Chapter 72 : The True Victor of the War: The Ottoman's Silent Triumph

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Halil Han's camp, despite the chaos of the war, was orderly. The Türkmen soldiers gathered around the fire, some recovering from fatigue, others preparing their weapons for the next attack. The tents were lined up like a large military camp, and the air was filled with the scent of gunpowder and roasted meat.

Yet, amidst all this battle turmoil, there was someone unnoticed by all.

William had withdrawn into the shadows of the camp, silently observing the unfolding events. His dark cloak and beard, which made him resemble a local, hid the fact that he was an Ottoman agent. He was just one of many eyes for the Ottoman Empire in Isfahan. But perhaps, he was the most important.

While both sides bared their teeth at each other, who could know who the true winner would be? Would the Türkmen or the Safavids emerge victorious? For William, it didn't really matter. What mattered was how the Ottoman Empire would profit from this conflict.

William narrowed his eyes and looked at Halil Han's tent. He could see that the commander was engaged in a heated discussion inside. The Türkmen lords were still quarreling among themselves, debating whether the attack should continue.

Meanwhile, beyond the walls of Isfahan, Shah Abbas was waging his own battle. He had gathered an army with weapons supplied by the Ottomans, but now those very weapons were in the hands of the Türkmen.

"How ironic," William thought. "The Ottomans, supplying both sides with weapons, will lose no matter who wins."

Arms merchants, rifles, cannons... All this war was just a matter of trade. If the Safavids lost power, the Ottoman Empire's eastern border would ease. If the Türkmen won, Ottoman influence would spread further east.

Either way, the Ottoman Empire would emerge from this war unscathed.

The war would continue, but the real winners were not those who started the war, but those who directed it.

William smiled slightly and slipped further into the shadows. He was already thinking about his next move.

Istanbul... Built on seven hills, intertwined with the sea, its golden domes gleaming in the sunlight. The city's narrow streets, the voices of vendors echoing in its markets, the ships passing through the Bosphorus... The city was as lively as ever.

Behind the high walls of the Topkapi Palace, however, lay an entirely different world. The spring breeze could be felt in the gardens, and the eunuchs and servants walking slowly on the palace's stone paths were busy with papers in their hands.

In one of the palace courtyards, a young prince was holding the hand of a child. Osman... The young Sultan Osman II, around 16 or 17 years old, was running after a smaller child, laughing, his kaftan flowing and a dagger at his belt. The child paused for a moment, and Osman reached out, lightly touching him:

"I got you!"

The child laughed as a shadow appeared from one of the nearby corridors. Hasan Pasha, following the Sultan, took a few steps forward. He smiled and bent slightly, though his voice was formal.

"Your Majesty, I beg your pardon, but there is an important report."

Osman turned, his smile quickly turning into seriousness. He ruffled the child's hair and stood up. "Wait for me in the courtyard," he said to him, then took the report from Hasan Pasha's hand.

The report stated that Halil Han had launched an attack on Isfahan, the Safavids were still resisting, but the war had already worn them down. Osman furrowed his brow.

"Is this the latest information from William?" he asked.

Hasan Pasha bowed his head before answering. "Yes, Your Majesty. Both sides are suffering heavy losses, but Shah Abbas's ammunition is running out. The Türkmen are at an advantage in terms of cannons and rifles, with our aid."

Osman examined the report a bit more. "And we, no matter who wins, will be able to easily pressure the weakened side's lands..."

Hasan Pasha nodded. "Exactly, Your Majesty."

Osman slowly closed the report. The calmness of Istanbul was shaped by the shadow of a far-off war. That war would end, but for the Ottoman Empire, the real move would come after the winner was determined.

"We will follow this war closely," Osman said firmly. "Tell William to continue reporting every movement. I wonder what Halil Han and Shah Abbas will do."

For a moment, Osman turned back to the courtyard and saw that the small child was waiting for him. He took a deep breath. He knew how far he had to go in the game of thrones... And by the end of this war, the Ottoman Empire would grow even stronger.

