The volley continued, arrows rained into the valley, striking soldiers with no time to flee or react. There was nowhere to run.
Charging toward Blanc and his Wardens meant being cut down by incoming fire. Turning the other way offered no escape either.
Only the unyielding wall of a hundred thousand men blocked the way.
Those who realized the attack was coming from behind found their only salvation behind the tree trunks, which offered just enough cover to avoid being riddled by the storm.
But the assault didn't relent.
Arrows came down from all sides, filling the air with death.
"Do not stop until your quivers are empty," Blanc growled, and with one swift gesture, loosed another.
It sang through the dawn air with a ghostly whistle, leading the charge of two thousand more arrows, falling like a summer rain upon the valley before planting itself into the neck of a soldier, blocking his airways and making him choke on his blood.
"My love," began Celine, "I will soon run out of arrows."
"We are running short, too," added Ponca, "What do you suggest, Young Lord?"
After a few seconds of thinking, in which he sent two more arrows and two more soldiers to the Vita, he replied, "Advance slowly. Hold the line. Pick up any arrows from the fallen and keep firing. If they try to fight up close, show them we know how to use swords too!"
"As you command. Advance!" replied Ponca before yelling his orders.
They advanced slowly, a few steps into the valley at a time before sending another arrow. And halfway through, the arrows ran out. So, they put the bows aside for a little while and drew their swords.
Seeing this, the hidden soldiers and some of the ones that were stuck in the back saw their chance to escape or snuff out one of their worries.
So, they formed a few defensive lines behind the hundreds or thousands of soldiers who lay dead or wounded on the ground from their arrows.
The rest of the army, which continued unaware or trying to escape the barrage coming from above, rushed forward without thinking about their allies, leaving them behind.
As the defending soldiers and Blanc, Celine, and the Wardens came face to face, Blanc took a look at the enemies in front of them.
They did not look so scary now as before. Not to him, nor the rest of the Wardens. They saw them bleed and die as swiftly as a pesky fly.
They were not nightmares incarnate. No… they were men. Weak men. You could see it in their wide, scared eyes.
"Surrender, or forfeit your worthless lives," Blanc spoke as authoritatively as possible, sword at the ready.
"Who are you?" asked an enemy who had his curved sword in a defensive stance.
"I am Blanc of Blood Denegis, second son of Elion Denegis. And what are you, vermin traitor?" sneered Blanc.
"My name is," began the soldier, but soon got interrupted by Celine.
"We do not care who you are, commoner. Are you anyone important?"
"No, I-" the soldier began, but his words never finished. With a single step and a swift horizontal slash, Celine's sword detached his head from his shoulders, sending the rest of his body crumpling to the ground.
"Celine dear," Blanc began, half confused, and half shocked as to where the scared Celine from a few hours before had gone. As he pulled her back behind the Wardens who kept guard, "perhaps he would have said something important."
"It sounded boring to me, my love. He would have tried to beg for his life without any information as a chip to bargain with," replied Celine, showing just a flicker of regret before breaking free of Blanc's grasp. "We cannot give them a chance to regroup, nor to draw more soldiers' attention to us. They would do anything to keep themselves alive."
"And what if they want to surrender?" replied Blanc.
"We kill them. Do you expect the important people in this vanguard army to be at the back?" she asked.
What is wrong with you, Celine? Blanc wanted to ask, but as he thought for an answer, she grabbed her hand for a moment, and only then did she feel her shaking. Celine was afraid. He realized.
She did not act so mighty and rash before because she found her courage. She did it just BECAUSE she did not have it. Just as he did.
"You truly are a noble's daughter, my love," said Blanc, as he pressed his hand on hers, "Very well, if they fight, we fight, if they surrender, we fight."
With Celine's nod, they stepped back to the front line.
"So, do you surrender or want to join your friends?" asked Blanc, pointing with his sword at the ground.
But the enemies did not answer him, standing their ground with all their might.
If they tried to retreat or take a few steps back, they would give the Wardens the distance needed to approach the fallen soldiers and pick up more arrows.
If they tried to rush into a fight, they would surely die. So, being at this crossroads in their fate, they chose to stand their ground, hoping for a mistake from Blanc's side.
Impatient with the standoff and irritated by the enemy's silence, Blanc hesitated. For a breath, he thought of his family, of death, of Celine behind him.
Then he remembered the people who died at these monsters' hands. So, he ran.
Sword-first, jumping over dead bodies and straight into the middle of the men who dared call themselves soldiers.
Celine and the Wardens, seeing their fiancée and Lord jump and fight, joined the fray, as they swung and swung, carving their way through flesh towards Blanc.
Celine, locked in combat with the enemy soldiers, looked almost otherworldly.
She spun. Slashed. Deflected every blow that came her way with the grace of a dancer, not a warrior.
Blanc had seen her fight before during their few sparring sessions. But this was different. This was real.
And in the heat of it, she moved like a fearless master. Every swing was precise. Every motion of hers, instinct.
And every swing left another body on the ground.
But even her brilliance couldn't shield her from the overwhelming numbers pressing in. Not all the Wardens had reached the fight yet, and that disadvantage showed.
A curved sword, aimed at her blind spot as she struck another foe, was unstoppable.
At least, it would have been. Had it not struck someone else instead.
Blanc.
Who threw himself in front of her, taking the blow directly to his right shoulder, letting the blade pierce him in her place.
"Good morning," Blanc smiled through the pain, hot blood dripping from his shoulder.
Then he drove his blade home, piercing the enemy's neck, "And good night."