"Torah, watch carefully. If he will win," In which he would win, "I will make him mine to protect me."
'And kill for me. After all, he is Macit the Slayer – the future captain of Janissaries that will contribute a lot to the siege of Vienna four years from now. I have to make him mine,' Kosem thought critically.
The fight between Onin and Macit began. Onin, fueled by the crowd's chant, charged at the standing Macit who did not exude any stance of aggression against the former. The arena's floor thud with Onin's deliberate steps as he attacked Macit, who was still staring at the charging Onin without moving from his spot as if he turned into a statue. Kosem, who was watching the events before her knew that Macit was like a beast compared to the dumb Onin.
Kosem chanted at the back of her mind. 'Show me, Macit. Show me that you are worth gambling for. After all, you will be the very first person whom I will own to avoid the original history.'
"Won't you close your eyes, Kosem Hanim? I have a satin cloth here," Torah desperately offered to Kosem but the latter just grinned like a child. Instead, Kosem's peculiar blue and golden eyes gleamed. "Look at the arena, Torah. Or you will miss the good parts."
Torah's jaws dropped as she witnessed a cute barely fifteen-year-old girl enjoying the gore in the arena. Even she who was considerably older than Kosem by two years hated being here after witnessing the twisted nature of humanity. Turns out, her young mistress also enjoyed this kind of lavish lifestyle. But like what Torah said, she would protect her mistress wholeheartedly.
Kosem's eyes widened as a small gasp escaped from her small and pink lips when Macit finally moved with accuracy and strength that showed his superiority against Onin. In one swift move, Macit was now sitting at the neck of Onin as his hands attacked Onin's eyes – blinding the latter fatally. The crowd went wild upon witnessing such a jaw-dropping move from the defending champion.
In one snap, a loud crack resounded inside the fighting pit and after a good minute, Onin's neck twisted one hundred eighty degrees rendering the latter as dead as he flopped to the floor. The fight did not even last for ten minutes.
"Oh, I want him to be my guard. I want him bad, Torah." Kosem's grinning face turned to Torah who was still dumbstruck at the scene in front of them. "Fetch me that soldier, Torah. It is high time to set an appointment."
MANY SPOKE of Sultan Suleiman's beauty. Some said that the deity, Kayra, took her sweet time crafting the sultan's image. His soft silver hair danced every time he spun around and his lilac eyes that shone like gems whenever he found something curious – everything about Sultan Hazeyn Suleiman's image was ethereal.
But gone were those features on Hazeyn as his silver hair dripped with cold water while his infamous lilac eyes burned like seething embers as he stared at the paintings on the ceiling. Half of his bare body was submerged in the cold bathing pool, his elbows draped to the corners of the pool.
His thoughts ran amok from the fact that Grand Vizier Esad was blatantly gathering the leaders of the autonomous land under the Ottoman Empire. The meeting was of course under the pretext of strengthening the bond of the empire, but Hazeyn knew how greedy Esad was.
'I need to go out and listen to the happenings of the empire.'
The splash of the water resounded in the spacious bathing pool when Hazeyn abruptly stood up. He needed to gather information by his means. Hazeyn learned from a young age that information was needed to change the tides of internal conflict and wars. As said, he found a fun yet efficient way to collect such valuable information. By wandering in his servant's place from the capital's main square to the dark corners of the fighting pits, Hazeyn learned the different types of the world beyond his marble palace. And he enjoyed it.
"Muhammet, create an excuse for me." Clad in his bathrobe, Hazeyn entered his office where Muhammet stayed. His advisor's face reflected horror upon realizing the weight of his command. "But there's a meeting with the governors this afternoon, Sultan Suleiman." Muhammet's protests fell on deaf ears as Hazeyn went out of the office as if he did not hear the poor advisor at all.
HAZEYN WALKED with his disguise on display. He was now called Azi, a trader, with brown wavy locks and lilac eyes hidden by his exaggerated bangs. With the upper part of his face completely obscured, no one would know that the young trader was the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire.
"Azi! I brought new silks from the east! It took me quite a while to get the merchants from the Silk Road." A stout trader named Nert spotted Hazeyn as he strode into the capital's main square. The former was a colleague of Hazeyn's second identity and through Nert, Hazeyn could know the trading system of the bureaucrats in the empire.
Replying with an enthusiastic grin that could capture any client and customer, Hazeyn replied as he stroked the purple silk with innate care. "This is indeed a valuable good, Nert! Well done, my friend! How about we talk about our new contract as we head to the fighting pit?"
Nert only shook his head. "Just visit me in my stall after you quench your thirst in the fighting pit. You know that I don't have the stomach for gore. See you, my friend." Nert waved his hand before retreating to his stall. Hazeyn knew that Nert would reject his invitation, thus, the reason why he asked him in the first place. Chuckling with his old antics,
"Identity?" The soldier asked Hazeyn so he showed his Sultan's seal by covering the other people from seeing what was inside his sleeve. "That's! – " The soldier who recognized the seal paled for a second before Hazeyn placed his index finger on his lip – commanding the poor soldier to shut up and act normal. "Shh."
The poor soldier opened the gate to Hazeyn in a dream-like manner after handing him the free pass for any part of the fighting pit. This also meant that he could summon any fighter as he wished, but that was not the reason why he was there. He just wanted to observe the twisted side of the bureaucrats and common folks while gathering information.
"Kill him!"
"Tear his limbs apart!"
"I bet for you so you better win or I will kill you myself!"
The twisted screams of the bureaucrats and common folks muted the groans of the losing fighter in the fighting pit. Since Hazeyn had yet to climb to the VIP seats, he was watching the climax of the fit in the arena directly in front of him. Beneath Hazeyn's fake hair that obstructed his eyes, a cold sharp look passed by it – displaying his hatred towards cockfighting. Hazeyn took a seat two meters northeast from the soldiers and the host of the fighting pit. He was sitting together with the commoners as if he was staring seriously at the ensuing fight, but his ears were wide open as he listened to the people behind him.
"Look at Macit, he is surely a lucky man being bought by a rich bureaucrat!" said one of the private soldiers assigned to guard the hosts.
"Oh, so it is true then that the young hanim of the Fehrattin Household wanted to buy Macit?" The intrigued voice of the host asked the soldier.
Another soldier scoffed. "I really can't stand the rich folks, especially those in power. They prosecuted the people below them for betting in a fighting pit, but they bought fighters secretly for their pleasure."
'Esad's adoptive heir? Then, is his action of adopting just a pretext to hide an agenda against me?' Hazeyn pondered for a good moment.