I Became the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire

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The maids’ hands brushed over the young boy’s body.

From getting cleaned to changing clothes.

There was not a trace of personal emotion, just a politeness that made feeling embarrassed seem like a sin.

“Prince Omer, everything is ready.”

Omer, dressed in a splendid outfit made from silk brought in from the Ming Dynasty, tried to calm his nervous heart as he took a step forward.

Those who hold the title of Prince must be educated in the capital.

This was why Omer, son of Kasim, was called to the capital, and the moment of meeting his grandfather, the Padishah Yusuf, was drawing near.

‘Even if I can’t stand out, I can’t afford to be seen as unpleasant.’

Just because he was a grandfather didn’t mean he could be treated casually.

The weight of the name Yusuf was as heavy as the name of anyone born in the Ottoman Empire.

Yusuf, meaning Joseph, was a common name but now very few dared to use it casually.

Even those who once held that name had changed it.

He was an entity that could best be described as Sacred Inviolability, and no matter how much he was a grandfather, one couldn’t meet him with a light heart.

At least there was some comfort in the fact that he wouldn’t be meeting him alone.

As they approached the carriage, two boys were already waiting.

A boy with dark skin, younger but larger than himself, had a grumpy expression, while a shorter blond boy chattered at chest height.

“Prince Ali, they say Ali is family, so why is his skin dark?”

“Because he was born that way. Is that enough for you? You’re louder than a hen, Prince Batur.”

“But I’m curious! Why was he born that way? Can my child also be born dark?”

With Batur’s continued questions, Ali raised an eyebrow.

“It might happen. If you have a child with a dark-skinned person.”

“Then if I and Prince Ali have a child, a dark child would be born?”

“Is that even possible? Are we really going to have a child?”

“Then how do you make one? My parents didn’t explain it properly.”

With sparkling eyes filled with curiosity, Ali sighed.

“I don’t know. You could ask the Padishah.”

“Should we? My father said grandfathers know everything. He’ll surely have an answer!”

…Please, no.

Omer felt his vision blur.

*

The audience room always had a faint aroma of coffee.

It was a place where much work was done, and early in the morning, Yusuf received a visit from Şemsi, leading him to chuckle.

“A messenger from Carlos is coming?”

“Yes, that’s right. The arrival of the envoy was reported late. Shall we refuse him?”

There was no need to welcome an envoy arriving without proper notice.

Unless it was a country as friendly as France, there would be no point in maintaining formalities with a country that had no prospect for improvement.

“Let it be. What difficult thing is it to meet for a moment? More importantly, the children are coming soon, so you should see them.”

“I’m busy, but understood.”

A smile crept onto Yusuf’s face.

He was actually looking forward to the upcoming visit quite excitedly.

Not because of the emotions of a grandfather seeing his own blood.

‘If a successor hasn’t been decided, one of my grandsons could become the next Padishah.’

Longevity traits don’t guarantee how long one can live.

However, at least the princes would grow old, and the grandsons would actively live.

While it was a future that had vanished with the decision of succession, meeting grandsons who could have been the next Padishah was something to look forward to.

While he relaxedly waited for the visit, a booming voice of a servant rang out.

-Your Majesty, Prince Omer, Prince Ali, and Prince Batur request an audience!

“Let them in.”

At the permission, the door to the audience room opened, and the three boys entered.

“We greet the great Padishah!”

Following Omer’s greeting, the other two followed suit.

Seeing Omer, whose nerves were evident, Yusuf remembered the first time he met the former Padishah, Bayezid II.

That unforgettable memory from a life-risking gamble hadn’t faded even after years.

“Welcome. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Thank you for your hospitality, Your Majesty.”

Omer felt the sweat bead on his palm from the weight hidden behind Yusuf’s kind voice.

“You may raise your heads.”

At Yusuf’s permission, the three boys raised their heads and gazed, entranced, into his green eyes.

While they had often seen portraits that one supposedly sees if they are subjects of the Ottoman Empire, witnessing the reality was on a whole different level than even the most vivid painting.

Yusuf pointed to Şemsi, quietly seated nearby.

“This person here is the Grand Vizier of the Empire, Şemsi Pasha. Even living in the capital, you will rarely meet him. He is one of the busiest men in the Empire.”

“I am Şemsi Pasha. I will soon retire, so it may be difficult to meet me.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

Yusuf cut off Şemsi’s unfeasible hope and smiled.

“By the way, Vizier, it’s amusing. Kasim’s child is the oldest, while Mehmet’s child is the youngest.”

“Prince Kasim is the normal one.”

“I know that. I wonder when Mustafa will have a child.”

One might think he was marrying his belly.

Yusuf, who clicked his tongue, said to the somewhat relaxed children in the midst of their banter.

“Life in the capital won’t be easy. Learning won’t be either. However, you must not forget. Everything you enjoy is thanks to the efforts of the subjects, and you must give back.”

A serious tone fell, creating a heavy silence, and leaning back in his chair, Yusuf asked.

“Now, do you have any questions?”

Though he had asked them to inquire, he thought they would find it difficult to speak up.

The atmosphere was far too heavy for mere children to bear.

Nonetheless, the small hand that shot up above their heads shattered that expectation.

“Batur, what is on your mind?”

“Is the Padishah your grandfather?”

Depending on how it was interpreted, even a six-year-old’s words could come off as rude.

“What do you mean?”

“You look younger than my father. My father always frowns whenever he glances at papers.”

“That’s because your father is too smart. He sees the flaws before the good. Is there anything else you want to ask?”

At Yusuf’s reply, Batur had a moment of realization and let out a short exclamation, while Omer silently wished.

Please, don’t ask anything weirder than this.

