While the empire sought change by lending strength to Emperor Dragases, the Ottomans did not sit idly by.
Sweeping military reforms were underway, new talents were emerging, and seasoned warriors with past experience were returning to the front lines one by one.
But that was not all. Sultan Murad’s unwavering will for reform was carried out with conviction, and as a result, the Ottoman state gained strength so formidable that its former self seemed almost laughable.
None of the Christian powers—especially the declining empire or those too busy fighting each other to recognize a true threat—could possibly understand this new force.
Yet the true power of the Ottomans no longer resided solely in their disciplined military.
Çandarlı Halil Pasha.
The strategy he had proposed when he stepped forward had now been refined into a fully-formed plan. As Grand Vizier, he understood exactly what was needed to tear through the web Dragases had spun—and had succeeded in forging the tools to do so.
He also understood what was necessary for the Ottomans to ascend even further. In the solemn silence of the Edirne court, Çandarlı Halil Pasha now began to lay out his vision.
“Sultan, only now am I truly ready to offer you a plan to tear through Dragases web.”
“Speak.”
Murad’s reply was brief, but it carried an immeasurable weight of conviction. The vow he had made to fulfill the prophecy of the Prophet was still remembered. Halil offered his respects to that resolve and began presenting his strategy.
“I have long advised Your Majesty to shatter the unity of the Christian forces.
Though we Ottomans, favoured by Allah, have repelled all prior Crusades, it is also undeniably true that we have shed more blood than necessary in doing so. If we can strike before they unite against us, it may be possible to fulfill the Prophet’s prophecy with far less bloodshed.”
This was not to underestimate the strength of the Christians.
The Ottomans had always respected the arms and tactics of their Christian foes. In truth, the key to victory in the last Crusade had been the overwhelming advantage in terrain and logistics. Just because past battles were won did not mean future ones would be.
A prepared victor does not grow arrogant in pursuit of his triumph.
“As a first step, I aimed to win over Wallachia.
However, due to the recent unrest within our own lands, it’s possible they may have developed other intentions. It is of utmost importance to reassert Ottoman authority, to ensure the Christians do not misread our past instability. A loser who inspires no fear will never command reverence.”
While Sigismund struggled with the Hussite Wars, Hungary’s anti-Ottoman policy had focused on maintaining buffer zones like Serbia and Wallachia. This had indeed protected Hungary from direct harm—allowing Christian resistance to the Ottomans to continue. It was only natural that Halil would take note.
Any Christian alliance against the Ottomans would inevitably require Hungary’s participation.
Then the key was to bind Hungary’s feet so it could not act.
“There is, at this time, one target more suitable than any other for restoring Ottoman prestige. A party that has dared to defy us—abandoning its treaties of tribute and peace, acting on nothing more than hollow hope, and now challenging Ottoman supremacy.
That foolish party is none other than Emperor John of Constantinople.”
As he spoke these words, the figure in Halil’s mind was none other than Dragases.
Even Halil, who thirsted for Ottoman dominance, did not deny that Dragases was a rare and capable man. But those who put their faith in him would soon see how foolish that faith truly was. Halil reaffirmed his resolve and continued.
“John not only appointed himself emperor without Ottoman approval, but he also carried out unauthorized repairs on the triple walls of Constantinople—reducing tribute payments to do so. This cannot go unpunished. The harsher the punishment, the easier it will be to win over Wallachia.
Thus, I humbly beg of you, my Sultan.”
Overwhelmed with rising emotion, Halil looked up at the Sultan and made his plea.
“It is time for the Ottomans, in the name of the Ottomans, to reclaim all the mercy and tolerance we have shown.”
These words of Çandarlı Halil moved Murad—and the Ottoman state.
The beast that had once been forced to lower its head now roared once again.
“I shall do as Halil says. Raise the army. Let the Emperor of Constantinople learn who truly rules this land.”
But even after making this decision, the Sultan could not entirely dispel his doubts. Dragases, after all, had previously stirred the Mamluks to block the unification of Anatolia.
If he sensed the Ottomans moving again, he would surely try to interfere. Of course, it would be impossible to completely conceal the movement of thousands of troops—but nor could their intentions be allowed to be seen too clearly.
