As the celebratory banquet in Manisa was slowly coming to a close, the attendees unexpectedly came face to face with a surprising figure.
“This child’s name is Ahmed, my eldest son. I will gladly acknowledge him as a prince, and he shall accompany us on the next campaign.”
Those most shocked by Murad’s proclamation were none other than the local lords.
Whether they had forged marriage alliances or joined Murad’s cause later, none of them had anticipated that the Sultan had a child.
That was how thoroughly the young Sultan had hidden his son, only revealing him once he was certain his power was secure.
It was little wonder that the lords collectively shuddered upon realizing the Sultan’s meticulousness, even if that had not been Murad’s true intention.
“…Whoa, so many great and important elders gathered here.”
Despite receiving what must have been a proper education, perhaps his inherently free-spirited nature still showed through.
It was a muttered comment, but loud enough for Murad, standing nearby, to hear.
What should he do? Should he scold the boy for forgetting proper decorum befitting the occasion, or be grateful that the boy had grown up bright and unburdened?
Even Murad, who had made countless decisions thus far, found it hard to settle on an answer to this dilemma.
In the end, Murad chose to simply let it go. It wasn’t until long after the banquet ended that Prince Ahmed was thoroughly scolded by Ishak.
Regardless of Ahmed’s future, the banquet in Manisa had yielded much for the Ottomans.
By securing the lords’ support, Murad had not only stabilized Anatolia but also publicly revealed the existence of the heir he had so carefully hidden, thus reassuring everyone about the succession.
It also became an opportunity to restore the confidence of his officers and soldiers, who had been disheartened by their less-than-stellar performance in Greece.
Discipline among the troops did not waver either. Murad’s army, having set aside fleeting pleasures, now brimmed with sharp resolve as they awaited their Sultan’s command.
Though unexpected challenges lay ahead, what awaited them was closer to celebration than disaster.
Gazing at his well-ordered troops, the Sultan felt it in his bones.
— Now is the time.
Before preparing for the next campaign, Murad stood before his soldiers to fuel their fighting spirit.
He did not hesitate. If anything, he was so certain that the perfect moment had come that he worried his hands might tremble from the overwhelming excitement.
His voice, thick with passion, reached out to the troops.
“I have achieved victory. Yet it is not a complete victory.”
Regrettable, but true. The followers of the Little Mustafa had been scattered, but Little Mustafa himself still lived.
As long as Mustafa remained alive, true peace could not come to the Ottomans.
Everyone present knew this, but they held their breath for one reason: hunting down Little Mustafa would mean all-out war with the Karamanid Emirate, a major force in Anatolia.
“Behold, warriors of the sacred prophecy. Beyond the horizon, those who stand in the way of Ottoman’s rise toward fulfilling the prophecy still await us.”
The Turkic principalities rallying around the Karamanids were surely mobilizing to resist Ottoman wrath by now.
Murad vowed to Allah that he would prove all their efforts futile, clenching his right fist tightly.
“I shall strike them down.”
A sudden, icy silence fell over the assembly. The air grew so heavy and cold it seemed to chill everyone to their very core, but within that stillness, a sacred fire burned.
No more words were needed. There was no point speaking further to those already prepared. Murad lifted his gaze to the heavens and concluded his declaration with a few final words.
“Thus, you too must raise your weapons. The time has come. With the swords we grasp, we shall fulfill the prophecy!”
“Allahu Akbar!”
While most Islamic dynasties were rotting away and being cast aside, the Ottomans stood apart.
They were devout Muslims, advancing steadily for centuries to fulfill the prophecy of conquering the city surrounded on three sides by the sea—the ultimate goal of the holy war.
It was their unshakable faith that moved the people. Even as they cheered, Murad’s soldiers had no doubt in Ottoman victory.
That same conviction burned in Thomas, commander of the Epirote forces.
The moment he heard the declaration to campaign against the Karamanids and other principalities, Thomas felt a spinning sensation sweep over him. But collapsing in front of others was not an option.
He bit down hard on his lower lip, enduring the dizzy spell with all his might. Even so, the shock he felt did not lessen.
‘Must I stand by and watch the Ottomans devour Anatolia, brother?’
