I, the leader of the esoteric sect, am doing great things in the infinite world!

Since the children adopted by the foundation are all orphans, why is she so determined to find her mother? And putting that aside, hasn't the foundation exerted any influence on those young children during their education?

More importantly, Wilting had previously mentioned that the foundation was merely “selecting”.

They did not show love to the children equally; they merely searched for them like seeds and conducted numerous human experiments on them.

The children who were not chosen were abandoned in mental hospitals, correctional buildings, abandoned orphanages, and deserted streets.

Just as the civilized world rejects truths that are far ahead of their time.

Limited by her position, she could not directly criticize the foundation, but the seeds of discontent and the pursuit of freedom had been sown in her childhood.

“In that case, have you offered any help to those children, sir?” the exile asked.

“I’m afraid all I can offer is pity,” Si Chen from the foundation replied. “But I’m still willing to do everything within my power.”

They walked along the riverside street of the Varno River, where stone carvings have stood since the 14th century. A steady stream of coal was hauled from the river mouth into huge factories by barges, turning into black smoke billowing into the sky from the chimneys. In the distance, the sun cast its magnificent crimson afterglow onto the gently rippling waters of the harbor.

"Why don't you leave?"

Wilting stopped and looked at the exiles who had stopped by the roadside.

The exile stared at the transparent shop window on the street, his brow furrowed slightly.

It's already chapter 258 and the "picking up the scraps" plot just appeared :(

Virtue asked again.

Exile: "Look at that gun."

"A gun?" Virtin followed her gaze and saw a rifle of unimaginable length displayed in the transparent window.

The rifle looked quite worn, except for a strange grease coating the barrel, giving it a peculiar dark green color.

On the wooden stock of the gun is a strange and distorted emblem, which looks like a tangled ball of fur or a bizarre creature with five wings stuck together.

They pushed open the door and entered, the bronze wind chimes at the entrance making a crisp, ringing sound.

The ceiling of this antique shop is hung with the skeleton of a whale, which looks like a minke whale. The narrow walls are covered with dusty oil paintings, but none of them are of much value. A voodoo doll is placed on the counter, and the bookshelves against the wall are full of manuscripts whose authenticity and age are indistinguishable.

The boss, wearing pince-nez, was sitting in a rocking chair on the edge of the fireplace, engrossed in reading the newspaper.

The exile tiptoed and casually picked up a few manuscripts from the bookshelf, then gestured for Virtin to take a few things as well.

They picked and chose, selecting some runestones carved with Ogan script, which they scattered on the counter, gesturing for the owner to come and pay.

The shop owner, who had already noticed their actions, hurriedly put down his newspaper and came over to check the prices of the items they had purchased.

After the antique shop owner quoted a price, the exile raised his eyes and said, "I've bought so much stuff, there should be some freebies, right?"

Both the exiles and Virtin knew the true value of these items. Apart from the runestones engraved with Oghan script, none of them were genuine. Even the runestones were remnants from Norse shamanic rituals, which might have some value in historical research, but had no value as rare artifacts.

The shopkeeper hesitated for a moment: "Alright, so what would you like?"

“If I need a weapon… just for collectors,” the exile said, “do you have any recommendations?”

The boss's pince-nez glasses fell off, but he didn't have time to put them back on.

"If you need a weapon in the sense of a collector's item—we do have them, but they are worth more than the gift, so you may need to add some gold pounds."

"It's not difficult."

After receiving an affirmative answer, the boss's attitude became noticeably more attentive, and he took out many things wrapped in tung oil cloth from the attic.

"Take a look at these, ladies." After some selection, the shopkeeper took out a few items and unwrapped the tung oil cloth covering them.

"The King of Poland once forged a precious sword to fight against invaders. Its destiny was to be the sword of a king. Some say this sword still exists in Krakow..."

"So this is that sword?"

"Of course not, this is just a replica." The shopkeeper chuckled, not at all rigid. "The Polish King's Sword is just a legend, but a replica of the legendary sword is quite good too."

The shopkeeper set aside the replica of the Polish King's sword and placed a shield inlaid with wood on the table.

Boudica, known as the Queen of Victory by the barbarians, once rebelled against the Roman army after being humiliated. Legend has it that she found the scabbard of King Arthur's sword, sewed a fragment of it into her shield, and when she swung this shield, all the Roman troops fled at the mere sight of it.

"But the epic of King Arthur is just a story compiled by medieval bards, while Queen Boudica was a real person," Virtin added from the side.

"Perhaps." The shopkeeper shrugged and took out the last item, putting it away.

Those were three somewhat oddly shaped bullets.

"To be honest, I don't want to call them weapons, because it's not easy to make up a plausible story. But I swear to God, everything I'm about to say is true."

“I received this from a Maasai tribe in Africa when I was very young. After witnessing a Maasai shamanic ritual, they cut off a lion’s foreleg and gave it to me.”

The boss pointed to three dull-colored bullets. "These are what I found in the lion's foreleg."

“But the Maasai shouldn’t use guns and bullets.” The exile reached out and picked up a bullet; the cold, hard metal made her shudder as if she were being electrocuted.

