"Watch."
A cloud of mist rushed toward him.
Geralt's mind swayed slightly.
He found himself watching Harold's Memory Carousel from God's perspective.
All roads led to Rome, but some people were born in Rome.
Harold came from a famous financial family.
He had been born with a golden key in his mouth.
Mansions, luxury cars, planes, yachts—things ordinary people could spend their entire lives striving for without ever obtaining—were within Harold's reach. They came too easily; the things others dreamed of could not satisfy him.
So Harold began searching for the meaning of life.
They said money could not buy Love.
Harold was short and stocky, a middle-aged man with a Mediterranean Sea bald head and a potbelly. Yet beautiful women were never lacking at his side—fat or slim, white, black, yellow, brown, every kind imaginable. He had been married five times and had never gone crazy for a woman. Perhaps every woman he met had secretly put a price tag on herself; the only difference was the price.
Harold did not love his wives or his children.
His lack of emotion left him lonely and empty.
Harold had once worked hard, hoping to take the family business to new heights.
But there had been no need.
With the connections, information, talent, and other resources of a great family, he did not need to struggle. Money flowed in endlessly like tap water.
That was how the world worked. The rich found it easier to make money.
In the end.
Like many rich kids, Harold sank into drug-induced illusions. Until one day, someone handed him a black business card. One side bore a white skull, its hollow eye sockets crawling with maggots. The other side contained only a phone number.
That person told Harold that his name was Xila, a businessman