The inside of the antique shop looked just as Duncan had imagined—messy, rundown, and struggling to stay in business. Just by looking at the dust piled up near the display window, any visitor could guess how poorly the owner was managing their life.
The first thing he noticed were the display tables near the walls. On the low and sturdy surfaces were large vases, sculptures, and strange totem-like objects. Behind the tables, the wall was divided into sections, holding smaller “products.” The counter was directly across from the entrance, a long bar-like table. On the shelves behind the counter, dust also gathered on dark-colored picture frames and small ornaments.
At the back of the counter, he could see a staircase leading to the second floor, but it was too dim to make out its structure. There was also a small door under the stairs, which, in his “memories,” should lead to a storage area filled with clutter.
It was hard to imagine that the cultist he was inhabiting lived off this shop that seemed to attract no customers, and even had spare money to donate to the priest of the sun god.
Duncan walked toward the counter deeper inside the shop. The old wooden floor creaked under his weight as he passed the stairs, and he noticed a lamp fixed to the wall.
It was an electric lamp.
Duncan's brow furrowed slightly.
The design of the lamp was unfamiliar, with an iron frame and a gray lampshade that gave it an exotic feel. However, the tungsten bulb inside was clear—it was powered by electricity.
Was electricity really this common in this world? Did ordinary people in the lower city use electric lights too?
Then why were the lights in the sewers gas lamps and oil lamps, or torches? Why were the streetlights also gas lamps?
A huge confusion arose in Duncan’s mind. This clearly didn’t make sense, especially in the sewers—having open flames and using flammable gas for lighting had obvious disadvantages compared to clean and safe electric lights!
He had initially thought that technological limitations forced city officials to use gas lamps in the sewers, but now it seemed that at least in the city of Prand, technology had advanced to the point where electricity was available in ordinary homes!
A strong sense of dissonance filled Duncan’s heart. He tried to search through the fragmented memories in his mind for relevant knowledge but only found answers like “this is common knowledge” and “this is how city planning works.”
It seemed that either this knowledge was not made public, leaving the cultist he inhabited completely unaware, or it was too basic, not leaving a strong enough impression in the cultist's mind, causing the memories to fade quickly after death, leaving only a sense of “this is obvious.”
With a sense of confusion that he couldn’t resolve for now, Duncan reached out and turned on the electric lamp—with a soft click, bright light immediately illuminated the area around the staircase and counter.
There was another switch on the opposite wall to control the lights in other areas of the shop, but Duncan didn’t plan to touch it for now.
It was late at night, and the antique shop that had already closed was lit by a small lamp, which could be explained as “the owner getting up at night,” but suddenly bright lights could attract unwanted attention.
With the limited light near the stairs, Duncan’s gaze first swept over the nearest items. The first thing he saw was a wooden totem, less than half a meter tall, carved with strange faces in red and blue paint. Next to it was what seemed to be an antique ceramic vase—both had price tags that listed outrageous prices.
Originally priced at four hundred twenty thousand, now marked down to three hundred sixty.
It gave off a vibe of self-destruction.
Duncan quickly shifted his gaze and scanned the entire shop.
If there was even one genuine item here, he would have crashed the Lost Homeland ship against the city walls of Prand.
These items were so fake that they didn’t even need a real collector to identify them; anyone with normal intelligence wouldn’t believe that a shop in the lower city would sell real antiques—who would sell genuine antiques in such a poor area? The oldest item in this shop was probably that sign out front…
But Duncan wasn’t surprised by the shop’s existence itself—the owner knew they were selling fakes, and the people coming here didn’t expect to find a thousand-year-old statue for their homes. Everyone understood the situation; the lower city’s residents needed a way to satisfy their spiritual needs—the “antique shop” sign out front wasn’t meant for others, but for the customers themselves.
After all, there are still places under the bridge selling jade, with bracelets claiming to be from old mines that, if bumped against a door frame, could shatter into pieces. Didn’t the buyers and sellers know what was going on?
Duncan wasn’t interested in the owner’s troubled past; he only cared about one thing: this place could serve as his first “base” on land as the captain of the Lost Homeland.
A “foothold” to understand the land world and modern civilized society.
He had secretly decided that, as long as the conditions allowed for “walking in the spirit world,” he would try to maintain this body and use this “antique shop” as a cover to operate in the city of Prand. If his training with Ai Yi went well and she could reliably transfer “physical items” between the Lost Homeland and Prand, this antique shop would also become a secret supply depot.
Duncan sat behind the counter, carefully sorting through the fragments of memory in his mind, pondering all the potential risks.
The original owner of this body was a follower of the sun god, but was just a low-level member in the entire church system. Due to the city authorities' continuous crackdown on cult activities, the living space for sun god followers in Prand had been squeezed to the limit. Their connections were extremely cautious; besides wearing full hoods and masks during gatherings, many lower-level members had contact with only one or two specific “contacts” in the upper echelons of the church. This was undoubtedly good news for Duncan now—
This meant that even within the cult, only that one person knew “his” real identity and contact methods. If that person were gone, then no one would know “his” secret heretical identity.
He could walk confidently in front of the city’s officials, with the identity of a clean and honest citizen.
And the better news was that after carefully sorting through his memories, Duncan confirmed that the biggest risk had actually disappeared.
Because “his” contact was one of the three black-robed cultists he had seen when he first woke up…
Those three unfortunate souls had been taken out.
He felt a bit relieved and shifted to a more comfortable position in the chair.
With the biggest risk gone, if he had to say there was still something to worry about, it would be the other sun god followers who participated in the sacrificial ceremony at the underground gathering, and the larger, more mysterious, and dangerous sun god church behind them.
If his memories were correct, four years ago, the city of Prand had conducted a severe crackdown on the sun god church that had taken root in the city. Since then, this heretical faith had been struggling. They couldn’t even hold ceremonies; it was already a blessing if they could hide themselves from the church guards.
But now, these extremely low-profile cultists had done something quite high-profile.
The purpose of the sacrificial ceremony was to please the deity, and another goal was to gather power or enhance the deity's influence in the real world—at that gathering, even the officiating priest “messenger” could only be considered a grassroots member of the sun god church. Would these grassroots members spontaneously organize such a big event?
Duncan's fragmented memories weren’t too many, and a grassroots cultist wouldn’t have access to the church's core secrets. But just from the information he had, he could guess that those suddenly active cultists must have received instructions from a higher level.
That heretical sect worshipping the “true sun god”… they wanted to do something big in Prand, and the sacrificial ceremony that he accidentally disrupted was probably just a minor ripple before that big event began.
Duncan didn’t have any particular feelings for the “city of Prand,” but if he wanted to use it as a starting point for development, he had to consider what impact a group of madmen like the “sun god cultists” could have on him in the city.
(End of Chapter)