"Rust-eaten silver coins"
A copper-plated sign hangs on an iron rod outside the shop, swaying in the wind and occasionally creaking under the night breeze, drawing attention.
But even so, few people stop by in front of the shop throughout the day.
This is the daily life of the antique shop run by Clayton Bello.
This is located at 47 Lemon Street in Sasha City. The location is neither bad nor good, just like its business situation.
The antique shop is not an ordinary store; its main source of income comes from regular customers, not from Crayton.
The Bello family once lived in a city further south in Dorn, but after their parents, who valued family unity, passed away, he had the final say on where to settle.
In the four years after his military discharge, he used the £600 in military pension money and the portion of the inheritance left by his father to take over the shop. The antique trade is quite close to the upper-class circles, and he had some talent, so compared to his peers who peddled in the black market, he had a more vibrant business.
At this moment, Clayton Bello was in the workshop on the second floor of the store, wearing a mask and an apron, bending over and using a long clamp to fish five slightly faded and chipped medals out of the murky liquid in a bucket.
The Loren War Honor Medal, only awarded by the Dorn Royal Family to soldiers who participated in five or more battles in the Loren War, a total of over six hundred were issued, with extremely high commemorative value.
He had handled 24 of them at Clayton's — 23 of which were fake, and the only real one belonged to him. When unable to acquire genuine antiques, antique dealers also had to learn to "create" antiques.
"Mr. Bello, your guest has arrived."
The knock at the door was followed by a notification from the female assistant outside.
"I understand, Miss Charlotte, you can also go off work now."
Responding with a nod through the door, Clayton carefully used a sponge to absorb the corrosive liquid from the fake medals, wrapping them in silk and placing them on the workbench. Then he took off his apron, put on a black jacket, and went downstairs to meet the guest.
In the display cabinets on the first floor, the enamel and crystal ornaments shone brilliantly under the electric lights.
The walls were adorned with seemingly expensive swords and daggers, none sheathed, as if they could be deployed back to the battlefield in the next moment.
The brown-haired youth waiting on the first floor, however, showed no interest in them. He simply leaned against his hands, examining the rusty exhibits in the display cases, until Clayton stood behind him before turning around.
"Captain, long time no see."
Seeing this brown-haired youth in a white formal suit, Clayton stepped forward for a hug: "Joe, I didn't expect you to come back. It feels like it was just yesterday we last met."
His rank as a lieutenant was what he was called in the military, and only his old buddies still used that title after he retired.
They had fought together in the 163-year Lorene War, comrades in a platoon.
After Joe Mane retired, he inherited a shop of rusty silver coins from his parents, but as he harbored the dream of traveling the world, he was unwilling to run such a fixed business, so he sold the shop to Clayton,
Standing side by side, the difference became immediately apparent. Clayton's hairstyle and beard remained unchanged for years - the three-to-seven part and thick king's beard - his features were more rugged, and he looked a head taller than Joe. His yellow-brown eyes were intimidating.
Seeing his former superior still looking familiar, Qiao was also somewhat surprised: "I am too. Seeing that you are doing well, I am relieved. But I came this time for a business deal."
He took out a small box from his jacket pocket and opened it. On the off-white plush lay a pure silver ring, oxidized to give it a mottled black hue.
"The Bishop's Ring Seal of the White Church, a fine piece."
When it came to business, Clayton immediately became serious, but instead of taking the box, he whispered, "Such a treasure is indeed valuable, but not easy to trade."
The White Faith is not only the mainstream belief of the Kingdom of Dorn, but also of the entire Northern World. Even though its current status is not as prosperous as in the era of cold weapons, objects like the Bishop's Ring Seal, which symbolize power, are not things that can be casually circulated.
"You can rest assured, this is absolutely legal, no one will care."
Jo didn't wait for a reply and shoved the box into Creighton's hands: "It was originally a collection from a foreign friend of mine, but he's been having financial difficulties lately, so he decided to sell these things to fill the economic gap. For the sake of friendship, I bought this, but since I don't have a hobby for collecting, I brought it to you."
Creighton reluctantly took the box: "How much did you pay for it?"
"Three hundred pounds."
Crayton pressed the side of his temple to relieve the pressure. The money was actually quite a lot, but it absolutely didn't match the value of the genuine Bishop's Seal.
"Is this friend of yours someone you met at the card table?"
"Haha." Joe gave an awkward smile, blinked his eyes twice, and didn't elaborate. But from his expression, it was clear that bringing this thing back to Sasha was just a casual act, and there was another reason for his true return.
Clayton closed the box and slipped it into his jacket pocket: "I won't say much this time. If you plan to leave Sasha City in the near future, I'll send the money to your old family home once I've appraised the ring."
