“The Empire’s victory means the Ottoman’s defeat.”
Since the first Ottoman drew his sword, no one but Timur had managed to challenge the Ottomans. For centuries, it seemed as though they were slowly tightening their grip on their prey, as foretold by ancient prophecy.
Yet, just when they thought it was the end, the prey struggled, and the grip on its throat loosened. While the Ottomans had won, anyone calling this a victory would face harsh criticism.
Hungary, fearing Ottoman expansion, intervened to make Serbia a vassal and counter the Ottomans, but failed to fully subjugate Serbia. Additionally, the Empire, which had been waiting for an opportunity, swiftly seized control of southern Greece. Their delayed response only brought empty victory.
What more could be said?
He had failed. Was it Constantine? The moment he realized that his influence over southern Greece was lost due to the shrewd Crown Prince’s brilliant decision, he knew it. More valuable than the meager war compensation, the war had cost him his prestige and influence.
Seeing the Ottomans’ feebleness, the Christians would unite once more. Naturally. The fear instilled by power vanishes the moment that power disappears. This logic was not exclusive to Christians.
The Sultan realized it.
His unstable political position had collapsed. The last barrier protecting his life had crumbled. Though no one explicitly said it, their eyes spoke volumes. His courtiers blamed him with cold, accusatory gazes, questioning the meager results of his diplomacy, which had leaned toward Christian sympathies.
How could he not be enraged? How could they display such arrogance toward a Sultan? Yet, the Sultan did not rebuke them. More accurately, he could not. He was afraid. The reality that the once-revered name he thought would make the world bow was now a blade aimed at his neck.
The moment his authority was openly denied, everything would end.
The court’s atmosphere had long since shifted. Those who had shrewdly observed the political landscape turned their backs on the Sultan. Those who had hesitated followed suit. Soldiers, who had scorned the Sultan’s pacifist policies, had lost their expectations long ago and sought other possibilities. They turned to the new rising star, believed by all to be a strong ruler.
“…A father ousted by his own son.”
His son, who had long criticized him for his complacency and consistently shown ambition for the throne. Unfortunately, his son was right. Unlike himself, who had become content and satisfied with the title of Sultan, his son—Murad—was a ruler armed with fervent religious commitment and talent. Murad had become an exemplary successor, possessing all the qualities necessary for governance.
A wide array of abilities, a broad support base, bold decisiveness, and the ruthlessness to even kill his kin.
Murad would never tolerate anyone who threatened his power. If Murad held him responsible for the recent failure and demanded him to step down, he would surely leave no room for his father to interfere in politics again. The Sultan could already guess the method Murad would employ.
“A slave’s life is worth a few coins. The Sultan isn’t worth much more.”
The cold words muttered as Murad turned away still echoed in his mind. Murad and he were no longer father and son. They were no longer simply Sultan and prince. They were competitors, one trying to hold on and the other trying to seize the singular throne.
Therefore, when Murad seized power, the young prince would undoubtedly erase all traces of the Sultan. The mass purge would be justified as distinguishing himself from a failed Sultan, but its essence would be to solidify his power. The Sultan knew he would certainly die as a threat to Murad.
Surprisingly, his heart was calm. It was his failure, and he would repay it with his life. Such was the mindset of a ruler. The one who held all the power bore all the responsibility. Thus, he could face his death with dignity. His end was near. The Sultan closed his eyes gently and listened quietly.
The sound of dozens of footsteps drew near, disrupting the oppressive silence of the court as they boldly walked upon the red carpet.
The Sultan slowly opened his eyes, taking in the sight of the man leading the group. How could he turn away? The man, arrogantly looking down at him from the forefront, was the son he had once cherished most.
“Let me ask you directly.”
What was Murad like as a child? He tried to peer into the scattered old memories beyond Murad’s stern face, but too much time had passed. Between them now was only a deep void filled with darkened, twisted greed, distorting even the bond of father and son.
“Where is Mustafa?”
Murad’s cold, formal tone prompted the Sultan to smile.
“If you’re referring to my youngest brother, didn’t he seek asylum in the Empire?”
“I’m not asking about your brother. I’m asking where my youngest brother has gone.”
Murad’s intention was clear. He sought to prevent a civil war between the warriors of Europe and the Sultan of Asia Minor. Before foreign powers could intervene, before factions could divide for their gain, Murad intended to stabilize the succession by eliminating all potential threats. The Sultan knew this all too well.
If one is the Sultan, how should they respond?
The Sultan knows the answer well. If the prosperity and stability of the Ottoman Empire are truly desired, then offering one’s life willingly while allowing Murad to fulfill his desires would be necessary. This consideration would be realized through a ruthless method—personally eliminating his own children. For the sake of the nation, it is only natural.
A Sultan must make sacrifices. A Sultan must endure loss. A Sultan must be willing to offer even his own children as sacrifices for power.
Thus, the decision was made.
“Murad, what do you believe a Sultan is?”
“A Sultan is the one who acts as the representative of Allah’s revelations on Earth, governing the people according to Allah’s will. Additionally, the Sultan is an architect of prosperity and a conqueror tasked with converting heretics.”
“Indeed… I have failed in fulfilling any of the Sultan’s duties.”
From the moment he was swayed by personal emotions, he was not fit to be a Sultan. The Sultan judged himself as such. His tender nature could never muster the resolve to sacrifice his children for power. Thanks to this, he soon realized.
The roles of a Sultan and a father can never coexist. Perhaps that’s why Manuel seems even more admirable.
‘Manuel, my other father… you chose to be an emperor over being a father.’
He repeatedly admired at the strong will of Manuel, who was prepared to abandon his own child for the sake of the empire’s reconstruction. The determination of the aged emperor who sustained the empire for decades was that firm. Even if he was a nemesis, such a stance was worthy of respect. In contrast, he would forever be criticized as an inadequate ruler.
“Mustafa left to meet his patron.”
The sharp Murad quickly grasped what Mehmed’s words implied. Through a series of actions, he understood who Mustafa’s patron was.
“…So that’s why. That’s why… you gave up reclaiming southern Greece?”
Mehmed silently affirmed.
Even when forced into a two-front war, punishing the weak Morea would have been possible once the peace treaty succeeded. With a pretender crossing over, it provided a compelling reason for war.
A naval defeat could always be offset by victories on land, couldn’t it? Yet, Sultan Mehmed permitted the empire’s victory. Why? Why open the lifeline of a fallen empire at the cost of everything the Ottomans had built?
“Murad, you will never easily kill Mustafa.”
“You should never have become Sultan. No, it’s more accurate to say you should never have remained Sultan.”
The sword at his waist slid smoothly out of its sheath, showcasing its sleek curve. Mehmed had long abandoned any lingering regrets.
Even if Murad himself took no action, Murad’s followers, aware of Mehmed’s significant betrayal, would not leave him be.
“I will be the next Sultan, Mehmed.”
As Murad slowly approached, Mehmed fully leaned back against the throne. He trusted that Manuel would protect his beloved youngest son. People might scorn him for abandoning his duties as Sultan, preoccupied solely with the safety of his youngest. But it didn’t matter.
If he couldn’t protect him as a Sultan…
He would protect him as a father.
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