The marketplace stank.
Not subtle—proper, throat-clenching stink. Blood mixed with sweat, piss soaking into dirt roads nobody bothered cleaning, and something rotting near a vendor stall Tianlong couldn't quite place.
His nose wrinkled but he kept walking, boots crunching gravel underfoot while the morning sun beat down on his crimson robes.
Around him, the tribal zone sprawled like a living thing—chaotic, loud, alive in ways that made even the Ancient Realm's other territories look organized. Stalls lined both sides of the wide street, each one crammed with goods that ranged from mundane to bizarre.
Dried meats hanging from hooks, their surfaces black with flies. Weapons forged from beast bones, still carrying traces of marrow. Fabrics dyed colors that hurt to look at.
And everywhere, 'everywhere', women.
