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The blood flowing from the gruesome wound ceased.

It wasn’t that he was healed; there was simply no more blood to flow, a sign of death approaching.

He was neither a subordinate nor an enemy. Thus, it was merely a venting of anger, not a punishment or execution.

“…Shah.”

The torment disguised as disbelief in his own words had ended, and Ismail looked down at the lifeless Mamluk soldier.

Blood trickled from his tightly clenched lips.

“I half-expected this. My stubbornness caused you all this suffering.”

“No! The Shah’s judgment was wholly rational.”

Ustajlu completely denied his self-reproach.

They had been deceived by the enemy and attacked a fake supply unit, yet the situation wouldn’t change.

The enemy had to move supplies, while they had to find the real supplies and block the transport.

“Who would have expected that there’d be enough troops to safely pass through the north?”

They had already mobilized over 100,000 troops, and that was excluding the Crimean Khanate’s forces.

No matter how much he thought about it, it was beyond common sense.

Ismail replied coldly to his subordinate’s consolation.

“There is nothing to comfort me with. With so many troops marching south, not a single word reached my ears. No matter how much the enemy disguised themselves as you, that fact does not change.”

As terrified as they were, it was a painful reminder of how much control they had lost.

Ismail’s blazing gaze responded to their anxious and worried stares.

“Do not be afraid! Defeat does not mean the end! Even that Muhammad overcame defeat and crises, and so shall I! Who am I?!”

“I am the avatar of the prophet Al-Kidr who taught Moses, the soul of Christ, and the guardian of the holy flame.”

The Qizilbash responded to Ismail’s question.

Ismail had grown up deified since childhood, and he genuinely believed in such things about himself.

A man who once felt as fragile as glass due to his high self-esteem had become hardened enough to withstand considerable trials against formidable foes.

Seeing such a sight was enough to wash away the Qizilbash’s anxieties.

“Tabriz has effectively fallen into enemy hands. So, we will move south first.”

“Are you planning to head towards Isfahan via Baghdad as scheduled?”

“Indeed. It will be a difficult time ahead.”

Isfahan had prospered through commerce and industry, but it had slowly declined amidst continuous war.

Two centuries ago, it was occupied by Timur, who decimated the city by killing 70,000 citizens and erecting 28 towers made from 1,500 heads. The city was still in a semi-ruined state, unable to recover from that devastation.

“I will rebuild Isfahan as the capital and take my revenge on that Yusuf. Even if it takes tens of years, I will certainly do so.”

Being in his twenties, Ismail felt capable of such a promise.

Ismail called together the scattered Qizilbash to search for supplies, and among those returning safely, some did not make it.

Those stained with blood, having clearly engaged in fierce combat, knelt before Ismail.

“The Ottoman army! The Ottoman army is attacking our forces!”

It was a scheduled hunt.

*

Ping!

“Uaaahh! Die!”

A Qizilbash who was hit in the left shoulder by an arrow, flying with the sound of a fierce wind, twisted his body and swung his sword.

The hot blood splattered on his face served as a reminder that the enemy, who had just moments ago been alive, was no more, marking his final thought.

Behind the Qizilbash, struck by a flying hand axe, two groups mounted on excited horses engaged in a grisly bloodbath.

– Heeiiing!

“Shah!”

“I know! Those damned bastards are treating us like prey!”

Seeing his subordinates being killed among the numerous enemies while turning the horses to halt the pursuit ignited a burning fury within him.

His forces had dwindled to around 13,000 as they shook off the pursuit, while the enemy seemed to be luring them into a trap.

Consumed by rage, Ismail gripped the reins tighter and calmly assessed the situation.

“Whatever preparations they’ve made, it cannot be helped. We move forward as is!”

It was far too tightly encircled to force a breakout, and the direction they were being led was the south where they originally aimed to go.

Turning in any other direction would only make matters worse.

The Qizilbash fought tooth and nail against their pursuers, and after shaking off the pursuing forces somewhat, they made a notable discovery.

