EMPIRE REWRITTEN [Isekai ? Alt-History ? Strategy]

The Port of Glarentza – Late March 1433

The briny scent of the Ionian Sea hung thick in the air as the port of Glarentza stirred to life with the coming of spring. After a few months of sluggish trade and harsh winter winds, the docks were once more a place of movement, noise, and industry. The wooden piers groaned under the weight of men and cargo as ships, their sails taut in the morning breeze, jockeyed for position.

Venetian and Genoese vessels lined the harbor, their banners snapping crisply in the breeze, but they were no longer the only ones. From the bustling markets of Marseille to the ports of Portugal and Castile, traders had begun making the long voyage, drawn by the new lucrative market—the books of the Morea Publishing House.

Constantine stood at the edge of the main quay, his heavy cloak shifting slightly as he surveyed the city he had transformed. The morning sun gilded the sea with streaks of gold, casting warm light over Glarentza's bustling waterfront. Where once crumbling Latin ruins had marked its skyline, new buildings now stood—tall warehouses, expanded wharves, and grand merchant halls where deals were struck in Greek and Italian. Glarentza was no longer a relic of the past; it was a city of the future, its fortunes tied not only to the tides but also to the knowledge it now exported to the world.

The sounds of commerce filled the air—dockworkers heaved barrels of olive oil, wine, and fine Moreote paper onto waiting carts, merchants haggled over silks and spices, and the sharp scent of fish being gutted mingled with the warm aroma of baking bread from nearby market stalls. But the loudest voices, the most eager hands, belonged to the book traders.

They swarmed the Morea Publishing Store, the grand establishment near the port, its boldly inscribed sign catching the eye of every merchant who passed through Glarentza. Situated at the end of a wide, meticulously paved street, the building had become a landmark of trade and learning—a destination spoken of in the bustling markets of Venice, Genoa, and even distant Iberia.

Inside, scribes and clerks worked tirelessly, cataloging the latest arrivals—theological works, treatises on history and philosophy, and meticulously reproduced copies of ancient Greek and Roman texts. Traders pored over inventory lists with eager anticipation, desperate to secure the most sought-after titles before their rivals. Some murmured in hushed excitement over rumored new editions, while others negotiated bulk orders, knowing these books would fetch fortunes in their home ports.

What had once been a mere experiment had now transformed into an empire of knowledge, its influence stretching across the Mediterranean, shaping commerce, scholarship, and faith alike.

"Have you the new edition of Plato's Republic?" a Venetian trader asked eagerly, his fingers drumming against the counter.

"I must see the latest theological works available," an Aragonese insisted, his Greek heavily accented. "I have an order from a bishop in Valencia."

Nearby, a Genoese merchant frowned as he scanned an inventory list. "Ten ducats for a Bible?" he muttered. It was a sum that stung—but one that these merchants gladly paid, knowing that in their own lands, these books would sell for far more.

Word spread across the Mediterranean about the immense success of Morea's printed books, and now traders who once sailed only for silk and spices came for knowledge. The demand had soared so high that shipments to the Papacy, Venice, and Genoa were already secured before the books even left the presses.

Yet Constantine's attention was not on the trade. His gaze remained fixed on a galley mooring at the farthest pier, its oarsmen drawing their long sweeps into the hull as it drifted into position. Two figures, cloaked and travel-worn, disembarked with swift, purposeful steps, their movements betraying both urgency and fatigue. His agents.