captivate even a modern palate saturated with seasonings.
‘So the saying that you’d lose your hand for feeding the Sultan the same food wasn’t a joke?’
Of course, with a maid attending to his meal, he couldn’t say it aloud.
After finishing a hearty meal, he left his small villa-like residence and arrived at an enormous detached palace that was incomparable to where he had been staying.
He might drop dead tomorrow without anyone finding it strange, but the exalted status of a prince meant that with mere intent, he could enter the heart of the empire where the Sultan resided.
However, this was a place that even a prince could not enter.
‘Because it is every man’s fantasy, yet a forbidden zone for men—the harem.’
Harem meant the women’s quarters in Islam, and the formal name for the Sultan’s harem was Harem-i Hümayun (the sovereign’s harem).
In later times, it would be attached to the king’s residence and counted among the roots of a fallen nation, but for now it existed as a detached palace.
Although it was a forbidden place for men, young princes lived in the harem, so Yusuf had memories of having stayed there.
In the harem where hundreds of women lived together, races and ages were equally diverse.
There were women with finely draped golden hair, as well as women who looked Eastern with black hair.
It was centuries too early to speak of globalization, but it was scenery befitting an empire that served as a bridge between East and West.
‘Actually, from afar it’s a fantasy, but up close, there are few places as ominous as this.’
Because the harem was not a debauched and decadent place where naked women rolled around with the Sultan, but a jungle of women where one trembled to survive through intrigue and discipline.
“Women are scary after all.”
It was merely a simple soliloquy, but a voice answered.
“Born of noble blood, yet saying women are scary—how frightening it would be if someone heard you.”
Though the words were like a scolding, they held affection, and there was only one person here who would treat him this way.
When Yusuf turned his head, an elegant woman stood before him.
Fatima Hatun. Hatun was a title given to a concubine who had once shared the Sultan’s bed.
In other words, she was his mother and the only person he could trust.
’Though it’s not as if I trust her because of some soft emotion like maternal love.’
Anyone who opens a history book for even five minutes knows how fleeting family love is beneath power.
Still, the reason he could trust her was that the end of a concubine defeated in a power struggle was obvious.
Being cast aside and remarrying, or preserving one’s life, counted as good fortune; one could just as easily be imprisoned or quietly eliminated.
Therefore, a concubine responsible for raising and protecting her child was a community of fate with the prince.
“Is it not true that without fear, there is no caution?”
“It is not wrong, but you must not forget that there are listening ears everywhere.”
“I will keep that in mind.”
Fatima nodded slightly and gazed intently at Yusuf’s face.
“But you look better today. Perhaps even handsome.”
’Thanks to dumping three points into Charm.’
After allocating points to Luck, he had put the remaining stats into Charm to raise it to six.
He had contemplated Intelligence as well, but getting a bit smarter wouldn’t improve his situation.
In the end, aiming for survival and variables with Luck, and gathering people with Charm, was the best option.
Of course, he couldn’t say this truthfully, so he answered glibly.
“I have inherited good looks, so I was handsome to begin with. It is probably because I am being compared to my haggard appearance after the circumcision.”
“It does not seem to be merely that, but you are certainly far better than your usual timid self.”
“I must change for the future.”
“Wise words.”
Competing for succession with brothers old enough to be his father was, coldly speaking, like throwing eggs at a rock, and he was living on borrowed time with his father the Sultan.
In a savage household that would strangle even a newborn if it were a brother, let alone show sympathy, he could not have grown up unaware of his own situation.
Consequently, the Yusuf in his memories had possessed a weak personality.
Even though he did not know the reason he had entered the game or how to return, there was inevitably a vast difference in personality between his current self—who had no intention of gently offering his neck—and the original.
It was only natural that his mother noticed this difference immediately, but rather than suspicion, she showed only delight.
“Still, if there is something good for your appearance, you must not hide it from your mother. Receiving the Sultan’s favor is the most important thing for us mother and child.”
“If I learn of anything, I will tell you first.”
So please put away those suspicious eyes.
