Chapter 282: Power inflation (2)
Countless candles were lit in unison.
The dripping candle wax ran down the pile of gold coins beneath them and hardened into a solid mass.
"...Oh my god."
Dolores looked around at her illuminated surroundings and opened her mouth.
The vault's vast world could be summarized in one word.
Wealth.
Something that vaguely transcended the average human's imagination of how wealthy a human could be.
Gold coins, ingots, jewelry, and other things of value rolled down hills and formed great mountains that rose steadily beyond them, forming mountain ranges.
On the ceiling, stalactite-like formations dripped down, and they, too, were made of gold and jewels.
Countless golden goblets and swords, crowns, necklaces, earrings, rings, brooches, costly antiques, jewelry so brilliant and sparkling that it blinded the eye, countless documents and papers proving property rights, works of art of incredible value, bottles of extremely rare liquors, and so much more lay littered everywhere.
The wealth is so overwhelming that anyone can't even begin to fathom where it's coming from.
The whole world is a brilliant golden fragrance with five colors based on gold.
Not even the golden city on the pages of a mythological book, nor the hidden fortune of a pirate king, whose legend is told through the mouths of elderly men, can match this splendor, grandeur, and luxury!
"...It's a different world."
Dolores felt her spirits drop slightly.
Although she usually placed no value on wealth, she couldn't help but be intimidated by a wealth of this magnitude.
It was no longer mere wealth, but the majesty and holiness of Mother Nature itself.
'It is because there are so many one-day puppies who don't know how to behave, and some of them are so eager to show off their wealth with a foolish desire to win. I wonder if it is to kill their spirit beforehand.'
Dolores understood fully what Demian had said.
In this wide world, are there one or two frogs in a well who have made a fortune?
The Bourgeois family, who is said to be at the peak of wealth, will constantly attract a swarm of flies to compare themselves with the Patriach.
It would certainly be efficient to get rid of such nuisances by showing them this view and letting them crawl away on their own.
Then.
"...!"
Walking among the piles of gold, Dolores could now see into the depths of the vault.
At the end of the dazzling and dizzying array of gold and silver treasures, she could see a magnificent mound rising up.
A mountain of gold coins, and a staircase.
At the top was a large table, carved entirely from ivory.
And a man sitting across from the table, candlelight flickering in the shadows, greeting her.
"Welcome, holy woman. Or rather, the Oracle's representative."
A face with long white hair and a full beard, gentle eyes and a stern mouth.
'Bartolomeo J Bourgeois,' the patriarch of the Bourgeois family, was waving his hand in her direction.
* * *
"You are very resourceful."
Bartolomeo had said this when the dinner had just begun.
Dolores looked up and Bartolomeo smiled.
"I've seen your investments this time. It must have been difficult for you to invest so much money in such a risky investment, but I can learn from your boldness."
"Because I believed in the business idea of someone named Cindiwendy."
Dolores answered as Night Hound had told her to.
Hearing her answer, Bartolomeo nodded.
"Cindiwendy. A young businessman who is making quite a name for herself in the west. I have often admired her skill in dealing with the barbarians of the western jungles, but her fame has not yet spread to the business circles of the Imperial City, and not many have recognized her. Our saint's eyesight is unusual, I see. You have great years of experience."
"Years? I'm just a teenager with a lot to learn."
"Age has nothing to do with it. I have made many preparations, many challenges, and many failures in my life. Preparation, challenge, and failure. These three things are woven together to form a single thread called age."
Bartolomeo repeatedly praised Dolores in a tone full of goodwill.
"If you've proven yourself by accomplishing this much, what if you're a year older, what if you're a hundred years older? You have every right to be proud, no matter where you came from, if you've traveled a long way, you have every right to be proud, but if you're complaining and haven't taken a single step from the starting line, you have no right to complain."
What if the person sitting in front of him was an ordinary student at Colosseo Academy?
It would have been easy to be overwhelmed by all the praise, encouragement, recognition, and respect that the world's number one man was so generously giving.
The feeling of pride and pleasure when hard work is recognized.
It is the demon's tongue that pierces through the cracks in the heart that it has opened.
'Night Hound says that among them all, the 6th is especially skilled in speech.'
Dolores looked at Bartolomeo before her.
A handsome gentleman. A soft voice. A favorable accent. And words of praise that sounded genuine.
But Dolores was not fooled by these things.
Partly because of her mental strength, but mostly because her investment performance was not her own doing.
She's not particularly happy to be praised for something she didn't do.
