Too much had happened in too short a time.
Amid the flurry of urgent reports, Murad felt a chill run down his spine. This was the price of fixating solely on the nearing Crusade from the West and his nemesis, Dragases.
Yet, the truth was that he simply did not have the luxury of dividing his attention between both Greece and Anatolia. Dragases was surely no different. He must have had a reliable ally to make this possible.
—The rebellion in Anatolia.
It did not take long to figure out who was behind it. Who else but his runaway younger brother, Mustafa, would have dared to raise his sword as a claimant to the throne? Murad could not help but recall the tattered corpse of his father.
“You swore that I would never be able to strike down Mustafa.”
That belief has now been shattered. What do you think of that?
In the end, Mehmed, in his weak time chose his beloved son’s safety over the empire’s stability.
He must have begged a foreign emperor to protect his child. But to a ruler, such pledges were mere words. If it served their nation’s interests, personal oaths meant nothing.
How could you, of all people, not understand that?
Murad blamed Mehmed’s foolishness, but alongside that frustration, he felt an inexplicable sorrow.
“Mehmed, in the end, the only thing you accomplished in this world was leaving behind the title of Sultan.”
—I cannot stop here.
Shaking off his regret and resentment, Murad refocused on the crisis at hand. The rebellion in Anatolia was more than enough to shake his position.
If he lost influence over Asia Minor while his campaign in Morea remained incomplete, it would not only deal a critical blow to the Ottomans’ vast manpower and finances but could also endanger his very rule.
It was a threat dire enough to warrant an immediate retreat.
Yet, Murad could not afford to do so.
Too many lives had already been sacrificed. To withdraw now would be to render their deaths meaningless. A leader must be able to give meaning to sacrifice. And for that, he needed a decisive battle.
Thus, he chose to personally lead the main army and join the vanguard Sipahis he had sent ahead.
By the time he reached the Isthmus, Murad was met with resentful gazes filled with confusion.
How could he not understand their feelings?
What could be more agonizing than being forced to watch helplessly, suppressed like a beast, when one charge could have crushed their foe?
Only one man among them seemed to understood the gravity of the situation greeted the Sultan with a dull expression.
“A son of Yiğit pays his respects to the Sultan.”
“You held back well. You did well, Turahan.”
“I was only worried for the homeland, my Sultan.”
“…Yes, of course you were. I suppose I must tell you first.”
At last, the Sultan voiced the thoughts that had been burdening him. Upon hearing them, Turahan’s face twisted in despair, a heavy silence falling between them.
Seeing his expression, Murad let out a bitter smile. His voice, unusually gentle, carried an unspoken weight.
“Turahan, we need to talk.”
“I will gladly accompany you.”
Sultan Murad’s invitation made it clear that he did not want anyone else overhearing their conversation. Understanding this, Turahan readily accepted.
Seeing his response, the Sultan looked around him with a serious look, prompting the guards to step back and give them space. Now, only Turahan remained to speak with him.
At last, the Sultan began in a calm, even tone.
“A rebellion has broken out in Anatolia. The missing Mustafa has been proclaimed Sultan by a faction supporting him. The Karamanid Emirate, Candar, and many Anatolian beys who once pledged loyalty to the Ottomans have joined the cause.”
“…A force too large to claim an easy victory.”
“Regrettably so.”
Murad’s gaze drifted past Turahan’s shoulder, locking onto the tattered banner of the Palaiologos dynasty, fluttering in the wind. The sight made him want to charge forward at once. Just one more decisive blow—one final collapse—would secure his victory.
( TL : Constantine’s surname is also Palaiologos but he later changed it to Dragaš after his mothers surname which he is now known as )
“As you can see, Dragases has succeeded in rallying the West, gaining the strength to keep fighting. Even if these Christians falter sooner than he expects, we cannot escape the battle of attrition we will suffer while fighting in Morea.”
And that was not all. Was it not too much of a coincidence that the news of the rebellion had reached him at such a crucial moment?
Murad’s sharp instincts told him there was a spy embedded deep within his ranks. Reports of unrest in the Ottoman Empire had been suppressed with cunning precision—only to be suddenly and swiftly revealed once the rebellion erupted, as if waiting for the perfect moment.
It was undoubtedly the work of the Empire, or more precisely, Dragases. But he could not have accomplished this alone.
There were forces in the shadows—those who did not wish to see the Ottomans expand any further.
Murad bit his lower lip lightly. He had already begun to grasp the truth. The war was over. But the struggle between the Ottomans and the Empire—between himself and Dragases—was far from finished.
“It does not matter whether they are his underlings, traitors in my court, or cowards who fear the Prophet’s army. I will use this opportunity to purge them all.”
“As the Sultan wills.”
“Turahan, I have lost much in this war, and I may lose more still.”
Thousands of soldiers, his carefully built reputation—these were mere secondary concerns. The greatest loss was allowing his true enemy to remain standing. If anything, this war had strengthened his foe rather than weakening him.
A final battle was inevitable, yet Murad no longer held any illusions.
He now understood the weight of the noose tightening around his neck and how firmly it was drawn.
And yet, there was no despair in the Sultan’s gaze. His eyes burned fiercer than before—sharper, more resolute—as he looked directly at Turahan.
“But the wind blows fiercely, and it is only natural for weak branches to break. I will not waver. Instead, I shall take this chance to cut down whatever rots at the root.”
“Sultan, your resolve is the true sword of Islam.”
“Then I must sharpen it further.”
Even as Turahan expressed his heartfelt admiration, Murad showed not a hint of satisfaction. His gaze had already shifted—fixed beyond Turahan, toward the Morean camp.
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