A Battle Against Time
The rebellion that had begun in spring dragged on into summer.
Compared to Trabzon, the dry air scorched the lungs, and the parched ground sent up clouds of dust with every step.
Beyond the land where heat haze shimmered, the enemy could be seen slowly approaching.
“Keep your wits about you!”
A slow match, repeatedly soaked in water mixed with saltpeter and dried, was coiled around each soldier’s arm, and a fierce rebuke fell upon a soldier who had accidentally let the flame on his match go out.
If this had been training, they would have laughed at the sight of him hurriedly getting help from the comrade beside him, but the soldiers on the verge of battle had no such leisure.
They merely checked their matches so as not to make the same mistake, moving forward with heavy steps.
Once they had closed to a certain distance, both sides stopped as if by prior agreement.
The commanders’ encouragement poured down upon the tense soldiers.
“Do only as you trained, and we can win!”
“Do not forget that if we are broken through, we lose!”
The Ottomans’ basic tactic was the hammer-and-anvil tactic that had been used since antiquity.
While the infantry in the center endured the enemy’s assault, cavalry on both wings would attack the flanks and rear.
The most important core of this tactic was for the infantry serving as the anvil to withstand the enemy’s offensive.
If the anvil shattered before the encirclement was complete, they could be defeated in detail, and even if the encirclement was completed, if the anvil was pierced, the enemy could escape through the open blood path and reform their lines.
The Janissaries, who understood the essence of the tactic well, snarled at Yusuf’s infantry.
“Brats, you’d better do your job. If you fail to do your part with those precious skewers you’re clutching, then even if you survive, we’ll send you to Allah’s bosom ourselves.”
“Don’t delude yourselves into thinking the prince will protect you.”
When a Janissary, permitted only to grow a mustache, thrust his face forward and threatened them, Yusuf’s soldiers ground their teeth.
If they had their way, they would have torn out every last hair of that mustache, but they could not start a fight before a war.
Instead, they bared their own fangs in kind.
“If your fine weapon turns out to be worse than this skewer, I’ll rip that mustache off, so you’d better keep your head on straight.”
“You don’t even have a beard on your chin. If you lose the mustache too, you’ll be a woman outright. You shouldn’t be on a battlefield—you should be out looking for a man.”
Beards were important enough that the exemptions from the devshirme, which levied Christian boys from the Balkan Peninsula, included the beardless and the bald.
Thus, even though they were Muslims, the Janissaries, who were allowed to grow only mustaches, were deeply sensitive about talk of beards.
At Yusuf’s soldiers’ words, anger boiled inside them, but they did not cross the final line.
“We’ll see, you brats.”
The Janissary spat the words out and roughly drove a rest into the ground, setting his hand cannon upon it.
From countless experiences, he knew that war was imminent.
Once both sides had fully ordered their battle lines, the drums announcing the war began to sound.
To the heart-shaking beat of the drums, the cavalry on both sides slowly moved, then gradually accelerated until the sound of hooves shook the earth.
The first to clash were the wings of both sides, where nearly thirty thousand cavalry in total collided.
The Kapikulu cavalry, heavy horsemen, crashed into one another while swinging maces and axes, and with the crunch of breaking bones, blood and corpses scattered through the air.
Even the heavily armed Kapikulu suffered casualties one after another—falling from their horses to swords that pierced chain mail, or having their entire bodies shattered in head-on collisions with the enemy—but the losses among the lightly armed Turkmen cavalry were even more severe.
Just as the Kapikulu broke through the enemy’s left wing as if grinding them down, Yusuf’s cavalry also broke through the right wing.
With the heavy cavalry who had already fulfilled their role in the war against Ismail at the head, they collided with the enemy cavalry, and the foes whose bodies were skewered on long lances collapsed to the ground like bundles of straw.
Having blunted the enemy’s spearhead and fulfilled their purpose, the heavy cavalry discarded their lances, drew their swords, and broke through the enemy’s right wing.
Both sides had broken through the enemy wings by putting heavy cavalry at the forefront, but this was a result both had expected.
The crux of the battle lay in the central army serving as the anvil, and the central armies that would decide the outcome of the war also began to fight.
“Fire!”
At the commander’s order, the hand cannons, which could be called small cannons, were ignited.
With a great explosion, the bodies of the Janissaries aiming with the help of their rests swayed, and acrid gunpowder smoke and blast pressure shook the surroundings.
The result was gruesome.
Hiiiiiing!
“Gaaaah!”
The cavalrymen, their bodies punched through by hand cannons more powerful than matchlocks, tumbled to the ground, and the horses startled by the roar reared up, trembling in fear.