It wasn’t an age of developed mirrors, so he had no idea how much his face had changed, forcing him to break out in a nervous sweat.
Having endured the interrogation, Fatima led Yusuf to a small nearby building.
This was not a simple mother-son reunion, but a firmly established schedule.
“Then let us study tax law today.”
Study—and tax law at that—made him want to groan, but unfortunately, it was unavoidable.
Just as those born in Korea had to receive compulsory education, there were things one had to do without exception when born a prince of the Ottoman Empire.
“You too must someday work as a sanjak-bey, so you must know the basics of tax law.”
That was a sanjak-bey.
A sanjak was an administrative district of the Ottomans, and bey meant a feudal lord or regional governor.
In English, it was roughly equivalent to a provincial governor, and princes who reached a certain age all had to serve as sanjak-beys to prove themselves worthy of becoming Sultan.
This method of proof was very Ottoman.
Because it meant waging civil war to seize the Sultan’s seat.
‘They must really measure each other’s neck thickness as soon as brothers meet.’
When brothers who had become sanjak-beys met again, it was to cut each other’s throats, so it wasn’t wrong.
In modern times, brothers raised together would sue and even kill each other over tens of millions of won; what was so difficult about killing a brother you had never met since coming of age?
Of course, it was bitter that he was the leading expected candidate to die first in this succession struggle.
If he didn’t want to die, he had to study, so suddenly he felt like studying.
“Our empire respects different cultures and religions, so we operate millets that can govern autonomously according to their faith. Muslims must serve in the military or pay a military tax, and non-Muslims must pay a protection tax. Also, according to religion….”
Stuffing Fatima’s broadly explanatory words delivered in a gentle voice into his head, Yusuf made plans for the future.
‘When I go as a sanjak-bey, I will go with Mother, so I will need a lot of help with administration.’
No matter how ruthless the Ottomans were, they wouldn’t just throw an adolescent brat in as a provincial governor.
Naturally, helpers were attached, and the most representative helper was the prince’s mother.
Just as Fatima was a blonde slave who drove Ottoman men mad, most women of the harem were slaves, but the Ottomans were different from the Confucian Taliban shouting, “What does a woman need studying for? Just obey men!”
Rather, the women of the harem had to raise successors, so they were talents who received the best education of the era, becoming sturdy pillars for the princes.
“Since you can use it excluding the quota sent to the center….”
“Mother.”
“Is there something hard to understand?”
Fatima showed surprise at being called by Yusuf, who usually sat like a stone statue, let alone asked questions.
Showing such a different appearance after just one day was perfect for arousing suspicion.
’But this isn’t the time to worry about that.’
He had to endure some suspicion and get things done.
“It is not that I have a question, but don’t we need to speak about my situation? I cannot stay here forever.”
At these words, Fatima’s expression darkened.
Sanjak-beys were usually appointed at twelve, or fifteen at the latest, and after that, unless one became Sultan, one could not return here.
“This mother will prepare everything, so there is no need to worry.”
“Shouldn’t I also know the basics?”
Having said this, Yusuf glanced at the maids and eunuchs standing in attendance around them.
It was a small hint, but if she had been too dense to notice it, she couldn’t have borne the Sultan’s successor and protected him until now.
“Everyone, withdraw for a moment.”
At Fatima’s command, everyone left the room, and Fatima, now alone with him, spoke first.
“You have surprised this mother greatly today.”
“There will be more surprises to come.”
“Yes, what story do you intend to tell that you startled your mother so?”
This conversation was important for the future.
“In Mother’s view, where do you think I will be appointed as sanjak-bey?”
“…That is up to the Sultan’s will.”
She evaded the question, but the possibility of being appointed to a good place was slim.
The Sultan was considering Ahmed, the firstborn, as his successor, so there was no way he would give Yusuf a good position.
This was something Yusuf knew well.
“I wish to go to Trabzon.”
“Yusuf! That place is impossible!”
Fatima was aghast.
There was nothing wrong with the city itself.
Trabzon was a port city on the Black Sea coast, large enough to have served as the capital of the Empire of Trebizond, one of the three successor states of the Byzantine Empire.
