Before setting out to pacify Anatolia, Murad had meticulously completed his preparations for the campaign.
First and foremost, he reorganized his forces, integrating new soldiers into his ranks while awaiting the arrival of the 4,000 troops promised by Dragases from Epirus and Genoa.
At the same time, he appointed outstanding individuals from the previous war to key positions.
However, war could not be waged with manpower alone. Supplies such as food to sustain the soldiers and arrows for battle were just as essential.
Under normal circumstances, securing these resources would have taken considerable time.
Yet, as if to prove their loyalty, the commendable officials, led by Çandarlı Halil, contributed substantial wealth to the cause.
Thanks to their support, the minimum preparations for the campaign were complete.
All that remained was to wait for the forces from Epirus and Genoa to join them. But Murad was not one to sit idly by in the meantime.
He decided to meet with Çandarlı Halil to commend him for persuading the loyalist officials to offer their wealth. Halil, too, humbly accepted the Sultan’s summons.
Yet the moment he entered Murad’s presence, he realized that the praise was merely a pretext.
The Sultan’s aura was not one that belonged to a man simply bestowing honors.
His presence was like the stillness of water rippling in a gentle breeze—calm, yet foreboding of an impending storm.
In the depths of Murad’s sunken eyes burned a cold, intense flame.
Though he likely intended to conceal it, that flame did not escape Halil’s notice.
He had not risen to the position of a faction leader for nothing.
One who could not discern another’s intentions would not survive the brutal battlefield of politics. And Halil was a survivor.
“Sultan, what weighs on your mind?”
A ruler should be wary of vassals who see through his thoughts. Yet Murad nodded without hesitation. It was not that he trusted others lightly, but he understood the gravity of the prophet’s prophecy.
He had accepted his role in fulfilling it. In that regard, Çandarlı Halil was someone Murad deemed worthy of trust. That was why he had called him here.
To discuss why he had withdrawn instead of continuing his confrontation with Dragases.
To reveal the source of his confidence.
And to speak of the means by which he would topple the Thousand-Year Empire.
“The insight you demonstrated before left me in admiration.”
“If my words have illuminated your path, then I am grateful.”
“Which is why I have called you here—I believe there is an even better way.”
“Command me.”
There was not the slightest hesitation in Halil’s response. Yet Murad did not seem entirely satisfied. Instead, he spoke a single name.
“Turahan.”
The man who answered was once the bey of Bulgaria but had since risen to lead the sipahis.
A commander of prudence, yet one who did not shy away from boldness when necessary. To display his loyalty, he had brought with him a man whose attire was unlike anything seen in Edirne.
The sound of footsteps echoed disorderly through the hall, likely drawing the attention of any who heard them.
Yet Halil did not move. Not until the Sultan commanded it. He simply kept his head bowed, waiting.
And then, the Sultan spoke.
“Raise your head, Çandarlı Halil. Turahan, remove his gag.”
At that command, Halil lifted his gaze.
At the same time, a voice rang out—an unfamiliar tongue never before heard in the Sultan’s court. Yet Halil, who valued individual capability above all, needed no interpreter.
What caught him off guard was the sheer unexpectedness of it. The owner of that voice spoke with a sharp, stinging tone.
“Sultan, is this truly how you treat one who has sought asylum under your protection?”
—Halil’s mind raced.
Asylum?
The man spoke Greek. Normally, he would have assumed he was a Janissary, but the Janissaries did not use Greek within the court. Moreover, an asylum seeker was unlikely to be a former Janissary. That meant he was from the Empire.
But how many individuals from the Empire could defect and be granted an audience with the Sultan himself? Only a noble of great renown or someone with considerable influence.
A person of such stature could not have simply disappeared unnoticed.
In that instant, one name surfaced in Halil’s mind.
The one individual from the Empire whose fate remained unknown.
“…Surely not.”
“As expected. To deduce his identity from a single remark—impressive.”
This man had led 2,000 infantry in a surprise attack on Murad’s main camp during the siege of Constantinople, when the Sultan had sought to draw Dragases out of Morea.
Though it was believed he had been annihilated in the counterattack, his fate had remained uncertain, overshadowed by more pressing matters.
Halil silently cursed the man in his thoughts.
—So that was an ‘asylum’ after all.
Unaware of Halil’s inner turmoil, the man maintained his usual smirk.
“Sultan, as per your orders, I have been waiting patiently in my quarters. But I must ask—what is the meaning of this treatment?”