However, this alone could not completely stop the enemy army surging forward like a wave.
Against the enemies who trampled over their fallen comrades as they pressed in, Yusuf’s soldiers shouldered the stocks that had appeared earlier than in the original history and aimed their guns.
The enemies, who had looked as small as beans, grew larger and larger, and just when impatience made them wonder if they ought to fire already, the commander’s order fell.
“Fire!”
Tatatatatang!
The moment the order was given, a rain of bullets swept over the enemy, and at the sight of enemies dropping in heaps, the front line immediately pulled back.
As trained, when the first rank withdrew, the second rank stepped forward and fired, attacking the enemy as they tried to reform their lines.
It was the moment the matchlock stepped onto the main stage of history sixteen years earlier than in the original history.
∗ ∗ ∗
“They are quite usable. I can see why you asked for gunpowder.”
The Grand Vizier, observing the state of the war from some distance away from the battlefield, gave that assessment.
The situation of the central army, filled with black gunpowder smoke, was that favorable.
After all, most of the rebels were nomads who had not been properly trained, and the hand cannons and three consecutive volleys of matchlock fire had been enough to dull the enemy’s breakthrough power.
The cavalry who reached the square formation failed to break through properly and were pinned in place, and the soldiers who had finished reloading ended the enemies’ lives at close range.
At the Grand Vizier’s praise, Yusuf lightly shook his head.
“It was luck. If we had faced proper cavalry, it would not have been this easy.”
It was not modesty; that was the truth.
The matchlocks took far too long to reload, and to conduct proper sequential fire, they needed not three ranks but twelve.
‘But if I had arranged them in twelve ranks out of consideration for reloading speed, we would not have been able to create a proper field of fire, nor inflict much damage.’
Proper cavalry would have been able to exploit the gap created by reloading.
Because he trusted that the Janissaries would hold firm in the worst-case scenario, he had ordered them to fire in three ranks, and it had worked perfectly.
Watching the encirclement slowly take shape, the Grand Vizier turned his gaze beyond the battlefield.
“It seems we must move before the enemy commanders flee.”
The scales of victory had already tipped to one side, and the enemy commanders, positioned slightly away from the battlefield, might escape.
For Yusuf, who was pressed for time, there was no desire to play tag across the Anatolian Peninsula.
Yusuf gave an order to the thousand or so cavalry he had kept back as guards and reserves.
“Let us go. To see my elder brother’s face.”
The time had come to bring the rebellion to an end.
∗ ∗ ∗
Şahkulu, who had moved his army with such confidence, trembled at the shadow of defeat that had fallen over him.
He could see it even from a distance.
The sight of his allies collapsing one after another with roars like thunder.
“L-let us flee! The enemy is using Satan’s tricks!”
“Satan?”
Şehinşah snorted.
To call gunpowder Satan was simply laughable.
However, even Şehinşah, who knew of the existence of gunpowder, had not expected the course of this battle. He had believed that even taking gunpowder into account, they could break through.
‘The Janissaries’ weapons cannot produce such a sight.’
The consecutive volleys and the continued sound of firing afterward were impossible for hand cannons, which were difficult to operate.
He had heard no news that the Janissaries were using a new weapon, so there was only one culprit.
“Yusuf. It was you.”
Having spoken the name of the younger brother whose face he had never even seen, Şehinşah asked Şahkulu, who was urging him to flee.
“So, where do you propose we flee?”
“Konya—no. We can flee to Shah Ismail! He will welcome us!”
“Ismail, is it?”
If a prince of the Ottoman Empire, his greatest enemy, came to him of his own accord, he would welcome him with open arms.
“You speak correctly. He would welcome me.”
“Exactly. We must flee at once—”
Şahkulu, who had been continuing his words, gaped at the sword lodged in his chest.
The followers, who had never imagined that Şehinşah would attack Şahkulu, drew their swords and howled.
“Lord Şahkulu! Treachery!”
“Kill him!”
“Protect the prince!”
A fight broke out between Şahkulu’s followers and Şehinşah’s soldiers, and Şahkulu, who spat out a handful of blood that surged up in his throat, murmured as if he could not understand.
“…Why?”
Rather than answer that question, Şehinşah drove his sword in once more and ended Şahkulu’s life.
Because the defeated must greet the victor.
As Yusuf’s cavalry came charging in, the followers who had been fighting mounted their horses and fled, and Şehinşah shouted to the remaining soldiers.
“You too, flee. I alone am enough to receive our guests.”