It was more than sufficient as a base, but it was a disadvantageous place for succession to the Sultanate.
The reason was that according to the law of succession, the child who first triumphantly entered Constantinople—the Ottoman capital later called Istanbul—was recognized as the next Sultan.
Trabzon, exceedingly far from Kostantiniye, could not even be considered by the princes.
“I will give you a detailed explanation later. For now, there is something I must ask of you.”
She asked her son, who today felt endlessly unfamiliar.
“…Speak.”
“Please spread word quietly that I will be going out to tour the capital in two days. And there is one more thing.”
Yusuf continued, lowering his voice even further than before.
“When that happens, you must entrust my escort to a eunuch who may die—no, who must die.”
Yusuf’s eyes gleamed coldly.
For the sake of the future, it was time to stake his life on luck.
∗ ∗ ∗
Where two or more people gather, there is society, and society inevitably creates relations of power.
The harem, where hundreds of women gathered in one place and had to long for the favor of a single man, was also a place of bloody power struggles.
At the top of the harem’s hierarchy was the Valide Hatun, the sultan’s mother, who held command authority, and beneath her came the concubines who had borne heirs, followed by the concubines who had borne daughters.
The sultan’s mother had long since gone to Allah’s embrace, and the concubines who had borne heirs had left the harem to follow their children after they became sanjakbeys.
Naturally, under ordinary circumstances, Fatima should have occupied the highest rank in the harem.
‘But I suppose even heirs are not all the same.’
Rather than a prince with not the slightest chance of becoming sultan and a slave concubine with no one to lean on, a concubine married for political alliance or one with a princess married to a high official held greater power.
The eunuchs who colluded with them acted arrogantly, not knowing their place.
At Yusuf’s words, which singled them out precisely, Fatima was startled out of her wits.
“What are you thinking!”
To reveal his movements in advance and entrust even his important escort to those who could not be trusted was an extremely dangerous idea.
“Mother, at this rate, the future of the two of us is obvious. To speak coldly, His Majesty the Sultan has no expectations of me whatsoever. Trabzon? Do you think he would entrust such a great city to me just because I want it? He will give me some insignificant place.”
“…….”
Yusuf’s cold words gouged into Fatima’s heart.
What was sadder still was that she could not deny them.
Yusuf met Fatima’s violently wavering eyes and gently took her hands in his.
“What we need is not stability but a venture. Even if my life becomes the stake, we have to try something.”
“…Then this mother of yours will step forward instead.”
At her fierce motherly love, which would cast even her life away like a blade of grass, Yusuf wore a tender smile.
However, the words that came from his mouth were firm, unlike his expression.
“No. Even if you were to die, Mother, no one would pay much attention. I would only lose my sole ally instead.”
In a situation where even a prince’s life was fleeting, the life of a concubine who did not even have the sultan’s favor could fairly be called nothing at all.
In the ruthless world of power, death was merely the end of a loser.
This applied not only to Fatima but to Yusuf as well.
“I have no intention of dying either. If I die, all I will receive is mourning no different from mockery. But if I survive, many things will change.”
To be honest, he was acting while covering everything over with the single goal of survival, but there was no way he could be unaffected.
Because of the modern memories and Yusuf’s memories, which were growing clearer by the moment, his mind was chaos itself.
Now he no longer knew whether he had entered Yusuf’s body, or whether Yusuf had received memories of the modern world.
He did not know whether this place was inside the game, or whether he had simply come to the distant past.
He would have been fine with being told it was a terrible nightmare, if only someone would answer him plainly, but no matter how desperately he prayed, no answer came back.
Yusuf rose from his seat and looked out the window.
The people draped in gold and silk were extravagant.
The palace, where thousands resided, was magnificent, as if displaying the dignity of the empire.
Taking in with both eyes a scene truly befitting an empire, Yusuf spoke as though making a vow.
“I must survive until the very end and become the master of this empire.”
The belief that all answers would be found there was the single hope that held together a heart that seemed about to collapse.
∗ ∗ ∗
Today, Fatima felt as if she had been possessed by a jinn, an evil spirit.
