I Became the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire

---

# Episode 3. The Stakes Are Life (2)

When two or more people gather, it forms a society, and society inevitably creates power dynamics.

The harem, where hundreds of women vie for the favor of a single man, was a bloody battleground of power struggles.

At the top of the harem’s hierarchy was the Valide Hatun, the Sultan’s mother, followed by the consorts who had given birth to heirs and then those who had born daughters.

The Sultan’s mother had long since gone to Allah, and the consorts who had produced heirs had left the harem following their Sanjakbey children.

Naturally, in common circumstances, Fatima should hold the highest rank in the harem.

“It seems that an heir’s rank isn’t absolute.”

A consort with no prospect of becoming a Sultan was far outmatched by political marriages and powerful consorts who married high-ranking officials.

The eunuchs who associated with these women acted arrogantly, unaware of their place.

At Yusuf’s pointed remark, Fatima was taken aback.

“What are you thinking?”

It was exceedingly dangerous to reveal intentions and place such vital protection in the hands of those one couldn’t trust.

“Mother, if we continue this way, our future is clear. Frankly, the Sultan has no expectations of me. Trabzon? Do you really think he would assign me that major city? He’ll give me somewhere insignificant instead.”

“……”

Yusuf’s cold words pierced into Fatima’s heart.

She couldn’t deny the painful truth.

Meeting Yusuf’s eyes, Fatima, agitated, held his hands softly.

“What we need is not stability, but adventure. Even if the stakes are my life, we have to try something!”

“…Let me take the lead instead.”

With a motherly love that would easily sacrifice her own life, Yusuf smiled gently.

However, his spoken words were resolute, unlike his expression.

“No. If you were to die, no one would care. I would only lose my one true ally.”

In a situation where even a prince’s life seemed expendable, the life of a consort not favored by the Sultan hardly mattered.

In the merciless world of power, death was merely the fate of the fallen.

This applied to Yusuf as well as Fatima.

“I have no intention of dying either. If I die, I’ll only be met with ridicule. But if I survive, everything will change.”

Honestly, driven by the singular goal of survival, Yusuf was acting without a second thought, but he couldn’t ignore the turmoil within his mind.

With modern memories and Yusuf’s past intertwining, chaos reigned in his head.

He no longer knew if he had entered Yusuf’s body or if Yusuf had inherited modern memories.

Whether this was inside a game or a venture into a distant past remained uncertain.

He would gladly call it a horrid nightmare if it would just provide clarity, but no answers were forthcoming despite his desperate wishes.

Standing up, Yusuf gazed out the window.

The people adorned in gold and silk were extravagant.

The palace, housing thousands, displayed the empire’s grandeur.

Taking in the imperial scenery, Yusuf vowed to himself.

“I must survive until the end and become the master of this empire.”

His belief that all answers lay in this ambition was the one hope that kept him from crumbling.

*

Fatima felt bewitched by a bad spirit today.

There was an Arab saying, “If the mountain moved last night, believe it; if a person changed, do not.”

It meant that people are not easily altered, yet Yusuf’s transformation was so remarkable that it was hard to believe, even witnessing it firsthand.

“It’s not just a matter of a changed mindset. Did he always have this temperament?”

Fatima felt her heart shatter.

If that were true, then her overprotection had clipped her child’s wings.

Thinking of the worries and courage it took to voice those thoughts swallowed her heart.

“It’s not too late.”

Though she couldn’t comprehend why she made five small pockets inside her vest, it was time to become Yusuf’s steadfast supporter.

Returning to her room, Fatima called for the maid who had followed her in.

“Yes, yes.”

“Speak.”

Nene was a maid but also a friend captured with her from her hometown.

When she became a consort, she sought out Nene right away, making her the only trustworthy person in an otherwise suspicious environment.

“Yusuf is set to leave the palace in two days. Spread the word quickly.”

“…Understood.”

Fatima smiled slightly at Nene, who was obedient without a hint of doubt, then briefly pondered.

If Yusuf wanted to become Sultan, her plans would need to adjust.

Fatima decided quickly.

“Hold off on the funds intended for the West.”

Having been sold into slavery, Fatima understood the importance of money deeply and ran a small enterprise with the funds she had saved as a consort.

Perhaps by chance, the enterprise has expanded to a usable scale, hence why Fatima began contemplating another way to save Yusuf.

That was the path of fleeing to the West.

This was a method that Cem, the brother of the current Sultan Bayezid II, had taken after losing a civil war.

Cem fled to the Hospitallers and became a headache for the Sultan.

“Fleeing may not be the best choice…”

The Hospitallers had received substantial bribes from the Sultan and detained Cem, forcing him to go through the hardships of being pulled to the Papacy and France.

To avoid treading the same path, she thought of hiding their identities in the West.

However, if Yusuf’s aim was to become Sultan, this money could not be wasted.

“Nene, our fight ahead will be difficult. You might regret not fleeing. But will you stay by me until the end?”

At Fatima’s question, Nene gracefully folded the wrinkles formed from her struggles.

“From the moment I was saved, my life belongs to the Hatun. Even if the end is hell, I will go gladly.”