At Şehinşah’s order, the soldiers hesitated for a moment, but at Okay’s gesture, they hurriedly withdrew. Watching Yusuf’s cavalry approach, Şehinşah, who remained standing, spoke.
“Okay, you should flee now as well.”
“I will stay with you until the end.”
At that firm resolve, Şehinşah gave a faint laugh.
“Standing before Allah together would not be so bad.”
The cavalrymen who rushed in surrounded Şehinşah, who was dressed in splendid attire, and the Grand Vizier and Yusuf appeared as the crowd parted.
The Grand Vizier, who carefully examined Şehinşah’s face, said to Yusuf.
“It is indeed Şehzade Şehinşah.”
At the Grand Vizier’s confirmation, Yusuf took a step forward.
“I regret that we meet like this, elder brother.”
“Is this not how meetings between princes go? The one man my younger brother seeks is here.”
Looking at Şahkulu, already dead and cold, Yusuf nodded.
When he had heard that Şahkulu’s men and Şehinşah’s soldiers were fighting, he had roughly expected this situation.
Though he did not know the reason.
“Why did you kill him?”
“It was our first meeting, younger brother. I could hardly come empty-handed… cough, cough.”
When blood stained the hand of Shehinsha, who coughed violently, Yusuf’s expression hardened.
Whether it was hemoptysis caused by a respiratory disease like tuberculosis or hematemesis from a wound in the digestive tract, it meant a grave illness.
“Did you do this because your time to die had come?”
“…Since I was born a prince, I must struggle until the very end. It is the fate Allah has bestowed upon me. Only then can I hold my head high even in death.”
Shehinsha smiled bleakly.
It might have sounded trivial as a reason for rebellion, but as a fellow prince crushed by fate, Yusuf could understand, if only a little.
‘Not that I have any intention of sparing him, though.’
Because this was the end he himself had chosen.
“Do you have any last words?”
As Arda stepped forward holding the silk cord to strangle Shehinsha, Yusuf asked, and Shehinsha laughed.
“Though I lost this battle, I killed Brother Korkut and caught Brother Ahmed by the ankle, so I have no regrets.”
“It is not his ankle, but Brother Ahmed’s lifeline that has been severed. I shall send him to your side soon.”
To cross the strait, one needed permission from the administrator of Maltepe on the strait, or ships to transport the troops.
He had long ago won over the administrator through the Sanjak-bey of Ankara, who had shown loyalty to him, and with Korkut’s death, he had completely lost his grip on naval power.
‘And to completely isolate him, I even joined hands.’
Even with his final enemy, Selim.
Yusuf turned away from Shehinsha, who hung limp with his neck strangled.
“From now on, it is a battle against time.”
∗ ∗ ∗
“What a monstrous bastard.”
The major ports on the Black Sea were Kefe and Trabzon.
This meant Black Sea power was divided between Selim, who held Kefe, and Yusuf, who held Trabzon.
Recalling Yusuf’s proposal to isolate Ahmed together, Selim raised one corner of his mouth.
If Yusuf was going to eliminate Ahmed trapped in Anatolia, there was no reason to stop him.
“Struggle all you want. The victor will be me in the end.”
While Yusuf caught the rat in the jar, he would seize the capital and become the master of the empire.
“I will be the victor in this battle against time.”
Having declared so, Selim gripped the reins, and the Crimean Khanate’s 30,000 cavalry began their southward march.
∗ ∗ ∗
With the rebellion’s leaders, Shehinsha and Shakulu, dead, the rebellion had effectively failed.
The rebel troops, trapped in the encirclement and struggling desperately, discarded their weapons and surrendered, while those who refused to believe Shakulu’s death and resisted or tried to exploit gaps to escape were immediately executed.
The cleanup took far longer than the hour of battle, and even rushing, it took a full day.
“Eight thousand enemy casualties, two thousand friendly casualties, and eleven thousand taken prisoner.”
It was a great victory that garnered a tremendous number of prisoners, but that also meant it was a considerable headache.
Yusuf spoke to the Grand Vizier.
“We shall need at least three thousand troops to manage the prisoners. There are many wounded as well.”
“That is so.”
Casualties was a term encompassing both the dead and wounded, and while one might abandon enemy wounded, abandoning one’s own was unthinkable.
Though every soldier was precious, three thousand were needed when considering the manpower required and the possibility of a prisoner revolt.
“We shall use three thousand troops to escort the prisoners to Ankara, and send an envoy to Konya to entrust them with the cleanup here and the wounded.”
“That is a rational decision.”
It must have been difficult to refuse the will of Shehinsha, who was a prince and Sanjak-bey, but the people of Konya had indeed joined the rebellion.