There was an Arab proverb: “If a mountain moved last night, believe it; if a person changed, do not.”
It meant that people did not change easily, and Yusuf’s change was so great that she could not believe it even after seeing it with her own eyes.
‘It was not simply that his mindset had changed. Did he always have that disposition…?’
Fatima felt as though her heart were being torn apart.
If that was so, it meant her overprotection had been clipping the child’s wings.
When she thought of how much anguish and courage it must have taken for him to say those words, her chest tightened, but she steeled her heart.
“It is not too late yet.”
She did not know why he had ordered a maid to make five small pockets inside his vest, but it would be enough if she became Yusuf’s steadfast supporter even now.
Returning to her room, Fatima called the maid who had followed her in.
“Nene.”
“Please command me.”
Nene was a maid, but she was also a friend who had been captured with her from their homeland.
When Fatima became a concubine, she had first sought Nene out and made her a maid, and in this place where there was no one to trust, Nene was the only person she could rely on.
“In two days, Yusuf is scheduled to go outside the palace. Spread that fact quickly.”
“…Understood.”
Fatima smiled faintly at Nene, who obeyed without showing the slightest question, then pondered briefly.
If Yusuf wanted to become sultan, her own plans needed to change as well.
Fatima quickly made a decision.
“Put the funds we were moving toward the West on hold.”
Because Fatima had been sold around as a slave, she knew the importance of money down to her bones, and with the money she had gathered after becoming a concubine, she had run a small business.
Perhaps she had been lucky, for its scale had expanded to a usable level, and thanks to that, Fatima had thought of another way to save Yusuf.
That was the method of fleeing to the West.
It was the method Cem, the younger brother of the current sultan Bayezid II, had used after losing the civil war.
Cem fled to the Knights Hospitaller, becoming a headache for the sultan.
‘Not that fleeing was a good choice….’
The Knights Hospitaller, who received an enormous annual bribe from the sultan, imprisoned Cem, and he had to suffer being dragged as far as the Papal States and France.
She had intended to avoid following such a past precedent by hiding their identities and living in the West.
However, if Yusuf’s will was set on the sultanate, this money could not be wasted in that way.
“Nene, it will be a difficult fight from now on. You may regret not fleeing. Even so, can you stay with me until the end?”
At Fatima’s question, Nene folded the wrinkles formed by hardship into a gentle smile.
“From the moment I was saved, my life has belonged to you, Hatun. Even if the end is hell, I will go there with a glad heart.”
She was grateful for this heartfelt confession, and yet she was in no position to speak of a bright future, not even as empty words.
There was only one thing she could promise.
Fatima took Nene’s rough hands in hers.
“I promise. If your end is hell, I will be there beside you.”
Having made a firm resolve, Fatima prayed earnestly to God that Yusuf’s plan would go well.
∗ ∗ ∗
The country called Rome had maintained its lineage from as early as the eighth century BC all the way to the edge of the Middle Ages, and the last of that tenacious lifeline was this place, Constantinople.
This city, which at its peak had a total population of over four hundred thousand, had declined so much that during the Siege of Constantinople, Rome’s final moment, its defenders, including civilians, numbered only seven thousand.
Eastern Rome had fallen, but this city, renamed Kostantiniye, began to revive in the hands of the sultan who styled himself Emperor of Rome.
Thanks to inducements such as religious tolerance, guaranteed wages, and various tax exemptions, the city was crowded with people even in ordinary times, but lately the atmosphere was different.
Clank.
“Move aside!”
At the shout of a Janissary wearing a tall hat and sporting only a mustache, people hurriedly got out of the way.
The carts drawn by camels were piled high with military supplies, and the air about the Janissaries carrying the loads was more ominous than their shouting.
Yusuf, who had stepped aside to one side of the road and was watching the scene, furrowed his brow.
‘They really did choose a beautifully timed moment.’
“Sultan, Rule the World.” was a game that had drawn countless curses, but if it had simply been a game that made people clutch the backs of their necks, many gamers would not have challenged it.
