Winning Over the Sultan
The elephant legions that blanketed the horizon and the half-million-strong army carried an oppressive weight all by themselves.
I looked up at the man commanding the horde that covered the grasslands.
He sat in a lavish palanquin carried by dozens of men, gazing down at me with an arrogant expression.
"The unifier of the western continent. The eternal sovereign, Salah ad-Din himself! Bow your heads!"
It was Sultan Saladin.
A eunuch at his side bellowed the proclamation, and the interpreters quickly rendered it into our tongue.
"Lower your head at once. Sultan Saladin never tolerates anyone who wounds his pride."
The interpreters added their own urgent advice, yet I refused to bow.
Karia, who had followed me, likewise remained upright.
The Sultan’s joined eyebrows twitched violently at the sight.
The interpreters turned deathly pale.
"P-please, Lord Landor, you must bow!"
"Tell the Sultan this: I bow only to my own emperor."
They looked ready to faint, but I calmly urged them to translate.
At last one of them cried out, voice shaking.
"H-he says he bows only to his own emperor!"
A furious eunuch beside the Sultan started to roar.
"How dare this wretch—!"
"Enough."
Saladin raised a hand and silenced his court.
His gaze fixed on me.
"An interesting fellow. I like your spirit. What is your name?"
Once the interpreters relayed the question, I answered.
"I am Landor. Tell him I carry a sword in one hand and gold in the other."
The interpreters stared at me as though I had asked for death.
I simply gestured for them to speak.
Saladin burst into laughter the moment he heard the words.
"A sword in one hand and gold in the other?"
I smiled back at him.
Straightening my posture, I spoke with even greater confidence.
Thanks to the trembling interpreters, conversation flowed without hindrance.
"I command a hundred wyverns, one guardian dragon, and two hundred thousand troops."
"I possess thousands of elephants and five hundred thousand soldiers. Do you intend to stand against them, man of the sword?"
"If Your Majesty chooses the sword over gold, then I must as well. Just as you offered me the choice between surrender and resistance, I now offer you the same: the sword or gold."
The interpreters sweated like corpses while they translated, yet I remained perfectly calm.
I knew Saladin well.
A conqueror with immense pride, he paradoxically respected those who displayed equal confidence.
As expected, his smile deepened with every passing moment.
"You dare offer me a choice? I cannot decide whether you are a fool or a bold man."
"May I explain the consequences of each choice?"
"Speak."
I pointed toward the two hundred thousand soldiers of the Iron Blood Coalition arrayed across the plain.
"If you choose the sword, they will retreat into the trade routes and fortify every city. Your elephants and half-million troops will become useless. They excel at conquering open cities and plains, not at forcing narrow passes."
"Continue."
"Meanwhile my wyverns and guardian dragon will burn your cities from the sky. No arrow can pierce dragon scales. You will suffer one-sided destruction while I destroy at will."
The faces of the Sultan’s ministers, generals, and eunuchs darkened with murderous intent.
Several interpreters finally lost control and wet themselves.
Karia’s hand drifted to her sword.
Yet Saladin and I remained perfectly at ease—more than that, we were both smiling.
The Sultan laughed heartily and waved his retainers back into silence.
I likewise calmed Karia, who had begun to growl.
"How amusing! Extremely amusing! Choosing the sword would cost me dearly, would it not?"
"It would. Unless you open another land route through the Raco Mountains, your army has no chance against me. You could attempt a sea crossing, but by the time your elephants and troops arrive, my wyverns will have reduced every one of your cities to ash."
"Well said! Hahaha!"
"You might stand a chance if you raised your own dragon knights, but everyone knows dragons do not dwell in the western continent. War would bring you only loss and no gain."
Saladin continued to laugh as he watched me explain with a relaxed smile.
"I admit it. You are no fool. You are bold and wise. You came to me only after completing every preparation. Choosing the sword would indeed be foolish."
"Yes. It would be foolish and would benefit neither the western nor the eastern continent—only blood, tears, widows, and orphans."
"Then tell me what happens if I choose gold. What can you give me?"
I met his eyes squarely.
