Diablo traveled through time and became a necromancer

All around, the clamor of battle almost died down the moment Duke breathed his last. The last bandit who attempted to pounce on Wu Ye had his throat crushed by a rusty bone claw from behind.

The claw belonged to an ordinary skeleton warrior. The owner of the bone claw and the thirty-nine similar ones around it stopped all movements in unison the moment the opponent fell to the ground.

The soul fire in their eyes danced under the scorching sun, but they seemed frozen, no longer pouncing on the next piece of flesh. They simply stood there silently, stepping on broken limbs and blood-soaked gravel, their swords and bone shields still dripping with sticky liquid.

The scene of dozens of silent skeletons was far more horrifying than the frantic slaughter that had preceded them. They were purely command-driven weapons of destruction. When the killing was over, they stopped there, silently announcing the end.

The overwhelming, inextricable smell of blood, mixed with the distinct stench of ruptured internal organs and the odor of rust, suddenly covered Wu Ye's mouth and nose like a greasy, damp blanket. He could clearly see the dark red and pinkish-white fragments of organs in Duke's ruptured chest, reflecting a sickening light in the sunlight. He could even see a section of torn intestines wriggling slightly in the gravel.

My stomach suddenly twitched, and a sour, hot liquid rushed up my throat without warning.

"vomit--!"

Wu Ye took the water bag from Brother Skeleton. The cool touch spread along his finger bones, and the cramps in his stomach seemed to freeze for a moment. The clear water in the bag washed away the sourness and blood in his throat. Every swallow was filled with a cold determination, forcibly suppressing the persistent nausea.

"Thank you..." His voice was still hoarse, like a blunt knife scraping sandpaper. He straightened up, his gaze sweeping across this bloody hell once again—the pool of solidified dark red blood, the blood-soaked gravel, the shattered wreckage, the air so thick it seemed like it could squeeze out stinking grease.

The blood drops dripping from the blades and shields of those stone-silent skeleton warriors merged silently into the red mud under their feet, forming an absurd and heavy mural of death painted by him himself.

He took a deep breath, and the strong smell of death pierced his nostrils like countless fine needles, making him dizzy. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to drive out the horrific image of Duke almost split in half, his organs exposed, from his mind.

"Dig a hole." Wu Ye's voice, tinged with suppressed fatigue, broke the suffocating silence like a heavy millstone grinding across a stone trough. "Bury them all..."

The command was given, and dozens of cold skeletons suddenly sprang to life like the most delicate clockwork. Without hesitation or question, they sprang to life. Rusted weapons and white finger bones became the most efficient digging tools, crudely carving shallow pits in the blood-soaked sand. The creaking of iron against gravel and the rustling of bones against hard earth echoed eerily in the deadly silence of the canyon, only accentuating the gruesomeness of this killing field.

They moved swiftly, with a chilling efficiency that disregarded life and death, pushing the bodies that had once roared and screamed - whether intact or broken - into the pit like discarded garbage and quickly buried them.

Wu Ye turned his back on the ritualized "funeral." The weight of personally burying those he had slain—even if they were enemies he had wielded with his own sword—felt far more overwhelming than tearing apart any hideous demon. His stomach felt empty, the violent vomiting draining away everything, leaving only a burning weakness. The intense emotional turmoil and the crushing impact of the slaughter had left fatigue hanging like a heavy lead weight through his limbs. He had to leave this canyon, which exuded the thick scent of death from within.

"Thorion..." The name was like a poisoned ice bullet, fiercely ground between his teeth, a mixture of icy hatred and intense vigilance. Regular troops disguised as despicable bandits, setting up a checkpoint at the throat of Westmarch, were no accidental skirmish on the border.

"These soul-desecrating deeds truly involve powerful figures." Duke's last words echoed in his mind—"Lord Thorien was right..." A name that could fill the final breath of such a fierce desperado with such certainty must possess an influence far beyond that of any ordinary general. Westmarch's "Butcher General"? Simply to suppress Rogge's expansion? No, Wu Ye instinctively sensed something deeper, something far more sinister. He instinctively raised his head, looking in Branwell's direction. Even in the blazing afternoon sun, the lighthouse's silhouette resembled a massive, solidified shadow, casting an unsettling shadow.

"Sure enough, no matter which world," Wu Ye muttered to himself, his voice low but remarkably clear, as if he were thoroughly reckoning with the tiny fantasy of peace deep within his soul. "The fangs of our fellow creatures in human skin are far more insidious and deadly than those unscrupulous demons in hell." The demon's malice is pure fire, visible and tangible. Meanwhile, human conspiracies, shrouded in layers of disguise, lurk in the shadows, waiting for the opportunity to deliver a despairing blow. This cold realization chilled his fingertips.

He needed to rest. Forcing himself to rest, Wu Ye unfolded the heavy sheepskin map once again. His fingers trembled slightly as he moved across the rough surface, avoiding the nauseating spots marked "Branwell" and "Rust Iron Canyon." His gaze searched the northwest of the canyon, finally settling on the edge of an area marked "Whispering Wind Woods." There, a thin blue line marked a stream. The terrain was slightly higher than the despairing valley floor, offering a wide view. Most importantly—it should be far beyond the thick scent of blood.

"Right here..." Wu Ye pressed his finger firmly on a small mark beside the stream, calmed himself down, and gave orders to the skeletons that had completed the burial work.

"Let's go..."

Without even glancing at the newly covered graves behind him, he resolutely turned and set foot on the path leading out of the bloody canyon with heavy steps. The soles of his boots rolled over the dark red gravel, sinking deeply with each step.

At the edge of Whispering Wind Wood, a clear stream gurgled among the pebbles. A few birch trees stood sparsely by the water's edge, their leaves already tinged with pale gold in the cool early autumn air. The crisp sound of the water and the slightly salty breeze finally washed away the horrible, bloody smell that had settled in my nostrils.