After a moment of contemplation, the Sultan devised a way to hide their forces.
“Yet I do not wish for my intent to be revealed too soon.
We shall deceive them. I will issue an order for the construction of a fortress near the Dardanelles. Hide the soldiers arms among the convoys transporting stone and grain, and summon the troops under the pretext of gathering laborers for the fortification. This may divert the enemy’s attention.”
“As the Sultan wills it.”
As the assembled Ottoman ministers bowed their heads, Çandarlı Halil’s mind was already busy calculating the next move. But nothing could be achieved in a single stroke.
If rushing doesn’t lead to quick results, then there’s no reason to be impatient. Suppressing his desire to reveal his next proposal at once, Halil repeated his vow inwardly.
“This too is but one step toward the fulfillment of the Prophet’s prophecy.”
Those who endure are destined to see their reward. Since it is the will of Allah, Halil ended his contemplation and bowed to the Sultan.
Thus, before the military reforms had even been fully completed, Sultan Murad’s personal campaign was decided.
The only difference this time was that Prince Ahmed, whose identity had long been concealed, would accompany the campaign. The Ottoman army, however, was already well-prepared—perhaps more than ever before.
It was no longer a force that relied solely on high morale and discipline. In less than a month, 8,000 able-bodied men had gathered in Edirne.
And when these 8,000 men once again took up arms under the pretext of punishing the empire, the Christian powers were powerless to act.
From the beginning, the Ottomans had concealed the true purpose behind the recruitment efforts near the Dardanelles. Even taking that into account, the sheer fact that thousands of troops had been mobilized across the region in such a short time proved the success of Murad’s reforms. By the time the Venetians realized the Sultan’s forces had gathered, it was already too late.
“To conceal the true purpose of the troop gathering.”
Thanks to the Sultan’s deception, Venice and most other powers had no idea what he truly intended. The same held true for Dragases, who relied heavily on intelligence from Jewish communities and the Venetians.
And so, the offensive across Thrace began.
With careful preparation and deception, no one could stop the war once it began.
Only the pitiful garrisons of fate offered any resistance. But with just a few hundred defenders, they could do nothing to change the course of the war. Like ants struggling beneath a vast shadow, they were crushed.
Flames and terror spread, while walls and resolve collapsed without resistance.
The unusually permitted, indiscriminate looting was turning cities and villages that had barely begun to rebuild back into ruins.
Above the wastelands scattered with countless corpses and arrows, the Ottoman banner fluttered proudly. Even Prince Ahmed, who had joined the campaign with his father’s army, found himself questioning what he saw.
“Is this… truly the fate of a conqueror?”
Ahmed had survived the siege within one of the besieged cities. He had vaguely imagined the fate of a fallen city, but seeing it with his own eyes was another matter entirely.
Still just a young boy, he was too stunned to speak, staring blankly at the devastation around him. His gaze eventually landed on the corpse of a parent, clutching a child even in death. That was when Ahmed summoned his soldiers.
“No more… this has to stop! No further looting will be allowed! Everyone, cease at once! This cruelty has gone too far! Those who do not wish to tarnish the name of the Ottomans—stop right now!”
He must have expected his men to obey without question.
But what he got instead was a united protest, the soldiers speaking with an air of grievance.
“B-but, Your Highness Ahmed! This is the honored right of a warrior, one even recognized by the Sultan himself. Most of us staked our lives in this campaign for that very right. How can we be denied the spoils we’ve earned with our blood?”
“…You’re saying my father gave that order.”
Ahmed’s expression twisted strangely as he uttered the word father. It still didn’t feel real, even though he’d been told the Sultan was his blood relative.
Perhaps that was to be expected—had he ever truly felt any familial bond? Still, he had no intention of rebelling. He might not have been able to regard Murad fully as a father, but he was undeniably his Sultan.
“…Very well. But at least show some restraint.”
“We are grateful that Your Highness understands.”
Having successfully defended their right to plunder, the soldiers cheered and clapped each other on the back. All Ahmed could do was command them to exercise moderation.
Lips trembling, the boy ultimately swallowed the words he had wanted to say. In this moment, he had neither the authority nor the justification to say more. But the fire in his eyes had not died.