But that prayer didn’t reach Batur next to him.

“How do children get made?”

Finally, when that question emerged, Omer clenched his eyes shut.

Life in the capital was definitely not going to be easy.

*

With one question posed to Yusuf, Batur, along with the three children, began to adjust to life in the capital.

In Ali’s case, though many were unfamiliar with a dark-skinned prince, no one dared insult Ali, who carried the blood of the great Padishah Yusuf.

As the children began to settle in, the expected visitors arrived.

“We greet the great Padishah of the Empire.”

The Spanish envoy, bowing politely, stood up as Yusuf gestured for him.

“The growth of the Empire is dazzling. The market is bustling with people, and voices praising the Padishah echo along the streets. Each visit reveals progress that leaves me in awe.”

“That’s thanks to the hard work of the subjects. By the way, it’s been a while since you’ve sent an envoy. I thought you wouldn’t send another after the peace negotiations.”

From Spain’s perspective, the peace negotiations were humiliating both in process and content.

They had barely managed to sign a peace treaty while begging for favorable terms and fighting for every last concession.

The rights they conceded became the reason for Muslims running rampant in the Iberian Peninsula, so it was no surprise they would prefer not to engage in conversation.

The envoy smoothly brushed off Yusuf’s pointing remarks.

“Isn’t a dialogue necessary for a peaceful world? The last war wouldn’t have happened had there been a proper conversation.”

“It wasn’t a matter of conversation. If you hadn’t struggled to cover up Portugal’s mistakes, there wouldn’t have been a war.”

Although they suffered great losses due to defeat, they could never concede Portugal to the Ottoman Empire.

That would have placed them in an even greater danger than they currently faced.

The Spanish envoy didn’t bring this up, instead shifting the topic.

“What good would it do to dwell on the past? If we could have a dialogue for a bright future for both nations, that would be wonderful.”

“Well, let’s say that’s fair. Now, stop beating around the bush and tell me the reason for your visit.”

The envoy carefully opened his mouth at Yusuf’s insistence.

“Even the smallest ripple caused by the Empire has shocked many nations, and His Majesty is worried that misunderstandings may lead to incidents like before.”

“Looks like Carlos has become quite the coward. I almost doubt he’s the same person who attacked Rome, attempting to cut off my head.”

Yusuf scoffed and tapped his fingers on the armrest.

“So you mean to say you’re curious about the Empire’s movements?”

“I apologize, but yes, that is the case.”

“Alright then, what specifically are you curious about?”

Contrary to the expectations of a difficult interaction, Yusuf responded cooperatively, making the envoy glad but trying to hide it.

“Is it true that Prince Murad’s objective is Africa?”

“Will he likely lead his army to the Iberian Peninsula or the New World?”

“Some concerns of that nature do exist.”

“Such worries are pointless. Murad is focused on Africa. He has no time to worry about anywhere else.”

With all the places waiting to be conquered, there would be no leisure to redirect attention elsewhere.

Thanking Yusuf briefly for his response, the envoy stumbled back into the conversation.

“By the way, I heard the Eastern fleet is on the move again. Is there a reason for dispatching such a large fleet?”

“The East? That should be of little concern to you.”

“Let’s hope you view it purely as curiosity.”

“Answering won’t be difficult.”

Yusuf took a sip of his slightly cold coffee and replied languidly.

“There are many fearless and vicious pirates in the East. An empire that spans the globe must work hard for peace.”

The cryptic words left the envoy bewildered.

There was no way he could directly ask about the fleet sent to Manila, and witnessing the envoy’s nervousness, Yusuf said coldly.

“You have nothing to worry about. As long as you don’t engage in actions that threaten peace, you won’t run into the Empire’s fleet.”

The envoy’s heart sank with a thud.

This monstrous emperor already knew about the fleet’s movements.

*

Cortés clenched his fists tightly.

The island the Portuguese had occupied up to Malacca and informed him was aptly called the land of gold.

Nearby Ming Dynasty, Southeast Asia, and even distant India and Arabia all contributed merchants to Manila, which was brimming with expensive goods.

There were boxes filled with spices like pepper, which had dropped in price due to canals, and hard-to-find cloves and nutmeg piling up uninterrupted.

Silk and porcelain that had crossed over to Ming, along with countless herbs whose values were still uncertain, were abundant.

‘The Lord has helped me.’

Cortés felt immense joy.

Though the resistance was quite fierce, it ultimately was mere flailing.

In the end, they had occupied Luzon, home to Manila, gaining a route that would bring immense gold and honor.

“From now on, this place will also be Nueva España.”

Having expanded the territory of the new Spain, all that was left was to be appointed as Viceroy as promised to the king.

While Cortés envisioned an optimistic future and inspected the spices, a soldier hurriedly ran up to him.

“Marquis! O-Osman’s fleet has appeared!”

“Just a merchant ship, I suppose.”

He had expected Osman’s merchant ships to arrive and had even planned what kind of benefits he could offer.

It would be risky to sever ties with Osman in the East.

Cortés’s thoughts, weaving together future plans in his head, were halted by the approaching soldier.

“It’s not a merchant ship! It’s definitely a military ship! And of substantial size, at fifty ships!”

“…Fifty? That’s impossible! It can’t be!”

Cortés, taken aback, dashed towards the port, where chaos already reigned.

Soldiers, not even in proper attire, dashed about the port with their guns, while commanders shouted in a frenzy.

The soldiers’ faces were devoid of the joy from past victories, filled instead with only fear and a desperate yearning to survive.

It was justifiable.

“Oh God.”

Vessels adorned with the red Osman flag filled the sea as they approached.

The prophesied disaster had arrived.