Uluç stood tall in the dim light of the war tent, his presence dominating the room as the flickering flames cast long shadows on the canvas walls. Around him, the commanders and trusted allies had gathered—Togay, his son; Isaakios, the strategist from the West; Kılıç's son Batun, a fierce warrior; and Duke Osho, a seasoned veteran, now unmasked. The weight of leadership hung heavy on Uluç's broad shoulders, but he bore it with the same unyielding strength that had carried him through decades of war. His voice, when it came, was steady and full of authority.
"I have redefined the positions of all the regional leaders," he began, his gaze sweeping across the room. "The castles they hold, the garrisons assigned to them, and the territories under their control—each decision has been made by my hand. I am the second most powerful person in the realm, after the Khagan. But now," Uluç's eyes darkened, "our Khagan is dead. Therefore, my word is the law. My decree is the custom, the yasa, the töre."
There was no room for doubt in his voice. The men surrounding him understood what this meant. With the Khagan gone, Uluç's decisions were absolute. His authority was unquestionable, and his will was now the law that bound the fragmented realm together.
Uluç continued, his tone both commanding and prophetic, "Now, I will take Togay and hold the eastern front. We will keep the enemy out of the heartlands of Turk-il, beyond our borders. I am giving us eighteen years of civil war. Eighteen years to hold the realm together. During this time, we will rebuild, and we will strengthen our defenses."
His words hung heavy in the air. Eighteen years of war—it was a grim but realistic forecast. Uluç was not one to sugarcoat the truth, and those present knew that this prolonged conflict would be brutal. But they also knew that it was the only way to ensure survival.
He looked at Isakios and Kılıç's son, his voice lowering but still carrying the same weight of command. "You, Isakios. You, Kılıç's son. You will leave this camp. Duke Osho, Kutay, and I will remain to oversee the war from here. The front lines will be ours to command, but you," he pointed at the men, "will take Wolfram a message."
At the mention of Wolfram's name, the room shifted slightly. Wolfram, now the Holy Roman Emperor, had the potential to change the course of the war, especially with the Crusader armies looming on the horizon.
"Wolfram is key," Uluç explained. "If he ascends to the throne of the Holy Roman Empire, he can halt the Crusades. He can bring stability to the region, and with his influence, the Western borders will be secure. The Bosphorus front will be saved. You must deliver this message to him."
Uluç turned to his son, Togay, who had been silent until now. "As for you, my son, I am sending you to Bukhara. There, you will gather the Tarkan forces. Thirty thousand strong, guarding our city. They will be your command, and you will ensure that Bukhara remains safe from any invasions. You will also be responsible for resettling the displaced nomadic tribes who have fled from the invaded territories. Organize them, rally them under our banner, and teach them the ways of war once more."
Togay nodded solemnly. He understood the gravity of the task ahead. The Tarkan army was one of the most elite forces in the realm, and their loyalty to Uluç was unwavering.
Uluç continued to lay out his plans, speaking with the precision of a seasoned commander. "Do not engage in large-scale battles unless absolutely necessary. Use hit-and-run tactics. Harass the enemy, but do not commit your forces until we have gathered enough strength. Remember, we cannot afford to lose. Always think in terms of the seasons. Plan for at least six months in advance. The weather, the terrain, the supply lines—take it all into account."
He glanced at each man in the room, ensuring that they understood the importance of his next words. "You may appear scattered and fragmented, but you must remain in constant communication with one another. Do not move without notifying your allies. Our strength lies in our coordination, even if the enemy thinks we are divided. The yasa—the law—and the töre—our customs—will keep this empire alive. As long as you adhere to these principles, the spirit of our realm will endure."
His words were met with solemn nods. The commanders knew that they were receiving their final instructions before what would likely be the most grueling years of their lives.
"Now, go and deliver my orders," Uluç commanded, his voice resolute. "Isakios, Kılıç's son, you will ensure that the future generations survive. Your duty is to protect the line, to ensure that our people live to see the end of this war. At the end of these eighteen years, I will likely not be standing here. But my laws will endure. The yasa I leave behind will keep you alive. This is the last gift I can give you."
Uluç's final words were heavy with both wisdom and the weight of his years. He had fought long and hard for his people, and now he was preparing them for a future where he would no longer be by their side. The room was silent, the gravity of his message sinking in. His commanders, his sons, and his trusted allies knew that they would be carrying the legacy of Uluç into the next chapter of their people's history.
Without another word, Uluç sealed his orders with the marshal's seal—the sign of ultimate authority. Though he no longer held the title of Başbuğ, he would forever be the true leader in their hearts, the one whose laws would guide them through the storm of war.