She swept her gaze across the vast yet simple market.
Serra ignored the looks cast her way and nodded slightly to the burly Gathel beside her.
The latter immediately strode forward with more than ten Catachang warriors in tow.
Noticing the Transcendent aura emanating from them, as well as their drool-worthy magic equipment, the majority of the Dwarven Elves sensibly stepped aside to make way.
Having good judgment is the key to growing into adulthood for a Dwarven Elf.
With them clearing the path, Serra leisurely strolled through with an imposing air.
Amid the muffled discussions about her, plenty of useful information was transmitted clearly into Serra's ears via the sound-collecting processor integrated in her helmet.
"Our slaves just aren't selling—Suramar's purchase price is simply too low."
"Selling to Suramar is a guaranteed loss; see if we can sell to other Dwarven Elves instead..."
"Brought a batch of rare metals here, only to find the prices have dropped again..."
