King Lamar of Flammehav could not find a place for himself: unlike King Kaldwind, who led his army with his own hands, this demon hid in his palace, together with his wife and daughter, and only helplessly watched as his lands fell, inch by inch, city by city, under the onslaught of his enemies. And what enemies! The people he had always considered weak, pathetic, despised, and whose race he was about to wipe off the face of the earth when he himself had declared war on their king, Derek Merkswerd! Almost without leaving the huge, red-lit hall, sitting on his high, elegant throne, Lamar was desperately trying to think of a way to take back his lands, but all his plans and orders were only making things worse. And the king knew that the reason for the fall of Flammehav was himself: it was he who did not consider it necessary to teach military tactics and training to his army or himself, because the demons had enough of their magic, which terrified their enemies. Before his army was indestructible, but not because his warriors were skillful, no: the reason for this greatness was their magic. Demons could inspire his enemies anything: penetrating their thoughts, they ordered them to kill their friends, and then themselves, telekinesis taking away from the enemy his weapon, whether it was a sword, axe, mace or knife, they directed it at the owner. Demons had never had to fight physically, for the deadly weapons were their magical skills. But now that, for some inexplicable reason, demons could not kill their enemies with magic, could not penetrate their minds and send fireballs at them, the humans and King Lamar himself were faced with a pitiful sight: the Flammehav army was nothing more than an ordinary collection of awkward individuals who had never held a real weapon. Yes, they were stronger than humans and more agile, but that didn't save them from the professionalism of Derek Merkswerd's rage-obsessed army. Demons were unable not only to destroy the enemy, but also to defend themselves and their homeland from him. These proud creatures, previously unknown to defeat, fell at the hands of mortal men like flies at the hand of a giant. The remnants of Flammehav's army and population, streaming into the capital city of Roevann in search of refuge, were gripped by despair and the sheer terror of being exterminated, which was indeed the goal of their enemy. They pleaded with King Lamar to offer peace to the people, but he stubbornly stood his ground, unwilling to humiliate himself in his own eyes. After all, who would he be, the proud powerful Lamar Rossi, if he signed a peace treaty with the enemy? It will not happen! There is still hope! His army will never give up the great capital of Roevann to the wretched mortals! And, filled with refugees who had lost everything, wounded men screaming in pain, and children screaming in terror, Røvann prepared for battle.

– Father!" young Sylvia, Lamar's daughter, burst into the throne room in a whirlwind. Her beautiful red eyes burned with indignation. – This has gone too far! The men have surrounded Ruwann! They stand beneath our walls, ready to wipe us off the face of the earth!

– I know that," he replied tiredly, lifting his head and looking at his daughter. – But do not lose hope: soon we will find out what prevents us from using magic, and we will drive these mortals away from Røvann, then we will regain our lands, and then we will rush into Kaldwind like a bloody tornado. The people will pay for every life taken from my subjects.