Ottoman Military Camp.
With just a single order to advance, everyone in the camp was prepared to move out willingly.
It was a campaign to unify Anatolia under one rule.The cause was clear, preparations were complete, and victory seemed all but certain.
However, an unforeseen variable ruined the Ottoman’s plans.
That variable was none other than the Mamluk’s intervention.
“O Sultan of the Ottomans, Ashraf Barsbay, the Sultan of the Mamluks and Protector of the Caliph, first wishes to express his deep disappointment toward the principalities, including Karaman and Candar, who threatened your throne. Despite having a true enemy of the faith, they disgracefully turned their blades against fellow Muslims, and he did not hesitate to denounce them for it.”
“What are you really trying to say?”
“Nevertheless, Ashraf could not suppress his sorrow and chose to discipline them by sending harsh letters of condemnation. The Caliph, upon hearing Ashraf’s counsel, also lamented this fights among Muslims and gladly decided to mediate. Thus, even those who stirred the chaos could not help but bow their heads in shame.”
“I asked you what you mean to say by sending me this head.”
Unable to hold back any longer, Murad asked with a low, gritted voice. The severed head before him was none other than that of Little Mustafa.
There was no mistaking it. Murad clearly remembered what his youngest brother looked like.
There was no pity for a brother who had risen against him only to return as a lifeless head. Only rage surged within him as he sensed the Mamluks true intentions.
And even though the Mamluk envoy must have noticed the Sultan’s fury, he continued to speak in a soft, gentle tone.
“Those who belatedly realized their sins under the rebuke of the Caliph and Ashraf pondered deeply how they might earn forgiveness.
This—this is the result. The principalities, including Karaman, made both your rival and their own leaders bear the punishment for starting conflict among Muslims.”
“And so Ashraf sent me to apologize on their behalf to the Sultan of the Ottomans, who suffered due to their foolishness. He also wishes to convey that the Caliph grieves greatly over the fighting among Muslims.”
“Then shouldn’t they be the ones to apologize? Is my question too difficult for you to understand? I’m asking why you have come here instead of them.”
“I heard the Sultan of the Ottomans was a wise man, yet you still do not understand and question me again,”
At last, even the Mamluk envoy’s expression shifted slightly in response to Murad’s sharp reproach—though it was a very faint change.
A subtle, mocking sneer appeared at the corners of his lips as he gazed at Murad.
“This is the earnest message from the Caliph and Ashraf Barsbay, the Sultan of the Mamluks: Cease this futile fighting among Muslims. Must I repeat myself several more times for you to understand?”
Crack.
A chilling sound slipped through Murad’s tightly clenched teeth as he fought to suppress the roar that almost escaped his lips.
The officials around him saw the Sultan’s fists trembling with bulging veins and could easily guess the depth of his rage—and they sympathized with it.
Unifying Anatolia was within reach. And at the very moment he was about to take the first step toward that great achievement, he was obstructed.
How could he not be furious?
Yet even amid his burning anger, Murad still heeded the whisper of reason.
We are not yet strong enough to defeat the Mamluks.
The Mamluks’ message was clear:
They intended to use this opportunity to establish dominance over the Turkic principalities. Their talk of “holding leaders accountable” essentially meant that they had replaced the rulers with ones loyal or submissive to the Mamluks.
For Murad, it was as if his hard-earned victory was being stolen away at the last moment.
And yet, challenging the Mamluks directly was not an option.
Though the Janissaries had been founded through the devshirme system, infantry still had its limitations.
It would be arrogant to claim easy victory over the legendary Mamluk cavalry. This was still an era when elite cavalry forces decided battles.
Even with the Ottomans access to Anatolian horse stocks, they could not guarantee superiority against the Mamluks hardened traditions of cavalry warfare.
And that wasn’t the only concern.
If a war broke out against the Mamluks, the Ottomans would have to focus all their strength on that front, leaving Rumelia dangerously exposed.
And that would inevitably stir Murad’s most dreaded enemy—Dragases.
The moment even the slightest opening appeared, Dragases, lying in wait, would drive a cold dagger into the Ottoman heart.
Thus, only one answer remained:
If he could not win a frontal confrontation, he must retreat. But it was an excruciating decision.
To withdraw just as preparations for battle were complete would greatly tarnish the Sultan’s authority.
Blaming it on the Caliph’s intervention might win some understanding, but it would not ease Murad’s heavy heart.
Finally, after a long silence, Murad lowered his head.
“…Fine. I will obey the Caliph’s word. Since Mustafa’s death has been confirmed, there is no longer even a justification to strike Karaman. This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”
“It is enough, O Sultan. We only pray that Allah continues to favour the Ottomans. If I may, I would offer one small piece of advice.”
“You think you can advise me?”
