The next morning, I found myself standing at the entrance of the Market.

  It was a sprawling, chaotic maze of stalls, shops, and kiosks, each one brimming with weapons, armor, potions, and other gear tailored for awakened.

  The air buzzed with energy, a mix of excited chatter, the clang of metal against metal, and the occasional roar of a live demonstration.

  A faint smell of oil and leather lingered in the air.

  I stepped inside, feeling a mixture of anticipation and apprehension.

  I didn't have any gear which is laughable.

  If I wanted to survive tomorrow’s raid, I needed something better.

  “First time here?”

  A vendor near the entrance called out to me.

  He was an older man with a wiry frame and sharp eyes.

  His stall was packed with swords, axes, and a few ornate staffs.

  “Yeah,” I admitted, stepping closer.

  He chuckled.

  “You’ve got that fresh-out-of-orientation look. What are you after? Swords? Daggers? Maybe a good staff if you’re the mage type?”

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  “Daggers,” I said. “Something light and fast.”

  He nodded and rummaged through a pile of weapons, pulling out a sleek, silver dagger.

  The blade glinted in the sunlight, and faint runes etched along its surface gave it an otherworldly look.

  “Good choice for a beginner,” he said, handing it to me. “Lightweight, enchanted for durability, and the runes help with elemental channeling.”

  I held the dagger, testing its weight.

  It felt balanced, almost natural in my hand.

  But when I looked at the price tag, my stomach dropped.

  “Five hundred credits?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

  The vendor shrugged.

  “Quality costs, kid.”

  I put the dagger down, my heart sinking.

  My budget was tight, barely enough for basic supplies.

  I wandered deeper into the market, scanning the stalls for something affordable.

  Eventually, I came across a smaller, less flashy kiosk tucked away in a corner.

  The vendor was an elderly woman, her face lined with age but her eyes sharp and calculating.

  “Looking for something specific?” she asked, her voice surprisingly strong.

  “Daggers,” I said, keeping it simple.

  She reached under the counter and pulled out a blade.

  It was nothing special, no runes, no shine.

  The metal was dark and slightly worn, but the edge was razor-sharp.

  “This one’s solid,” she said. “Sturdy, reliable, and won’t break the bank. Two hundred credits.”

  I picked it up, testing the weight.

  It was heavier than the enchanted dagger but felt durable, like it had seen its share of battles and survived.

  “I’ll take it,” I said, handing over the credits.

  The woman nodded, wrapping the dagger in a simple cloth before handing it back to me.

  As I continued through the market, I picked up a few other essentials, a healing potion, a pouch of rations, and a small utility kit with basic tools.

  Each purchase chipped away at my budget, but I couldn’t afford to skimp on preparation.

  By the time I left the market, my pack was heavier, and my wallet was lighter.

  But I felt a little more confident about tomorrow’s raid.

  As I walked home, the weight of the dagger at my side was a comforting reminder of what lay ahead.

  The raid would be dangerous, no doubt about it.

  But I wasn’t the same person I had been just a few days ago.

  For the first time in a long time, I felt ready.