“The Emperor has declared Dragases his co-emperor.”
At those words, even this man’s expression hardened.
Seeing his reaction, Murad let out a small chuckle before shifting his gaze to Halil.
“I had intended to use him to sow discord within the Empire. To inflict upon them a crisis as fatal as the one we have endured. But Halil, I believe you can devise an even wiser scheme.”
This was why Murad had so readily withdrawn in response to Dragases’ demand.
Behind the duty of securing Anatolia lay a concealed dagger, honed in secret, waiting for the moment it could pierce the Empire’s very heart.
Murad had kept it hidden deep within Edirne’s palace to ensure the Empire remained unaware of its existence. But now, Halil’s presence had changed his mind.
Halil would sharpen this dagger into an even deadlier blade.
And Murad’s faith in him was not misplaced.
For the moment Halil realized the man’s identity—that he was Theodoros, the Empire’s second prince—he knew exactly what needed to be done.
“Sultan, send a letter to the Pope.”
“To the Pope?”
Murad had expected Halil to devise a plan, but he had not anticipated him suggesting contact with the Pope. Still, his keen intellect swiftly grasped Halil’s intent.
A letter to the Pope would serve only one purpose—to sever the Empire completely from the Western world.
The question was how to achieve this.
Halil already had the answer.
“The greatest bargaining chip the Empire can offer the West in exchange for a crusade is the resolution of their doctrinal dispute. The Western Church and the Empire’s Church have long been divided, constantly vying for supremacy. Yet the weakened Empire can no longer prove its church’s superiority. In the end, they will have no choice but to submit.”
For a vassal of the Ottoman court—not even a Janissary, but the head of the viziers—to so thoroughly grasp the Empire’s limitations—
Theodoros, who had learned Turkish during his time in the court, understood every word.
And he trembled at the realization.
‘So this is… the power of the Ottomans…’
Even in decline, they never let their guard down against their enemies.
They would not allow even a single breath of respite.
Not even when he learned that Manuel had chosen Constantine as his successor had he felt such emotions.
It was neither rage nor inferiority.
It was the despair known as resignation.
Indeed—
From the very beginning, no matter what the Empire did, this war against the Ottomans had always been an unwinnable one.
“The only way for us to resist here is none other than tolerance.”
“I have shown more than enough tolerance.”
“Unless it is a tolerance that even the Pope would acknowledge, it will be of no use.”
Despite Theodoros’ deep despair, Halil continued to voice his carefully devised scheme. Now, every word he spoke was a blade threatening the survival of the Empire.
“Swear to the current Pope that you will protect all Christian places of worship. Furthermore, proclaim yourself as the protector of Christianity and show respect for their faith. Amidst that, you must offer the Pope a condition he would find most intriguing.”
“It must be related to Theodoros, I presume?”
“Indeed, my Sultan.”
When Theodoros noticed his name being mentioned, he lifted his head, only to find that everyone gathered in the court—Çandarlı Halil, Turahan, and even the Sultan—had their eyes fixed on him. Among them, Halil’s gaze was the coldest of all.
“At the opportune moment, send him to the Pope and have him follow the rites of the Western Church. Afterward, let him receive a coronation from the Pope, and then we shall proclaim him as the Emperor of the Empire. In doing so, a Crusade will never even come to be. For the Pope to sanction an attack on the Empire under such circumstances would be unthinkable.”
“That would mean cutting off all of Dragases’ limbs.”
“Precisely. When we march against Serbia, we shall demand his participation in the campaign. If he refuses, using his marriage ties as an excuse, we shall have just cause to punish him. On the other hand, if Dragases complies out of fear, we will have successfully severed Serbia, a potential future ally, from his grasp.”
By winning over Wallachia in the north and invading Serbia, they would provoke excessive intervention from Hungary.
And the more Hungary sought to counter the Ottomans by reinforcing its influence over surrounding nations, the Ottomans, in turn, would consolidate their dominance by guaranteeing those nations autonomy and offering protection.
Meanwhile, by using Theodoros to gain the Pope’s tacit approval, Dragases would be left utterly isolated.
As Çandarlı Halil laid out his intentions, his mind drifted to someone he had met before his audience with the Sultan.
“Çandarlı Halil, what do you make of the Prophet’s prophecy?”
A close acquaintance, known for reading the future through astrology, had suddenly posed this question. Was he testing him? Halil had thought as much but answered without hesitation.
