I Became the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire

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#Chapter 27. Tumultuous Circumstances (3) (Revised)

Sometimes, when viewed over a day or a week, time seems to stand still, but looking back, I realize that time has flown by significantly.

It’s been more than a year since I became Yusuf, and over a year since I became the Sanjakbey of Trabzon.

While this life had many inconveniences, I gradually adapted, and the sense of achievement grew when I saw the seeds I planted start to bear fruit.

For starters, the farmers were amazed by the clover effect.

“I never dreamed that just planting yonja could make such a difference. Doesn’t it look better than land that didn’t have anything planted?”

I wouldn’t know.

What would someone who has never planted a single weed on Arbor Day understand?

If a person has spent their whole life farming says it works, then they nod along, believing in the effectiveness of clover.

“Then we can implement the four-crop rotation as per the records. We can’t afford to fail.”

“Of course. I will risk my life to ensure success.”

You might ask if it’s really worth risking your life for farming, but these people were serious about it.

After all, they were the ones who had ruined the farmland under Selim’s orders.

‘If it were another prince, these people would have been sold into slavery and turned into Hasan II.’

This isn’t self-praise; it’s simply the law.

While it’s one thing to earn a salary from the state, ownership of the land ultimately belongs to the kingdom.

If the kingdom’s land is harmed, it is only natural to face corresponding punishment.

‘Of course, they might feel wronged. They were ordered by the prince, yet they bear the punishment themselves.’

Even knowing they’ll get punished, how can anyone have the audacity to oppose a prince like Selim, who has a fearsome appearance? If someone did, they’d likely already be buried in the ground.

This was the reason for forgiving the farmers, and as a result, they did their best in return.

The land once covered in clover was now sowed with turnips and wheat, and Yusuf said to the manager overseeing Has:

“We need to assess how much livestock we can raise with the turnips and yonja.”

“Understood.”

The greatest advantage of the four-crop rotation method is the ability to raise more livestock.

‘If I refuse to use fertilizer made from manure, what can I do? I have to raise plenty of livestock.’

With more livestock, more fertilizer can be produced, and the fallow land can be eliminated.

When considering war, having plenty of food is absolutely crucial.

‘If the food is lacking, even the Janissaries might rebel.’

After all, it isn’t for nothing that the Ottomans have always prioritized food supply.

To feed 20,000 men for three months, 50,000 camels had to haul supplies, and there are records of 20,000 men consuming over 200,000 sheep in 21 months.

It’s not easy for an empire on the move with an army close to 100,000; just the food costs could be backbreaking.

Anyway, while the food responsibility of the four-crop rotation progressed smoothly, cement posed a challenging endeavor.

It wasn’t hard to obtain the main ingredients, lime, and clay.

With rivers and underground water all limestone-rich around here, to exaggerate slightly, limestone was practically rolling around in the hills behind the village.

Even firing it was manageable.

Considering the temperature needed exceeds that of lava, surely they could raise it, using the blast furnace for steel production.

Unsurprisingly, Hasan, who produced the first batch, came running in with a joyful expression.

“Your Highness, I finally made it!”

Yusuf examined the cement Hasan brought, touching it here and there.

‘Compared to Roman cement, it’s lacking, but it’s not bad for this level.’

Cement mixed with volcanic ash is sturdier than modern cement, so it’s not really a fair comparison.

Even with this level, I’d count my blessings, and Hasan exclaimed with an excited voice.

“It hardens into stone so quickly; Roman technology is indeed amazing!”

“Don’t get too happy yet.”

Returning the cement to the bewildered Hasan, Yusuf instructed him,

“Find out how much gravel and sand need to be mixed to make it the sturdiest.”

The cement itself can break easily, but when mixed with gravel and sand to create concrete, it could replace bricks.

Yusuf smiled mischievously at Hasan, who nodded as if it were easy.

“Next, you need to come up with a method for mass production.”

At this, Hasan broke out in a cold sweat.

“…Your Highness? The intermediate firing process makes it hard to produce in bulk.”

Right now, it couldn’t be done by firing each one individually in the forge.

He knew it was hard, but there was no other option.

“How much would we need if we think about building with this? If it’s not a regular building but a fortress, the current method simply won’t suffice.”

What’s the point of having the technology to whip up a fortress if the materials to build it are absent?

Only then did Hasan truly grasp the necessity of the cement, looking pale.

Because Yusuf, who always sang about the possibility of war, needed this to succeed without fail.

“Hasan, you can bring in engineers or blacksmiths. Just make it happen.”

After all, slaves don’t get choices; if the master says so, that’s it.

Of course, it wasn’t just a matter of tossing them aside; Yusuf guided him with ideas, so progress started to show.

While cement had its ups and downs, the training of the cavalry was no easy task either.

A roaring voice came from among the cavalry, who held long spears taller than 5 meters with hollow tips.

“Silence! Knees tight together!”

At the command, the cavalry formed tighter and gradually moved, and as the target drew closer, another command was issued.

“Lower the lances!”

The cavalry with lances extended increased their speed and charged through the target.

If the bundle of grass blocking their way had been a person, it would have been splattered with blood.

Despite such frightening destructive power, the expressions of Yusuf and Arda watching were not at all pleasant.

“The speed still falters in the middle.”

It was merely an enemy made of grass, yet the cavalry’s speed was noticeably reduced as they approached.

