---

The stage for war was set.

Cilicia, home to the Emirate of Ramazan, was a flat region nestled between the Taurus Mountains and the Nur Mountains, with these rugged mountain ranges serving as a natural fortress against invaders.

It wasn’t merely an isolated area but also a crucial crossroads connecting Syria and Anatolia, complete with access to Mediterranean harbors.

Geographically, it was a land ripe for commercial prosperity.

It was said that during the Roman Empire, the cultural level of Tarsus, the administrative capital of this region and the birthplace of Apostle Paul, rivaled that of Athens and Alexandria.

Moreover, the Cilicia plains were so fertile that one could harvest three times a year.

“Easy to block the enemies, a transportation hub, and blessed with fertile lands for farming,” one could say.

With a land so abundant, one could only hope that the massive war between the Ottomans, Safavids, and Mamluks wouldn’t spill over here.

Just not long ago, the Ottoman Army was marching east, leaving the people relieved.

As Yusuf led his troops through the Nur Mountains, he lamented.

“Is the owner of the Emirate of Ramazan Bey Mahmood? How unfortunate that he chose such neighbors.”

Bozkurt resembled the foolish brother from the story of the Three Little Pigs, blowing down his own house and running to his sibling’s house with a wolf on his tail.

He kind of looked like that one character from a zombie movie, who got bitten but snuck into a shelter, carrying his fate like a ticking time bomb.

After all, the Ottomans had given him a valid reason to attack Ramazan.

“Well, he isn’t without fault. Shouldn’t he have clamped down more aggressively on Bozkurt’s invasion?”

“Leading an army of 30,000 isn’t something that can be easily managed. Even if they did succeed in holding him off, the outcome wouldn’t have changed.”

Even if the Emirate of Ramazan managed to behead Bozkurt, forced accusations would still lead to continued occupation.

Of course, he would say it’s unfair, but in the cold relations between states, the weak’s voice is rarely heard.

To avoid such injustices, one must grow stronger, whether as a person or as a nation.

“Otherwise, it’s just a case of being trampled like here.”

One reason to build the Ottomans into a giant empire.

As they entered the Nur Mountains, the conquest of Ramazan was smooth sailing.

For the Emirate of Ramazan, which had enjoyed a lengthy period of peace, the war-hardened Ottoman army was indeed a disaster.

The smaller towns surrendered in fright, overwhelmed by armies larger than their entire population, and the occasional fortress refusing to capitulate was simply bypassed.

There was no urgency to force a rapid takeover.

When they finally reached the Cilicia plains, it was truly a feast for Yusuf’s eyes.

Fruit trees adorned with blossoms filled the vast plains, while crops stood knee-high on the other side.

Bees buzzed happily among the flowers, and it seemed agriculture took priority over livestock here.

“This is good land. Almost enviable.”

After seeing only dry, dusty terrains or meager grasslands fit only for grazing animals, the sight of so many crops lifted his spirits.

Of course, the locals would likely not welcome unwelcome guests.

One glance at the farming tools left scattered in the fields indicated their fear of the soldiers.

After observing the tools for a moment, Yusuf spoke.

“Grand Vizier.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Tell the soldiers to tread softly. These are soon-to-be my subjects who are not resisting.”

With cold, penetrating gazes, the Grand Vizier and the other courtiers quickly knelt.

“We, we apologize, Your Majesty.”

“I’m not saying to refrain from plunder. I mean to allow it when necessary.”

Plundering is an excellent tactic and a good way to maintain morale, but it must always be within reasonable bounds and under control.

Otherwise, they might end up like Napoleon’s army, who, after invading Spain, abandoned their weapons and food, only to surrender from starvation.

At Yusuf’s warning, the Grand Vizier responded from the front.

“I will be careful not to disturb His Majesty’s mood!”

“Good, heed this warning. If such incidents repeat, not even you will escape punishment.”

“…I will bear that in mind.”

Yusuf then shifted his gaze away from the Grand Vizier.

He had no real intention of punishing the Grand Vizier.

