I Became the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire

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The gloomy sound of the sea breeze mingled with the shouts of the sailors pulling thick ropes to adjust the sails like banners.

As if to signal that an island was nearby, seabirds noisily flew around the fleet, and the deck creaked under the weight of armed soldiers as they moved.

Yusuf inhaled the salty and fishy scent of the sea and gazed at the cold, desolate island.

“This is Malta. A troublesome terrain.”

Even without experience or knowledge of warfare, it was clear that this wasn’t an easy landscape.

Cliffs that looked down at the crashing waves and coastlines with protruding reefs ready to shipwreck anyone who dared to come close made the sea appear unfriendly.

The few harbors that provided access to the island were in bays where the sea curved inland, which made invasion difficult.

‘That’s why the Ottomans failed in history to conquer Malta.’

The Knights of St. John, who had specialized in defending such islands and had inflicted great damage on the Ottomans with only a handful of troops from Rhodes, wouldn’t be easy to tackle.

Of course, it was history that had no bearing on him. It wasn’t without reason that the order had been uprooted from Rhodes.

Yusuf raised his head and looked around.

To be frank, the naval strength of the Ottomans wasn’t in good shape.

They had drained their national power to dispatch a large fleet to the East and couldn’t produce enough ships to replenish it since the Ottomans were not a nation that could solely manage maritime issues.

Just recently, the Astrakhan Khanate had taken advantage of Mehmed’s absence to attack the Donbas region, and Murad had fought dozens of skirmishes against nomads or African natives throughout the year.

With their vast territories, the constant friction with neighbors meant they couldn’t focus only on naval power, and it would be hard to dominate Western nations in the Mediterranean until the Eastern fleet returned.

‘But that’s why there are Barbary pirates.’

Outsourcing partners are meant to be used in situations like these.

“Was it Dragut?”

“Yes, Padishah.”

The middle-aged man who bowed his head at Yusuf’s call answered while sweating profusely.

To be honest, he had no idea why he was on the flagship with the Padishah instead of being out there on a small pirate ship floating in the sea.

While he had gained some reputation as a pirate under Barbarossa, he certainly wasn’t worthy of facing the Padishah.

Was it any wonder that when he received the call to the flagship, his fellow sailors questioned if he had colluded with the enemy?

Picking up on this vibe, Yusuf slung his gun over his shoulder.

“There’s nothing to be scared of. They call me Satan in Portugal, but do I look like someone who devours humans?”

Sure, he might tear them apart, but he wouldn’t eat them.

With his eyes squinted in a way that could be seen as suspicious, Dragut bowed his head even deeper, and Yusuf looked down at him.

Dragut was a pirate-born admiral, similar to Hayreddin Barbarossa.

‘The greatest pirate warrior in history, a king who never sat on the throne of the Mediterranean.’

So went his evaluation, and it wasn’t limited to the Ottomans. Even the French admiral deemed him a living map of the Mediterranean and the person most worthy of being king.

As the Ottomans had to manage more waters day by day, they always needed new talent to be worked like slaves.

“Have you heard news of Hızır? They say he’s achieving great things in the far East.”

“I have heard from the Beylerbey of Algiers.”

It wouldn’t be strange for the Beylerbey of Algiers to boast about his brother Uruj, who was Hızır’s sibling.

‘It’s strange he bragged about hunting pirates while standing in front of pirates.’

There was no reason to feel a sense of kinship with pirates far in the East, so it was all irrelevant.

Yusuf folded his arms and gazed towards Malta, which was ringing the alarm bells.

“In comparison to this vast world, the Mediterranean is but a lake. If you’ve become a sailor, wouldn’t it be right to dream of a wider world?”

“That’s true.”

“I’ll give you the opportunity to sail to distant seas. Prove your worth once. Can you do that?”

Upon Yusuf’s words, Dragut knelt, his face filled with emotion.

He was realizing that it was someone who governed a colossal empire and wielded reputation tantamount to a divine assistant in the Ottoman realm—Yusuf himself—that was placing such expectations on a mere pirate captain.

If his heart wasn’t racing, that would have been impossible.

Dragut declared with determination in his voice, “I will not disappoint you!”

“Good, I am counting on you. Off you go.”

As Dragut left in a small boat to return to his own ship, he was filled with resolution, and Hasan, who had been watching, spoke to Yusuf with a smile.

“Padishah, I think it’s time to take your nickname and surname.”

It was a joke about taking the nickname “Satan’s Tongue” or the surname “Satan’s Honey.”

Hearing words from one of the few people who could joke with him, Yusuf shrugged.

“Isn’t he in the prime of his life? What’s wrong with this level of motivation?”

Though Dragut was four years older than him, it was still young in Ottoman terms.

Given that tomorrow’s soon-to-die elders have to keep working, that’s how the current Ottoman situation is.

And Dragut was someone Yusuf needed for his future plans, while he watched the imperial fleet gathering to seize the harbor.

“I hope he proves his abilities for sure.”

Because he couldn’t just rely on old, twisted records to assign jobs.

The bombardment fired by the Maltese defenders fell into the sea, sending up splashes, signaling the start of the siege.

*

The Maltese defenders desperately resisted against the Ottoman fleet that was advancing into the bay, but the scale of the mobilization was different.

The watchtower set up on the protruding Cervara Peninsula in the center of the bay couldn’t withstand the relentless cannon fire and fell apart in an instant, while the harbor of Birgu clung desperately to its small walls, risking their lives.

-Bang!

The walls erected before artillery was wielded crumbled into rubble with the gunfire, and the commander in charge of the harbor defense shouted frantically.