The rebellion had already failed, and it was time for them to take responsibility for their judgment.
They would gladly do it if they could atone by disposing of the corpses strewn across the plains and by holding funerals and treating friendly casualties.
‘Then the remaining troops are thirteen thousand. The forces of the Pasha who will join later are twenty-five thousand.’
No matter how much Ahmed scraped together maximum forces, it was a force more than double his size.
To overcome this numerical difference, Ahmed had to choose to fight a defensive battle.
‘The problem is, Ahmed absolutely cannot choose to fight defensively.’
Even if Ahmed entrenched himself in Bolu or other cities for a siege, there was no need to conquer him with difficulty.
They could simply ignore him and march on the capital.
Ahmed’s only remaining advantage was that he was closer to the capital than Yusuf, and to entrench himself would be to throw that away with his own hands.
He was not such a foolish man as to make that kind of stupid choice.
“Grand Vizier, what kind of man has Ahmed been, from what you have seen?”
“He may have been lacking compared to Your Highness, but Prince Ahmed was also a successor sufficient to lead the empire.”
What kind of state was the Ottoman Empire? Would the Sultan and bureaucrats have supported him merely because he was older?
It was possible because he had shown such ability, and Yusuf acknowledged Ahmed’s competence as well.
“Then he will find the only way out.”
The path to the capital was blocked, and an army was pressing from behind.
It was the worst situation, but it was not as if there was no path worth trying.
Yusuf exited the commander’s tent and looked around outside.
In the distance, wild beasts and birds of prey gathered, drawn by the smell of blood from the enemy corpses covering the plains, while the separately gathered friendly corpses were well covered with tents not far away.
In the hot weather, the faint stench of rotting corpses already brushed his nostrils, and the soldiers, wearing clothes stained with blood and filth, chatted boisterously.
“Does this still look like a skewer to you?! Hurry up and hand over the mustache! I’ll cut it right off.”
“You damned brats?! You think you’re standing here in one piece because of that weapon of yours?! More importantly, let me see that weapon. I’ll just look and give it back.”
“Are you crazy asking for my weapon?!”
At a glance it sounded like they were fighting, but their faces were full of smiles.
The Janissaries, tightly bound by the pride of being elite soldiers, making such a racket with Yusuf’s troops meant they acknowledged each other’s abilities.
It was a scene worth welcoming from Yusuf’s perspective. Though, of course, he had not come out to see that.
Yusuf asked the Grand Vizier, who had followed him out.
“Grand Vizier, do you ride horses?”
“Of course.”
The Grand Vizier was a man who had led armies even before Yusuf was born.
It was a question that needed no asking, but Yusuf’s intent was not simply to ask if he was skilled at riding.
“I mean to ask whether your aged body can keep up with what will be a harsher ride than you might expect.”
Yusuf’s gaze turned to the more than ten thousand horses captured along with the prisoners.
∗ ∗ ∗
“Damn it! Did you truly deliver the message so?!”
“…Yes.”
At the returned envoy’s definitive answer, Ahmed gritted his teeth.
Although advancing on the capital while Yusuf moved south was a last resort, it had not been a rash decision.
He had already reached an understanding beforehand with the administrator of Maltepe, whose cooperation was essential to cross the Bosphorus Strait with his army.
Yet upon arriving near Maltepe, the administrator declared for Yusuf and refused the request.
“Yusuf! Yusuf! Is this another of his schemes?!”
Ahmed was furious and hollow.
There was no way the administrator of Maltepe had suddenly changed his tune; it was highly likely he had deceived Ahmed from the beginning.
To lure him all the way to where Maltepe was.
“Wouldn’t it be better to occupy Maltepe?”
He had as many as fifteen thousand soldiers following him.
It was thanks to his four sons becoming Sanjak-beys and being able to summon the Sipahis.
This was enough force to occupy Maltepe, the gateway to the capital, but there was a separate problem.
“Occupying Maltepe is not the problem. To move troops, we must build a pontoon bridge with the small boats of Maltepe, but if they face the crisis of occupation, they can take all their boats and sail toward the Balkan Peninsula.”
“Furthermore, there is another problem. We have received information from a spy that more than ten galleys, estimated to have come from Trabzon, have recently entered the harbor.”
They would be able to attack and interfere if he tried to build a pontoon bridge or move by ship.
“Then what of the plan to borrow ships from merchants?”
“I am sorry to say, but even that is not easy. It is said that threats have been made to merchants entering and exiting the Black Sea from Kefe and Trabzon.”
Being sensitive to surrounding news, the merchants well knew how the situation was unfolding.