The reason this game had been popular was that, unlike its atrocious difficulty, the gameplay itself was excellent.
It had enough freedom that one could even flee outside the empire, and it contained the major events that occurred in each era in full, so after a few hundred runs, one would become fairly well-versed in history.
Of course, an ordinary person would not know the exact years or contents of events just from seeing them a few times, but thanks to his modern memories being vivid, as if neatly organized in a library, he could understand what situation he was in.
‘It’s right before the war with the Republic of Venice, so if things go wrong, I might be left sitting on my hands for four years.’
In the case of large-scale wars, the Ottoman Empire was a state where the sultan personally led campaigns.
They would win this war against Venice and achieve the excellent result of seizing hegemony over the Mediterranean, but the fact that the sultan would be away was not exactly good news for Yusuf.
The later his appointment as sanjakbey was pushed back, the further the gap between him and his brothers would widen.
Yusuf hid his impatience and pretended to look around the city.
“How much for one loaf of bread?”
The merchant selling bread that gave off a savory smell was startled by the appearance of a noble young master with escorts and answered.
“One okka of bread, 1.282 kilograms, is one akçe.”
“It has not risen much, even with war ahead.”
The akçe was a silver coin used in the Ottoman Empire, and an ordinary laborer’s daily wage was about three akçe.
At this level, prices allowed a laborer to make a living, and for a situation with war ahead, the economy was fairly stable.
‘The current sultan, too, is not someone to be underestimated.’
Just as King Sejong had been able to become the greatest sage king because his predecessor, Taejong, had laid the foundation, Bayezid II was similar.
He was a figure who focused on economic development rather than large-scale expeditions, creating the background for the vast empire spanning three continents that would later be born, and even from a brief look around, Yusuf could sense his greatness.
‘And now I have to deceive a man like that.’
Even as he looked around calmly, he felt his mouth go dry.
‘Is there still no coffee? When I’m nervous, nothing beats a cup of coffee.’
Without the coffee he used to drink three times a day, he honestly felt like he was going to die.
How long had he wandered the streets, grumbling to himself?
His legs, not yet fully grown, began to ache, and as he looked at the sunset-streaked sky, Yusuf let out a sigh.
Now that the poisoning had failed, he thought there was a high chance they would attack him directly if given the opportunity.
With a great war ahead, they would not go to much effort just to kill one worthless prince, and if they wanted to do it before the campaign, they would have to finish it hastily.
However, his opponent seemed more cautious than he had expected.
Left with no choice, he decided to return for now and give them another chance later, but…
“Mm…”
He was a man with an ordinary face, the sort one might pass hundreds of times while walking down the street.
His grimy turban, filthy beard, and worn-out clothes were utterly unremarkable, yet the moment Yusuf saw him, his heart began to pound violently.
Yusuf could tell that this was a warning from fortune itself.
Suppressing the urge to stick close to his guards at once, Yusuf moved toward the man approaching from the opposite direction.
As Yusuf overcame the terrible fear of walking barehanded toward a wild beast, the man brushed past him.
“Keugh!”
“Your Highness!”
The weapon, swung before anyone could stop it, stabbed Yusuf, and his tender body was flung back helplessly.
Seeing his hand covered in blood, just as planned, the assassin looked bewildered.
Because the owner of that blood was himself.
The blade had been stopped by something hard, causing his hand to slip and be cut by his own knife. As Yusuf rose to face the assassin, he spoke silently.
‘Thank you.’
The assassin’s head, severed in a single stroke and rolling across the ground, was filled with shock.
The guards, who had hurriedly killed the assassin, asked Yusuf, who looked perfectly fine,
“Y-Your Highness, are you all right?!”
Though the stab mark was clear, not a single drop of blood flowed from Yusuf. At the question, he answered with a look of deep emotion.
“Allahu Akbar! Allah has aided me!”
Those who had witnessed the miraculous scene responded to Yusuf’s declaration.
“Allahu Akbar!”
Amid the pouring cheers, Yusuf laughed inwardly.
Now that he had passed the hardest hurdle, it was time to make use of Allah.
∗ ∗ ∗
Step.