On the plain stood about 5,000 infantry with fluttering flags above them.

A banner known well to them, signifying the Sultan, and a faint face of a man standing in front of it emerged in their minds.

Though they had never faced the enemy directly, Ismail’s trembling heart made it clear who the enemy in sumptuous attire was.

“Yusuf!”

Ismail’s face twisted into that of a demon as he shouted fiercely.

Cutting through the pounding of hooves and swirling clouds of dust, the man who seemingly heard this cry turned his horse around.

“Capture that bastard!”

“You must calm down! It could be a trap! No, it is definitely a trap!”

Even if the man before him were indeed the Ottoman Sultan, it was odd for him to be among infantry in an open field.

But Ismail’s judgment was the product of rational thinking, not mere impulsiveness.

“Even if it is a trap, we just need to capture him!”

If Yusuf were to die, the Ottoman Empire, with only children as heirs, would surely tremble.

And even if it were a trap, that was acceptable.

“After all, it’s infantry! We can win without question!”

In the open field, infantry was prey for cavalry, and their numbers were more than double.

Moreover, after having fought against enemy infantry armed with rifles while aiming for supplies, his confidence was not unfounded.

With this reasoning, the fleeing Qizilbash turned direction, and Yusuf shouldered his weapon.

“Come on, Ismail.”

Yusuf, who had worried whether the prey would run upon seeing his tempting figure, smiled as he saw the waves of enemies approaching.

Having raided supplies and fought against armed forces, they were certainly driven by boldness, but those were merely soldiers with two weeks of basic training.

The Janissaries, who had trained with firearms for over two years, were on a different level, and Yusuf smiled wider.

“Welcome to the age of line infantry.”

From now on, the paradigm of war would change.

*

Seeing the Qizilbash rushing like a mountain, the Janissaries tightened their grips on the rifles.

The sight was menacing enough to cause them to feel grateful their comrades were tightly clustered nearby, and before they could swallow any dry saliva, the enemy was upon them in an instant.

When they could clearly see the deadly glimmer in the enemy’s eyes, the unit commander, known as Chorba (derived from a soup chef), shouted.

“Fire!”

With the sound of gunpowder exploding, the powerful fire from their tightly packed formation swept away the Qizilbash.

While the front-line enemies continued to die knowing death was imminent, the rapid reloading of their reserves pushed forward to shoot.

Seeing their slain comrades fall amidst the gray smoke, the Qizilbash advanced quickly based on their comrades’ sacrifices.

As they closed the distance to a point where the reserves could not even begin to counteract them, the densely packed Qizilbash gasped in terror at the rows of bayonets.

– Heeiiing!

“Ahhh!”

The Qizilbash, who failed to turn in time to escape, fell to their knees, becoming skewers in the hands of the Janissaries wielding their rifles.

The Qizilbash, who attempted to steer their horses to avoid the spike barriers standing like a curtain of hedgehogs, fell into chaotic disarray.

Even if they swung their swords to kill the enemy, they were surrounded by rifles.

The enemies lined up in 3-4 rows had formed a rectangular block, and the wandering Qizilbash among them became prime prey.

– Tatadatang! Bang!

“We, we have to escape! This is a nightmare!”

“I don’t want to die! I don’t want to die like this!”

Surrounded by corpses that had never swung a sword, the horses, now intoxicated by the scent of death, became uncontrollable.

No one wished to die foolishly like a bug getting squashed, without even dying gloriously in a fierce battle.

Even the elite Qizilbash, renowned as warriors, attempted to flee amidst the chaos, when a booming voice pierced the sounds of gunfire.

“It’s the Sultan! Kill the Sultan!”

The Qizilbash’s eyes, having witnessed a denser and firmer formation than anything else, suddenly settled down, filled with murderous intent.

With his sword raised, the Qizilbash shouted loudly.

“Let’s kill him! For the Shah! Kill the Sultan!”

– Bang!

