The words of the foolish (5)

The life of a spy is harsh.

With family left back home as hostages, betrayal is not even a thought, and if caught, the torture is so severe that suicide seems like a better option.

Even if one dies loyal, no one will remember the life of a spy.

Meeting the master of the empire as a mere spy was an enormous honor, but for Hasan, it was akin to disaster.

“Hasan, Hasan.”

It was a space where even breathing felt arduous.

The deadly gaze of the Janissaries at the slightest movement felt like placing one’s neck on the guillotine.

Just hearing the name was enough to make his battle-hardened heart drop.

“You have a good name.”

“…It’s an honor, Padishah.”

He lamented that he should have changed his name while trying hard not to show it.

A man sharing the accursed name Hasan looked at his comrades with a pained expression, yet he turned his gaze away.

He almost shouted that this name had become cursed because of you.

“There’s no need to exchange glances with Hasan. I didn’t call you just because of your name.”

Hasan, who almost lifted his head in surprise, quickly lowered it again.

He had not been granted permission to look upon the Sultan’s face.

“Then tell me what you have seen and experienced in the Safavid.”

“Understood, Padishah.”

As he recounted his experiences, Yusuf’s smile widened, but Hasan did not notice.

Had he been aware, he would have hurried to finish his story, but by the time he concluded, Yusuf had already grasped Hasan thoroughly through his talent assessment.

“I enjoyed hearing that. Just from your experiences, I could tell how useful you are.”

“Y-yes, it’s an honor.”

It wasn’t that he was overwhelmed with emotion. His survival instincts, honed through years as a spy, were ringing alarm bells.

Though he wanted to turn around and flee, there was no way to escape the Sultan’s gaze in this land of the Ottomans.

Like a pitiful butterfly caught in a spider’s web, Hasan trembled slightly as Yusuf spoke kindly.

“Hasan, you said you are from Trabzon, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Then you will understand my anger. Look at the atrocities of the Safavid. How horrific they are.”

Restoration works were ongoing, but remnants of the fierce past were still evident.

Having the hometown of Trabzon and having personally experienced the brutal siege warfare, the horrors of that time were vividly etched in Hasan’s mind.

“I do not intend to let this atrocity pass lightly. You feel the same way, do you not?”

What would happen if he said no here?

He was sure he would be facing not the Sultan, but Allah instead.

“…Indeed.”

“I believed you would say so.”

Though he spoke shamelessly as if to create a situation impossible to deny for anyone, even the Grand Vizier, Yusuf felt it was time to offer a carrot.

“If this matter resolves well, considering your past contributions, I will take you under my wing.”

The implication was that he would no longer be just a nameless spy, which was a tremendous opportunity in the Ottoman where the Sultan’s favor equals status.

However, the truly moving proposal for Hasan was something else.

“And I will build a mosque for those who have died like you.”

“…Is that truly so?”

“I do not speak in vain. I will leave a name to honor them.”

Though he said he would leave a name, it would be hard to distinguish who was who since everyone shared similar names. Nevertheless, it was something.

He recalled the faces of those who had laughed and chatted like a family, not knowing when misfortune would befall them.

He remembered the sight of those who, to save him, had thrown their lives away like trash.

This was the reason he was back on this cursed land, and Hasan roughly wiped his face with his hand.

“I must have been crazy. I was definitely under some sort of spell back then.”

He couldn’t understand why those fat cats were causing a fuss about entering this place.

There were rumors that the Padishah was a prophet, and whether he was or not, he certainly had the ability to mesmerize people.

‘In any case, even if it’s not a reward, I can’t refuse.’

The life of every citizen was in the hands of the Sultan in the Ottoman Empire.

To refuse a command meant death, and even without the promised reward, he would have had to come here.

After lightly splashing his face with water, Hasan opened his cool, sharp eyes.

Having received his orders, it was time to execute them properly.

“What is the current situation?”

“We are preparing for the empire’s attack, of course. We are carrying out the scorched earth tactics as discreetly as possible, but it’s being done broadly, and rumors are spreading little by little.”

The scorched earth tactics are as challenging to execute as they are effective.

To see proper effects, supplies must be obliterated after the enemy’s forces have approached somewhat, meaning prior preparations need to be made.

This implied that the citizens were watching with tears as they stood by, prepared to burn down their hard-earned land at any moment.

“Some soldiers are even dying while resisting.”

“That means they are that anxious.”

It was natural for citizens to resist to protect their belongings, but failing to keep this dissatisfaction in check implied that there were cracks forming within the Safavid.

The news of the uprising happening in Georgia was likely contributing to it.

Hasan gave orders to his subordinates.

“We must spread rumors widely to make the Safavid citizens even more anxious.”

“Haha, just like our friends up top, we will have our fun too.”

While gathering intelligence had its thrilling aspects, instigating and creating chaos through crafting one’s own narrative was enjoyable in its own right.

Hasan warned those already giggling with anticipation.

“While it’s good to show enthusiasm, do not forget that our true mission lies beyond this.”

He twisted his lips while gazing at the vast land from which he had barely escaped with his life.

