Venetian Trade (I)

Now, with the approval of my father on the blast furnace and rifle, the burden seems to be lifted a bit. Which makes it easier for me to focus on my projects. However, despite my brilliant findings, one thing that makes it annoying is my age. Luckily I would not easily die, thanks to the enhanced physical skill cheat. Also in times of war, treasury is guaranteed exhausted because to be focused to war stuff.

~~~

"Cemil, technically how much funds do we have left?" I asked. "Well, luckily we still have many, 30,000 kuruş, equivalent to 300 gold altın."

Cemil watched as I furrowed my brow, deep in thought. 30,000 kuruş was no small amount, but with the pace of my projects—steel production, weapon development, and intelligence operations—it would not last forever. The empire had money, yes, but I couldn't rely on the treasury for my ambitions. I needed an independent source of income.

But where could I generate revenue without drawing unnecessary attention?

I leaned back in my chair, staring at the flickering lantern in my chamber. "Cemil, aside from royal stipends, what other ways do the imperial family make money?"

Cemil scratched his chin. "Well, there are several ways, my Shehzade. Some Shehzades invest in trade caravans, others in agriculture—orchards, vineyards, olive groves. Then there are those who collect revenue from landed estates, and a few who partake in merchant ventures through proxies. However…"

He trailed off. I already knew where this was going.

"However, as an eight-year-old prince, I don't exactly have the ability to oversee land, nor the freedom to run a business openly," I finished his thought.

Cemil nodded. "Precisely. If we do this carelessly, it may attract jealous rivals or even the Umera's suspicions."

I exhaled sharply. He was right. In this political climate, money meant power, and power made you a threat.

Still, there had to be a way.

Then, an idea struck me. "What about foreign trade investments?"

Cemil raised an eyebrow. "You mean like investing in Venetian or French trade routes?"

"Exactly," I replied. "The European markets are growing. If we could establish indirect trade ties, we could make money without drawing attention."

"But how?" Cemil asked. "We can't just walk into the Venetian or Dutch trading houses and ask for a cut."

I smirked. "Not directly. But what if we use proxies?"

Cemil crossed his arms. "Go on."

I leaned forward. "Istanbul is a hub of international commerce. Venetian merchants, Genoese traders, Armenian financiers, and Jewish bankers all operate here. If we find the right middlemen, we can invest in their ventures—silk, spices, tobacco, sugar, maybe even shipbuilding. They handle the business, we take a percentage of the profit."

Cemil whistled. "That…might be a good attempt, my Shehzade. But wouldn't they hesitate to work with the imperial family?"

"Not if they don't know it's me," I replied with a grin. "We can use trusted intermediaries—perhaps someone from our Edirne network or an independent merchant looking for investment. They'll handle negotiations while keeping my name out of it."

Cemil hesitated. "This will take time, and there's always risk. But if it succeeds…"

"If it succeeds," I said, standing up, "then we can sustain a bit without the need to use the empire's treasury."

Cemil smirked slightly, shaking his head. "You truly think ahead, my Shehzade. Very well. Shall I begin looking for suitable merchants?"

I nodded. "Yes. But be discreet. The last thing we need is a jealous vizier breathing down our necks before we even make our first coin."

As Cemil bowed and left the chamber, I exhaled. This was the first step toward financial independence.

~~~

Moments later, Cemil returned, his expression unreadable. "My Shehzade, the Venetian merchants have agreed to meet. They await you at their office in the Grand Bazaar."

I set down the ledger I had been reviewing. "Good. Then let us not keep them waiting."

~~

As I stepped into the merchant office at the Grand Bazaar, the room smelled of aged parchment, burning incense, and the faint hint of Mediterranean spices. The Venetian traders, dressed in their elegant wool coats and adorned with rings of wealth, stood to greet me. Their bows were deep, but their smiles carried something else—a well-practiced charm meant for negotiation.