There was no merchant who would aid Ahmed while ignoring warnings from Yusuf and Selim, who were favored to be the next Padishah.
The strait was narrower than the width of the Han River, yet he was in a situation where he could not even cross that distance.
That Selim had joined hands with Yusuf’s plan—Ahmed let out a hollow laugh.
“Hahaha, so those two joined hands to catch me.”
If only Korkut were alive, this humiliation would not have befallen him.
If it were his request, sailors would have risked danger to help in abundance.
No, fundamentally, if he had taken Yusuf’s life back when he was still young, this would not have happened.
Bitter regret washed over him, but Ahmed bit down hard.
“It is not over yet. The seat of Padishah is mine!”
“That is correct. It is not over yet. Please give your orders.”
Those meeting with Ahmed were bound to him in a community of fate.
They could not give up so futilely, and Ahmed quickly turned his mind to reach a conclusion.
“The greatest threat right now is not being unable to cross the strait by ship.”
Being unable to cross the strait was the most pressing problem, but not one that endangered their lives.
The reason Ahmed and his subordinates felt anxious was because Yusuf’s soldiers were tightening the noose around them.
It was obvious they would become like a rat in a jar as time passed.
“Bring me the map.”
Ahmed tapped Trabzon on the spread map and drew a line with his hand all the way to Bolu.
“A force of roughly twenty-five thousand pursuing from Trabzon has currently reached Bolu.”
While marching on the capital, they could not be unaware of the enemy troops following from Trabzon.
When the great army of twenty-five thousand advanced, Ahmed’s sanjaks, from which troops had been levied, could not withstand and surrendered.
Ahmed’s sons had evaded capture and joined him, and even Murad, who had been in Bolu until recently, had come to him.
“And right now, Yusuf must be fighting the rebels near Konya.”
No one knew how long it would take to suppress the rebellion, but even if he won easily, the distance between the two armies was too great for him to join them immediately.
This opening was their only path to survival.
“Murat, what was the enemy like when you last saw them?”
“They were mostly infantry, and from the way they were marching, their training and armament did not look particularly good.”
There was nothing to be done about the poor state of the troops sent as reinforcements.
After all, Georgia and Circassia’s national strength was that meager.
At Murat’s explanation, Ahmed smiled broadly and said,
“You all heard him, did you not? They are enemies we have no need to fear. We will defeat them in detail.”
Ahmed’s army turned its horses around.
∗ ∗ ∗
Shemsi had certainly fulfilled his role well enough.
Following the path Ahmed had taken, Shemsi cut off his supply lines.
Of course, since Ahmed had already secured a great deal of supplies, it would not be a major blow, but it could still apply psychological pressure.
Moreover, he had created a situation in which Ahmed’s sons, who would have been obstacles, were gathered at Ahmed’s side and could be dealt with all at once.
However, not everything was going smoothly.
‘They’re not easy to control.’
The soldiers’ misconduct was growing worse with time.
Soldiers caused trouble even when passing through their own country; in a foreign land, it went without saying.
In particular, the Georgian troops were no better than conscripts, to the point that they barely obeyed their commanders’ orders.
“…Still, it is fortunate that the Circassian troops are not causing any major problems.”
“Hahaha, you have been through a great deal, Pasha.”
Ivan, who held overall command of the Circassian forces, burst into laughter.
They were close, having worked together once before during the occupation of Erzurum.
“If you simply give the word, I can step forward and enforce military discipline myself.”
Arkes, one of the five Circassians Yusuf had purchased with Ayşe at the slave market, had by now become one of Ivan’s closest aides.
At Arkes’s words, Shemsi shook his head.
“Leave it. It would only create needless discord. Once the prince arrives, everything will be resolved.”
The misconduct was not limited to the soldiers; some of the Georgian commanders were also abetting it.
They had forgotten how frightening Yusuf was.
“A fierce storm will blow through later, it seems.”
“What can be done? It is their own choice.”
Just as Shemsi burst into hearty laughter, an urgent voice came from outside the tent where the three of them were.
—Pasha! This is terrible!
“What is it!”
A messenger, drenched in sweat, approached, knelt, and reported.
“Ahmed’s army is said to be approaching at great speed.”
“How far?!”
“They are expected to arrive before evening.”
At those words, Shemsi’s face turned savage.
“How could they have come this close, and yet the report arrive so late!”
“…It is said that some of the Georgian troops assigned to reconnaissance were looting a nearby village, so the discovery was delayed.”
Shemsi, enraged to the tips of his hair, ground his teeth, but that was not the urgent matter now.
They had discovered the enemy far too late, and the foe would arrive before they could take refuge in a nearby fortress.
