The tents on the ground, simpler and more disorganized, were filled with various items. I saw rusty spears, rudimentary bows, and giant axes, all marked with battle scars. Some tents had something even more grotesque: hearts, eyes, and skins of living creatures, some still dripping fresh blood.
Other stalls caught more attention. Potions were proudly displayed, and their sellers had an aura of confidence, radiating energy that revealed their advanced level. "Probably level 3 Acolytes," I thought, observing the scene. Despite their high level, their expressions remained calm, as if the trade was just a formality.