"Welcome, Sir Cemil," the first merchant, Giovanni Foscarini, greeted with open arms. His Venetian accent carried the smooth cadence of a seasoned negotiator. "It is an honor to host you here. Please, have a seat."

I stepped forward, but before I could respond, Giovanni's gaze flickered toward Cemil.

"Hmm? If I may ask, is he your nephew or an apprentice?" Giovanni mused, a slight smirk playing on his lips.

Cemil, ever composed, chuckled softly before shaking his head. "I'm afraid not, Signore Giovanni. I am merely an escort. The one who seeks business with you is the young master here."

Giovanni and the other merchants exchanged amused glances before breaking into quiet laughter.

"This child?" Giovanni chuckled, glancing at his colleagues. "Signor, no offense, but are you certain? Perhaps he merely seeks fine silks or some exotic trinkets from Venice? Business is… another matter entirely."

I met his gaze, my expression unreadable, before responding, switching effortlessly into his native tongue.

"No se pol giudicar solo per l'aspetto, Signor. È proprio come la pietra. Na piera opaca e sporca. No te pol védar gnente da fora, ma da drénto ghe xe un metało presioxo. No te par?"

(One should not judge by appearances, Sir. It is just like a stone. A dull, dirty rock—at first glance, it seems worthless. But inside, there lies precious metal. Don't you think?)

The room fell into stunned silence. Giovanni's smirk faded, replaced by a glimmer of intrigue. The other merchants whispered among themselves.

Finally, Giovanni chuckled, shaking his head. "It seems we misjudged you, Young Master. My apologies." His demeanor shifted, no longer viewing me as a child but as a potential business partner. "Very well, let us speak of business."

"I get that everyday, gentlemen. Why don't we start some business."

The discussion went on. As Giovanni continued his explanation, I couldn't help but analyze the fundamentals of what he was describing. At its core, investment seemed unchanged—an individual provides capital, expecting a return based on the success of the venture. In modern times, this concept had evolved into stock markets, where people purchased shares in companies, receiving dividends based on performance.

But here, in this era, investment was far more direct. It wasn't simply about owning a fraction of a company—it was about partnerships, merchant guilds, and risk-sharing agreements. Investors funded expeditions, fleets, or trade monopolies, and in return, they took a share of the profits, assuming part of the risk.

Unlike modern stock exchanges, where diversification mitigated losses, these merchants gambled everything on a handful of voyages. A single storm, a pirate attack, or a war could wipe out fortunes overnight. But for those who understood the game and played it well, the rewards were immense..

"Our trade network is vast," the second merchant, Marco Bellini, began. "Venetian investments have flourished across the Mediterranean. From silk to glassware, from sugar to spices—our wealth comes from knowing when and where to invest."

At one point, Giovanni leaned forward, his voice smooth. "With your esteemed position, Young master, I am sure this venture will be most prosperous. Perhaps we can arrange a special partnership for you?"

Ah, there it was. The moment where they thought they could steer me.

I smiled, but it was not the naïve excitement they expected—it was calculated. They sought to manipulate me, yet they did not realize that they were the ones being drawn in.

Feigning curiosity, I tapped my fingers against the table. "A partnership, you say? Tell me, Signore Giovanni, if I were to place 8,000 kuruş into such a venture, what returns would I expect?"

Giovanni's eyes gleamed. "Ah, an excellent decision. You would see significant gains. Shipbuilding in Venice is at its peak. The demand for Ottoman grain is rising in the West. Salt? A necessity in every corner of the world."

He spoke with the ease of a man who had convinced countless others before me. But what he didn't know—was that I had no intention of being 'just another investor.'

I leaned back, allowing a small smirk to cross my lips. "Very well. Let us proceed."

And with that, the deal was sealed.

As the Venetian merchants left the meeting, their expressions were filled with excitement, believing they had gained a valuable patron in me. But in truth? They had unknowingly tied themselves to my ambitions.