Joe had no objection, then proposed a new idea: "So, we'll go to the Big Tree House for a drink at six o'clock tomorrow evening, just like before?"
Clayton had no objection either.
After a few more casual chats, he bid farewell to the old comrade and went upstairs to tidy up his workshop, finally pulling the plug.
The dim light of the rusted silver coin faded. He took a oil lamp out, locked the door, and then walked back to his cheap rented apartment on foot.
Clement Beale did not finish college,
He enlisted in the army at the age of eighteen and served eleven years as a cavalryman in the Torrent Guard of the Kingdom of Dorn.
When he joined the army, the tactic of mass execution in formation was still the mainstream method of war, but by the time he retired, decentralized tactics had already been relatively maturely incorporated into the military manual.
He was still in his prime at thirty-three, but Clayton felt like he was already an old man.
Nothing seemed to pique his interest.
His parents fell ill and passed away during his service, leaving him no time to return and see them. His close cousin, who had joined the army alongside him, was shot in the heart by a stray bullet on another battlefield. His dear comrade was torn apart by an artillery shell right before his eyes.
Clayton had given the army not just eleven years of his youth, but time was merely the lowest-valued commodity among all he had lost.
He chose to be an antique dealer, hoping to change himself through the influence of cultural relics and culture.
After four years, he was still confused, but his skill in forging had become increasingly good.
After dinner, Clayton entered the room converted into a study for a nap.
Joe's gift gave him a headache; even if the white teaching was legal, it was difficult to find a favorite buyer.
The religious art of the White Church has become too rampant, already causing some aesthetic fatigue.
Many people actually don't care if the antiques are real or not; their purpose of collecting is just to pursue that sense of uniqueness. Regardless of whether this signet ring is real or not, its simple appearance determines that its price ceiling will not be too high.
To sell it for a good price by leveraging its background story, one must find those 狂信徒 (maniacal followers).
However, Clayton is not very good at dealing with them.
Clement's parents were not religious, so he wasn't either.
The Bello family's only connection with the White Cult was when his brother stole a nun from the monastery and made her his wife, which made the clergy of the local parish very hostile towards their family.
With such a family atmosphere, Clement naturally didn't like having anything to do with the White Cult, and besides, there were also some of his own reasons.
But work is work.
He took out the ring seal from his pocket and positioned the seal's location facing himself.
Two crossed tridents guarded the pointed top of the bishop's mitre.
The weapon represented that it should be the property of the head of the institution responsible for combat. Clayton recognized the meaning it represented.
The pattern of this ring seal belonged to the heretical court of the White Cult, which was abolished three hundred years ago, said to be the terrifying institution used to approve heretics, witches, and dark races.
Even commoners can be killed by those battle priests if they show any strangeness.
Due to the excessive number of wrongful convictions, the nations grew discontented. The White Church ultimately abolished the Inquisition, executed a batch of clergy who served in it, and refused to acknowledge that those absurd and reckless actions were ordered by the Pope.
What Qiao meant by "legal" is exactly this.
Since the Inquisition itself is not recognized by the White Church, this seal of oaths will naturally not be pursued by the White Church either, because even if it were real, it would still be "not" their thing.
Clayton glanced, and he found a square protrusion beneath the lemon-yellow velvet in the box containing the ring seal,
He poured out the velvet, a note fell onto the table, seemingly left by the former owner of the ring seal.
"The rumors say that the ring seals of the bishops in the Court of Judgment are protected by divine power. They can test if the owner has been replaced by a magical creature with shapeshifting abilities. The one who wears this ring will immediately reveal their true form."
He looked at the ring seal quietly lying on the table,
Out of a sense of morbid curiosity, Clayton picked up the ring. He rotated it back and forth, trying it on his little finger of the left hand.
In anticipation, ten seconds passed.
Nothing happened.
"It's fake again, I'm such a fool!"
Clayton frustratingly tried to take off the ring, but because his fingers were too thick, he couldn't do it at once.
He got up and walked into the bathroom, planning to lubricate it first with soap water.
But at this moment, a severe burning sensation suddenly came from the part of the skin that was in contact with the ring, spreading like wildfire throughout his body, and within half a second, the pain shot straight to his head.
His torso swelled, ripping his clothes apart.
Black, needle-like hair protrudes from the pores all over the body, and even where there is no hair, it is a dull black. The originally quite sturdy physique has increased by a quarter in height and width, the limbs are exaggerated in muscle mass but still have a slender feel,
The mouth is elongated, the ears become sharp and pulled back, the skull transforms into a wolf shape, the yellow-brown eyes glow in the dark.
Bowing his head, the werewolf Clayton looked at the clothes he had torn and dropped to the ground, and scratched his head with sharp nails. A low voice came from the wolf's mouth, with quite a bit of surprise:
"Wow, this time it's actually real!"