I'm building Gundams in America

Chapter 376 The Soviet Union is Back (Seeking Monthly Tickets)

Hearing Clara's words, Wayne narrowed his eyes and said, "Clara, good girl, tell me, when did your great-grandfather BoJack die?"

Clara wiped away the tears from the corners of her eyes, took out her phone and said while scrolling through it, "Oh, sir, it must be my grandfather's spirit that guided me to you. I swear, this necklace is exactly the same as the one he used to wear—"

As he spoke, he found a photo and held the phone up to Wayne's face.

It was a black and white photograph of a teenager dressed in shamanic attire with a necklace around his neck.

Although the photo is a bit blurry, you can still see that the order of the shells, bones, eagle claws, and several copper coins on this necklace is exactly the same as the one Wayne is wearing.

It can be concluded that it is the same one.

Clara continued, "I heard from my father that my great-grandfather was once the most talented young shaman, and was very famous in the Mukshott Reserve at the time, but he died when he was about twenty years old, leaving only this photograph behind —."

"My father never said how my great-grandfather died; it was just that in those days, the death of a young Native American was a perfectly normal thing."

Wayne nodded slightly.

Judging from this photo, BoJack is not a modern person, but someone from the 1920s or 30s.

At this moment, Wayne also noticed that there was a church behind the person in the photo.

It was taken from in front of the church.

He sighed and asked, "Clara, do you know where your great-grandfather BoJack is buried?"

Clara shook her head and said, "I once asked my father, and he only said that my great-grandfather disappeared less than a year after his marriage—for Native Americans, disappearance meant death, not to mention in those days—"

Wayne nodded.

Originally, I hoped to take this opportunity to find BoJack's burial place, return his belongings, and let his wronged soul rest in peace. Now it seems that it's not that simple.

Furthermore, since BoJack lived nearly a century ago, the origins of the Native American artifacts in the Rainier Club are different from what he initially thought.

It wasn't taken from Indian miners killed on the spot in the mines, but rather came from the past.

If I had known, I wouldn't have rushed into killing Perry, the mine owner. It would have been better to find these things first and then kill him.

Or they should have subjected him to the death by a thousand cuts twice and then salted him, so he could live until the mine was destroyed.

I'm still not meticulous enough in my work.

Thinking of this, Wayne fiddled with the two Heavenly Treasures on the necklace and asked Clara, "Clara, have you seen any other shamanic artifacts? And these ancient coins—"

Clara shook her head slightly and said, "I used to have some similar things at home, but a few days ago someone bought them at a high price, and most of them have already been sold."

According to Clara, there were already quite a few Native American cultural artifacts in America, and apart from some valuable royal items, ordinary shamanic items were not highly valued.

Because the number remaining is quite large.

Last year, however, someone suddenly started buying these things in the tribe, so she took the opportunity to sell all the things she had at home.

This includes some ancient copper coins.

Wayne narrowed his eyes and said to Clara, "Clara, good girl, may your great-grandfather rest in peace under the protection of ravens and coyotes."

Clara looked grateful and said, "Oh, sir, with your protection and blessings as a shaman, I believe my great-grandfather's soul will surely find peace—"

With that, he lowered his head and kissed Wayne's hand, then got up and left with a reluctant expression.

"Next," Wayne said in a deep voice towards the outside of the tent.

Soon, an old man with a wrinkled face and a stick in his hand walked in shakily.

This is a man in his fifties or sixties, wearing sunglasses. Through the lenses of the sunglasses, you can see that he has very serious cataracts in his eyes.

"Excuse me, is there a saint here who can bless people? I've heard about this, that's why I've come—"

The old man's voice trembled slightly.

His face was covered in wrinkles, and he had a large, bulbous nose, clearly a result of long-term alcoholism.

The rate of alcoholism among Native Americans was far higher than that of other racial groups in the United States.

This is also one of the reasons why Native Americans have a much shorter lifespan than the average lifespan in society.

Wayne said calmly, "Old man, please sit down."

The man groped his way down with the stick in his hand and said, "God, Saint, I only ask for a moment of peace. If you could just let me die, that would be even better. I've had enough of this life, but I don't have the courage to commit suicide—"

"Life is like hell to me now, you know? I used to be the best archer in the whole tribe. I could even hit a hare hundreds of meters away—but now I have nothing left."

"The Mukshot Reservation is not even as good as those reserves in the American Midwest wilderness. There is hardly any wildlife here, and even the rich don't come here to hunt."

"Did you know that recently many people have gone missing throughout the reserve? It's said that several girls have been murdered, bled like animals, with strange things placed in their eyes—I really hope that the killers lurking in the shadows will capture me too—"

The elderly man with cataracts rambled on and on, as if he had made Wayne a good confidant.

Clearly, he had no hope of receiving any blessings from saints from the beginning; he just came to complain to someone and vent his dissatisfaction.

Wayne remained silent and did not respond, but reached out and grabbed the hand of the old Native American man in front of him.

"You know, when I was young, in the 1980s, I was the physical fitness champion at a summer camp for Native American youth. Back then, the US government would implement some policies for reservations, such as these youth summer camps, to help us build community spirit and organize programs that could improve the quality of young people, showing that they still cared about reservations —"

"But then the Soviet Union collapsed, and all similar projects disappeared after that. It was then that I realized that the reason the US government was being so charitable was because it had been under moral pressure from the Soviet Union."

"Young people today no longer have that kind of experience; they haven't received similar training, so they quickly fall into the trap of drugs and alcohol, and they're all ruined—God!"

The old man suddenly exclaimed, then abruptly removed his sunglasses and threw them aside, staring intently at the black-haired, black-eyed man in front of him.

He suddenly realized that after the man in front of him took his hand, a comfortable feeling, like being soaked in hot spring water, enveloped his eyes.

His eyes, which had previously been extremely blurry, as if covered by a veil, suddenly became able to see everything clearly.

Including the kind-faced man in front of me, dressed in a long robe, with black hair and black eyes.

It was as if someone had suddenly cleared his blurry eyes.

He stared at Wayne, muttering incredulously, "The Soviet Union is back—"

Your basic Witch Doctor skill has been improved (Master 28.8% + 0.1%).

[Experience points +1]