Diablo traveled through time and became a necromancer

The firewood crackled in the fireplace, and the leaping flames cast warm orange dappled light on Wu Ye's face. He slumped lazily in the thick bearskin-covered armchair, his toes swinging idly, his gaze fixed through the frost-covered glass window at the swirling snowflakes outside. The harsh cold of Harrogath seemed to be kept out by this warm fortress, leaving only a drowsy sense of comfort.

"This awful weather... it's practically made for hibernation." Wu Ye yawned, took a sip of warm mead, the sweet liquid sliding down his throat, bringing a sense of comfort. "Skull Bro, wouldn't it be great if we could sleep like bears all winter long?"

Skeleton stood silently by the fireplace, his dark bone armor absorbing the heat of the fire, the soul fire in his eye sockets burning steadily. He didn't respond, but his jaw opened and closed silently, as if agreeing with his master's sentiments.

Meanwhile, thousands of miles away at the Rogue Encampment, the atmosphere was the complete opposite of this languid hibernation.

"boom!"

Kasha slammed her fist on the heavy oak desk, making the ink bottle on it jump. Deep blue ink splattered onto the open parchment war report, leaving a glaring stain. There was no trace of drunkenness on her face, only a furious rage, like a volcano about to erupt.

“Torion West! That bastard! Does he think I’m made of clay?!” Kasha’s voice was like ice scraping against steel, piercing and filled with murderous intent. She grabbed the ink-stained battle report, the paper crumpling in her hand. “A secret infiltration unit? Disguised as caravans and refugees? And they dared to sneak into my Rogue City?! Does he think his ragtag henchmen can fool us?!”

She abruptly looked up at Flavius, who stood beside her like a javelin. This adjutant, known for his calm and precision, now had a frosty expression on his face.

"Flavy!" Kasha shouted, "Pass on my orders!"

“Yes, Commander!” Flavi’s voice was firm and resolute.

"First! Effective immediately, Rogue City is on high alert! All personnel entering and leaving the city gates and checkpoints will be strictly checked! Anyone with an unknown identity or suspicious behavior will be detained! Better to arrest a thousand innocent people than let one guilty person go free! Tell those girls in charge of the checks to keep their eyes peeled! Anyone who dares to neglect their duties and lets in even a rat, I'll skin her alive!"

"Second! Issue a region-wide bounty! Any adventurer, mercenary, or even civilian who kills or captures infiltrators or cultists from Westmarch will receive a reward upon presentation of an insignia or token! Ordinary soldiers, fifty gold coins! Minion leaders, two hundred gold coins! Officers or cult leaders, five hundred gold coins plus a blue magic item! I want to see if Torion has more rats, or if my bounty is more!"

"Third! Send three times the number of scouts! Scour every forest, cave, and abandoned mine within fifty miles of Rogue City, like a comb! Report back immediately if you find any trace! You are allowed to annihilate them on the spot! Remember, 'annihilate them on the spot'! Leave no survivors! These scum don't deserve to be prisoners!" Kasha's eyes flashed with cold light.

"Something must have gone wrong in Harrogath! Otherwise, that mad dog Torion wouldn't be in such a hurry to send rats over here! Is he trying to fish in troubled waters? I'll chop off his outstretched paws first!"

"Yes!" Flavi accepted the order and turned to leave.

"Wait!" Kasha called out to her again, picking up the wine jug on the table and taking a large gulp. The spicy liquid seemed to slightly suppress her anger, but her eyes remained sharp as knives. "Tell Akara to use her Holy Light Sense to scan the camp for outsiders who have entered the city in the last month, especially those who claim to be from 'disaster-stricken villages' on the Westmarch border! That old fox, Torion, loves to play these kinds of 'self-inflicted injury' tricks!"

“Understood!” Flavi nodded emphatically and strode out of the command post. Soon, a sharp assembly whistle rang out over the camp, breaking the silence of the snowy night. Rogue warriors quickly assembled from their warm barracks and sentry posts; the clanging of armor, the drawing of weapons, and the urgent commands of their commanders mingled together, instantly filling the air with a tense atmosphere.

A traveler returning home on a snowy night

The night was deep, and the wind and snow intensified. At the north gate of Rogue City, the heavy iron-clad wooden doors were tightly shut, while torches atop the gate tower illuminated the falling snowflakes, making them appear like swirling silver dust. Rogue warriors on duty, clad in thick fur cloaks, vigilantly scanned the vast white snowfield beyond the city. The biting wind whipped snowflakes against their faces, bringing a chilling cold, but none of them relaxed their vigilance.

Suddenly, the sentry on the watchtower shouted in a low voice: "Something's up! One o'clock! There's someone in the snow!"

All eyes were instantly focused! In the distance, amidst the swirling snow, a staggering figure was struggling to move towards the city gate. The person appeared to be injured, staggering and trudging through knee-deep snow, leaving a crooked trail of blood behind them, starkly visible on the snow.

He wore a tattered, blood-stained, and muddy Westma standard chainmail, over which he haphazardly wrapped a thick cloak of indistinguishable color, the hood pulled low to cover most of his face.

"Alert!" the city gate squad leader immediately ordered. Archers quickly took their positions, their cold arrows aimed at the uninvited guest. A faint holy light flickered on the city wall; the accompanying clerics were preparing to dispel the spell.

"Halt! Who goes there?!" the squad leader shouted sharply, his voice piercing through the wind and snow.

The man seemed to have exhausted all his strength, collapsing to the ground about a hundred meters from the city gate, splattering blood and foam. He struggled to lift his head, revealing a face bruised and blue from the cold, covered in blood and grime, and utterly exhausted. His lips moved, his voice so faint it was almost drowned out by the wind:

“No…don’t shoot…I…I am Renard, centurion of the Third Border Guard Regiment of Westmarch…I…I have important intelligence…to see…Commander Kasha…Torion…He…he’s going to destroy…Harrogath…and Rogue…”

Before he could finish speaking, his head lolled to the side, and he lost consciousness completely.