In young Yusuf’s eyes, the road leading to the heart of the empire had always been an exciting place.
Even late at night, lights illuminated the darkness and lit the path, and the sight of the Janissaries standing guard with gleaming weapons had simply looked impressive.
Walking along that road, Yusuf cursed inwardly.
‘He saw this scene and still thought that?’
Yusuf was certain.
The green boy in his memories and his current self were clearly different beings.
The Janissaries he had once thought impressive now looked like killing machines concealing their murderous intent.
To them, his status as a prince and his appearance as a child would not be reasons to hesitate, and if the Sultan ordered it, they could kill him right here and now.
‘Besides, what I can see isn’t everything.’
Even the gardener trimming the trees over there was the Sultan’s eyes and ears, belonging to a unit called the Bostanjis.
Yusuf endured the pressure, so intense it made his mind reel, and walked with confidence.
This was better, if anything. Time was not on his side.
How many times would he be able to meet the Sultan before the campaign? He had to seize this opportunity and be appointed sanjakbey, so the more chances he had to show how he had changed, the better.
Arriving before the Sultan’s quarters, Yusuf spoke to the eunuch standing at the door.
“Announce me.”
Though surprised by Yusuf’s demeanor, utterly different from the way he had once fidgeted in front of him, the eunuch performed his role.
“Yusuf, prince of the Sultan’s empire, requests an audience with the Padishah.”
Padishah was a word meaning emperor, while Sultan was a word meaning king.
Since they had become an empire after bringing down Eastern Rome, the title Padishah was more accurate than Sultan, but just as the term Tsar continued to be used by custom in Russia even after it was replaced by Emperor, Sultan was simply still used.
In formal settings like this, the word Padishah was used more often.
“Let him enter.”
With the low voice, the door slid open, and Yusuf carefully stepped inside.
Before he could even take in the splendid interior decorations of geometric tiles and gold, Yusuf knelt and paid his respects.
“Yusuf greets the Padishah.”
“Raise your head.”
Only then, at the benevolent voice, was Yusuf able to face Bayezid II.
His bushy white beard and the white turban covering his head made him look, at first glance, like a kindly grandfather, but Yusuf did not let his guard down because of appearances.
For a Sultan who treated succession to the throne as a survival contest and regarded his sons as whetstones for the sake of a single heir, that merciful appearance was only one small facet.
There was no need to be wary, but there was a need to be careful.
“Come closer.”
When he had come close enough that they could clasp hands, Yusuf could see the cold eyes hidden behind the kindly smile.
The Sultan examined him as though seeing straight through him, then stroked his beard.
“You have grown mature in a short time.”
“Thank you.”
“Hoho, seeing you change like this after always appearing so delicate sets my mind at ease.”
As he laughed pleasantly, the Sultan found it unexpected.
It had been only a few hours since Yusuf had nearly died.
That was far too short a time for even an ordinary person, let alone the once-frail Yusuf, to regain composure.
And yet Yusuf did not look like someone who had just overcome a brush with death, and that struck him as curious all over again.
“I heard you nearly suffered something dreadful. Is your body all right?”
“Thanks to Your Majesty’s concern, I have only suffered a bruise.”
“Is that so? That is fortunate.”
The Sultan responded, then gestured to the eunuch standing beside him, and the eunuch handed over a neatly wrapped piece of silk.
When the silk covering was undone, what appeared was the vest Yusuf had worn outside today.
“I heard an interesting story in the report. Before this happened, you ordered such a vest to be made?”
On the turned-over vest, five pockets could be seen.
Looking at the small pockets, which seemed barely large enough to hold coins, Yusuf nearly let out a hollow laugh despite having done it himself.
They were far too insignificant to entrust his life to.
But because he had succeeded in such an absurd gamble, it was now time to collect his winnings, and Yusuf lowered his head as he answered.
“I had a maid make it.”
“Why did you do that?”
As the Sultan asked while touching the pocket torn by the knife, Yusuf swallowed dryly.
From this point on, he had to deceive the Sultan.
“I had a dream.”
“A dream?”