Though it seemed a minor difference in speed, the difference in breakthrough ability was immense.

“Thanks to using longer spears, the speed has reduced less.”

“It’s the horses’ issues rather than the riders’, so I have no intention of blaming them.”

The reason their speed faltered was that the horses were even more cowardly than imagined.

Imagine if they encounter a creature much smaller than themselves or an obstacle; they would freeze instead of stepping on or jumping over it.

‘While warhorses aren’t that cowardly, at the level they’re at now, they wouldn’t perform their roles in real combat.’

Forcing a charge against an enemy wielding weapons isn’t something regular bravery could achieve.

Overcoming this fear is necessary for both the horses and the soldiers.

Whether it’s a fight among cavalry or between cavalry and infantry, the option that flinches is the one likely to lose; as such, having longer lances allows battle engagement before the horses get too scared, minimizing the reduction in destructive power.

“It seems Arda will have to train them well. They’ll need to be ready to head into battle within a year at the earliest.”

“A year, huh.”

Not exactly a generous timeline, but Arda too felt the need to prepare for war.

The winds blowing from the east were anything but ordinary.

Nodding in silence, Arda suddenly questioned with a thought in mind.

“What do you plan to do about the armor?”

“Armor… is indeed important.”

Armor serves to protect the body, but it also adds weight to enhance destructive power.

The spear currently being practiced is a hollowed weapon, and it’s practically a disposable item that splinters after a single charge.

That means one cavalry would need at least one or two.

Moreover, adding armor that costs as much as a modern automobile would send the finances into a tailspin.

Fortunately, there was a plan.

“If necessary, I should ask my father.”

By then, they’d have finished fighting Venice and would hopefully reap big spoils, so giving out armor shouldn’t be a problem.

Yusuf, who boldly thought about indulging in the spoils, returned to the castle with improved horsemanship, where he could see two letters addressed to him.

One was a letter from Mzechabuk of the Principality of Samtskhe.

“Looks like he finally took the position.”

It was a letter stating that after the death of the former owner of the Principality of Samtskhe, his brother took the regency.

Although there was no direct mention of having killed his brother.

‘He must have done it without anyone noticing.’

The parting was with eyes glimmering with desire, so he must have killed his brother himself.

This proved that the camaraderie of the Ottomans was anything but special.

“Though it was the encouragement, pursuing power by killing a family member if the opportunity arises seems natural enough.”

There’s a saying that power isn’t shared even with children for no reason.

Thinking this way, Yusuf picked up the next letter, his face lighting up.

It was a letter from Aishe.

“Finally returning, huh.”

The news of Aishe’s return, who had stirred up the Circassians throughout the past period, was conveyed.

*

Thud thud thud—

“An ambush! An ambush!”

The sentinels, who belatedly discovered the Qizilbash thanks to the cloth wrapped around their horses’ hooves, rang the alarm like madmen, but it was already far too late to respond.

“For Allah! For Ismail!”

Believing in their savior and serving Ismail like zealots, they were unafraid, burrowing into the gaps in the barricades and turning the enemy camp upside down.

Ismail’s tactics, which had been employed repeatedly, were relentless and cruel.

Facing a numerical disadvantage of 27,000 to 7,000, Ismail meticulously avoided direct confrontation and seized opportunities for hit-and-run attacks and nighttime raids.

Unlike the Qizilbash comprised solely of cavalry, Faruk’s army, which had infantry mixed in, was bound to be unfairly swayed in open battle.

However, Faruk wasn’t stupid enough to continue falling for the same trick.

Suddenly bright lights appeared from the direction of the belly and the loud sound of galloping hooves echoed, startling the Qizilbash, who cried out.

“It’s a trap! Retreat! Retreat!”

But it was already a belated realization, and with the Qizilbash unable to gain proper speed, Faruk’s cavalry charged in.

“It’s time for revenge! Kill them all!”

With a vengeance for their previous losses, Faruk’s cavalry chased the fleeing Qizilbash, and there were witnesses to this scene.

Upon confirming that the enemy cavalry had exited the enemy camp, Ismail spoke coldly.

“Capture Faruk.”

The cavalry lured away as bait had left their post, and the infantry, intoxicated by the false victory, couldn’t fend off the Qizilbash pouring in from the opposite side.

In the most lavish tent, Faruk, now battered, was dragged in front of Ismail, who looked at him with a sneer.

“Faruk, I’ve been waiting to see you like this.”

“I-Ismail.”

Kneeling, Faruk looked up at Ismail, his expression one of humiliation.

Faruk, a king whose name refers to “Shah” in Persian, ruled over the Shirvanshah Dynasty, which had a bitter feud with Ismail.

In fact, the family vendetta lay between the Shirvanshah Dynasty and Faruk himself.

“Seeing you in this state must be bringing laughter to the two who are by Allah’s side.”

Faruk retorted with a sneer.

“What of Allah? He must be suffering, thrown into the hellfire… Ack!”

Ismail embedded a knife into Faruk’s hand, brushing off the blood lightly as he spoke.

“Suffer as long as you can bear it. I’ll capture Baku and hang your head before your castle.”

“Ismail!”

Hearing the cry filled with hatred, Ismail turned away without hesitation.

A strong conviction swelled in Ismail, who had achieved a tremendous victory in a seemingly impossible war.

“Allah’s will lies with me.”

This was the moment a monster emerged at the forefront of history.