Second floor: D-Rank to low B-Rank. Here the crowd thinned, but tension thickened. Buyers wore badges. Uniforms. Guild marks. Each item had a mana tax to just touch.
A blade floated in a stasis field. Its edge glowed faint blue.
"Frost Spine," the appraiser was saying. "B-Rank. Bone-tempered from a third-gen frost wyvern. Limited sentience. Only accepts female users. Current bid: $420,000."
"Yikes," Damien muttered.
One man wore two swords on his back and five rings on each finger.
Damien passed a small case displaying a pair of black iron gauntlets covered in sigils.
[Breaker's Hands – B-Rank. Breaks mana fields with raw force. Requires minimum Strength: 10.]
The item pulsed once as Damien passed.
It dimmed again after.
"Boss… it reacted to you," Fatty whispered.
"Later," Damien said. "Let's go up."
The third floor felt like stepping into a curated legend.
Mana in the air was thicker, heavier. It clung to the skin like perfume.