Shemsi gave the order.
“Inform all troops! We meet the enemy here.”
∗ ∗ ∗
Seeing Ahmed’s sipahis filling the far side of the plain, the soldiers trembled in fear.
Neither their numerical advantage of twenty-five thousand nor the wooden palisades hastily erected to stop the cavalry could give them any sense of relief.
“…Pasha, would it not be better to surrender?”
“Shut your mouth, before my blade cuts off your head.”
After snarling at the terrified Georgian commander, Shemsi looked toward Ahmed’s army.
It was understandable that they were afraid. To the sipahis, light cavalry as they were, infantry like this were nothing more than playthings.
‘The last thing I can do is inflict as much damage on the enemy as possible.’
Even if it cost him his life.
Because that was the last way he could help Yusuf.
Booooom!
With a long blast of horns from the enemy force, the sipahis, arrayed in formation, began to move slowly.
Just as the hands clutching weapons began to tremble at the sight of the cavalry drawing ever closer—
Bang!
An explosion rang through the sky, and the eyes of everyone gathered on the plain turned toward the hill from which the roar had come.
Looking down on the scene from atop that hill, Yusuf let out a long sigh.
“I feel as though my needlessly quick-witted elder brother is going to be the death of me.”
If not for his trait, he might have fallen behind like the Grand Vizier.
Pointing the muzzle, which was spewing black smoke, at the enemy, Yusuf smiled faintly.
“Still, we weren’t too late. Wouldn’t you say?”
“…If we had been late even after this, from now on I would have prayed facing the opposite direction from Mecca.”
Along with Arda’s joke, Yusuf’s soldiers, who had endured the brutal forced march, appeared on the battlefield.
∗ ∗ ∗
When an unidentified cavalry force appeared atop the hill, Ahmed’s army panicked and withdrew.
Since Ahmed had already gathered every friendly force he could, there was no possibility that the army appearing on the hill was an ally.
Looking down at the retreating army, Yusuf felt a small sense of relief.
Drawing their attention with the gun and showing the army on the hill had, in itself, been a bluff.
“It’s a relief they were frightened and fell back. It would have been troublesome if a battle had broken out.”
The battle with the rebels had taken place between Ankara and Konya, and the distance from there to here was over three hundred kilometers.
It was the distance from Seoul to Busan, and even with spare horses to switch to, covering that distance in three days was an astonishing forced march.
The heavy cavalry, including the bulky Kapikulu Sipahis, had fallen behind long ago, and even those with poor riding skills, as well as the elderly Grand Vizier, had been left behind.
‘Six thousand left, is it? That’s more than expected.’
Not only the Janissaries, who underwent all manner of training, but also most of Yusuf’s infantry, many of whom came from sipahi retainer backgrounds, knew how to ride.
Since the force that had numbered thirteen thousand at departure had dwindled to only six thousand, it meant more than half had fallen behind.
Those who had been left behind would join them later anyway, so that was fine, but the soldiers were in no condition to fight immediately.
Arda agreed with Yusuf’s words.
“If the enemy knew our condition, they would not have withdrawn so easily.”
“That’s because we arrived before the enemy messenger who was watching us.”
No matter how hard they force-marched, they could not be faster than a messenger traveling alone.
However, Ahmed’s messenger had not known that Ahmed’s army would be here, while Yusuf, who had thoroughly planned things in advance with Shemsi, had roughly known where Shemsi would be.
It was only natural that Yusuf arrived before the messenger, who had to go all the way near the Bosporus Strait and then follow Ahmed’s trail.
Yusuf’s eyes sank coldly.
“More importantly, isn’t it strange? If Elder Brother Ahmed attacked, the Pasha’s army should not have been here.”
They had always drawn up their plans so that they would create a safe route of retreat before advancing.
No matter how much earlier than expected Ahmed had attacked, this was clearly strange.
“I’ll have to go and confirm it myself. Just what happened, exactly.”
The cavalry led by Yusuf moved their heavy steps and joined the infantry force.
∗ ∗ ∗
If Karagöz Beylerbeyi had not been dealt such a hollow defeat by Shehinshah and squandered the soldiers of Ankara, there would have been no need for a forced march.
If Ankara’s troops had been added to their forces, Ahmed would not have been able to attempt to defeat them in detail.
They had lost their best card, but Yusuf had not been greatly worried. That was how much time and effort had gone into the plan he had drawn up with Shemsi.
The forced march, too, had merely been a strain he accepted in order to reduce any possible variables.
“But I never imagined they would be in a situation like this.”
