became the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire - Chapter 1: I Must Become the Sultan

The room was so spacious that dozens of people could comfortably enter.

The walls and floors were decorated with marble and gold, and the furniture and bed were crafted with the skill of a master artisan.

The boy, lying on a duvet embroidered with golden threads, lifted his aching head and clutched his throbbing temples.

“This is insane.”

Just yesterday, he had been sitting in front of a computer, and now, the scene before him was hard to accept.

The boy had found himself in a body much younger than his real age, in a palace that seemed to belong in a European fairy tale.

But the biggest issue was that the scenery wasn’t unfamiliar.

It was the very same view he had seen hundreds of times through a screen just the day before.

“…Why of all places, in this game?”

The title of the game was “Sultan, Conquer the World.”

As the name suggested, the goal of the game was to become the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire, conquer lands, and rule the world.

But that was only possible if one could actually make it to the Sultan’s seat.

The difficulty of the game was no joke. The protagonist’s succession rights were at rock bottom, and he had to survive countless assassinations and conspiracies.

Even if he died, the Sultan, his father, would casually remark, “Hmm, died earlier than expected,” and move on as though it was nothing.

As a result, the difficulty was impossibly high.

“If even the best gamers have tried and failed, how could anyone have actually become the Sultan?”

Streamers and YouTubers from around the world flocked to the game, hoping to gain fame and profit, yet the outcome was always the same.

The protagonist himself had tried over 400 times, an experienced gamer.

“If only this were just some crazy dream caused by gaming addiction…”

But the memories of his body’s original owner were still fresh, making it impossible to call this a dream.

As his head throbbed with the chaos of mixed memories, a knock echoed through the room.

• • “Prince Yusuf, have you caught a cold?”

“Come in.”

The voice, still in the awkward stage before puberty, sounded strange, but it came out with a natural authority.

For the body’s original owner, this place might have been home, but for him, it was a den of demons.

Even if the person entering was a servant, he could not afford to show any weakness.

The servant carefully opened the door and entered, holding a small tray.

“What is it?”

“It’s medicine, Your Highness.”

“Medicine?”

Yusuf, who had been momentarily confused, furrowed his brow as a memory quickly surfaced.

It wasn’t long ago, and it wasn’t difficult to recall from the jumbled memories.

“Damn, circumcision?”

It was a religious procedure.

No wonder it hurt.

It wasn’t like he’d gone in for a chicken sandwich and ended up circumcised, but he’d been given a grand celebration and then subjected to the procedure without anesthesia.

On the bright side, at least he hadn’t had to go through a second round.

“Your Highness?”

The servant called again, noticing his long pause.

Yusuf glanced at the herbal medicine on the tray and said firmly.

“I don’t need medicine.”

“You may not need it, but it’s essential for your health. Please, take it.”

Yusuf didn’t protest about the taste—he had endured worse.

Still, with the small icon flashing in his vision, reminding him of the game-like nature of this world, he knew he had to be cautious even with something as simple as drinking water.

Statistics showed that 95% of beginners died in the early stages, and 60% quit the game altogether.

Naturally, he had no intention of taking any suspicious medicine.

“I know my own body best. I told you, I don’t need it.”

“As you wish, Your Highness.”

As the servant withdrew, a translucent window appeared before his eyes.

[Poison Avoided, Score +2]

So it starts with these tricks.

The Choice Was Right, But I Can’t Be Happy About It

He couldn’t feel happy about making the right choice.

If he had taken the medicine just now, he would have become Boy 1, who died from complications caused by an unsanitary circumcision, and his name would not have even been properly recorded in history.

Even if he tried to find the mastermind behind the poisoning right now, all that would happen was that his own life would shorten without gaining anything.

Yusuf lightly slapped both his cheeks.

“I can’t afford to lose focus.”

He had no time to waste lamenting about why he ended up in such a situation, or denying reality like a character in a novel.

The ones behind this situation were all deceiving him.

Only those who had the luxury of such concerns could afford to contemplate them. For someone who had just barely escaped death, it was more urgent to adapt to the reality than to worry about the next steps.

“If I don’t want to die right now, I need to figure out the situation first.”

The Ottoman Empire’s sultanate succession can be divided into two major periods.

The first is the survival-of-the-fittest era, and the second is the seniority-based succession era.

The roots of the Sultanate lie in the Turkish tribes, originating from the Gokturk nomads, where survival of the fittest was a natural cultural practice.

At that time, a prince’s only option was to either succeed the throne or die.

Later, the Kanunname, a set of laws, legalized the fratricidal method, allowing a sultan to kill even his cousins.

Then, when it came to the seniority-based succession, it wasn’t peaceful either. The roots of the earlier period couldn’t be completely eliminated.

Luckily, in this era, male royals who didn’t become sultans could at least survive.

They could be confined to the Kafes, a palace prison resembling a cage, and live out their lives in seclusion.

With the nickname “Golden Prison,” they might live without children, could have a woman, and could eat, but being forced to live a lifetime of confinement wasn’t exactly a happy existence.

“Damn, but I guess the cage is better.”

At least the cage allowed for survival, while being a sultan’s son meant instant death if the sultan decided. But the possibility of survival was higher in the latter scenario.

If lucky, one might even become a sultan like Mustafa I, who took the throne due to his mental instability.

After racking his brain and recalling his memories, it was clear that his luck wasn’t much better.

“Why does it have to be Bayezid II as the current sultan?”

