The man condemned to death, shackled in heavy iron handcuffs and guarded by four armed knights, walked through the noisy crowd that had gathered in the square to witness his execution. The man's head was proudly raised and he looked at the townspeople with contempt in his red eyes. It was impossible to read a single emotion on his pale handsome face. He had no fear of death.

– Death to the demon! Kill him, and slowly! Burn in Hell, you devil's spawn! – was heard from all sides, but the one at whom these words were thrown like stones only grinned. These ignorant people and their bastards would soon regret rejoicing in this celebration. Rejoiced in his execution.

The demon walked towards his death with a slow stroll: there was nowhere to hurry. Eternity awaited him. His tall, manly figure, clad in tattered rags that had once been clothes, towered over the townspeople as an unshakable iceberg rises above the noisy waves.

– Here you are, you monster! – A woman shouted, and a small but sharp stone struck the demon's face, scratching his cheek.

But the demon only laughed out loud. He was laughing: at the people gathered in the square, at the executioner waiting for him on the platform, at King Derek watching the execution from a beautiful box specially made for this event, at the nobles surrounding his king, at the magician who caused his capture and imminent death. On themselves.

The humans were not as weak as he had previously imagined. His dark magic had no effect on them. The gift of Darkness could not save him from death. But death was his pleasure, because he knew what fun awaited those wretched humans after his head was cut from their broad shoulders.

– Do you have one last wish? – Shouted the king to him.

But the demon did not dignify him with an answer or a glance.

– Kneel," the big, burly executioner said in a loud bass to his victim.

The demon did not move.

– On your knees! – The executioner roared and struck the demon's leg with a huge boot with an iron toe.

The red-eyed beauty fell to his knees and laughed. A moment later, his head flew straight into the crowd, leaving behind a spray of red blood.

The people cheered.

The demon had been killed.

This windless, sunny day should have brought an end to the misfortune.

But none of those who had gathered to watch the execution knew that by killing the demon, they had incurred the wrath of a great enemy who would seize any opportunity to bring destruction and death to the people.

– Your Majesty, there is a demon at the castle gate," Bergil said as he entered the king's chambers and bowed slightly.

Derek carefully ran his finger along the sharp blade of his heavy, broad sword, making sure it was sharpened properly, and then looked at his friend.

– Demon? – he grinned. – Another one? What brings him to us?

– He demands an audience with you," Bergil answered with the same grin.

– Demands? – The word made the king raise an eyebrow.

– Not just demands, but insists that you 'want' him.

– He does! – Derek laughed at that. – Well, that's a performance I don't intend to miss! Show him to the throne room.

– As chief of the guards, I must warn you of the possible consequences," Bergil frowned. – You know as well as I do what damned demons can do.

– I know, my friend, but rest your soul: from now on, the Devil's magic does not work here in Sturfjell or in all of Kaldwind. – The King put his sword back in its scabbard and added: "You're not used to the power of the White Talisman, are you?

– I remember the Talisman. Andrada did her best," grumbled the head of the guard. – But I did not know that all of Kaldwind was safe from those devilish creatures.

– My friend, you are the head of my castle's guard, and you should know everything that is going on around you," Derek smiled.

– My fault, Your Majesty. – Bergil bowed low, frustrated at his ignorance.

– Stop it," the king said to him briefly. – And I have told you many times that you may call me by my name in private.

– That's something I'm going to have to get used to. To the Talisman is fine, but after eight years in the service of King Juris, it's hard for me to call the king, that is, you, by his name.

– I may be king now, but to you I'm still the same Derek you fought alongside for eight years. Enough idle chitchat. Bring the demon to me: I'm curious," the king said as he approached his friend.

He bowed again.

– Whatever you say, Derek, but be on your guard.

– Without dark magic, demons are worthless. They're good mages, but they're not warriors," King Derek said mockingly, and headed for the throne room.

Bergil shook his head, disapproving of his lord's stubbornness and frivolity, for he had seen with his own eyes what Satan's own demon children could do. During its existence, the kingdom of red-eyed demons Flammehav crushed empires, killed millions of other creatures, greedily swallowed foreign lands and despised people for their weakness. Demons knew neither pity nor mercy and killed everyone who stood in their way, destroyed everything they saw fit to destroy. And why only Kaldwind – the kingdom of men had to be born here, on this land, in the neighborhood of Flammehav, whose inhabitants possessed the secrets of the darkest magic, which, according to rumors, learned from the Devil – their creator? It was the Devil who created these brats, for God himself weeps to see how many of his children have been killed by them.

"Oh, that Derek! He's strong as a bear, sure, but I'm still not leaving him alone with that demon. Let him not even ask!" – Bergil thought grudgingly as he descended the wide stone stairs into the courtyard.

– Give your weapons to the sentries," Bergil said rudely to the demon as he approached the strong iron gates guarding the way to the palace.

The demon grinned crookedly.

The demon wore neither armor nor helmet. He was dressed in a beautiful red coat, a snow-white shirt with a large black brooch around his neck, and black breeches. On his feet were tall red boots made of fine leather and decorated with gold patterns.

– Can't you see that I have no intention of killing today? – he said in a sarcastic tone that made Bergil's face flare.

The head of the guards gave the visitor a contemptuous glance: this red-eyed, black-haired demon was clearly mocking the people around him. On the beautiful face of the visitor could easily read the disgust, which, however, he clearly did not hide.

"I know what you hope for in case of conflict, you damn brat: your magic. But it won't hurt either of us this time, and it won't save your thin neck from my sword!" – Bergil grinned grimly.

– 'Follow me. And don't open your mouth until His Majesty addresses you first," he said curtly to the demon and, without turning around, strode quickly into the palace.

Still with the same crooked grin on his lips, the demon followed his guide. Despite his apparent disgust for the city of men and the men themselves, the uninvited visitor looked at his surroundings with his eagle eye and could not help but notice, albeit grudgingly, that perhaps the despicable men were not so poor and ignorant after all, since they were able to build such a beautiful but powerful palace on the inaccessible top of a high mountain, which was in the heart of the capital of Kaldwind – Sturfjell.

"It's cold here. Soon it will all turn to ruins and ashes. These bugs have no idea what awaits them in a couple of days," he thought contentedly as his leather boots tread silently on the light-colored stone of the palace. The demon was anticipating the destruction, fear and death that would soon reign in this kingdom of miserable mortals.