On a beautiful day—I mean, on any day the sky over the Necropolis is pitch black with swirling gray clouds and the eerie, ghastly green rays of death mana—it was a day with the calmest winds and the fewest flickering energy sparks.

It was the perfect day for a stroll. I suggested to Dahlia that we go shopping.

"Shopping?" Dahlia asked, surprised, as if I'd just suggested something strange.

"Yeah, shopping, but where do you think we'd get the necessary things?"

"We can just use telepathic magic to order them."

"Don't you think we need to inspect the goods in person?"

"Well, if the goods aren't to our liking, we can return them."

"But that's a waste of time and effort for the intermediary shipping company."

"But what kind of item is so essential that a high-ranking mage would bother to go out and inspect it?"

"Actually, I just wanted to take a walk and admire the scenery. Wouldn't you get bored walking around in the same place all day?"

"That's no problem for me. The mansion already has plenty of scenery to see."

"Stop talking so much, let's get ready."

"But... but..."

"No buts. Maybe I've rarely gone out before, but things are different now."

Dahlia didn't dare say anything more, nodding in agreement, though she was still apprehensive and worried inside. The emotions of spirits and ghosts are easier to perceive than those of humans, as their souls are hidden within complex, multi-layered physical bodies. Spirits, on the other hand, can easily express different kinds of emotions in their own unique way. People who can see and interact with spirits, like Divris, find this very easy to recognize.

The market in the Necropolis was exactly as I had imagined from reading novels. It was divided into many different sections corresponding to various goods. Essential goods are sold on the outskirts, but further inside you find rare items considered the city's staples: armor, weapons, and magical artifacts. Necropolis prospered from these goods, and much of the craftsmanship came from Divris's workshop.

Seeing the items bearing the workshop's inscription filled me with disappointment and disillusionment. There was nothing to be proud of; it wasn't my doing.

Making money through violence and killing is never something to be proud of. Here, they freely sell things that can harm others? It's no different from my old world, where countries grew rich and powerful by their advantageous geographical location to avoid war, thus easily profiting from it. Necropolis shares a multitude of similar characteristics that send shivers down my spine.

But if you look closely, the quality items I see aren't offensive weapons like swords, bows, or crossbows... but rather armor and support items like flying, teleportation, cleaning, and temperature control (within safe limits)... all extremely valuable items with endless applications.

I gradually realized that Necropolis wasn't a place that profited from war. Did they really have such a progressive and humane vision? I still doubt it. After all, they still sell weapons that inflict damage, albeit at most average, without any stat boosts, and made of common, easily obtainable materials. I suspect someone else sells these weapons more discreetly elsewhere, like the black market.

I must confess that I still haven't grasped much about the political and legal situation in Necropolis; that's quite a oversight.

"Dahlia, do you know about the Necropolis's general policies regarding the production, distribution, and sale of items like weapons or offensive magical artifacts?"

"I'm afraid my knowledge isn't extensive, but to give a general answer, most council members clearly don't allow advanced weapons to be freely sold; they're limited to the military, and moreover, they're very tightly controlled."

"So, that means the Necropolis doesn't focus on weapons as a profitable commodity, even though they have the capability to do so?"

"That's right. Why are you asking?"

"Just wanted to confirm."

"Our workshop has also stated that any attempt to manufacture weapons or offensive magical artifacts will result in prosecution and expulsion."

"Even so, I'm still skeptical. You know, the law is high and scary, but it's not as scary as greed and selfishness. There's no guarantee everyone here will follow it."

"That's right, Divris certainly has a very sharp critical mind. Perhaps there are those within the Necropolis profiting from arms trafficking, but trust me, they must be struggling to avoid the security and control barriers."

"In Dahlia's opinion, is the Necropolis security bureau really good?"

"I'll use a more accurate word to describe it. So-so. The important thing is that they are responsible and not corrupt."

Speaking of which, the members of the Necropolis security bureau are mostly grim reapers, those who follow the rules rigidly and are extremely harsh. Because of this kind of force, the crime rate in the Necropolis is always extremely low (0.5-1). With such a low crime rate, the likelihood of arms trafficking is even lower, so perhaps my worries are unnecessary. Generally, the core values ​​of the Necropolis are different from those of human cities, so the differences are understandable.

"The existence of weapons and the military is a manifestation that war still exists. And as long as war exists, this world will not be equal. This place may have created that equality, but it's still just a small cage compared to the vast world outside. A small cage, however well-defended, cannot stop tiny insects and troublesome rodents." Dahlia said, surprising me.

"I thought you were a democrat."

"Trust me, I do believe you, but if you lived in my country, you'd think differently.

"I remember I didn't know anything about Dahlia's life when she was alive either.

"You know I always have time to hear your story, don't you?"

"If you want."

Dahlia was born and raised in a refugee camp.

Because of the war in her homeland, she and her family had to travel hundreds of miles to another land, only to be forced to move again after facing rejection and expulsion. The harsh environment caused many of her family's companions to perish.

Then, one day, her family found a small village, finally ending their three years of homelessness. The village that sheltered her refugee community was a diverse group of people: Dwarves, humans, halflings, tieflings—tribes ravaged by war and enslavement for decades, now united by a common goal: finding a new land to build peace.

Peace in the small village didn't last long before an army invaded, enslaving the villagers. Dahlia, with her exceptional magical talent and memory, rose steadily to become a logistics officer in the ivory tower. Although her talent could easily have made her a skilled mage, her low lineage and humble origins—from an unserved noble of a defeated nation—meant she was constantly oppressed and exploited for her abilities. Then, one day, the ivory tower was attacked. Most of the trainee mages were killed in the assault, including her. She still wonders why she was there today. She was just a lowly attendant, yet she knew her potential, never fully unleashed by the constraints of war, social hierarchy, and rampant racial discrimination. This world was simply not meant for her to make it a better place, no matter how much she wished. But now Dahlia is in the Necropolis with Divris, dedicated to a new journey.

"How do you want the world to be better?"

"More people to have access to knowledge—isn't that what's kept us working together until now, the library?"

"How much is 'more'?"

"Perhaps everyone in the world, anyone capable of learning and improving. I believe that when people know enough, they won't resort to violence to solve things."

So, Dahlia's world—this decaying and hopeless world—didn't make her despair. I admire her for that, while I've let go of everything in my old world.

We continued our stroll up a hill in the park on the outskirts of the city. From above, the Necropolis looked like a dark abyss that any living creature would avoid, yet it offered hope to many individuals like Dahlia, who knew the devastating consequences of war and violence. The scene, though horrifying and unspeakable, had sheltered countless lives, both the dead and the living. For here, souls endure after death. This place couldn't become another hell; it should be a haven where suffering, hatred, and resentment could find rest.

Allright, this place is practically a large-scale psychological counseling center, isn't it?