Chapter 79
Chapter 79
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Translator: Wjin
Chapter: 079
Chapter Title: The Nightmare of the Bosphorus (2)
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As Edirne fell into enemy hands, the Ottoman forces who had been clamoring for holy war came screeching to a halt.
No one could keep their composure in the face of this unprecedented catastrophe, something they'd never even imagined.
"Holy war, my ass! Holy war!"
"How many sins have we committed for God to send us a trial like this?!"
"They say the Austrians are coming, turning our blood into rivers!"
"Even if they attack here next year, we're prepared, right?"
Tremendous fear blanketed the capital.
No matter how coolly they tried to analyze it, this war made no sense.
There had been cases where holy wars ended in defeat before.
But had there ever been a rout this humiliating?
Of course, much of it stemmed from the fact that the Ottomans were no longer the power they once were—they'd become a relic of the past. Still, the people weren't ready to accept reality.
So all that was left was to blame someone else.
"I hear those Christian dogs up north are massacring Muslims indiscriminately!"
"What if that happens to us?"
"No way... His Majesty is here. It won't fall into their hands, not ever!"
No massacres had actually occurred on the Balkan Peninsula, but in this era, plausible rumors often solidified into accepted truth over hard facts.
Especially when it came to Franz and his right-hand man Joseph, who led the Austrian army. Their image had long been fixed as the reincarnation of Genghis Khan.
No one knew how Genghis Khan had ended up haunting the Holy Roman Empire's imperial family, with its French bloodlines.
People had just started calling them that out of fear, and the perception stuck.
With the capital in such a panic, the imperial court naturally viewed the current situation as an unprecedented crisis.
"What the hell have you all been doing while they marched all the way to Edirne?!"
"Well... they've only just finished mustering their reinforcements."
"Does it make any sense that this vast empire has no troops ready to deploy?!"
"...The main force guarding Rumelia has been wiped out, and losses keep mounting. We've already exceeded 70,000 casualties. Assembling another 50,000 here is pushing our limits. If we pulled troops from the Russian front, we could send reinforcements, but then..."
"Right. And what about the treasury?"
"We have enough for half a year."
A chill silence descended in the chamber at the finance minister's report.
This wasn't even the late stages of the war—the enemy was at their doorstep—and the treasury would run dry after just six months?
"What is the Grand Vizier doing? Didn't we order him to retake Rumelia?"
"...But with Edirne turned into the Habsburgs' supply depot, recovering Rumelia is practically impossible..."
BAM!
"Is that all you have? Obvious bullshit?!"
No matter how much Emperor Mahmud raged, the situation wouldn't change.
To begin with, the Ottoman Empire lacked the strength to handle even Russia alone—that was the harsh reality.
With Austria piling on top, victory was impossible unless both powers blundered spectacularly.
Their biggest miscalculation had been assuming Britain and France would intervene if the war dragged on, as they always did.
"Your Majesty, we must order Grand Vizier Shayid to turn his army around and focus on defending the capital, even now."
"...Defend Constantinople... with a siege?"
"Yes. And... we should ask the British and French ambassadors to mediate, promising to accept any terms..."
The ministers braced for imperial wrath, but unexpectedly, the emperor said nothing.
Even after gaining absolute power through a military-backed ascension and purging to stabilize his rule, his inherent nature was cautious.
He'd merely projected imperial dignity through those purges.
But now, with no room for such displays, he lacked even the energy to raise his voice.
"If we beg the British to mediate, they'll demand something in return, won't they?"
"...But neither Britain nor France wants Austria to grow any stronger."
That was undoubtedly true.
At that moment, Mahmud hit upon a clever ploy to drag Britain and France into the fray.
It would cost them face and honor, but... they had to try whatever they could.
That day, earnest pleas from the Ottomans arrived at the British and French embassies in Constantinople.
'Please mediate right now.'
'No instructions from the homeland yet—can't respond.'
'If you don't mediate, we'll just let Austria annex the entire Balkans. You know that means Constantinople falls too? We'll move the capital to Bursa.'
'???'
Yes, if you don't stop this fight now, we'll just die.
If you don't want Austria turning into the real Rome, come scramble and open negotiations.
British Ambassador Everard and French Ambassador Villeneuve turned pale and held an emergency summit.
They couldn't just let the Ottomans collapse for real.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ The emperors of the Holy Roman Empire shared one dream.
A pipe dream of one day becoming a true Roman emperor worthy of the name.
Yet signs of that fantastical dream taking shape were appearing everywhere.
Charles VI even wondered if this war was some divine revelation.
Franz, who had initially planned to seize only Nish and Banja Luka before turning nearby regions into independent states, had inexplicably pressed on to Edirne.
Stubborn Orthodox Christians were suddenly chanting his daughter Theresa's name and cooperating.
Had any Holy Roman Emperor achieved such feats?
If they even took Constantinople beyond Edirne, it would birth a true Roman Empire encompassing East and West.
Even falling short of that, his achievements already outshone any predecessor.
Unlike those who merely preached crusades, he had actually liberated millions of Christian faithful.
Still, problems weren't entirely absent.
"We do need to decide where to halt the war... What should we do?"
"Does Your Majesty have any specific plans?"
"...Of course not. Who could've foreseen this?"
They'd already exceeded initial goals long ago, so stopping anytime wouldn't hurt.