Even from the previous battle, Morea—the last hope of the crumbling empire, led by Dragases—had lost most of its forces and teetered on the brink of destruction.
If the Ottomans conquered all of Anatolia and once again turned their blades toward Greece, how long could the withered empire possibly withstand them? Constantinople, protected by its triple walls, might remain safe.
But Epirus and Morea, where the empire’s final strength was concentrated, would not escape a tragic end. Realizing this, Thomas found himself, for the first time, regretting his earlier decision to serve alongside the Ottomans.
‘If only I hadn’t witnessed it.’
If only he had remained ignorant, he could have continued to challenge them.
Like so many others before him, Thomas found himself staring up at an impregnable wall. He had already accepted that the disparity between the Empire and the Ottomans was hopelessly vast.
He had already known it would not be an easy struggle. Yet even with all that in mind, the despair he now felt was something altogether different.
And in the wake of that despair came doubt.
Was Dragases, his brother who was called the empire’s last hope, still choosing to challenge them even knowing this difference?
Thomas, who had breathed out both admiration and despair the moment he saw the Ottomans’ orderly army and the endless procession of tribute sent by the local lords, could not deny it.
Things that he had never seen within the Empire existed here in abundance.
In Anatolia, the people had already grown accustomed to Ottoman rule and, outside of the active battlefields, they maintained peaceful lives.
The Ottoman army did not pillage their own people, and even cities devastated by war were filled with certainty about their future.
‘Is this what you meant, brother, when you spoke of a prepared victor?’
While the Empire had wandered aimlessly for centuries, the Ottomans had been steadily advancing.
Standing before the results born from that difference, all Thomas could do was suppress the tears that threatened to burst out.
Accepting these contrasting emotions, the Ottomans were steadily completing their preparations for flight.
Thus, following the Sultan’s declaration, preparations for a new war began in earnest.
With the support of the local lords added in, the Sultan’s forces, which had originally landed in Anatolia with twelve thousand troops, had, despite some casualties, grown into a mighty army nearly twenty thousand strong.
Those who had joined Murad’s army could not conceal their burning excitement. It was a battle to unite the fractured land of Anatolia under one banner. In fact, it would have been strange if they had remained calm.
By the time Murad returned to Bursa, it was clear to anyone that the Ottomans victory was inevitable.
While the principalities had exhausted their strength supporting Little Mustafa’s forces, Murad had not only preserved but even expanded his army.
If the two sides clashed, the defeat of the principalities led by Karaman would be unavoidable. The balance of power had already tipped. Once the Ottomans completed their preparations, they would only ascend higher. The soldiers merely awaited the Sultan’s order to march.
However, Murad did not give the command to advance.
No—he could not.
Just before issuing the order, a severed head, a letter, and an envoy were delivered to his camp.
It was the severed head that caused the most unexpected reaction from Murad.
Murad shoved the box containing the head away as if throwing it. Even that did not satisfy his anger; for a long moment, he panted heavily, then slowly raised his head and fixed his gaze straight ahead.
He could not hide the tremble of fury as he glared at the envoy before him. Yet, despite the Sultan’s wrathful gaze, the envoy maintained a calm and composed demeanor, unfazed.
Finally, the Sultan’s icy voice broke the silence, directed at the envoy.
“What is the meaning of this?”
“I shall answer with the message I was commanded to deliver.”
The envoy’s voice was soft, befitting someone tasked with diplomatic missions. But it wasn’t enough to soothe Murad’s seething anger. Still, the envoy, without the slightest hint of fear, took a letter from within his robe and spoke.
“A message from His Majesty Ashraf Barsbay, Sultan of the Mamluks and Protector of the Caliph, to the Sultan of the Ottomans.”
TL : Mamluk is another big Islamic power that lasted from 1250 to 1517. They consist of modern day Egypt, Sudan, Syria, Saudi Arabia, Turkey, Palestine and more. At the time of this chapter, in 1426, the Mamluk Sultanate was larger than the Ottoman Empire. However, the Ottoman Empire later conquered the Mamluks nearly 100 years after this point, following their conquest of the Byzantine Empire
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