“Naturally, it shall come to pass, as it is the will of the Prophet.”
“You are mistaken on one thing.”
“What am I mistaken about?”
This acquaintance had always enjoyed playful riddles and word games. But he was not merely a fool—his astrological insights were strangely precise. Halil could never bring himself to ignore his words. Thus, what came next was enough to shake him.
“Until recently, the stars told me so with certainty. But now, they have fallen silent. The heavens no longer speak. As if they are waiting for a choice to be made.”
“What do you mean…?”
“Go to the Sultan and assist him, Halil. I, too, must visit him soon.”
That acquaintance was Hacı Bayram Veli, a remarkable astrologer. He had gazed up at the star-studded heavens as he spoke his final words.
“Who would have thought that a single star could silence the sky?”
—A single star.
Halil immediately understood what Hacı Bayram Veli’s star referred to. In all of the Balkans, only one man had led events to an entirely unforeseen outcome. Even as an enemy, Halil had no choice but to acknowledge and respect him.
And the people of the Empire would feel the same.
As Çandarlı Halil drifted into contemplation, Murad had not forgotten the weight of the moment.
“But can we be certain that the Empire will follow Theodoros?”
No.
Logically, most would deem it right to follow Dragases.
A man whose abilities had yet to be truly tested against one who had already achieved great feats in his youth—there was no comparison.
But Halil was not merely speaking of a ruler’s competence.
“This is a battle of faith, my Sultan.”
“Faith in what?”
“A battle between the belief that the Empire can be revived and the belief that it cannot.”
By enthroning Theodoros and showing respect for their faith, the people of the Empire would come to a realization.
That what lay ahead was not the disappointing Empire of the past but a new order in its place—an era that would bring prosperity, abundance, and stability to those who followed.
“For centuries, the Empire has withered away. Yet, despite that, it clings to its greed for power, tearing itself apart while surrendering its lands and people to countless conquerors. Men like Manuel and Dragases have resisted, but look—”
Halil gestured toward Theodoros.
“When someone like him still exists, what more needs to be said?”
Dragases’ rise symbolized hope for the people of the Empire.
But it was a hope that had surfaced countless times before.
For a thousand years, the only thing Murad and the Muslims had witnessed was a history of repeated failure and despair.
“This lingering hope, still held by those who refuse to let go of the past, must be cut down once and for all. Otherwise, the cycle will repeat again and again. The Empire cannot change. Leaving them as they are is cruelty in itself. We must guide those pitiful souls to true faith, to an era of genuine prosperity.”
“…You speak the truth, Halil. I, too, once swore to liberate those who are blinded by a thousand years of illusion.”
Murad recalled the oath he had once made—to lead astray souls, chasing hollow dreams of hope, toward the true will of God.
In this moment, Murad solidified his resolve.
“Çandarlı Halil, I appoint you as my Grand Vizier.”
“I accept the will of the Sultan.”
Halil bowed his head without hesitation, as if he had anticipated this. But in his mind, only Hacı Bayram Veli’s words echoed.
A single star silenced the heavens?
O Allah, are You testing our will and strength?
“If so, we shall prove ourselves.”
Why the Ottomans were destined to win. Why the Prophet’s prophecy was bound to be fulfilled.
From the days of Osman himself, the foundation had been laid. Against challengers like Dragases, the Ottomans would demonstrate their true strength.
A strength forged not merely by ambition but by the weight of time itself.
—The power of a state. The might of a nation. The limits of sovereignty.
It was none other than national strength.
“Çandarlı Halil, I entrust you with Edirne. Secure the rear in my stead.”
“As you command, my Sultan.”
“Turahan, you will join me in the campaign. This time, we shall reclaim the honor we failed to restore before.”
“I am ever grateful for your trust, my Sultan.”
“The most crucial part of this campaign is to rescue İshak Pasha’s forces first. He is a most reliable friend. With him, we will rally those in Anatolia who still remember their allegiance.”
Murad surveyed those kneeling before him. His gaze finally settled on one man.
Theodoros Palaiologos.
Murad did not mock him, nor did he sneer. He simply issued a quiet command.
“It is not yet time for you to emerge. Hone your abilities. For the day you ascend the throne.”
Theodoros’ shoulders flinched. But Murad was not a ruler to offer solace. His gaze remained cold as he spoke.
“Did you not betray both your homeland and your brother for this?”
TL : Nah, this the genuinely best way to describe our mc : A single star that silenced the heavens.
Leave a Reply