Before the Sultan could grow suspicious at the sudden mention of a dream, Yusuf continued.
“It was a dream in which I was walking among bustling people when an ominous figure attacked me, but five lights protected me.”
“Five lights…”
The Sultan murmured as if intrigued.
In Sunni Islam, the state religion of the Ottomans, five was a sacred number.
That was because the five most basic rites of Sunni Islam—profession of faith, prayer, almsgiving, fasting, and pilgrimage—were called the Five Pillars, and were regarded as duties that had to be upheld and as the foundation of life.
‘It’s hard to believe, but it’s tempting, isn’t it?’
If the Sultan had not shouted at him not to spout nonsense, then half of it was already a success. Still, he could not let his guard down until the end.
As Yusuf steeled himself once more, the Sultan furrowed his brow and asked,
“Are you saying you are some prophet?”
“How could that be?”
He denied it at once.
Because Muhammad, whom Islam regarded as especially sacred, had been declared in the Quran to be the final prophet.
The moment he spouted the nonsense, “Yes, I am a prophet,” he could be strangled to death on the spot.
“Is it not simply that Allah’s grace was upon the empire?”
“Allah does indeed watch over the empire.”
Seeing the Sultan nod, Yusuf let out an inward sigh of relief.
It was no different from walking a perilous tightrope.
One misstep, and he would be forced to meet Allah immediately.
Despite Yusuf’s excuse, the Sultan revealed his doubts.
“Then why did you wander the streets when you knew it was dangerous? If you intend to say it was simply to sightsee, do not. I have already heard that you wandered the streets for a long time without any destination.”
It was the question he had desperately hoped the Sultan would ask, and Yusuf gladly gave his answer.
“Because that was not the only dream I had, and I had to confirm whether that dream was true.”
“Was it a dream worth risking your life for?”
“Yes. It was a dream in which ten pillars descended upon the eastern part of the empire.”
At those words, the Sultan’s eyes widened in surprise.
Because he knew very well of a group that could be represented by ten pillars.
“Are you speaking of the Shia!”
“I believe it means that before long, a Shia state will arise in the east.”
“Hah!”
The Sultan revealed his displeasure.
Just as Christianity was divided into denominations despite sharing the same faith, Islam could also be broadly divided into Sunni and Shia.
Even in the modern era, Sunni Saudi Arabia and Shia Iran stood in sharp opposition, and the ill-fated relationship between the two had roots so deep that one had to go back to the seventh century after Muhammad’s death.
Of course, even Sunni states did not necessarily get along, but a Shia state was fated to become an enemy without exception.
“The Aq Qoyunlu will soon collapse. It is already exhausted by civil war, so it is not impossible.”
“…Yes, I think the same.”
The Sultan sank into thought.
Because the Aq Qoyunlu was wavering, he had been able to launch a western campaign without much burden, but if a new state truly did arise, it could become a great obstacle later.
Though the Sultan would surely want to dismiss it as nonsense.
‘The birth of the Safavid Empire on Iranian soil is an unstoppable tide.’
It was not for nothing that he had wanted Trabzon, which lay far to the east.
To become Sultan, he had to win the favor of armed forces such as the Janissaries and the Sipahi, and he had to establish military achievements.
Just like Selim I, who would become the next Sultan.
“I will go to Trabzon. There, I will stop the enemies of the empire. I believe I had such a dream because I must become the shield of the empire.”
“Trabzon? Is that not the place where Selim has long served as sanjakbey?”
“That is correct.”
Yusuf nodded.
Şehzade Selim—the prince who would one day become Selim I and the next sultan.
“It pains me to say this, but I have heard there is much dissatisfaction because Trabzon is far from Kostantiniyye. I fear that, in time, this discontent may drive him to rebellion.”
“…Nonsense.”
He cut him off flatly, but the words were enough to stir the sultan’s heart.
‘He did rebel in actual history, after all.’
For someone of the sultan’s caliber, though it was an event more than ten years away, he would surely be able to anticipate it.
“I believe that if you were to entrust Teke to my elder brother instead, it would ease his dissatisfaction to some extent.”