He had heard rumors that the light cavalry serving as scouts were not focused on their duties, and this was merely a warning concocted alongside the Grand Vizier.

It seemed to have been effective, as everyone else, including the soldiers, appeared tense.

Having commenced war and faced no substantial threats, they had relaxed, so a tightening of the reins was necessary.

“Your Majesty, a messenger sent by Bey Mahmood has arrived.”

With the Ottoman Army advancing and trampling over the plains they boasted, it was natural for him to be anxious.

Yusuf stroked the neck of his horse and, as if in a good mood, gently pacified the horse before questioning the incoming messenger.

“Is he here to surrender?”

“He claims he has come to clarify any misunderstandings.”

“Oh? So not to surrender, then.”

He’d just send back the same predictable spiel explaining that their actions had nothing to do with Dulqadir.

Without changing his expression, Yusuf elegantly declared, “Kill and return him. I will not accept anything but surrender.”

It was a ruthless decision.

*

“That pig of a Bozkurt! If he’s going to die, he should at least die alone!”

Bey Mahmood shouted angrily, spewing curses, but the situation had already unfolded.

The Ottoman Army, having chased after the fleeing Bozkurt, now considered themselves complicit with Dulqadir.

He had wanted to clear this misunderstanding, but the Ottoman forces showed no mercy.

Bey Mahmood anxiously chewed his nails while glancing at the severed head of the messenger he’d sent, who had been preserved with salt to prevent decay.

“I heard rumors that the new Sultan of the Ottomans is merciless, but I didn’t expect him to refuse even to talk.”

His horror-stricken face revealed just how shocking his impending doom felt.

He had often heard stories through the merchants traveling between Ramazan and the Ottomans about the Sultan Yusuf, who had risen to power.

He was said to be astoundingly capable, having repeatedly outsmarted the Shah of Persia, slaughtered his potent brothers, and even earned respect among the people with tales of his childhood hardships and predictions of impending disasters.

Brutal enough to cut off the fingers of rude envoys and behead those who requested peace, meeting someone like him as his enemy was sure to incite deep fear.

“Dammit! I should have killed him, even if it meant incurring losses!”

His 30,000-strong invasion force had made him hesitate, and the crafty old man seized the opportunity to slip away to Mersin.

While he wanted nothing more than to gather his troops and go after him right away, the approaching Ottoman forces left him paralyzed with fear.

Regretting now was pointless; what was done was done, and if he wasn’t careful, he might lose his own head before Bozkurt.

“I must seek a dialogue.”

Surrender was his last resort; at the very least, he needed to properly negotiate.

His official looked worried, asking, “But they don’t seem inclined to listen to us at all. I fear we may only increase the number of casualties.”

None among those who wished to return soaked in blood were present here, and watching the ones who cautiously averted their gazes made Bey Mahmood steeled his resolve.

“I will personally meet with the Sultan of the Ottomans. If there’s reason, he won’t take my life.”

*

Click!

“Are you Bey Mahmood?”

As the long metal piece pointed at his head caused Bey Mahmood’s hands to tremble.

The pain from his chronic gout in his right toe vanished for a fleeting moment.

He wasn’t entirely sure what the long rod aimed at his head was, but it was undoubtedly a weapon that could take his life at any moment.

“…That’s correct.”

As he responded with as much calm as he could muster, Yusuf curled one corner of his mouth upward.

“You show some fortitude.”

As the gun’s muzzle lowered slightly, he let out a breath of relief internally.

But it wasn’t lowered for no reason.

-Bang!

As the trigger was pulled, the flint sparked, and gray smoke billowed out.

With an ear-splitting boom that made his eardrums ring and a suffocating smell assaulting his nose, Bey Mahmood hastily turned away.

Where the smoking barrel was pointed was right at his loyal minister, who collapsed with a large hole in his head.

Finally catching the scent of blood, Bey Mahmood asked, trembling, “W-why did you commit such a horrific act?!”

In response, Yusuf handed the gun to the Janissary beside him and answered, “He had the audacity to look me in the face without my permission. A fitting reason for death.”

