The darkest clouds are gathering over the defenseless steppe land. An invincible evil is drawing near to the capital slowly and surely, and no one is able to stop it. Despite all the efforts of the authorities, panic is growing stronger every day. And how could it not, if every resident understands that without a strong army, hundreds of throwing machines, and thousands of expensive alchemical shells, the city is doomed.
Many believe the man has completely lost his mind, because he has only four catapults and a crowd of ragged men—who belong on a church doorstep, not on a battlefield. According to everyone, with such a bleak situation, he should not be playing with “toy soldiers,” but rather running away, without looking back, as fast and as far as possible.
But I don’t agree with that opinion.