EMPIRE REWRITTEN [Isekai ? Alt-History ? Strategy]

Chapter 61: On the Road to Kingship

Constantine felt a flicker of pride at the mention of such improved speed. It was no idle boast; the network he envisioned was finally becoming tangible, linking towns and cities in ways that would reshape the empire's fate.

He swept his gaze over the station once more. "And your riders—are they prepared for the urgency of the tasks ahead?"

Petros stood a little straighter, emboldened by Constantine's interest. "They are, Despot. Each understands we ride for the empire's future, not merely for coin."

A slight smile curved Constantine's lips. "You ride for history," he said softly.

Nearby, Captain Andreas observed the exchange with his usual level of intensity, arms folded across a chest defined by years of military service. Constantine knew Andreas was already assessing the post's efficiency, from the condition of the horses to the thickness of the walls and the stock of supplies.

Turning to his captain, Constantine's expression grew thoughtful. "Captain," he said, "see to it that these men receive a small gold reward for their diligence. Let them know we value their service—and that they are essential to our cause."

Andreas inclined his head, silently acknowledging the order. Petros looked momentarily stunned, then deeply grateful, a faint flush creeping over his cheeks.

From the Tachis Ippos station, Constantine led his entourage through Krestena's winding lanes toward the local church. Built of white stone and topped with red tiles, the structure sat near the heart of the settlement, its modest bell tower rising just above the neighboring rooftops. A faint echo of distant chanting lingered around the churchyard, hinting at the prayers that had been offered here for generations.

At the entrance stood the local priest, a short man whose kindly features were edged by a subtle weariness. Lines of concern furrowed his brow, though he forced a welcoming smile. He bowed low as Constantine approached.

"Despot," the priest murmured, his voice trembling with a mix of awe and fervor. "This house of the Lord is ever open to you. I, too, embrace the path of Ieros Skopos. I have read the manifesto—it stirred my very soul."

Constantine acknowledged the priest's words with a nod that revealed genuine satisfaction.

Entering the church, Constantine's boots echoed across the stone floor in slow, measured steps. Flickering candlelight illuminated the painted saints and icons, their gold leaf glowing in the half-light. Incense hung thick in the air—smoke curling in gentle swirls that stirred when he passed. He paused before the icon of Christ Pantokrator, bending his knee and lowering his head in a brief act of reverence.

Though not deeply religious in his past life, Constantine recognized the power of faith here. In this world, belief was not just private devotion—it was community, identity, and loyalty. Faith may bind them together as firmly as any sword or treaty, he thought, inhaling the perfumed stillness.

When he emerged from the dim interior into the bright afternoon, he found the town square crowded. The news of his presence had spread quickly; farmers, merchants, blacksmiths, and weavers alike had set aside their tasks to catch a glimpse of the Despot. Their quiet excitement was evident in the hushed conversations and cautious smiles that rippled through the assembly.

A simple wooden platform had been erected on one side of the square—likely used for local announcements or market day proclamations. Constantine stepped onto it, the boards creaking under his boots, and took a moment to survey the crowd. Faces of every age and trade turned toward him, reflecting both curiosity and hope.

He drew in a slow breath, steeling himself.
"People of Krestena," he began, letting his voice ring across the gathered throng, "you have heard the rumors. You have heard of the treachery in Constantinople."