Father and Son

As the session concluded, I began gathering my belongings, preparing for my planned visit to the Ottoman Janissary grand barracks. It wasn't far—just about two kilometers west of Topkapi Palace. Before I could leave, my father arrived, his presence commanding as always, interrupting my moment of preparation.

"Selim," he called with his steady voice, "I see your session has ended. Come, I wish to speak with you."

"Yes, my sultan," I replied, bowing slightly out of respect. Though I could have called him father, formalities were necessary when he was on duty unless he permitted otherwise.

~~~

As we walked along the grand corridors of the palace, adorned with intricate tilework and the soft echo of our footsteps, my father seemed deep in thought. After a moment of silence, he finally spoke, his tone thoughtful.

"So, my son, how are your studies progressing under Sa'id Hoja?"

I glanced up at him, sensing the genuine curiosity in his question. "I would say he is an excellent teacher, my sultan. He explains things clearly and has a great depth of knowledge."

"Good," my father replied with a nod, his eyes fixed ahead. "A prince must be well-versed in all aspects of governance, and it pleases me to see you taking your lessons seriously. Sa'id is among the best tutors in the empire. You must make the most of what he offers."

"Of course, father," I replied earnestly. "His lessons are challenging, but I enjoy them. I feel like I'm learning something new every day."

My father smiled faintly, a rare expression that softened the otherwise formal air around him. "That is what I like to hear, Selim. Knowledge will be your greatest weapon—sharpen it well, and no one will stand against you."

"I'll remember your wisdom, father," I replied sincerely. Then, after a moment of hesitation, I cautiously asked, "But what about you? I've heard troubling whispers... something gruesome has come to your doorstep, hasn't it?"

He slowed his pace, his expression hardening slightly, though not in anger. "I am not entirely sure what you mean, my son," he said, his voice measured, "but if you are alluding to the burdens of rulership, then yes, they are ever-present. However, this time..." He paused, his gaze distant as if seeing something beyond the walls of the palace. "This time, it is indeed gruesome. Shadows loom over the empire, and I fear war may soon rise from the unknown darkness."

His words hung in the air like a heavy cloud, and I felt a chill run through me. Even as a child, I understood the gravity of his tone.

"Is it the Russians, father?" I ventured, my voice quieter now.

My father's eyes flicked to me, surprised but not displeased by my awareness. "You are perceptive, Selim. Yes, our neighbors to the north stir restlessly, but they are not the only concern. To rule an empire is to face threats from all sides—seen and unseen. This is a lesson you will come to understand in time."

"I see," I said, nodding solemnly. "Then I will study harder, father, so that I may be of use to you and the empire."

He smiled again, this time with a hint of pride. "That is all I could ask for, my son. May Allah guide you in this endeavor."

"InshaAllah," I replied, hesitating for a moment before continuing. "Father…"

"Yes, Selim?" he prompted, his voice gentle but curious.

"I hope that you take the time to consider all matters carefully," I said, choosing my words with care. "It's just... rushing into decisions without proper investigation or preparation might lead to unforeseen troubles. Sometimes, a steady approach can uncover things haste would miss."

My father stopped walking, turning to face me fully. For a moment, he simply looked at me, his expression unreadable. Then, a faint smile appeared, though it carried a hint of seriousness.

"You speak with wisdom beyond your years," he said thoughtfully. "It is true, the weight of rulership often demands swift action, but you are right—caution and preparation must never be forgotten. A sultan must balance decisiveness with discernment."

"I only wish for the best for you and the empire, father," I said earnestly.

He placed a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm yet comforting. "And that, Selim, is why I am proud to call you my son. Rest assured, I will reflect on your words. The shadows of war are not to be taken lightly, and I will ensure that every move we make is measured and deliberate."

His reassurance eased the tension in my chest. "Thank you, father. May Allah grant you strength and clarity in your duties."

"And may He guide you as well, Selim," he replied, his gaze softening. "Together, we shall safeguard this empire."

Though actually I said that, because of my father's action will lead to the mistake that actually can be avoided. War with the Russian Empire.

According to what I've gathered, the Ottomans declared war on the Russian Empire during the events leading up to the Russo-Turkish War of 1768–1774. The catalyst was a report alleging that Zaporozhian Cossacks, believed to have been backed by Russia, had attacked and destroyed an Ottoman town near the border. Although this claim was never fully substantiated, Sultan Mustafa III, under immense pressure from the French and key ministers in his court, decided to detain the Russian ambassador and his delegation. This provocative act ultimately led to the declaration of war. In my assessment thanks to my cheat skill, this escalation could have been avoided. A thorough investigation into the incident, paired with calm diplomacy, might have diffused tensions. However, in the original timeline, decisions were made in haste, driven by political pressures and a lack of measured restraint. It's a stark reminder of how rushing to conclusions, without proper evidence or consideration of alternatives, can plunge an empire into unnecessary conflict.

(Though it has been explained in previous chapters but briefly) - Writer

"Well then, Father, with your permission, I must take my leave. I have military training scheduled shortly at janissary barracks, and I wouldn't want to keep my instructors waiting," Selim said, bowing slightly out of respect.

Mustafa III nodded, his expression softening. "Very well, my son. Go, and give your best. Remember, discipline and skill are the backbone of any great leader."

Selim smiled. "I will, Father. As always, I'll strive to make you proud."

As Selim exited the room, Mustafa III stepped closer to the grand windows, gazing out at the sprawling gardens of Topkapi Palace. His expression turned serious, his voice low yet commanding. "Any suspicious activities?" he asked, seemingly to no one.

From the shadows of the chamber, a figure emerged—draped in black from head to toe, with a hood and a veil obscuring his face. His presence was silent but purposeful, like a wraith summoned at will.

The spy bowed slightly before speaking. "Hünkârım, there are no overt activities from the Russian side as of now. However, in the Balkan regions, we have noted increased movements. Notable individuals are stirring, and Russian representatives appear to be actively engaging with them. Just as you predicted, the whispers of independence are growing louder."

Mustafa's jaw tightened, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "The Balkans..." he muttered, almost to himself. "The Russians know our fractures and aim to exploit them."

The spy continued, his tone calm yet urgent. "It seems they are laying the groundwork for something significant. Their envoys are weaving a web among the discontented. If left unchecked, this may escalate beyond whispers."

Mustafa turned away from the window, his eyes sharp and resolute. "Increase surveillance. I want every meeting, every conversation, every shadow they cast to be reported. We must act before their schemes take root."

The spy bowed again. "As you command, Hünkârım," he said, before melting back into the shadows, leaving Mustafa to the silence of his thoughts.