Wu Ye practically stumbled to the stream's edge, kneeling on the smooth, pebbled bank. He scooped up icy water with both hands, splashing it onto his face and scrubbing vigorously. The cold stung his skin, trying to dispel the bloody, sticky feeling that seeped into his bones. He scooped up the water and frantically rinsed his mouth, over and over, until his oral mucosa was aching from the cold and the rough friction. Only then did he stop, panting.

He found a large, flat rock, slightly warmed by the afternoon sun, and sat down against the tree trunk. Fatigue washed over him like a heavy tide. His eyelids felt like a thousand pounds, and every bone in his body cried out with aching pain, but he didn't dare truly close his eyes.

As soon as he lowered his eyelids, Duke's eyes, bulging with terror and resentment before his death, the sickening gleam of his internal organs in the sunlight, the blood dripping from the blades of the skeleton warriors, and the twisted shapes of the roughly buried wreckage... it was like the most hideous painting, with sticky blood and screams, bombarding his consciousness in turn. His stomach churned again, but he couldn't vomit anything, only waves of empty pain.

Half hazy and half tormented, Wu Ye suddenly remembered the portable cooking utensils in his backpack. He struggled to retrieve them: a delicate cast iron frying pan, several collapsible bone china bowls, and a bag of powdered mixture of cumin, pepper, and some spicy plant seeds. Vera and Leah's faces seemed to resurface before him. He was glad he wasn't alone anymore. Perhaps this was what people call happiness?

The warmth brought by this thought fueled him as he gathered some dry wood and used magic to start a fire. (While it wasn't a skill, magic certainly could do these things.) He watched the dancing flames lick the dark bottom of the pot, gradually warming the remaining aroma of the food. He pulled out a piece of mutton steak, its fat and lean flesh beautifully marbled around the edges, exuding a natural, healthy flavor.

The cutlets were placed in the heated frying pan, and immediately an alluring sizzling sound was heard. The fat oozed out, and they quickly became golden and crispy. Wu Ye skillfully sprinkled some of the mixed spices Vera had given him on them.

Immediately, a rich, appetizing aroma of cumin and a complex, salivating peppery fragrance erupted, instantly overpowering the lingering scent of blood on his body and even in the air! This incredibly lifelike, authentic aroma of fireworks, like the most powerful cleansing spell, fiercely clashed with the bloody images swirling in his mind. The rising wisps of spicy smoke were the breath of life, the proof of being alive, a stark contrast to the bloody hell in the canyon behind him.

He skewered the sizzling steak, crispy on the outside and tender on the inside, blew on it gently, and cautiously took a bite. The hot, juicy flavor exploded on his tongue, the chewy texture blending with the complex, rich aroma of spices, surging from the tip of his tongue all the way to the depths of his stomach! As if his body were responding to the call, an unprecedented hunger suddenly awakened, overwhelming any nausea and discomfort. He practically wolfed down the not-so-small steak.

Just as Wu Ye's stomach was gradually soothed by the satisfying feeling, his tense nerves relaxing a little, the skeleton suddenly moved. It spun around, facing downstream, its skeleton in a defensive posture. The soul fire in its eye sockets instantly burned brighter, flickering with a vigilant light.

"Rustle..." From the edge of the denser and darker woods on the other side of the stream, came the clear sound of cloth rubbing against leaves, as if some uninvited guest was quietly approaching, breaking the temporary peace.

The bushes on the other side of the stream shook violently, and two nimble brown figures suddenly rushed out! A sturdy doe, carrying a clearly immature and somewhat unsteady fawn, jumped panickedly over the exposed tree roots by the stream.

The doe's big, moist eyes were full of vigilance. It didn't even have time to see the humans and the white skeletons by the stream. It just instinctively sensed the breath of danger, let out a short neigh, and gently nudged the fawn's flank with its head, urging it to run faster.

The fawn stumbled in confusion, and then was carried by its mother into the denser and darker woods downstream without looking back, leaving behind only a few trampled fern leaves and the fleeting fresh scent of grass and trees in the air.

Wu Ye's tense nerves suddenly relaxed, his shoulders slumping slightly. He twitched his lips in self-mockery. For a moment, he'd even thought it was Thorien's pursuers or some even more bizarre, blasphemous creation. The blazing soul fire in the Skeleton Brother's eyes slowly subsided, returning to a steady, dark blue. He silently withdrew from his defensive stance, his greatsword propped against the ground, standing silently at his side like the most loyal sentinel. He had been remarkably quiet throughout the entire process, as if he knew exactly what to do in this situation.

The hastily fleeing figures of the mother and calf deer were like a stream of fresh water, briefly easing the blood-soaked blood in his mind. Life, vibrant yet fragile, still struggled to survive in this ravaged land. This realization brought a faint comfort, but it also intensified the nausea that lingered in his stomach—he had just participated in a ruthless harvest of his own kind.

He sat back down on the warm rock, his gaze fixed on the half-eaten steak in his hand. The fat had solidified, the crispy edges turning cold and hard. The hunger and the brief peace brought by the smell of smoky food seemed to dissipate considerably after being interrupted by this sudden interruption. He mechanically took a bite, the delicious texture of the meat replaced by an inexplicable staleness, the taste like chewing wax.

"Heh..." He chuckled softly, not knowing whether to mock his own excessive nervousness or the tasteless dinner. He forced himself to stuff the remaining steak into his mouth, chewing and swallowing. His body needed energy, no matter his mood. He pulled out his water bag and took a few gulps of the icy stream water, trying to wash away the grease in his throat and the heavy, stagnant feeling in his heart.