Letting my expression turn serious, I delivered the most insulting answer possible.
"I will make you the true Sultan of the western continent, not merely a sultan in name."
"You insolent—!"
One general reached for his sword, but Saladin stopped him.
"Explain yourself. Let us see whether your silver tongue saves or kills you. Are you saying I am not the true Sultan?"
"That is correct. Can scraps of cloth stitched together by force truly be called clothing?"
Saladin’s face grew even more serious.
"Explain."
"You crushed the western cities and kingdoms with elephants and armies, then declared the continent unified. Yet they offer only nominal loyalty. They fear your power; they do not truly accept your rule. Deep in their hearts they nurse hatred and resentment."
This was the truth.
In the original novel, Crown Prince Adran had defeated the western army precisely by exploiting this weakness.
"Anyone could say as much. The question is how you intend to solve it."
"What makes a good ruler?"
Saladin answered at once.
"A strong ruler is the best ruler."
"No, Your Majesty. A ruler who fills his people’s bellies is the true ruler."
"We differ in opinion."
"I do not claim your view is wrong. Yes, a strong ruler is necessary. But the world holds no single answer. Yesterday’s truth may be today’s falsehood. Does the western continent—the Karamba Empire—need a strong ruler right now, or one who fills his people’s bellies?"
A smile appeared on Saladin’s face.
"You claim you can fill my people’s bellies?"
"The eastern continent is a breadbasket. Unlike the western lands of desert and grassland, it possesses vast fertile fields. Its people do not suffer hunger as routinely as those in the west. I will send the surplus grain to the western continent. Distribute it to your people in your name."
Saladin laughed as though the idea were absurd.
He laughed for a long time.
"You believe you have the power to do this?"
"The Emperor of the East trusts me deeply. I also hold the eastern merchants firmly in my grasp. If Your Majesty chooses gold instead of the sword, I will fill your people’s bellies—and I will give you one more extremely useful gift."
"What is it?"
I drew a map from my robes and unfolded it—the western continent.
I pointed to the city nearest the Raco Mountains.
"Dagamba, a city famed for commerce. I will turn it into the wealthiest city in the west. Station your strongest army there."
"Hoh! And what will that accomplish?"
"I will make this city the center of trade between east and west. Goods and grain pouring in from the east will spread across the entire western continent from this point. If you control it tightly, no other city will ever dare defy you."
I drove the final nail home with a triumphant smile.
"Most regions of the west suffer chronic famine. Many cities and kingdoms lack grasslands for livestock. To them, eastern grain from Dagamba will be salvation."
I tapped the map again.
"If any city or kingdom refuses to obey you, do not send your army. Simply cut off their right to trade in Dagamba. Rebellious rulers will learn that starving citizens are far more terrifying than your soldiers."
I paused, then finished.
"This is the gold I offer you. With it, you will become the true master of the west."
"Hahahahaha! Magnificent! Truly magnificent!"
Saladin roared with delighted laughter.
"I rarely change my mind, but this time I cannot help it! Very well! I choose gold over the sword! Landor, was it?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"I shall call you my brother!"
Gasps and murmurs erupted among the generals, ministers, and eunuchs.
I smiled at the Sultan.
"To be called the Sultan’s brother is an honor. I only hope my humble suggestion pleased you. Will you withdraw your legions and permit trade?"
"Hahahaha! I like you! Very well! I shall pull back my army and grant trading rights! Landor! My brother!"
Saladin approached and clasped my hand.
I bowed politely, a broad grin on my face.
"A feast! My greatest worry has been solved by a wise man! Treat them as honored guests of the king!"
Karia, the ten interpreters, and I were invited to a western-style banquet.
For nearly four days we ate, drank, danced, and celebrated.
After repeatedly drinking until we vomited and then drinking again, we finally returned to Elond with wagons piled high with the gold and treasures the Sultan had bestowed.
"How did it go?"
The moment we arrived, Karl Hansen rushed forward, his face haggard from worry.
Instead of answering, I gave an order.
"Bring every wagon the merchant guild possesses."
"Elond is about to become the city that needs the most wagons on the entire continent."