“It’ll be even more fun when that time comes. Our comrades in Allah’s embrace would also rejoice.”

The spies waited for the day to come, sharpening their own blades.

*

The request for a Circassian woman to be accepted into the harem was somewhat unexpected, but it wasn’t an incomprehensible demand.

The opportunity given this time was not easily acquired, and it had to be utilized for the future.

The most representative demand would be land, but requesting land from Georgia came with a major problem.

‘A mountain range blocks the path between Circassia and Georgia.’

Not just any mountain range—this was the Caucasus mountain range, including Mount Elbrus, which is more than twice the height of Baekdu Mountain.

Thanks to that, communication between the two regions was not easy, and even if granted land, it would be problematic deciding which tribe would manage it.

‘While not an immediate gain compared to gaining land, sending a woman to the harem has the advantage of allowing for a natural blending within the Ottomans.’

This was why it was deemed a clever choice.

“Very well. I will accept the women sent from Circassia.”

“Thank you!”

Ivan immediately bowed in thanks.

He thought he might get rejected outright as a ridiculous offer.

However, it was a bit early to toast.

“Ivan.”

As he called him softly, Ivan, sensing something cold, inadvertently lifted his head and met the gaze of the green eyes looking down at him.

Seeing the cruel gaze devoid of warmth, Ivan hastily lowered his head.

“It doesn’t matter which woman you choose. Be it a stunning beauty, a clever woman, or even the chief’s daughter, it’s all fine. Just remember one thing: I am always watching.”

There could be no warning worse than this, and Ivan quickly knelt in deference.

“I-I will always keep that in mind.”

“Good, you may withdraw now. Shouldn’t you inform others of this delightful news?”

Where Ivan had just been, only a small sweat stain remained from where he had bowed down.

“You’re quite mischievous. It seems I won’t even receive this gift with a joyful heart.”

“One must understand how dangerous the gift received is. You are clever, Ivan, so you will behave well.”

In truth, this warning was meant for other Circassian power holders rather than Ivan.

Those who had not actually met Yusuf might harbor bold thoughts.

It might not work perfectly as it was indirectly conveyed.

‘Then I can use the whip if necessary.’

There’s no need to fear wielding a whip when it comes to the Sultan’s position.

“All the same, it was not a bad proposal for me. Since I’ve issued a warning, I can expect women worth gifting to be sent.”

The best way to gain the loyalty of officials below is to arrange strategic marriages with princesses, but there’s a limit to how many daughters one can marry off.

The void left by that number is filled by women of the harem, which serves as both a haven for potential concubines and a training ground for women to boost the loyalty of their subordinates.

‘The life of a harem woman is still better than that of a Joseon Dynasty court lady.’

While court ladies in the Joseon Dynasty were banned from marrying even after leaving the palace, those who left the harem were allowed to marry.

Shamsi nodded in agreement with Yusuf’s words.

“There are many who prefer Circassian women. Recently, this tendency has been even more pronounced.”

It was only natural, given that the most noble woman in the empire, Valide Hatun, and the first concubine after her were both Circassian.

As Circassia fully entered the empire, the number of Circassians being captured as slaves decreased significantly.

‘The fantasy surrounding Circassians has grown stronger than it already was.’

With various ethnic groups surrounding them, each country has its preferred ethnicity for their harem.

In the case of the Ottomans, they favored Circassian women or blonde beauties from Europe, while dynasties such as the Safavid preferred Armenians.

They belong to the white race but are an ethnic group with facial features similar to Indians, historically holding significant influence.

There was no need to elaborate, considering they had produced the Eastern Roman Emperors eleven times.

“Armenians, you say.”

“Why are you suddenly saying that?”

“A useful group of people, aren’t they?”

Even among the Ottomans, there were many Armenians who had continued since the days of the Eastern Roman Empire and played pivotal roles in the empire.

While exceptional ethnic groups are often cited as Jews in modern times, the explosive growth of the Jewish community coincided with the rise of the British Empire.

Now, they are fleeing from various parts of Europe and escaping to Arab territories like the Ottomans or Egypt.

‘The image of modern Jews applies perfectly to Armenians.’

They possess immense power, powerful enough to drive out Jews, and during their heyday, they held the trade routes from the Mughals to the Ottomans.

Though they are now weak compared to then, they still hold potential.

It is worth remembering that the northwestern lands of the Safavid would be coming into their fold soon.

They would become a useful card in the future.

-Your Padishah, a messenger has come from Akhaltsikhe.

“Come in.”

At the command, the Janissary knelt, and Yusuf spoke with a languid expression.

“It can’t be that a mere messenger is bringing anything of great importance. What is it?”

Even before the war began, the heads of any messengers were hung at the city gates, needless to say when victory had already been secured.

It was not about asking whether or not to hang heads at the gate; once it had been reported they came, there had to be a specific reason.

“KVIRKVARE has committed suicide.”

To think he hadn’t even planned a last-ditch effort and opted for suicide, a scoff erupted involuntarily from Yusuf.

Rising from his seat, Yusuf issued his orders.

“Inform the whole army; we are headed to Akhaltsikhe.”

It was time to tie up loose ends regarding Georgia.