William's mind raced. He had no idea who those figures were or why they sought him, but their threat was clear. They were sending scouts to hunt him down. He considered his options, his heart pounding against his ribs like a trapped bird.
'What kind of scouts?' he wondered, his gaze sweeping the desolate landscape. The demonic sword's words echoed in his mind. 'Necromancers...'
He recalled the grotesque forms of the zombies he had slain, their unnatural movements, their vacant eyes. A chilling realization dawned on him.
'Could the zombies be their scouts?' he thought, a shiver running down his spine. 'They were the only monsters I faced, and I didn't see anyone else...'
The best explanation he could find was that the scouts were the zombies, or the hand that had pulled him into the water, but zombies were more likely. He had to avoid them and any other creatures that might come his way. But how?