This heartfelt confession was both touching and a reminder that she couldn’t promise a bright future.

But there was one thing she could guarantee.

Fatima grasped Nene’s rough hands.

“I promise, if your end is hell, I will be right beside you.”

With that firm promise, Fatima fervently prayed for Yusuf’s plans to unfold smoothly.

*

The nation of Rome had maintained its lineage from the 8th century BC until the late Middle Ages, and the last grip of that lifeline was here in Constantinople.

At its peak, this city, whose population exceeded 400,000, dwindled to just 7,000 defenders, including its citizens, during the final siege of Constantinople.

Though the Eastern Roman Empire fell, this city, renamed Kostantiniye, began to revive under the hand of the Sultan, who proclaimed himself the Roman Emperor.

Thanks to incentives like religious tolerance, guaranteed pay, and various tax exemptions, this city was usually bustling with people, but the atmosphere had recently changed.

Clang!

“Get out of the way!”

People quickly scrambled aside at the shout of the Janissary, who sported a tall hat and a mustache.

A cart full of military supplies led by camels rushed past, and the air of urgency from the Janissaries was more intimidating than their shouts.

Standing to the side of the road, watching the scene unfold, Yusuf frowned.

“Wow, they have the timing down beautifully.”

The game “Sultan, Rule the World” had earned numerous complaints, but if it merely caused headaches, many gamers wouldn’t have taken on the challenge.

The game’s popularity stemmed not only from its cruel difficulty but also from excellent gameplay; one could immerse oneself in significant events over different eras, becoming reasonably knowledgeable about history by playing a few hundred rounds.

Of course, an ordinary person wouldn’t instantly know the years or details of historical events, but thanks to modern memories feeling as coherent as a well-organized library, he understood his situation.

“Considering it’s right before the war with the Republic of Venice, I might be sitting idle for four years if I’m not careful.”

In large-scale wars, the Sultan personally led the charge.

While victory against Venice would yield magnificent achievements in dominating the Mediterranean, the fact that the Sultan would be away was not particularly good news for Yusuf.

The longer the appointment as Sanjakbey was delayed, the greater the gap between him and his brothers would widen.

Yusuf concealed his anxiety, pretending to enjoy the city.

“How much for a piece of bread?”

The merchant selling fragrant bread jumped at the sight of the nobleman and replied.

“One oka (1.282 kg) of bread is 1 akçe.”

“Prices haven’t risen much even with the war looming.”

Akçe was the currency used in the Ottoman Empire, with a day laborer earning about 3 akçe on average.

This was a price that ensured a worker could make a living, meaning the economy was stable considering the impending war.

“Indeed, the current Sultan is not someone to be underestimated.”

Just as King Sejong became the greatest sovereign due to the foundation laid by his predecessor, so too was Bayezid II similarly remarkable.

He focused on economic development rather than extensive military campaigns, laying the groundwork for a vast empire spanning three continents in the future; just a brief observation gave one a sense of his greatness.

“And here I am, tasked with deceiving such a man.”

Maintaining a calm demeanor, he felt dry-mouthed inside.

“Is there no coffee yet? Coffee is the best when you’re anxious.”

Not having the coffee he used to drink three times a day made him genuinely feel like he might die.

How long had he wandered these streets grumbling?

His undeveloped legs began to ache, and as he gazed at the sunset sky, Yusuf sighed.

Since his assassination attempt had failed, he thought he had a good chance of attacking directly if the opportunity arose.

It wouldn’t take much effort to eliminate a worthless prince before a great war, and they would need to wrap it up hastily for the deployment.

However, it seemed his opponent was more cautious than expected.

Having no choice but to return first, he resolved to wait for another opportunity…

“Hmm…”

It was an ordinary-looking man whom he had encountered hundreds of times on the street.

His shabby turban and dirty beard, along with his worn-out clothes, were utterly commonplace, yet as Yusuf caught sight of him, his heart began to race.

Yusuf sensed this was a warning from fortune.

Suppressing the impulse to immediately stick close to his guards, he stepped towards the man approaching him.

Overcoming the stark fear of walking into the open like a beast in front of a predator, Yusuf brushed past the man.

“Gah!”

“Prince!”

With no one able to stop it, a weapon swung and stabbed Yusuf; his frail body flew back helplessly.

The assassin, confused upon seeing Yusuf’s bloodied hands, had not expected this.

The owner of the blood was, of course, himself.

Because the blade had gotten stuck in something solid, the assassin had cut himself as his hand slipped, and as Yusuf rose his body toward the dazed assassin, he silently spoke.

“Thank you.”

The assassin’s head, now rolling on the floor, bore an expression of shock.

The guards, quickly eliminating the assassin, turned toward Yusuf, who seemed unscathed.

“Wow, Prince, are you alright?!”

Even though the stab mark was visible, Yusuf, not shedding a drop of blood, replied with an expression full of gratitude.

“Allah is great! Allah has helped me!”

Those who witnessed the miraculous scene responded to Yusuf’s declaration.

“Allah is great!”

Amid the cheers, Yusuf chuckled inwardly.

Having overcome the hardest hurdle, it was now time to sell Allah.