While the name might not be immediately recognizable, the previous sultan, Mehmet II, had famously conquered Constantinople and destroyed the Byzantine Empire, also creating the fratricide law under the belief that it was necessary for the order of the world.

So what does that mean? The fratricide law is still very much in effect.

“If I get caught, it’s gonna be a bloody mess.”

But surprisingly, that wasn’t even the worst part.

Bayezid II was born in 1447, but Yusuf’s own birth year, 1489, made him a latecomer.

Before the massive earthquake in 1509 that caused the sultan to start weakening, only four princes had survived, and now, out of eight sons, seven were still alive.

Including himself, that made a total of eight contenders, and he’d have to fight bloody battles with brothers who were practically his father’s age.

“How could an 11-year-old boy become a sultan in this situation? No. Let’s think positively.”

To play a hopeless game like this for over 400 rounds, a positive mindset was essential.

According to the East Asian and Western Asian calendar, ages were counted from the year of birth as Year 1, which meant he was 11 years old, and it was 1499, nearing the end of the 15th century. Bayezid II would die in 1512.

That still left 13 years, plenty of time to distinguish himself before the current sultan started fading.

“Staying alive until then is the biggest challenge, but at least I have time.”

To become the sultan by overthrowing the already established princes, he would need to achieve overwhelming success, but there would be opportunities for that to happen.

Yusuf stood up from the bed.

He lightly moved his limbs with his small hands, checking his body.

Aside from the pain from the circumcision, the body seemed to be in decent condition, and though being in the body of an 11-year-old boy meant a lower field of vision, it wasn’t an insurmountable issue.

“Now, next up…”

When he closed his eyes, a blinking icon appeared, just like the interface he was familiar with from the game.

Thankfully, just thinking about pressing the icon was enough, and three windows popped up.

[Talent] [Traits] [Shop]

These were all game system features.

The traits could be unlocked by accumulating points from the shop, but with only 2 points, he couldn’t even buy the first trait.

Moreover, since it was a historical game, not a fantasy one, the limits were clear.

Ultimately, the most important thing for gamers was talent.

Name: Şehzade Yusuf

Physical Strength – 3

Intelligence – 3

Charisma – 3

Luck – 3

Extra Ability Points – 10

Across history, from east to west, the easiest and most accurate way to determine someone’s status is by the name they are introduced with.

If someone has a surname, you can usually tell their family just by hearing their name. However, the Ottoman Empire didn’t have surnames.

The bigger issue is that the names used in the Islamic world are very limited.

There’s an Arabic proverb, “If you call out Abdullah in Baghdad, a thousand Abdullahs will answer,” and to exaggerate a little, half of them would be named Muhammad.

As a result, the solution the higher-ups came up with was to attach titles or positions to names, and “Şehzade” (prince) was attached to his name for that reason.

But moving on, how the ability points under the name are distributed is extremely important.

“The talent points don’t change easily,” he thought.

How you distribute these abilities would drastically affect the character’s fate.

Each ability could be raised from a normal level of 3 up to a maximum of 10, with each talent having distinct strengths and weaknesses.

First, for Physical Strength, if the score is 10, it would be like a legendary warrior, comparable to Lu Bu (a famous general in Chinese history).

With such martial prowess, it would be easy to win the favor of elite infantry like the Janissaries or the main cavalry like the Sipahi.

Since the position of sultan wasn’t just handed out, strength was essential.

“But which Lu Bu are we talking about?” he mused.

The Lu Bu revered as a warrior existed over 1300 years ago.

Since then, firearms had already been used by the Janissaries, specifically small cannons known as hand cannons.

More precisely, the time for a single warrior to dominate is long gone, even if someone like Lu Bu’s grandfather showed up.

Still, gaining favor with military factions was a useful skill.

Next was Intelligence. A score of 10 in intelligence would make someone like Zhuge Liang, a strategist of the highest caliber, in the Ottoman context.

Honestly, he hadn’t lived in a way that required much intelligence before, so he wasn’t sure how it would apply in real life, but in the game, characters with high intelligence could manage internal affairs well and plan strategies.

Having high intelligence made it easier to gain the favor of top officials like the Grand Vizier (Sadr al-Azam).

“Charisma, well… that’s not for me.”

Charisma, of course, is a valuable attribute. At 10, it would make him like Liu Bei for men, or Casanova for women.

Like the Pied Piper, he could attract people to follow him, and potentially recreate fascism hundreds of years ahead of its time.

But, “I’d be more likely to get stabbed while walking down the street.”

It wasn’t just a possibility; it was a certainty.

People would either shout, “I’ll destroy the unrequited love!” or “Give me back my wife!”—and he’d end up with a knife in his abdomen.

Even if he avoided being stabbed a hundred times, one mistake would be fatal. That’s just how it went in this world, and all the players in the game usually ended up with similar outcomes.

Finally, there was Luck. It made the difference between an unlucky character who would inevitably die—like tripping and breaking their nose—and someone who survives against the odds.

It could turn a lucky escape into a near-death experience, like a stray arrow missing or a poisoned drink being accidentally knocked over.

More often than not, a high luck stat meant survival.

“Now, I have to choose which of these four abilities to prioritize…”

If he tried to evenly distribute the points, he’d end up with a weak character, so the best solution was to focus on one.

Luckily, the collective wisdom of global players had already determined the best course of action.

Yusuf boldly raised his Luck to the maximum.

Once the points were allocated, there was one thing left to do.

“Luck, please let me live just one more day.”

With his resolve firm, Yusuf steadied himself.

Now, all that was left was to go from being a weak prince with the lifespan of a day to becoming the sultan.