EMPIRE REWRITTEN [Isekai ? Alt-History ? Strategy]

Clermont Castle, Glarentza – Late October 1432

The great hall of Clermont Castle shimmered beneath the soft glow of countless candles, their flickering light catching on the gilded banners of the Palaiologos dynasty. The air was warm with the scents of roasted lamb, fresh bread, and spiced wine, drifting amid the low hum of conversation.

For a few years now, Constantine had held an end-of-year banquet to solidify ties with the region's most influential traders—men who helped his thriving Morea Publishing House spread books throughout Europe. But tonight felt different. The unprecedented success of his printing operation had elevated Morea's standing, and every guest sensed a shift in power. Meanwhile, Constantine's astonishing victories on the battlefield had further enhanced his prestige and authority, reminding everyone that the might of the Despot did not rest on commerce alone.

Seated at the head of the long banquet table, Constantine surveyed the gathered guests with a keen eye. Local nobles, along with the key Venetian and Genoese merchants who handled his book sales across Europe, were all present. Niccolò di Monticelli, a shrewd Genoese merchant who had become one of the biggest buyers of his books, raised his goblet in a casual salute.

"Despot Constantine," Niccolò began smoothly, "I have heard fascinating news—rumors, perhaps—that you intend to mint a new coin for your realm. A solid gold coin. Is this true?"

The conversation around the table stilled; even goblets paused mid-air. Constantine let the silence linger before offering a faint smile.
"Indeed, the rumors are true dear Niccolò. We have begun striking coins of pure gold at our new mint. While Venice and Genoa enjoy respectable currencies, we must stand on our own. We can no longer be beholden to foreign mints for every transaction in our realm. I am sure you gentlemen understand."

A mixture of nods and wary looks met his statement. Local nobles straightened in their seats, some with glints of pride in their eyes. Meanwhile, the foreign traders exchanged cautious glances, clearly uneasy about any challenge to their coins' dominance.

Niccolò took a measured sip of wine. His smile deepened. "A fine ambition, my Despot. Still, acceptance of any new coin hinges on trust. Merchants will handle your gold—but only if they can rely on its purity and feel assured it will be accepted in the ports they visit next."

Constantine inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Trust is earned, no doubt. Yet we plan to mint our coin to the highest standard—matching, the integrity of the Venetian and Genoan currencies. And we shall see that it becomes widely recognized."

Satisfied that his point had been noted, Niccolò lifted his goblet in a small salute. "I am sure you will. Genoa, too, prides itself on ensuring its currency never loses credibility. Banco di San Giorgio is our pride."

Constantine's dark eyes narrowed slightly. A bank. The word took on far greater significance for him than anyone else in the room could know.

"Ah, the Banco di San Giorgio," Constantine said with polite curiosity. "I'm told it is far more significant than an ordinary moneylender. How does it manage to wield such clout, even beyond Genoa's walls?"

Niccolò's mouth curved into something between a smile and a guarded grin. He chose his words carefully. "Our bank manages a portion of the republic's taxes, invests in merchant fleets, and finances expeditions. Over time, it has even come to govern certain territories on behalf of Genoa. You see, Despot, gold need not lie idle in coffers; it can venture forth, multiply, and return in greater volume. That is our guiding principle."

Constantine stroked his beard, deep in thought. He remembered the banks of the modern world—vast networks of finance that controlled empires without raising a sword. The ability to raise capital without relying solely on taxation, to finance wars before the first soldier was recruited, and to stabilize a realm's economy in ways that medieval rulers had never conceived.