The head of the instigator was blasted away by a bullet, but the spark he ignited was enough to change the atmosphere.

Brandishing weapons without fear of the bayonets, they charged the formation, which began to sway under pressure.

The Qizilbash, driven by madness, clutched rifles that pierced into them, eagerly seeking out any gaps to exploit.

“Stop them! Stop them with your lives!”

The officers shouted, their veins popping from their necks, and chaos erupted in an instant.

The damage sustained by the Qizilbash attempting to break through the formation grew like a snowball, but the casualties of the enemy also diminished the Janissaries’ formation.

They allowed the enemy’s invasion.

“Sultan! Where is Yusuf?!”

“How dare you utter his name so freely?! You bastards!”

The Silahtar, who were tasked with guarding the Sultan, swung their swords with angry faces at the encroaching enemies.

The air was filled with gunpowder as shots rang out continuously, and the cries of those grasping at the threads of life stacked up.

With the sacrifices of his subordinates, Ismail burst through the formation and beheaded a Silahtar.

As the half-lifeless head toppled over, Ismail rushed at the one donned in the most flamboyant attire.

“Yusuf!”

Swinging his sword fiercely while locking eyes with Yusuf’s brown eyes gave Ismail a chill in his spine.

As he deflected the incoming blade, the ominous feeling didn’t fade when he partially slashed through Yusuf’s raised arm.

Then, the sound of gunfire resonated.

– Tat!

Amidst the deafening noise from every direction, one particular shot rang clear.

With a shock that felt like a punch to the chest, pain surged as Ismail looked down at his chest.

The red stains creeping across his torso felt unreal.

“Shah, Shah! Save the Shah! I said to save him, you bastards!”

Ustajlu’s voice, mixed with sobbing, came faintly through.

Turning his head towards the sound of gunfire through his hazy vision, Ismail met the gaze of a man clad in Janissary attire.

A smirk on one side of the mouth and a crooked green eye.

“…Yusuf?!”

“Who dares to call my name so frivolously?”

Responding with a voice dripping with arrogance, Yusuf stomped on the fallen Ismail.

Ismail, renowned for his martial prowess and always participating directly in battles, maintained a chilling aura until the very end.

Had he not set up a double to distract, it might have been him lying dead now.

“Do you have any last words?”

“Puhuhuh, last words, huh.”

Spitting out a mouthful of blood, Ismail looked up at the sky with a wry smile.

“Oh, Allah, cough. Was it… me you chose over… him?”

“Do not be mistaken. No one chooses me. I am the one who makes the choice.”

The astonishment reflected in Ismail’s eyes slowly faded, and as he asked in a voice faint as if about to break.

“Was there… a future for us… together?”

A future where the Ottoman and Safavid would coexist peacefully.

“Even if the past repeats countless times, such a future will never exist. Don’t you think so too?”

No matter how precious a talent, one cannot coexist with a poisonous person.

Ismail nodded in agreement with that assertion, and in that moment, Yusuf felt a rush of emotions.

The first target that Yusuf had aimed for in order to make a name for himself was Ismail.

The enemy who had posed numerous chilling threats and had greatly influenced him, both in status and mentally.

Experiencing feelings that were beyond words, Yusuf closed Ismail’s eyes and stood up.

“Padishah.”

At the call of Silahtar Aain Alper Pasha, Yusuf shook off the emotions and spoke calmly.

Having closed one person’s eyes, it was now time to act as Padishah.

“Behead him and announce it. That we have won.”

Alper beheaded Ismail and raised the severed head high.

“Shah! Shah Ismail is dead!”

– Shah Ismail is dead!

He had founded a nation at the age of 15 and had defeated an army of 30,000 with merely 7,000 soldiers on two occasions; a monster had died.

1512, at the age of 26.

*

The once-mighty walls crumbled, and an army bearing the head of a man entered the entrance of Tabriz, where the horrors of war remained in every corner.

It was the moment the downfall of the Safavid was revealed to the world.