Barthomeloi POV
"I don't recall asking you on a date, Barthomeloi," Helena complained.
It's easy to see why she might think otherwise. Upon arriving at my villa, I arranged a lavish evening banquet for her, complete with an array of luxurious dishes spread across the table and an assortment of fine wines from my classic collection.
The entire scene might suggest an air of romantic intent.
However, I merely rolled my eyes at her complaints.
"This is just my standard meal, Helena. If it doesn't suit your taste, you're welcome to order takeout for yourself."
"Your lifestyle is a bit excessive," she remarked, giving me a pointed look.
From her perspective, it was natural to see my actions as a frivolous waste of resources. To her, money that should have been channeled into magical research was instead squandered on indulgent luxuries, which she considered impractical. Yet, I couldn't help but hold a different view.
"Well, that's the distinction between the rich and the poor. Considering your aristocratic background, I would have thought you understood what I was implying," I chuckled.
"I believe you have a serious misunderstanding of aristocratic families, Barthomeloi. Their greatness doesn't stem from their wealth but from the strength of their connections across all walks of life," she reminded me.
"When it comes to money, I would never dare squander it as you do."
I nodded, acknowledging the truth in her words.
Indeed, the power of aristocratic families lies more in their networks than their wealth. Many magi come from such circles, but most of them are far from wealthy, often to the point where they resort to selling their own bodily fluids—the crude term for this being 'their white seed'—just to afford the materials necessary for their research, which are notoriously expensive. The truly wealthy ones are more often found among capitalist families rather than the nobility.
Of course, this reality doesn't apply to the Barthomeloi family. We are the elite in the magi hierarchy, reigning supreme in wealth, connections, and influence. We dominate every foundational aspect of this world.
Initially, I didn't fully grasp this distinction, but after Helena's reminder, I realized that I shouldn't impose the Barthomeloi's privileges as if other families shared the same foundation.
"I've heard you're married, Helena. So, who's this fortunate man?" I inquired, steering the conversation to a different subject.
"Regrettably, it's the very reason I fled from home and decided to reinvent myself in North America," she replied, shaking her head in response to my question.
"Then I suppose he wasn't so fortunate after all," I quipped, nearly breaking into laughter as I imagined the poor guy's plight—humiliated and abandoned by his own fiancée. Well, I must admit, I do have a slightly sadistic streak.
"That's highly inappropriate, Barthomeloi," she retorted, her eyes narrowing.
"Just because I don't agree with the arranged marriage my family imposed on me doesn't mean I would go out of my way to humiliate him or make him feel insignificant by broadcasting my displeasure. From start to finish, I maintained the marriage in name only, allowing him to take as many lovers as he wished as a form of compensation."
"That's quite considerate of you, Helena. Let's raise a toast to that," I commended, offering her a toast with my glass of wine.
She reciprocated the gesture, and we both sipped the rich red wine in our hands.
Although I disagreed with the way she chose to compensate her fiancé, who is now her husband, I refrained from imposing my will upon her or aggressively inserting myself into her personal affairs. If my memory serves me correctly, at the time of their marriage, her husband was 40 years old, while she was merely 17. The age disparity between them is indeed quite significant, especially when viewed from a human perspective.
The differences between us are stark and unmistakable. While she managed to retain her innate kindness and humanity, I, on the other hand, was inherently self-centered. Growing up in a family deeply entrenched in nepotism from a very early age, whether in my past life or in this one, molded me into someone who treated strangers with a certain level of cold detachment, reserving my warmth and care only for those who were close to me or to myself.
It's a well-known truth that many powerful politicians and capitalists practice nepotism, despite their public declarations that they value talent above all else. Such slogans are often nothing more than hollow rhetoric.
While lower or mid-level positions might be offered to outsiders, the most coveted and influential roles are typically reserved for those within their inner circle. This doesn't necessarily mean they are limited to family members; it extends to anyone who can leave a favorable impression and possesses exceptional talent.
In my previous life, I constructed a political dynasty heavily reliant on my relatives, a decision that ultimately led to my downfall. I was demoted, exiled, and eventually met my end, succumbing to the consequences of my prolonged and excessive indulgence in hedonism.
From the beginning to the end, my life was steeped in corruption and unrestrained indulgence. On the surface, I was a powerful businessman and politician, but beneath that veneer, I was a cult leader guiding a fanatical following in the pursuit of mystical knowledge.
In my past life, I acquired a vast array of esoteric skills—summoning guardian angels, mastering hypnosis, telepathy, and much more.
These were not mere myths, but tangible realities. Even divination techniques, often dismissed as fiction, are real. In fact, governments would discreetly recruit individuals with exceptional divination talents; one of my closest friends was among those chosen.
The reason these practices remain shrouded in secrecy is simple: they lack overtly powerful offensive capabilities or magic that can be easily demonstrated.
Many of the lower-level techniques are complex and elusive, and those who master them are far too wise to expose themselves.
I understand all too well the grueling effort required to learn these arts. To achieve control over lucid dreaming, I had to endure countless lucid nightmares, repeatedly confronting and overcoming the fear and instability that plagued my imagination, preventing me from fully mastering my dreams.
Even astral projection was an arduous task. I struggled to move my soul out of my body, often finding myself trapped in the same room, in the same place, only to have my floating soul inevitably return to my physical form, no matter how far I attempted to drift.
This is why those who truly understand these practices remain silent. After enduring so much hardship to master them, why would we share our techniques with outsiders? It's not a matter of pettiness, but rather a reflection of the spiritual torment we endure—torment far beyond what others can imagine.
Only those with an unbreakable mentality and willpower can persevere, especially when one must constantly guard against other entities seeking to take over our bodies during practices like lucid dreaming or astral projection, when we are most vulnerable to supernatural forces.
In the end, my deep contemplation distracted me from my glass of wine.
When I finally came to my sense, I saw Helena—intoxicated, her face flushed red, her attire disheveled and exposed before me.
I paused, swallowing hard, as thoughts raced through my mind.
Should I seize this moment and fucking her brain out? Or should I act as a gentleman?
Decisions... Decisions...
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