The Maasai are a nomadic people of East Africa, scattered across the grasslands of Kenya and Tanzania. They speak their own language, have an extremely strict tribal management system, and firmly believe in animism.

But what makes them most famous in the civilized world are their two ethnic customs.

The first custom is to suck fresh cow blood. Each large family keeps dozens or even nearly a hundred cows specifically for bleeding them for drinking. The Maasai people firmly believe that drinking cow blood can bring them some kind of "spirit".

The second custom is that every Maasai must hunt a lion when they reach adulthood, either using a lasso, bare hands, or a venomous blowgun... but never with firearms or ammunition.

"It's like prehistoric humans using the iron from these meteorites to make bullets and then shooting them into lions."

These bullets are made of nickel-iron; in other words, they were once stars in the sky.

“I really like these meteorite bullets,” the exile confessed, “but I still need a gun.”

"If you're willing to buy these bullets... I have a very suitable rifle here, from the battlefield of the Somme hell, captured from French mercenaries."

The French mercenary group came from the fiefdom of the Ethiopian crown prince. If the boss's story is true, then this gun and these three bullets would be a perfect match.

"If you buy the bullets, I'll give you this old rifle for free."

The boss said with a smile that he had a feeling he would make a big deal, which would be a good opportunity to clear out his stock of fake antiques.

The exile did not haggle any further and paid readily. The shopkeeper helped her take the spear from the cabinet and wrapped it in tung oil cloth.

"I don't know much about the stories of those African tribes. At that time, I was just a professor named William at the University of Rostock... If you are interested, you can audit a class at the University of Rostock."

After thanking their boss, the exiles left with Virtin. After traveling some distance, they stopped at a crossroads to wait for the convoy to pass.

"Those bullets were part of the gun. Although it may not have been this gun that fired those bullets, they did share the same origin."

The exile touched his sideburns, a smug look flickering in his red eyes: "The antique shop owner didn't know that, otherwise he wouldn't have asked for gold pounds, he should have asked for Spindrian coins."

These ancient coins, circulating in this mysterious world, are the general equivalent when buying and selling rare and priceless artifacts.

259 The Way of Sitting in Oblivion!

"These bullets are meteorite bullets. In the past, they were used in guns, and their traces can be seen everywhere from Sicily to the New World. It also has another name: Monster Killer."

In the past, liquidator thugs used similar nickel-iron bullets to penetrate the apprentices' invisible magic and send them into their brains.

With the help of the Silence spell, the Cleanseers can even severely injure monsters roaming the wilderness with a single shot.

More important than these meteorite bullets is this rifle.

This rifle is indeed an antique, but its special feature is the sacred emblem on the stock. In the Purifiers, this hairy, tentacle-like creature represents the multi-winged forest owl, the messenger and named one who serves all the Blademasters.

Where warriors fall, multiwinged owls linger and gather to commemorate their sacrifice, and where heroes perish, multiwinged owls will carry away their souls and lead them before the celestial beings.

“Valkyrie?” Veldine said.

"In Norse mythology, the true form of the Valkyries is indeed them."

Therefore, what actually powers this Lion Hunter rifle is the power of the multi-winged owl, giving it not only ample destructive power but also an incredible recovery speed, allowing it to fire the next shot in an extremely short time.

"Unfortunately, there are only three bullets."

The exile shook his head: "Three bullets are enough. This kind of rifle can only be fired five times at most, and this rifle has exactly three firing opportunities left."

It can be used as a trump card in critical moments.

They lingered in the antique shop for a while. The sun had completely disappeared below the horizon, and lights were lit on both sides of the harbor. The sounds of pipe organs and violins drifted from afar, and the bells of Rostock Cathedral and the university tower rang simultaneously.

"What should we do next?" Virtue handed the initiative to the exiles.

"Place an advertisement." The exile's answer was quite unexpected.

"What ad?"

The exile replied, “The private clinic of the Eastern Healer. I sent a letter to Dr. Janings in advance, and he has already prepared a medical license for me.”

"Why do this?" Veltin calmly stated his opinion. "I am being pursued by the Hand of Reshaping, and you are also fleeing from the Purifiers... The reputation of a miracle healer is like a drumbeat in the middle of the night."

“Because of money. We need money, and as doctors, we’re always better able to integrate into the local community,” the exile said. “You probably can’t understand this feeling, sir.”

"As for the possibility of them finding out by following the clues, that's even less likely, because I will have Abraham act as this Eastern miracle doctor."

Veltin felt he had vaguely grasped a key point: "So you mean...?"

“Yes, anyway, my treatments never rely on medical skills,” the exile said confidently.

No matter how difficult the illness, as long as a year's worth of time is burned, it can be easily solved.

The only problem now is to make Li Lin less crazy, at least outwardly, so that he can look like a dignified Eastern divine doctor. Ideally, he should also be accompanied by yellow paper, a peach wood sword, and spices—basically, whatever makes him look convincing.

But as everyone knows, getting Li Lin to sit obediently in the chair was no less difficult than saving Constantinople from falling on May 29, 1453.