Istanbul awoke to the cool winds of spring. Behind the high walls of Topkapi Palace, the expansive courtyards were silent and majestic. As the sun hit the palace's domes, the golden gilding gleamed. Yet, this tranquility did not reflect the storms raging inside the Sultan.

In a room within the harem quarters, a small cradle rocked gently. The infant prince, still under one year old, was sleeping soundly. The nurses standing nearby breathed quietly, moving carefully with each step.

Elsewhere in the palace, in the throne room, young Osman was reviewing the report placed before him. Without raising his head, he called to Hasan Pasha, who was standing at attention.

"Is this the latest information from William?"

Hasan Pasha bowed. "Yes, Your Majesty. Halil Han's army is besieging the Safavid capital, but Shah Abbas is still resisting. The prolonged siege is wearing down the Türkmen as well."

Osman glanced over the report again. Shah Abbas was doing all he could to buy time, but the Safavid army was growing weary. The Türkmen were also struggling with the burden of this war.

Osman tapped his fingers on the table. "Can Shah Abbas still hold on?"

Hasan Pasha answered carefully. "If he doesn't receive further support, he will eventually collapse. However, Halil Han and the Türkmen lords are becoming impatient. It's only a matter of time before they make a mistake that could change the course of the war."

Osman smiled slightly. Just as he wanted... Both sides losing blood. Shah Abbas's army had to weaken, but Halil Han needed to be exhausted too. The more the Ottoman Empire's eastern rivals weakened each other, the stronger Istanbul would remain.

He paused for a moment, deep in thought. It was best to watch the course of the war without interfering too much. William was the eyes and ears of the Ottomans on the battlefield. When he reported that the war was over, the Ottoman Empire would know what its next move should be.

Osman placed the report on the table. He looked up at Hasan Pasha with narrowed eyes.

"For now, we wait," he said calmly. "Even if Shah Abbas wins, it must come at a great cost to him."

Hasan Pasha bowed and withdrew. Osman turned once again to the map. This war wasn't over... But whenever it ended, the Ottoman Empire would be the victor.

The sun was casting a golden hue over the high walls of the Safavid capital. Shah Abbas stood at the castle ramparts, looking down at the plain. Below, the two armies were about to clash. The capital, tired but standing firm, awaited the inevitable.

The walls were lined with cannons and marksmen, watching the approach of the Türkmen. Inside the city, there was frantic activity; soldiers made their final preparations, ammunition was being transported, and some were watching the camp set up below the walls.

Shah Abbas took a deep breath as the hem of his cloak fluttered in the wind. The breeze against his face was a sign of the storm that was about to break. He squinted and looked at the Türkmen army. Halil Han's banners were already visible. His troops stood firm and disciplined. The Türkmen were ready for battle.

At that moment, a rider detached from the Türkmen ranks and rode forward. It was Halil Han... With his golden-embroidered kaftan and imposing presence, he slowly guided his horse in front of the walls. Then, his voice echoed across the battlefield:

"Shah Abbas! How much longer will you hide? We, the Türkmen, are here for freedom, to escape your tyranny! Are you still trying to resist?"

Movement stirred in the Safavid ranks below. Soldiers began to mutter and look at each other. Halil Han seemed to notice this and raised his voice even higher:

"I ask you, Shah Abbas! Who is the ruler here? You sit on the Safavid throne, but you do not deserve to rule the Türkmen! You are nothing but a cowardly despot!"

These words reverberated off the capital's walls. There was a moment of silence. The wind, as if waiting for the battle, ceased its blowing.

Shah Abbas glared at the Türkmen. He clenched his fists inside his kaftan, the insult still ringing in his ears. This was a challenge to his authority.

He bowed his head, took a deep breath, and muttered between his teeth:

"They call me a despot, do they?"

He looked once again at the battlefield. The Türkmen were waiting, unmoving. Halil Han had turned and was now blending back into his ranks.

"Then I will show them what it means to be a ruler."

And thus, the war became inevitable.