EMPIRE REWRITTEN [Isekai ? Alt-History ? Strategy]

Chapter 45: Mission from the Duke

He bowed slightly. "And you wish me to uncover its methods, Your Grace? Perhaps arrange a trade deal, if possible?"

"That, and more," the Duke replied, signaling to a steward who came forward with a small chest. "This purse will see to your travels. You will have a letter of passage under my seal." He produced a scroll pressed with the Golden Fleece insignia—an emblem recognized by many as a token of the Duke's formidable reach. "But do not let the printed book overshadow your greater purpose. Assess the temper of the East—its strengths, its vulnerabilities. Judge if a crusade is feasible or if there is another way to secure Burgundy's fortunes."

Quietly, Bertrandon accepted the purse and scroll. He felt the weight of the coins through the worn leather, a tangible reminder of the Duke's expectations. Behind him, the courtiers watched with measured curiosity, some adjusting the fur collars of their cloaks or fingering the collars of their own Golden Fleece medallions. The flicker of the fire, the rustle of rich fabrics—these were the subtle tokens of a court used to orchestrating spectacle. They knew that wealth, piety, and martial glory all had their place in Burgundian life, but so did subtlety and cunning.

Philip's tone grew hushed: "I've poured fortunes into my palaces and my feasts, my tapestries, my mechanical wonders at Hesdin, and my music in the chapel. Yet the real power lies in anticipating the next great development. If you succeed, Bertrandon, we will stand at the forefront—not merely of chivalric pomp, but of a Europe transformed by knowledge."

Bertrandon bowed low, feeling the hush of expectation once again settle over the chamber. "Your Grace, I shall do all in my power to fulfill your command."

"Then go," Philip said, leaning back, his gaze drifting momentarily to a newly commissioned tapestry of Jason's triumphant quest. "Return to me with the truth."

Bertrandon turned on his heel, crossing the hall with brisk steps. He passed gilded pillars and richly woven tapestries that depicted mythical hunts and holy parables. A few courtiers offered polite smiles; others darted curious glances. Yet the moment he stepped beyond the ornate doors and into the courtyard's bracing chill, he felt the solitude of duty settle upon him.

Outside, the Burgundian flags snapped in the cold breeze. The ring of hooves on cobblestone echoed across the courtyard as a pair of mounted knights of the Golden Fleece trotted by, their armor glinting in the torchlight. Bertrandon paused, pulling his cloak closer, and carefully inspected the Duke's scroll once more. The seal caught the glow of a lantern, revealing a faint, stylized golden ram. That seal was a key—one that would open doors and hearts, or perhaps rouse suspicions in distant courts.

Arrival in Glarentza

Bertrandon stood by the ship's railing, feeling the sea spray on his cheeks as the Genoese vessel eased into the port of Glarentza. From the deck, the town was already a spectacle of bustle and color—easily one of the busiest ports he had ever seen. Swaths of vessels crowded the docks, flags of Venice and Genoa snapping in the breeze next to Byzantine standards.

Stepping onto the quay, he adjusted his travel-worn cloak, conscious of curious glances from merchants and travelers alike. The streets ahead teemed with purpose: traders hawking goods in Greek, Italian, and half a dozen other tongues, while the scents of salt and spices mingled with the tang of freshly baked bread. Byzantine guards, polished armor gleaming, kept vigilant watch at the gates.

Bertrandon took it all in, moving through the knot of humanity with practiced ease. He was no stranger to the energy of major ports, yet Glarentza crackled with an extra spark—an undercurrent of transformation. Hammers clanged in some hidden forge, beating out a steady rhythm that underscored the town's industrious character. A street vendor's stall promised roasted lamb, its aroma drifting temptingly on the sea breeze.