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The Time of Princes (1)

Ankara, which would later become the capital of Turkey with a population exceeding five million, had merely 35,000 residents at the beginning of the 20th century.

This was only the result of slow population growth, and at that time, it was just one amongst countless towns with a mere population of 20,000.

When considering that during ancient Roman times it was a transportation hub in Anatolia with 200,000 inhabitants, it was a faded city.

However, its geographical importance as the center of the Anatolian peninsula remained intact, and the Sanjakbey Dukağincade Ahmed Pasha carefully folded a secretly delivered letter.

“Andreas.”

“Are you really going to do it? If you’re not careful, our already shaky family status could become even more unstable.”

The nickname Dukağincade implies a connection to the noble family of Dukagjin from Albania.

At his subordinate Andreas’s question, Ahmed frowned.

“Family? Thanks to that esteemed family, I’ve suffered quite a bit.”

As the Ottomans seized territory, the Dukagjin family had split, with many joining the Kingdom of Naples or Venice to engage in anti-Ottoman activities.

Those who surrendered to the Ottomans, like himself, had borne the harsher consequences.

Andreas immediately retorted.

“But without the family, you wouldn’t even be in this position. Surely you don’t think it’s thanks to Prince Yusuf?”

“That’s hard to say.”

Maybe not now, but back then, Yusuf’s influence wasn’t strong enough to seat someone as a Sanjakbey.

It could simply have been a matter of timing.

Ahmed replied coldly.

“What matters is not the truth. What matters is that I seized the opportunity to side with him.”

The situation was different from the past.

Many were loyal to Yusuf, and already there were those competing for loyalty within the capital.

Ahmed laughed as if amused.

“Rather, the arrival of Prince Korkut here is a blessing from Allah.”

He clearly understood what would unfold next due to his decision.

Korkut’s death would strike Ahmed hard, and he would need to make efforts to manage the aftermath.

The princes wouldn’t miss the chance to exploit Korkut’s turmoil, and those waiting to choose a side would soon reveal their colors.

They would actively maneuver for their favored princes and wouldn’t hesitate to take each other’s lives if necessary.

“A chaotic time is about to begin, Andreas.”

“…Just give me your orders.”

“Prince Yusuf is indeed very caring. Seeing how much he worries about his brother’s worsening wound.”

“I will make sure to handle it properly.”

Andreas, with his head lowered, disappeared, and soon after, the news broke out.

*

Hasan wiped the cold sweat trickling down and shouted.

“Who’s the idiot that left steel lying around here?! Take it away right now?!”

Upon Hasan’s outcry at finding a small iron rod, a slave hurriedly took it outside.

With the dangerous object gone, Hasan let out a deep sigh.

“I must be crazy. I shouldn’t have asked to take care of this.”

Looking at the neatly arranged small wooden barrels, Hasan wore a tired expression.

Inside those barrels was all gunpowder, and this wasn’t the only storage facility in the area.

He had split the storages to prevent any unpredictable explosions.

“I might really die like this.”

Remembering the warnings Yusuf had given him, Hasan shuddered.

If he banged the clumped gunpowder due to humidity, it could explode; a static spark could lead to an explosion, and using metal could trigger a spark inside, resulting in another explosion.

For cowardly Hasan, entering here felt like embracing Allah’s protection.

Normally, he wouldn’t dare enter and would’ve finished his work quickly, but today he couldn’t do that because Yusuf was watching from outside.

After quickly assessing the quantities with those working below, Hasan stepped outside and saw Yusuf casually chatting with Tahir.

Upon Hasan’s return, Yusuf inquired.

“So, what’s the quantity?”

“As reported, approximately enough to fire five shots for 4,000 men.”

Five shots might seem few, but in an actual battle, they wouldn’t even fire all five.

Loading speed was slow, and black powder left a lot of residue in the gun, necessitating a thorough cleaning after a few shots.

“If one were to groove the barrel, it might reduce the hassle.”

Rifling the barrel would provide more space for residue buildup, allowing for more shots.

However, there was no need to dwell on what couldn’t be attempted immediately, so Yusuf asked Tahir.

“How far along are the matchlocks?”

“About two thousand have been prepared.”

“Two thousand, eh? Maintenance will soon hit its limit.”

Making guns wasn’t enough.

If not maintained, they would rust in no time, requiring periodic rust removal.

As the number of stored firearms increased, so too would the demand for maintenance.

“I’ve been worried about that. With the current manpower, we’ll soon hit a wall.”

“You needn’t worry about that. I plan to arm the soldiers with firearms soon.”

At this, Tahir said with a grave expression.

“It’s finally starting.”

“Basic training will be necessary, so it won’t be immediate, but it’s not far off.”

Even though firearms were simpler to use compared to bows and other weapons, they still required training.

At the very least, nobody should be startled by the sound of their own weapon firing.

Perhaps because the time had come for weapons crafted by one’s own hands to shine, a mix of worry and excitement enveloped Tahir’s face.