But the emperor wasn't the only one exhilarated by these monumental victories.
"Kahahahaha! This is the power of true Rome!"
"Taste the glory of the real Rome, you fake Roman bastards."
"No denying it now—the center of Christendom is our homeland."
"France, strutting around as the Catholic king supreme? They won't dare show their faces now."
"Frogs gnawing on scraps, as always. Kekekeke."
Austria's national euphoria had spiked to lethal levels amid repeated triumphs.
Conversely, plenty voiced concerns.
"...Even if we win, isn't this too big a win?"
"What if Charles VI starts wielding real imperial power now?"
"N-No way. The Habsburgs already officially declared respect for the Imperial Diet..."
"Do people have the same intentions going into the bathroom as coming out?"
Austria, stuffed full from devouring the tasty Ottoman prey, would soon enter the "negotiating table"—a fancy toilet—and emerge relieved.
No elector could predict their attitude upon exit.
"It's all the Ottomans' fault. How are they this weak...?"
"Feels like they forgot how to fight from just scarfing kebabs. Getting pummeled by Russia in the Black Sea too, right?"
Foolish to expect them to hold out when even France had been thrashed.
Once more, the Holy Roman Empire's political circles trembled with unspoken tension.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ As eyes from Austria, Russia, Britain, and all of Europe focused ever more intently,
Edirne blazed—not just hot, but an inferno—under the banner of recapturing Constantinople.
"Smash the Islamic heartland!"
"We are the Crusaders!"
"The kingdom of heaven is within reach!"
Troops aplenty, ample supplies, cannons galore.
Of course, that didn't mean they truly believed they could take the Ottoman capital.
Even on death's door, the Ottomans' coffin lid wasn't sealed shut.
If they went all-in, scraping together soldiers for a war of attrition, Austria would tire first.
But as that very fact implied, the Ottomans were already a has-been, incapable of recapturing past glories.
Bluntly put, even in original history, they never won a solo fight against Western powers after this era.
Austria's defeats to them weren't from Ottoman brilliance but Austrian ineptitude so pathetic you'd think they deserved to lose.
Russia had thrashed them just fine in those wars too.
Even without provocation, the Ottomans were fated to become Russia's punching bag whenever the tsars got bored.
Their one "victory" in the Crimean War was really Britain and France force-feeding it to them with massive armies.
"Tricky, so tricky."
"Constantinople? It's no easy city to assault, true."
"Nah, not that."
"...Your Highness means those horrific rumors you started. Self-inflicted... or rather, they'll die down soon. If you can't avoid it, enjoy it, right? Hahaha."
Okay, any budding guilt toward you just evaporated.
You say enjoy? Fine, I'll ensure you savor this thrill forever.
"Wrong again. I mean the balance after the war."
"What's tricky about it? The Christian Balkans gain freedom as Your Highness envisioned, and our empire reigns as their protector. A happy ending for all, no?"
"Sure, but... Joseph, do you think the Ottomans can handle Russia?"
"...Impossible."
Instant answer, no hesitation. I wholeheartedly agree.
The Ottomans are weak.
And losing the Balkans would make them weaker still.
In original history, they became Russia's frequent meal; sans Balkans, even more so.
The Black Sea becomes Russia's lake, and clashing with whoever controls its access—us—is inevitable.
Already at odds with France, can't trust Britain, and Russia collision course...
Huh? This setup looks familiar.
To dodge that fate, isolate Russia somehow—keep it from cozying up to Britain or France. Any ideas?
As I racked my brain, British Ambassador Everard Faulkner came rushing to our camp from Constantinople.
"...So. You want us to accept Britain's mediation proposal again?"
"Not just us—France and Spain have joined too."
After watching from afar, they've decided it's time to step in.
And the British ambassador himself sprinting to our side? Ottomans must've done something, though I couldn't guess what.
"Surprising. We're fighting on the front lines with His Holiness the Pope's blessing for Christian liberation, and fellow Christian nations side with Islam?"
"...Well..."
"The Ottomans begged you not to let them collapse?"
"Haha... We Christians only seek Europe's peace."
Classic Brit—Everard smoothly dodged.
But Britain scrambling out meant the Ottomans were out of options, and the pirate specialty "hit the frontrunner" was activating.
"Truth be told, I don't want endless war either. The grand cause of Eastern Christian liberation is as good as achieved."
"Exactly, exactly. That's our point."
"And we have no intent to annex the Balkans outright. Just grant them independence and shelter them under the sturdy Holy Roman Empire umbrella."
This was the line to expand influence without provoking Britain or France.
Everard showed no real objection, implying acceptance up to that point.
"Not our territory anyway—hard to snatch more Ottoman land. But Ambassador, what about Russia?"
"...Russia?"
"Yes. Unlike us, they're aiming to swallow all Black Sea shores. If they keep pushing south, the Ottomans lose everything bit by bit. Fighting them showed me—even generously—Russia takes the Black Sea in twenty years."
No one mistook Russia's second-rate status for weakness; their weight class was real.
Imagine them gobbling the Black Sea and marching south—easy to picture.
Time for Britain's balance-of-power guardians to shine.
And true to form, the ambassador's eyes gleamed slyly as he grasped it.
"Ah, Your Highness foresaw further ahead. How shall we accommodate you?"
"First, we attack Constantinople."
"...What?!"
No, don't glare like that—hear me out. It's not bad for you either.