The Phantom Arena Haul

You cleared the half-collapsed arena chamber where sand-strewn ranks of skeleton gladiators stood frozen in endless combat. The gladiators were plainly once armed for sport — battered bronze helms, short swords and tridents — while a single ghostly swordsman had materialized above the sand, cutting through bone and rust before you finally put it to rest. When the specter dissipated it left behind a lingering chill and a thin, shimmering residue that soaked into a cracked scabbard. Between the scattered bones, broken shields and sand-filled coin pouches you find a mix of mundane salvage, a few gems and odd reagents useful to crafters or necromancers — and one blade whose edge still hums with a faint, otherworldly light.