“If everything goes well, I won’t forget your efforts. Is there any request you’d like me to fulfill by then?”

It was an incredible opportunity.

If everything succeeded, Yusuf would surely become the master of the Empire, in a position to grant nearly any request.

To Yusuf’s words, Tahir courteously bowed his head.

“What ambitions could this old man, with days numbered, possibly have?”

“There’s no need to decline politely.”

Hesitating at Yusuf’s invitation, Tahir glanced at Hasan and said.

“If I must have a request, I’d like to see that fool find his pair.”

“You mean Hasan?”

Caught off guard by this unexpected statement, Hasan was shocked, and Tahir clicked his tongue at his reaction.

“Look at that dazed expression. It seems like Allah must’ve thrown him together in his sleep, doesn’t it?”

“Old man!”

“Even a deficient lad can live a decent life if he finds a lost rib.”

In Islam, Adam, the first human, was the first prophet, and it was believed that Eve was made from Adam’s rib, so Tahir’s analogy was apt.

Yusuf gazed at Hasan as he stroked his chin, clearly moved by Tahir’s request, which was unlike their usual quarrels.

“Hasan, it’s been almost ten years since we first met.”

“…That’s right.”

“You’ve committed a grave sin, but considering your efforts during that time, I could forgive you.”

“Thank you!”

At Yusuf’s words, Hasan immediately prostrated on the ground to show his gratitude.

It was no ordinary sin to forgive a traitor, so considering the past years, it was quite a generous decision.

“It’s time for you to shed your status as a slave. Do you have a woman in mind?”

Since Hasan was often out and about, it wouldn’t be strange for him to have set his sights on at least one woman.

Though Yusuf didn’t intend to force a union, he could lend a hand.

In response to Yusuf’s question, Hasan hesitated and stammered, and perhaps finding this frustrating, Tahir bellowed.

“Didn’t you mention a woman you liked? Would you like me to tell her for you?!”

“Oh, no…”

“What’s the problem?”

Tahir brushed off Hasan, still gripping at his trousers and named a person.

“I heard that he likes a woman named Nene. Do you know her?”

“Nene.”

It was impossible not to know.

She was Fatima’s maid and still provided a lot of help.

Yusuf looked at Hasan as if to verify the truth, and Hasan quietly nodded.

“…Actually, I’ve liked her for a long time.”

“A love that risks life. How romantic.”

Unless one were to love someone threatening their life, of course.

A woman’s grudge doesn’t vanish easily, and Nene still glared at Hasan whenever they crossed paths.

“I’ll speak to Nene. But how about you spend some time here for a while?”

At the very least, Hasan should stay alive until Yusuf ascended to the throne. It would be hard to find someone to replace him immediately.

Understanding the underlying meaning, Hasan bowed deeply.

“Thank you for your consideration.”

Seeing that he didn’t request to not mention speaking to Nene, it seemed genuine.

Yusuf turned his gaze away from Hasan, who was digging his own grave, and spoke to Tahir.

“Tahir, please do a final check before the soldiers arrive.”

“Leave it to me.”

Yusuf glanced up lightly at the sky.

He recalled Korkut’s death that he had heard before coming here and murmured softly.

“Three to go.”

The end was not far off.

*

As news of Korkut’s death reached Ankara, the capital descended into chaos.

Beyazid expressed grief once more at the loss of a son, and those following Ahmed hurriedly took action.

Their first order of business was to seize the churum housing Korkut’s legacy.

Though they had lost many soldiers in battle against the Şehinşah, many remained loyal to Korkut.

Korkut’s amassed wealth still resided there, and to absorb it, one of Prince Ahmed’s sons needed to be appointed as Sanjakbey of the churum.

In the meantime, Suleiman had been appointed as Sanjakbey of Cape, and Selim took action.

Just a few years ago, the plague had claimed Prince Mehmet’s life, and Cape had been quarantined, but it seemed the past was completely forgotten.

Sailors bustling about in the harbor, plying between the Black Sea, and merchants raised their voices.

In the lively harbor, a man slowly set foot.

“It’s been a long time, Father.”

With just his appearance, Selim hushed the harbor and embraced Suleiman, who had grown considerably.

“Wow, you’ve grown unrecognizable! Have you been well?”

“Of course. Here’s a gift.”

Receiving the clock cautiously extended, Selim examined it and chuckled.

“What an amusing toy.”

“…Is that so?”

“Yes, it’s not bad.”

Saying this, Selim casually handed the clock to a soldier behind him.

Selim had come to Cape under the pretense of congratulating Suleiman, who had just become a Sanjakbey, and took the lead forward.

The purpose of this journey wasn’t just to meet Suleiman.

“Are they already here?”

“They’ve been waiting for a few days.”

“Well, that’s good; we won’t waste any time.”

The envoy of Mengli Giray, the ruler of the Crimean Khanate and, privately, his father-in-law, had arrived.

They were ready to dispatch 30,000 cavalry.

Selim coldly smiled.

“My son, it’s finally time to seek my rightful place.”

The time of princes had come.