"You're too kind."
Dolores forced a smile.
And Bartolomeo seems to have misunderstood a little bit from her lukewarm response.
"Hmm. I'm sorry to hear about Guilty."
"...?"
Dolores tilted her head in question, and Bartolomeo gave her a look that made him feel terribly sorry for her.
"Come to think of it, the saint belongs to the New Testament."
"...."
"I am acquainted with the priests of the Old Testament."
Apparently, Bartolomeo assumed that Dolores was a member of the New Testament, and was dissatisfied with him for being friendly with the priests of the Old Testament.
Bartolomeo offered a non-excuse.
"But if you are afraid to distance yourself from me because of that, I am sorry for you. I am friendly with the priests of the Old Testament, as you think."
"...."
"But I want to be friendly with the New Testament as well, and I just can't do that because they belittle and denigrate me, my bond with the Old Testament, and the wealth we are accumulating as inhuman, dirty, ugly, and undesirable."
Bartolomeo said as he sliced through the bleeding meat with his knife.
"The truth is, 'wealth' is colorless, odorless, tasteless, shapeless, tasteless, scentless, and It's extremely value-neutral. If you use it well, it is good, and if you use it badly, it is bad."
"...."
"It's like how a fire can burn down a mountain, but it can also save a dying match girl in a winter alley."
"...."
"Those who treat it as a bad thing are just losers who have never touched big money in their lives. Either that, or they've been brainwashed by the vested interests who made their fortunes by controlling the order of this society in the first place."
As he concluded, Bartolomeo added briefly.
"If you do great good with great money, that's something, too, so don't hate the Old Testament so much."
Dolores was used to hearing this logic.
It was the kind of logic her stepfather, Humbert, used to preach.
"...."
Dolores glanced at the hourglass placed at the edge of the table.
Time had already passed.
Dolores counted the seconds in her mind and opened her mouth.
"A lot of money for a lot of good, I hope it goes as you said."
"It is. Hahaha-"
Bartolomeo laughed pleasantly, pleased that Dolores had agreed with him.
He took a slice of the meat on his plate, stuffed it into his mouth, and chewed.
"More than that, saint, why are you not eating, is it not to your taste, do you not like meat?"
"No. It must be good meat, seeing as how patriarch enjoyed it so much."
"Of course I do. It is the finest meat. I am particularly sensitive to the quality of meat. Eat slowly. There's still plenty of time."
At Bartolomeo's gesture for the meat, Dolores responded with a gentle smile.
"I'm sorry, sir. I'm not a fan of human flesh."
"...!"
For a moment, Bartolomeo's hand stopped.
He slowly raised his head and looked at Dolores.
"Hohoho. You're joking too much, saint. Are you implying that this meat is the result of the exploitation of the blood and flesh of the lower classes? If so, I take back what I said earlier...."
"No, no. I meant human meat, and I knew it."
" ...What?"
Bartolomeo asked, and the smile faded from Dolores' face.
She answered in a hard tone.
"That Bartolomeo, the patriarch of the Bourgeois, is not only acquainted with the Old Testament of the Quovadis, but is intent on swallowing them whole."
"Hohoho-"
"And to that end, he has been nurturing numerous heresies and cults, laying the groundwork to shake the Quovadis to its very foundations."
"Hohoho-"
"And that Bartolomeo, the beast behind it all, is actually the demon himself."
"...!"
Even Bartolomeo couldn't help but laugh at Dolores' last words.
Then.
"Hohohoho-keuhahahaha!"
Bartolomeo, who had been laughing lowly, began to laugh loudly.
The sound was so loud that it resonated with the simultaneous clinking of countless gold coins that formed a mountain around them.
Dolores asked in a voice that never wavered.
"Aren't you afraid, a visitor who knows your identity?"
"Scared? Of course not."
Bartolomeo looked at Dolores with a grin on his face, a look of amusement on his face.
"Is there anyone in this world who can scare me?"
Madness. The confidence of a demon. A man who had done great evil with great money.
An overwhelming force rushed through Dolores, squeezing her entire body.
...then.
paas-
There was something else, something that scattered the pressure on Dolores' body.
On the other side of the table, on a mountain of gold coins, the red light of a candle flickers.
It was the same place where Bartolomeo turned his head with a grim expression and Dolores turned her head with a bright one.
"Here it is."
Night Hounds.
The Demon Hunter, who had been through countless hells, reeked of blood.
The source of this c𝓸ntent is fr𝒆e(w)𝒆bnovel