“If I cannot order it directly, then I will persuade my father.”
The banner symbolizing the Sultan rose high over the ruins of the city. His father—the Sultan himself—would be there. While the soldiers busied themselves looting,
Ahmed took his horse and set off. He kept his eyes fixed forward, refusing to acknowledge the horror still spread across the streets.
At the end of that road, Ahmed met the Sultan.
The young Sultan was enjoying a moment of rest under a clear blue sky, even as his soldiers scoured the city for spoils. That made Ahmed all the more determined to plead his case.
Dismounting with a grace beyond his years, he approached Murad. The Janissaries, recognizing Ahmed’s face, silently stepped aside, and the meeting commenced.
“Sultan, I beg you—put a stop to this looting. This is far too cruel.”
Murad, still gazing at the drifting clouds, may have found the sudden request unexpected. Yet he responded as if he had anticipated it all along, his voice calm and unwavering. There was no sign of surprise at the directness of the plea—only the cool demeanor of a Sultan asking for justification.
“So you came running to speak of mercy.”
“The punishment is already enough. On the way here, I saw a child dead in their parents arms. Must such heart breaking deaths be allowed to continue? Is that truly the duty of a conqueror?”
“What is it you’re trying to say, Ahmed?”
“…I believe we have been too harsh. Sultan, it is time to show them mercy.”
“Mercy, you say.”
Only then did Murad’s gaze shift to Ahmed. But there was no affection in that look—not the slightest warmth of kinship. He was judging Ahmed as a vassal, not a son. And his answer came like a sentence.
“The Ottomans promised these people freedom of faith.
Under the name of the Ottomans, they were able to end centuries of chaos. Under our banner, they enjoyed peace, stability, and prosperity. Yet now they raise blades against us in the name of that same freedom. You speak of mercy? Then tell me—how should the Ottomans respond to such betrayal?”
“Perhaps what we offered them wasn’t enough.”
“If so, they should have shown greater loyalty, not drawn their swords. If they will not obey Allah, how can they ever be loyal to the Ottomans? Why should we grant mercy to those who reject both?”
“……”
Even Ahmed, who had tried to argue, could no longer speak. Murad’s words were not untrue. The Ottomans were conquerors—invaders, yes—but also tolerant and merciful rulers.
Their generosity, offered to those who submitted, was unparalleled in their time. And to those who said it was not enough, Murad had chosen a simple solution.
“Ahmed, I made a vow long ago.”
“…I’m listening.”
“I vowed to cut away everything that eats away at this empire’s roots.”
With those final words, Murad ended his moment of rest.
If the Sultan was moving again, then by extension, the looting by his warriors would also cease. But that would not mark the end of Ottoman retribution. Only by thoroughly crushing all who dared defy their rule could true peace and stability be achieved.
And so, Murad stepped toward his horse.
“If they cannot be roots, then they are merely weeds. We must cut them down again and again to protect the roots from harm.”
“…Is that what you call Ottoman mercy?”
“I simply take back what was once granted in the name of the Ottomans.”
Mounting his horse with ease, Murad looked down at Ahmed. The boy, still far too young, wore a cold, mature expression unbecoming of his age. But the quiet fury in his eyes was unmistakable—he had not accepted a word of this.
Even so, Murad looked away without hesitation and addressed the Janissary who had remained at his side.
“Though the city has fallen, their hearts have not yet been conquered. Still, there’s no need to punish them further. The true ones deserving retribution remain unscathed—and that is where we will go.
Of course, it would be wise to send a messenger ahead first.”
Only then did Murad’s gaze return to Ahmed.
The boy, who spoke only with his eyes, stirred something strange in Murad. Determined not to let it show, the Sultan steeled himself and gave his command.
“I will head to Constantinople.
And Ahmed, I will send you as my envoy. Go there ahead of me with Ishak Pasha and urge their surrender. This will be the last mercy the Ottomans offer. Convey my words exactly.”
“…Very well. If the Sultan so commands, I will go as your envoy.”
“I will give the order once the camp is relocated. Make sure you’re not delayed.”
Ahmed’s eyes glinted even more darkly, as if he were barely holding something back. Murad stared at those burning eyes for a long moment—then turned away without a word.
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