The Return of the Iron-blood Sword Hound

Chapter 284: Power Inflation (2)

Countless candles simultaneously ignited. The melted wax flowed, solidifying into a firm mass over heaps of stacked gold coins.

“…Incredible.”

Dolores exclaimed, her surroundings brightly illuminated. If one were to describe the vast world inside the vault with a single character, it would be wealth. A being that transcended the ordinary human imagination of wealth.

The inside of the vault resembled a gigantic world, forming mountain ranges that extended beyond hills, created by valuable items such as gold coins, ingots, gems, and more. Stone-like formations hung from the ceiling, also made entirely of gold and gems.

Golden goblets, swords, crowns, necklaces, earrings, rings, brooches, priceless antiques, dazzlingly brilliant and radiant jewels that could blind the eyes, numerous documents and papers proving real estate rights, artworks with astonishing value, and bottles containing extremely rare liquor were scattered everywhere like trash.

The wealth was overwhelmingly impressive, to the point where one couldn’t fathom where it ended. The entire world was a brilliant golden realm with an iridescent hue, a place beyond legendary golden cities mentioned in mythological books or the hidden treasures of pirate kings passed down as legends among the elderly.

“…Unbelievable.”

Dolores felt a bit overwhelmed. Although she never placed any value on wealth, she couldn’t help but be dwarfed by the magnitude of this scale. It emitted not just simple material wealth but also the majesty and sanctity of nature itself.

‘Among those who come seeking fortune, there are too many clueless puppies showing off their wealth with petty pride. Perhaps it’s to suppress their arrogance in advance.’

Dolores finally fully understood Damian’s words. In this vast world, would there be only a few frogs in a well boasting about their money?

They stood at the pinnacle of wealth, and those nouveau riche individuals would incessantly cling like a swarm of mosquitoes, wanting to compare themselves to the Bourgeois. To efficiently eliminate such bothersome individuals, revealing this spectacle would undoubtedly make them feel small on their own.

At that moment.

“…!”

Walking through the piles of gold, Dolores could finally gaze into the depths of the vault. Amidst the dazzling and dizzying wealth, she could see a magnificent hillock rising at the end of the heaps of gold treasures.

A mountain made of gold coins, stairs leading up, and atop it, a massive table carved entirely from ivory. Sitting across the table, a man greeted her.

“Welcome, Saintess. No, the representative of the Oracle.”

A face with long white hair, a lush beard, gentle eyes, and a determined mouth coexisting. The patriarch or Lord of the Bourgeois Clan, Bartolomeo Bourgeois, extended his hand towards Dolores.

* * *

“Your skills are truly remarkable,” Bartolomeo remarked as the banquet was just beginning. When Dolores looked up, Bartolomeo smiled and continued, “I’ve seen the details of your recent investments. It must not have been easy to invest such a large sum due to the high risks involved, but your boldness is something I should learn from.”

“I believed in the business idea of CindiWendy,” Dolores replied as instructed by the Night Hound. Upon hearing her response, Bartolomeo nodded approvingly.

“CindiWendy, a young entrepreneur making a name for herself in the West. I’ve admired the skill of that friend who outsmarted the savages in the Red and black mountains. However, not many recognize their influence in the world of wealth yet. You, My Lady, have an exceptional vision; your experience is impressive.”

“Experience? I’m just a teenager with a lot to learn.”

“Experience isn’t solely tied to age. I’ve lived my life preparing, challenging, and experiencing countless failures. Preparation, challenge, failure—these three links intertwine to form the chain of experience.”

Bartolomeo praised Dolores continuously with an affable tone, expressing his admiration. “You’ve proven yourself with such achievements. What if you were one year old, or a hundred? You have the right to be confident if you’ve come a long way, regardless of where you started.”

If the person sitting in front of him were an ordinary student from the Colosseo Academy, how would they feel? The compliments, praises, recognition, and respect from the world’s foremost Bourgeois Clan would likely have melted their hearts.

The pride and joy felt when one’s hard work is acknowledged—the ecstasy.

Through this, the demon’s temptation can creep in through the cracks in the relaxed mind.

‘Among them, Night Hound mentioned someone particularly skilled in manipulation, especially in rhetoric.’

Dolores looked at Bartolomeo before her. A gentlemanly appearance, a gentle voice, a likable tone, and sincere-sounding words of praise.

However, Dolores was not swayed by such things. Her mental strength played a part, but most importantly, this investment success wasn’t achieved through her efforts.

Receiving praise for something she didn’t do wasn’t particularly satisfying.

“You exaggerate, Sir.”

Dolores forced a smile. Bartolomeo, seeing her lukewarm response, seemed to misunderstand.

“Well, something’s are regrettable.”

“…?”

When Dolores looked up with a puzzled expression, Bartolomeo opened his mouth with a somewhat regretful expression.