Facing Murad’s biting sarcasm, the Mamluk envoy shook his head once, then replied calmly:
“This is the final message left by Ashraf as well. He said that the Sultan of the Ottomans now faces a most formidable adversary.”
“A formidable adversary, you say.”
“How many men have you ever acknowledged as your equal?”
At those words, a searing pain exploded in Murad’s head.
Through the burning agony came the image of a man he had once met face to face—The final defender upholding a crumbling thousand-year empire,
The last hope emerging after centuries of waiting, The enemy who, knowing all odds were against him, still dared to challenge the Ottomans:
The Sultan’s great nemesis.
“Dragases. Dragases is involved in this affair!”
The Mamluk envoy offered no further response. He simply gave a respectful salute and departed Murad’s tent.
Neither Murad, nor his commanders, nor the guards at the tent made any move to stop him.
Silence descended.
Murad no longer suppressed his rage. He closed his eyes tightly, planted his hand firmly on the table, and trembled, his eyebrows quivering with fury.
The Mamluks intervention had been suspiciously swift — and exceedingly precise.
Still, Murad had assumed it merely reflected how closely they monitored Anatolia’s affairs; he had never once suspected another force’s involvement.
But if Dragases had a hand in this, the situation changed entirely. By Dragases subtle urging, the Mamluks risked nothing.
At the very least, they could expand their influence over the Anatolian principalities by stopping Ottoman expansion — and ultimately strengthen their own dominance.
In the end, it was simply a case of the Mamluks and Dragases interests aligning.
Even so, Murad could not simply let it pass, for he had already been forced once to retreat by a net Dragases had woven. And because he had experienced it once, he failed all the more to anticipate it again.
—To think the web he spun would be this persistent, this intricate.
“Truly…”
The more Murad thought about it, the faster his anger cooled. What replaced it was not bitterness, but awe — a respect tinged with admiration for none other than his sworn enemy.
Without realizing it, Murad’s eyebrows had begun trembling, not from rage, but something else altogether.
“You have prepared far more than I ever imagined, Dragases.”
At that moment, Murad felt a deep shudder run through him.
He had thought Dragases resolve was extraordinary when he burned an entire city to the ground, but even that had underestimated him.
His determination to save a country on the verge of destruction operated with an almost unimaginable thoroughness.
Dragases pressed forward relentlessly, walking a risky tightrope where a single misstep would mean ruin.
Each move Dragases made became another blow that blocked the Ottoman Empire’s ascent to its golden age.
Small, seemingly insignificant actions piled up, weaving a net — like countless thin strands of thread forming a powerful trap— that ultimately stopped the Ottomans.
Having regained his composure, Murad looked around at the commanders gathered near him. Then he issued a short, firm order.
“Everyone except Ishak Pasha and Turahan Bey, return to your posts.”
“As the Sultan commands.”
The order had barely left his lips before the others promptly left the tent. Soon, only Ishak Pasha, Murad’s close friend, and Turahan Bey, his loyal vassal, remained. Murad gazed at them for a moment, then spoke.
“This makes the second time we’ve been forced to retreat without even fighting.”
Though Murad’s tone was calm, it was impossible to imagine the turmoil that lay behind those words. Turahan and Ishak immediately grasped the weight they carried. Yet Murad’s face remained composed and still.
“Even so, it was not without gain. Through this campaign, I have come to many realizations. I have seen and felt things I had never recognized before. And I believe the same is true for you, Turahan, Ishak.”
“You speak truly, my Sultan.”
“I am certain of it now.”
Turahan nodded solemnly in agreement. Ishak did not speak aloud, but his silent resolve was clear.
In that unspoken understanding, Murad lifted his hand from the table and clenched it tightly, the veins on the back of his hand standing out sharply. Without hesitation, a fierce light of ambition flashed in his eyes.
“I will not allow my soldiers to bear the disgrace of being labeled cowards who fled without a fight! I will not let this humiliation happen again! I, and the Ottomans, have already endured enough humiliation — twice is more than enough!”
The Sultan, who had until now tolerated everything in silence, now cried out.
Tears did not fall, but the grief in his voice was unmistakable. Feeling the depth of his anguish, neither Turahan nor Ishak could say a word. Considering all the shame Murad had endured, it was only natural.
And then, the Sultan, still trembling, struck the table once more and pleaded.
“Help me, Ishak, Turahan!”
“My Sultan, how can we serve you?”
“Speak freely, and hold nothing back! Tell me all you have thought and planned!”
Murad’s gaze no longer lingered in that tent.
It reached far away, across the Aegean Sea, where his true enemy awaited. Dragases — the last hope supporting a crumbling thousand-year empire — was moving to pull down the destined conqueror. But Murad would prove all such efforts futile.
With that resolve burning within him, the Sultan declared to his loyal retainers — and to his enemy:
“I will remake my army! Never again — never again — will we retreat without fighting!”
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