“Hold on just a little longer! If we endure, reinforcements from Mdina and Gozo will come!”

Though he shouted those words, the commander well knew how empty they were.

He could only watch in horror as comrades shredded by cannon fire lay dead and the soldiers, trembling with nausea from the pressure of war, peered over the wall only to turn into bloody corpses.

In the midst of the Mediterranean, which sees frequent seafaring, those living lives far removed from war had trouble coping with this dire situation.

There was no certainty in waiting for news of reinforcements, and all they could do was yell words of encouragement, raising their voices higher.

“Dodge…”

Those words, barely heard, were the last things he caught.

A horde of pirates, who had appeared without warning, thrust a blade into the commander’s neck.

“I, Dragut, have killed the commander! Kill them all!”

As Dragut shouted, dripping with seawater, his fellow pirates weaved their way through the disoriented defenders.

From a distance, watching the battlefield entangled with over a hundred ships of all sizes, Yusuf set down his telescope.

“He’s playing a dangerous game.”

Having been observing the battle without participating, Yusuf recognized Dragut’s movements as well.

While it might seem reckless to thread the battlefield where both allies’ and enemies’ projectiles were flying around, the sheer fact he succeeded meant he had an excellent ability to read the flow of battle.

Had he not accurately grasped the gaps in the battle, he wouldn’t have managed to disembark from the ship.

“It’s a shame he’s acting like his life isn’t worth much, but he’s useful.”

Watching the ships advancing toward the port of Birgu where the gunfire had ceased and black smoke billowed, Yusuf handed his gun to Hasan next to him.

The Malta region was made up of Malta island— the largest, alongside Gozo Island, which constitutes about one-third of Malta, and the small Comino Island in between.

The population of this Malta region is about ten thousand, with people concentrated in Mdina, the heart of Malta, Citadella in Gozo, and the recently captured Birgu.

No matter how weak the defense was without the Knights of St. John, it didn’t mean this place was just a cakewalk to capture, making the swift conquest a good start.

To ensure safety, after Birgu was fully captured, Yusuf stepped foot into the harbor.

Bloody footprints and corpses littered everywhere, showing the fierce war situation, while the townspeople taken as prisoners trembled, huddled in a clearing.

“P-please spare us!”

With bayonets aimed at them, the thousand people quivered as Yusuf stroked his beard.

Though Malta belonged to Spanish territory, it was closer to Arab culture, and its language was quite similar to Arabic.

To put it simply, it was the kind of dialect-heavy Arabic that wasn’t too difficult to understand simple phrases like that.

“Enough.”

Yusuf said shortly to the soldier who was about to kick a woman trembling and pleading for her children’s lives.

“This will be our territory to govern, and we will punish those who deserve it, not these people. Don’t overreact.”

“Understood, Padishah!”

Yusuf noticed some individuals who had expected looting felt disappointed by his words, but he didn’t care.

Since he had participated in the battle, he would at least provide some form of reward, even if it wasn’t a full-on looting spree.

“The war is not yet over. Bring Mdina and Gozo into the empire’s fold.”

Until those two places were captured, it couldn’t be deemed a complete conquest of Malta.

As soon as Yusuf’s orders were given, the Ottoman forces advanced towards both locations simultaneously, and the two areas, unaware of the impending invasion, fell easily into Ottoman hands.

What had once been a region where the Ottomans suffered massive losses and ultimately failed to conquer now came under Yusuf’s control, and news of the Ottoman attack spread quickly through the surrounding areas.

*

Watching the soldiers and townsfolk swiftly restoring Birgu harbor, Yusuf turned to Hasan beside him.

“By now, I assume Spain is on high alert.”

“Indeed, it must be.”

It would take a bit of time to fortify Malta after capturing it, so Charles V would likely have received news soon.

To Charles, the conquest of Malta would be seen as a kind of declaration of war, but for Yusuf, who knew the importance of Malta too well, it held value in itself.

He viewed Malta as more important than Tunisia, which was worth fighting tooth and nail to prevent from falling.

“Aren’t you familiar with Tunisia, Dragut?”

“I’ve been there a few times.”

“What do you think about seizing it with the current fleet?”

“I believe it’s entirely possible.”

With over a hundred ships of the empire strengthened by Barbary pirates, they would likely take some casualties, but they could indeed seize Tunisia.

However, there was a need to recalculate here.

“What if the Spanish fleet interferes?”

“I… don’t think it will be easy. They’ve hired Genoese mercenaries, haven’t they?”

“Right, they’re there.”

The Genoese mercenaries hired by Spain were not to be trifled with.

Of course, even if they fought head-on, they could win in a battle together with Spain, but if they were trying to hinder the conquest, that would change things.

“Then we’ll have to throw out some bait to ensure they can’t interfere with the conquest of Tunisia.”

Essentially, they’d need to throw out a tempting piece of bait that would make it difficult to easily pick the option to interfere with the attack on Tunisia.

*

“This is our first meeting. It’s a pleasure, Pope.”

The Pope trembled at the sight of those familiar emerald-green eyes he had seen far too often in Rome, realizing that this presence was more terrifying than Mehmed, who had become his nightmare.

“W-what brings the Padishah of the Empire here?”

Yusuf smiled widely at the Pope, who was overcome with panic and fear.

“Aren’t you curious?”

“W-what do you mean?”

“If I’m here, will Carlos send an army to reconquer Rome again or not?”

At Yusuf’s words, laced with amusement, the Pope squeezed his eyes shut.

It was a terrifying nightmare.