This was the fate of a loyal minister who had dared to raise his head when the gun pointed at the Amir he served.

After delivering that line, Yusuf flopped down onto the ornate chair arranged in the meeting place.

The armies of both nations faced each other on the plains, and in the center lay the meeting place.

It was a spot that might very well become the focal point of battle, yet Yusuf appeared as calm and casual as if he were at home.

Though it could have appeared arrogant, his demeanor was so natural that no one thought it strange.

“Now it seems we can talk. What did you wish to say that brought you all the way here?”

“…Withdraw your troops. Our Ramazan had no involvement in Dulqadir’s actions.”

“You came all this way, and you expect to leave empty-handed?”

A smirk crept onto Yusuf’s face.

“I will ensure Bozkurt is captured and sent to the Padishah.”

“A lowly one like him is of no concern. I cannot believe that you all have no connection whatsoever.”

“I swear by Allah, we have no association!”

“For sake of life and power, telling a lie is a trivial matter. A fake oath is hardly a difficult feat. You can always head to the mosque later and confess your sins.”

Some could readily sell themselves just to obtain a castle.

Clearly taken aback by Yusuf’s frankness, Bey Mahmood stuttered, “Y-Your Majesty is rumored to be a prophet of Allah; it’s okay to talk like that?”

“I’ve never claimed to be a prophet myself, and I can go to the Adana mosque today to seek forgiveness from Allah. The merciful Allah always forgives the errors of mankind.”

Yusuf’s words were so harsh that it would not have been surprising for Bey Mahmood to feel resentful for such an apparent insult.

“Regardless, I cannot trust your word. If you truly wish to prove your innocence, open the gates of Adana. I will verify your innocence myself.”

Though it was couched as proving innocence, it was hardly different from demanding surrender.

Faced with Yusuf’s authoritarian manner, Bey Mahmood’s face twisted in anger.

“Must you really see blood to feel satisfied?”

“If I feared blood, I wouldn’t have entered this war. And I think the blood to stain this plain won’t belong to us.”

If this meeting fell apart, war would immediately erupt.

The artillery-laden battle wagons had already advanced to the front, and the cavalry, eager for a chance to battle, were barely concealing their rage.

With the overwhelming power difference, Ramazan’s forces were inadequately armed, some even wielding farming tools in a fight.

Bey Mahmood, who inwardly thought that this wouldn’t end here, lowered his head.

“…I surrender. Please show mercy, Your Majesty.”

“Very well. I will spare your position.”

After all, even if they occupied it, they couldn’t send people to govern the land immediately.

Given that there were many places still requiring conquest, resources to administer them would be tremendously scarce.

‘Now that I mention it, I wonder if Shamsi and Hasan are all right in Georgia.’

Though they had heard reports about them fighting tooth and nail for stabilization, he hoped they were doing fine and remained unharmed.

No news is good news, so the lack of troubling tidings suggested they must be okay.

“Mahmood.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Where is Bozkurt, who has ruined your country?”

From the moment he threw away the capital during the Safavid attack, it was clear he was a slippery character.

At Yusuf’s words, released tension turned into boiling resentment as Bey Mahmood gritted his teeth and answered.

“He went to Mersin. It seems he plans to occupy it and flee by sea with the Mamluks. We must capture him soon!”

Yusuf chuckled at the excited tone with which he spoke and waved his hand dismissively.

“Mersin will suffice. He’s already headed for his grave.”

*

It was indeed satisfying to have conquered resisting Mersin.

There were some sacrifices among the troops, but until they left the harbor aboard both merchant and fishing ships, their thirst for vengeance burned brightly.

“I will definitely exact revenge together with the Mamluks.”

Although they could only board half the ships due to the lack of vessels, with this amount of troops, the Mamluks would surely welcome them.

However, Bozkurt’s revenge wouldn’t last half a day.

-Bang! Crash!

“Oh, Allah!”

A fleet that darkened the sea with its ships fired shells, dragging their men into the whirlpool below.

It was the Ottoman fleet under orders to seize Mersin by force on their next supply run.

Finally, the stage for war was completed.