Though Yusuf had arrived in time and saved them from the brink of death, the commanders leading the army felt as though their breath had caught in their throats.
That was how murderous the atmosphere around the enraged Yusuf was.
Even those merely watching from the side felt afraid, to say nothing of the Georgian commanders who were the targets of his wrath.
“Did you think that because you are in a position of giving aid, you could do as you pleased?”
“N-no, Your Highness.”
“You forget the past far too easily.”
Yusuf’s words lodged coldly in their chests.
Circassia and Georgia were different.
Unlike Circassia, with whom he had established friendly relations from the start, most of the Georgian states were those who had submitted to Yusuf’s army.
As the memory of that time rose like trauma, their faces turned pale, and Yusuf allowed them room to breathe.
“I will give you a chance. Punish those who have caused trouble thus far, and do so decisively.”
“To what extent…?”
“That is your choice. I will watch and see what choice you make. You may leave.”
At Yusuf’s words, the commanders went outside with dark expressions.
Because it was not only the soldiers who had caused trouble, and several among the commanders would have to step forward as scapegoats.
After all the Georgian commanders left, Shemsi, who had been standing quietly, asked,
“Do you intend to end it like this?”
“As if.”
Yusuf smiled coldly.
For now, he needed their assistance, so he would let it pass, but this incident had firmly settled his mind.
“Once I ascend to the seat of Padishah, I’ll have to put the Georgian kingdoms in order to some extent.”
Not every Georgian state had caused trouble.
States friendly to the Ottomans, including Samtskhe, had obeyed Shemsi’s control well, and it seemed Georgia would have to be reorganized around them.
It was the moment Georgia’s fate was decided.
“I understand that Georgia will be handled that way. Then what will you do from now on?”
“We wait for the delayed troops to arrive and join us.”
The soldiers who had endured the forced march needed time to recover, and he had no intention of moving recklessly before all his troops had gathered.
It would only create unnecessary losses.
“In any case, Elder Brother Ahmed has missed his last remaining chance.”
Ahmed should have attacked when Yusuf first appeared on the hill.
It had been his only chance to win a great victory by defeating, in detail, the frightened infantry and the cavalry exhausted from the forced march.
Now that Yusuf had joined them, they had missed their last chance to win with ease, and from this point on, time was no longer on Ahmed’s side.
“When the messenger arrives later, my elder brother will realize his mistake as well.”
“By then, will it not already be too late to turn back?”
Because by the time the messenger arrived, Yusuf’s cavalry would have recovered from their exhaustion to some extent.
Life was a series of choices, and a prince’s wrong choice meant death.
∗ ∗ ∗
A terrible despair settled over Ahmed’s army.
“The army that appeared on the hill was Yusuf’s? And they were on the verge of collapsing from exhaustion?”
Upon hearing the report from the messenger who had arrived one step too late, Ahmed’s face twisted hideously, and he drew the sword at his waist.
Ahmed, his eyes bloodshot, brought the sword down on the messenger’s neck.
“P-Prince… kuhuk!”
The messenger, whose throat was cut before he had any chance to resist, instinctively clutched the wound with his hands, but Ahmed did not seem to see it at all.
Like a man chopping with an axe, Ahmed struck the messenger’s neck a dozen more times with his sword, then stood there covered in blood, breathing harshly.
Throwing his blade atop the corpse sprawled miserably in a sea of blood, Ahmed spoke to the soldiers standing there with stiff faces.
“Get that out of my sight.”
The soldiers dragged the corpse away as though hauling off trash, and Ahmed dropped heavily into a chair.
Despite the presence of his dark-faced commanders, Ahmed let out a hollow voice.
“Has Allah truly abandoned me?”
It was a statement that spoke for the feelings of every commander gathered there.
As they had expected, the situation only continued to worsen.
At the insistence of those who argued that they should attack even if it was late, they attempted an assault once, but what greeted them was not terrified infantry, but soldiers armed with gunpowder.
Bang! Ratatatat!
“R-Retreat! Retreat!”
The Sipahi, mounted archers, approached with bows in hand to carry out their basic tactic of striking and withdrawing, but before they could even get close enough to shoot, they were forced to endure a hail of bullets.
After being badly mauled once by the bullets pouring down with thunderous reports, the Sipahi became passive in their attacks, and in the meantime, Yusuf’s soldiers who had fallen behind began to rejoin him.
Once not only the Grand Vizier but even the Kapikulu, who arrived last, had finished joining up, Yusuf moved to cut off Ahmed’s breath.
Mounted on his horse, Yusuf looked out at Ahmed’s army and said,
“Grand Vizier, do you see how frightened they are?”