“By the way, the Saintess belongs to the New Testament Faction, right?”

“…”

“I have a deep friendship with the priests of the Old Testament Faction.”

It seemed that Bartolomeo thought that Dolores, being a member of the New testament Faction, didn’t like that he was close to the priests of the Old testament Faction. Bartolomeo offered apologies that sounded more like justifications.

“But if that creates distance between us, it’s truly unfortunate. As the Saintess sees fit, I’m friendly with the priests of the Old Testament Faction.”

“…”

“But I also want to be friends with the priests of the New testament Faction. It’s just that people from your side often degrade me, my ties with the Old testament Faction, and the wealth we accumulate as inhuman, filthy, and despicable. It’s merely because they have been brainwashed by the ruling elite who have amassed wealth by controlling society.”

Bartolomeo spoke while cutting through the flesh with a knife. “In truth, ‘wealth’ is a colorless, odorless, tasteless existence. It has no form, no taste, no aroma. It’s painfully neutral. Whether it is considered good or bad depends on how it is used.”

“…”

“It’s like being able to set an entire mountain on fire or save a dying match-seller in a winter alley.”

“…”

“Those who treat it as inherently bad are either losers who have never touched a large sum of money in their lives, or pitiful individuals who have been brainwashed by the ruling elite who first controlled the order of society and made money.”

As Bartolomeo finished speaking, he added a brief comment, “If you use significant wealth to do great good, that too is a meaningful endeavor. So, please don’t dislike the Old testament Faction too much.”

Dolores had heard this logic frequently, especially from her father, Humbert.

“…”

Dolores glanced at the hourglass placed at the edge of the table. Time had passed considerably.

Counting the seconds in her mind, Dolores spoke, “Doing great good with significant wealth. It would be nice if that were true.”

“Exactly. Hahaha-”

Bartolomeo laughed joyfully, pleased that Dolores seemed to agree with him. He then took a piece of meat from the plate and chewed on it.

“Saintess, why aren’t you eating? Is it not to your taste? Do you not like the meat?”

“No, it seems like excellent meat. I was just watching as you enjoyed it, sir.”

“Of course, it’s top-quality meat. I am particularly sensitive to the texture. Please, take your time. There’s still plenty of time.”

In response to Bartolomeo’s gesture urging her to eat the meat, Dolores replied with a kind smile.

“I apologize. I don’t particularly care for human meat.”

“…!”

For a moment, Bartolomeo’s hand paused. He slowly raised his head to look at Dolores.

“Hohoho. You have quite the sense of humor, Saintess. Are you using it as a metaphor that this meat is a result of exploiting the blood and flesh of the lower class? In that case, let me repeat what I said earlier…”

“No, I meant actual human meat. I am fully aware of it.”

“What…?”

Bartolomeo asked, and the warm smile slowly faded from Dolores’s face.

Bartolomeo’s hand, which had paused, moved again and continued to eat. He looked at Dolores with a mixture of surprise and amusement.

Dolores started talking,

“Bartolomeo, the lord of the Bourgeois Clan, is not only acquainted with the Quovadis’ Old Testament, but intends to swallow it whole.”

“Hohoho-”

“And that he funded the cults and heresies to further strengthen his control on QuoVadis”

“Hohoho-”

Dolores replied with a stern tone, and the smile disappeared from her face.

“Ha-HoHoHoHo-” He suddenly cut off his laughter.

“I’ve heard enough of your jokes, Saintess. If you’re going to accuse this meat of being the result of exploiting the lower class, then perhaps my previous words…”

“And I know that it’s real human meat.”

“What…?”

“And the essence of all these sinister deeds is that Bartolomeo’s true identity is, in fact, a demon”

“…!”

Dolores’s last words couldn’t be dismissed by Bartolomeo with a mere laugh.

Gradually,

“Ho ho ho ho- Krahahaha!”

Bartolomeo, who had been chuckling softly, suddenly burst into loud laughter. The sound echoed through the surroundings, causing the numerous gold coins forming the mountain to jingle simultaneously.

Without a hint of hesitation, Dolores asked, “Aren’t you afraid? The visitor who came knowing your true identity.”

“Afraid? Hardly.”

Bartolomeo looked at Dolores with a laughing face, an expression that said he found it amusing.

“Is there anyone in this world who can frighten me?”

The confidence of a demon lord. One who had committed great evil with vast wealth. Overwhelming force pressed upon Dolores’s entire being.

…At that moment.

Pat!

Another force, capable of dispersing the pressure on Dolores, was present. On the other side of the table, above the mountain of golden coins illuminated by the red light of candles.

Bartolomeo turned his head with a waning smile and Dolores turned hers with a bright expression, both looked at exactly the same spot.

“He’s here.”

Night Hound.

The demon hunter who had ventured countless hells exuded a strong scent of blood.