On the far left wall hung a rectangular oil painting depicting a siege beneath a white castle. Countless silver-armored warriors surged toward the castle waving red flags, catapults hurled massive stones, and flaming oil was poured down from the ramparts. Blood, severed limbs, and corpses were everywhere.

Beneath the oil painting hung a dark gold circular metal plate. It was more than half a meter in diameter, with a smiling human face protruding from the center.

“What’s this?” George Miller reached out and touched the metal plate. It was very hard, with a fine, rough texture similar to copper-embossed paper.

The old man under one of the bookshelves glanced up: “That’s the sun god totem of the Red Tribe from three hundred years ago. It’s a good piece. Every time the tribe’s shaman got new gold ornaments, he’d melt them down, mix them with brass, and pour them over it. Except for the face in the center, all the other parts are layers of accumulated gold and brass. If you’re interested, I can give it to you for a bargain—thirty-five thousand.” The old man took off his glasses and wiped them with a soft cloth. “After all, not many people recognize its value these days. If this were a few decades ago, back when antiques were at their hottest, this thing would have sold for at least several hundred thousand.”

“Sun god totem…” George Miller’s mouth twitched. He didn’t even need to check to know it was definitely fake. Not only was his ability unresponsive, but if this totem were really worth that much, and made of gold, it wouldn’t be sitting here for sale. Something this big could be pawned at any jewelry store for over a hundred thousand, and yet he was offering it for thirty-five thousand… He didn’t even have more than twenty bucks on him right now.

He turned left and looked at another, slightly taller, red table. On it sat a purplish-red medal, a bottle of clear wine, and a silvery-white cup.

He reached out and touched each of the three items in turn. When he finally touched the purplish-red medal, the potential percentage at the bottom of George Miller’s vision suddenly jumped.

“Huh?! This one’s reacting!” He turned slightly, back to the old man, his face showing a hint of nervousness.

He picked up the purplish-red medal and examined it closely.

It was a cross-shaped medal, the cross a purplish-red color, its edges wrapped in a dark gold ear of wheat. George Miller noticed that at the very center of the medal was a small black circular area, about the size of a fingernail, with a white letter P engraved inside.

He could feel a strong, intense, icy aura within the medal—much stronger than the black pearl or the crystal from Finistine’s Ring of Misfortune. The only problem was, he couldn’t draw out all of that power from the medal; there was just a tiny channel, letting the potential trickle out like squeezing toothpaste.

“Before, I could absorb all the potential just by touching it, but this time, even holding it in my hand, I can only absorb a little… At this rate, it’ll take at least days to absorb it all.” A flash of delight and puzzlement appeared in George Miller’s eyes.

“This one’s six thousand.” At some point, the bespectacled old man had appeared at George Miller’s right side and spoke up suddenly.

“Six thousand…” George Miller frowned slightly.

The old man, dressed in black, looked at the medal and said in a low voice, “This bronze cross medal was something I acquired from a retired officer’s home. You’ve got a good eye—out of all the items I got in that batch, this medal is a rare gem. It comes from the once-mighty Montia Republic, a hundred and fifty years ago. Back then, the will of Montia was so powerful the whole world trembled. They had over a hundred colonies worldwide, and our own Yalu Federation was nearly half colonized by them. This medal is a product of that era, said to have been awarded to commanders with second-class military merit.”

“I’ll look around a bit more… no rush.” George Miller suppressed his urge to buy it. He knew that if he could quickly absorb the energy inside the medal, he could probably boost his stats by more than two points at once. Unfortunately, he didn’t have the money…

His weekly allowance was only twenty, and six thousand was a long way off.

The old man noticed George Miller’s reluctance and a glint flashed in his eyes: “Also, last time, there was an officer who wanted to collect this medal, but he didn’t have enough money on him. He might come back for it soon. Kid, if you want it, you really shouldn’t miss this chance…”

George Miller’s face twitched. “I’ll check out the others first.”

“Sure, take your time.” The old man’s face bloomed into a chrysanthemum-like smile.

George Miller glanced at the old man. “This guy… he’s clearly noticed I want to buy it and is making up a story to pressure me. Still, you never know. Maybe someone else really does have their eye on it. But there’s no rush—maybe I can find something else with potential to absorb elsewhere.”

He calmed himself a little and began wandering around the other tables and walls in the shop. In less than ten minutes, he’d touched everything.

To his disappointment, only the medal had absorbable potential; the rest were just ordinary items.

A moment later, he returned to the table where the medal was placed and picked up the purplish-red bronze cross medal again, examining it over and over for more than half an hour.

“I don’t have enough money on me right now. Boss, can you hold it for me so I can come back and buy it later?” George Miller finally looked up at the old man.