“I see it clearly.”
Ahmed’s situation was the worst possible.
The soldiers, sensing defeat, attempted to desert day after day, and when the men sent out on reconnaissance kept deserting, they could no longer even conduct proper scouting.
The force of fifteen thousand he had gathered was scattering like grains of sand.
‘Well, many of them joined Ahmed only because the situation forced them to.’
That was especially true of the soldiers brought from the cities where Ahmed’s four sons served as sanjakbeys.
They were not men who had followed Ahmed for many years, like the soldiers of Amasya.
“That must be why they sent this surrender.”
Yusuf gave a faint laugh at the letter of surrender delivered through a deserter scout.
The Grand Vizier let out a sigh of relief at Yusuf’s reaction and said,
“It is fortunate that you are accepting their surrender.”
“Of course. It is not as if I can kill them all. They will all become my soldiers.”
The rebel army he had suppressed near Konya was different from Ahmed’s troops.
The Turkmen, who made up the majority of the rebels, were people who could side with Ismail at any time, and they did not obey Ottoman rule either.
It was not for nothing that, in the original history, Selim had them exiled to Safavid territory or killed as soon as he took power.
If suppressing that rebellion had been a matter of clearing away future troubles in advance, this battle was like cutting into his own flesh.
‘If I become sultan, there will be many battles I must fight from now on.’
Not only against the Safavids and the Mamluks, but also endless wars with the West.
He needed to spare every soldier he could, and it would be enough to take only the lives of the ringleaders and those who resisted.
“More importantly, it has finally begun.”
The enemy camp that had been facing them suddenly heaved into chaos, and they turned their blades on one another.
As the sword-fighting began between those who followed Ahmed and those who chose betrayal to save their own lives, Yusuf slung his gun over his shoulder and shouted,
“Advance!”
“Advance! Advance!”
Boom! Boooom!
Along with Yusuf’s cry, the sound of drums shook the heavens.
It was the drumbeat announcing Ahmed’s end.
∗ ∗ ∗
Ten years ago, when he had first become Yusuf, no one would have imagined that Ahmed would one day kneel before him like this.
Not even Ahmed himself.
“Is that not so, elder brother?”
“I should have killed you long ago.”
Ahmed, who had suffered a deep wound to his arm in the betrayal, was pale, and Yusuf looked down at him where he knelt.
As if showing all the stress he had endured, Ahmed’s hair had gone completely white, and his complexion was haggard.
The man who had once been closest to the seat of Padishah looked far too wretched now.
“It seems trying to use Hasan to kill me was not enough for you.”
“If that pig of a bastard had not betrayed me, I would not be in this state!”
Thinking of Hasan, who had lost a great deal of weight from overwork, Yusuf gave a sneer.
“You were simply incompetent, elder brother. Until this moment came, did you not have countless opportunities?”
Opportunities were not fair.
Unlike Yusuf, who had endured as though walking on thin ice because even a small mistake could send him tumbling into the abyss, Ahmed had been fine despite making mistakes time and again.
That was the difference they had been born with.
Yet Yusuf had overcome every crisis, while Ahmed had squandered every opportunity given to him.
This was the result.
“Arda.”
At Yusuf’s call, Arda brought five silk cords, and Yusuf looked at the four nephews kneeling behind Ahmed.
As if they knew what awaited them, his nephews, their faces filled with terror, wet themselves and burst into tears.
Ahmed cried out urgently.
“Yusuf, is it not enough to take only my life? Spare my sons!”
Yusuf looked coldly down at Ahmed, who had lowered the head he had held so stiffly until just now and was now striking it against the floor as he begged.
“If you had been in my place, elder brother, would you have spared my sons?”
“O-Of course!”
“By Allah, you swear it?”
“……”
Seeing Ahmed’s lips merely twitch, Yusuf gave a mocking smile.
It was laughable that he found it so difficult to invoke Allah falsely for the sake of his sons.
“Now that death is before you, are you so afraid of hell? Even so, I shall show you one final mercy. Arda, send my elder brother first.”
At the very least, should he not be spared the sight of outliving his children?
It was the last consideration he could show as his brother, and as a fellow father.
As Ahmed’s throat was strangled and he glared at him with eyes wide open, Yusuf gave his final farewell.
“I will give some thought to your last remaining young son.”
Looking at Ahmed’s body as it went limp, Yusuf spoke to the soldiers.
“Send them to their father’s embrace.”
Having said that, Yusuf stepped out of the tent and looked up at the sky.
Pitch-black storm clouds covered the heavens, and Yusuf murmured quietly,
“A heavy rain is about to fall.”