Teke was a port city on the Mediterranean coast, a place that would later be called Antalya.
After pondering for a moment, the sultan let out a light sigh and said,
“I shall consider that further and give you my answer.”
He had postponed his reply, but since he had not rejected it outright, it could be said that Yusuf had won him halfway over.
His mind complicated by the sudden discussion of the princes’ placements, the sultan changed the subject.
“What do you wish to be done with those who were assigned to guard you?”
It was not merely a matter of granting him the power over life and death, but a kind of test, and Yusuf lowered his head as he answered.
“A great war lies ahead. You must kill even those in charge and set military discipline straight.”
The thought that a person’s life could be decided by a single word felt more revolting than expected, but this was the answer the sultan wanted.
In a house of survival where even brothers were killed, mercy was nothing but a symbol of weakness, and it was also a declaration that he had completely severed himself from the Yusuf of the past.
As though satisfied with the answer, the sultan nodded readily.
“I shall respect your will. It is late now, so return.”
There was one final move left before he could simply withdraw.
“Before I take my leave, there is something I wish to give the Padishah.”
What Yusuf took out was a silver coin.
And not just any coin, but an akçe, the one of lowest value.
The sultan, puzzled as he accepted the akçe, saw a large scar across the center of the silver coin.
“This is the akçe that saved my life today. I shall now take my leave.”
Just in case, he had layered the silver coins, and fortunately, it had not been pierced through.
After paying his respects to the sultan, Yusuf departed, and the sultan, who had silently examined the silver coin for a long while, ordered the eunuch,
“Summon the Grand Vizier at once.”
“As you command.”
When the eunuch withdrew with his head bowed, the sultan looked at the silver coin again.
On the front were stamped the words Sultan Bayezid, son of Mehmed Khan, telling him that it was an akçe he himself had issued, while on the back were other words.
“May you always be victorious… He left me a fine gift.”
A small smile formed on the sultan’s lips.
∗ ∗ ∗
The devil was in the details.
More than a mysterious prophetic dream, the words inside a silver coin that had become a symbol of luck might be trivial, but they could touch the heart more deeply.
“For now, I’ve done everything I can.”
It was not as though he had recklessly acted while trusting only in luck.
If no assassin had come until the very end, he had even considered hiring one himself, despite the risk of having his trail discovered.
The fact that he had survived had depended entirely on luck, but it had not been a desperate gamble with no chance.
‘They say there’s such a thing as beginner’s luck, and that a shaman who has just received a god has the strongest divine favor, don’t they?’
He had put 10 points into Luck, so he believed it would at least save his life once.
Of course, he could have died if he had been unlucky.
‘Then I’d just have to die. If I stay still, I’ll die anyway, so I might as well stake my life and look for an opportunity.’
Honestly, surviving by luck once was not some tremendous fortune.
For example, even the luck of Saladin, the hero of Islam, was at a level that would be cursed as implausible if written in a novel.
During the Egyptian expedition he had been dragged into by force, the vizier died of breathing difficulties during a meal after just two months, and Saladin was appointed vizier of the Fatimid dynasty.
Six months after he became vizier, a Crusader–Eastern Roman allied army invaded Egypt, but collapsed on its own due to internal strife and a lack of supplies.
Nur ad-Din ordered him to depose the Fatimid ruler, and while Saladin hesitated because of public sentiment, the ruler died young all by himself.
Nur ad-Din died of illness while preparing an expedition to punish Saladin, and later Amalric, the ruler of Jerusalem, died of illness midway while preparing an expedition to Egypt, and so on.
Compared to the luck of that man Saladin, surviving once did not even count among truly tremendous fortunes.
‘Even if I have the ability, if luck doesn’t follow me like it did Saladin, becoming sultan will be impossible.’
If luck did not follow him, it would have been better to die on this occasion.
Fortunately, it seemed the heavens had not abandoned him, for luck had followed.
“Now I have to prepare for what comes next.”
What this gamble had given him was not only the sultan’s interest.
[Assassination Defense, Points +8]
At last, his points had reached 10.