There was nothing they could do but watch the nightmares march beneath them, praying their concealment held.
But after seeing the Iron Line, doubt began to creep into the hearts of all present in the trees.
Their plan remained unchanged, regardless of how the soldiers below looked or dressed. But that did not change anything in their hearts.
Many of the Wardens in the trees, men and women alike, began weeping silently as they watched, but still made sure not to make a single sound that would attract the soldiers.
Yet despite its size, the Iron Line was far from unified. Many were arguing or cursing each other as they walked. Even fights erupted here and there during the hours.
Just as many were discussing trivial things or planning for their return home, talking about their kids, wives, what they missed eating, and making stupid jokes, among other conversations that could be heard as they passed below Blanc.
It unsettled him, hearing such ordinary conversations from soldiers who looked like walking nightmares. It felt like it did not make sense for nightmares, such as they were, to have anything remotely close to friends and loving families. They had destroyed who knows how many families nearby, and yet, spoke of their own with such ease.
They were not the same as he was. He was the son of a Noble Blood, had a loving family, a caring fiancée in his arms right now, and he wished to protect them all.
Yet these monsters below were commoners who threw aside everything this Empire offered them as soon as things changed, killing, pillaging, and Vita knows what other atrocities, and yet they still had something they wished to defend?
No... these were not men. Not anymore. Not to him.
It angered him deeply. The anger calmed his frightened heart and steeled his resolve for the plan ahead. There was no doubt in his mind. They all needed to die.
"Blanc," whispered Celine, clearly frightened, "Your heart feels steady. How?"
"Listen to them, hear their conversations," Blanc instructed, "Men with the heart of beasts and appearance of a nightmare. If you were to close your eyes and just listen to their words, you would think you were near a busy street. Talking about their wives and kids. Yet they killed and raped not half a day ago. These are not men, Celine."
"Do not do anything foolish, please," replied Celine, feeling Blanc's anger.
"Don't worry, my love. I won't risk the plan."
"Thank you," she said, her voice barely audible, her fingers brushing against his as if anchoring herself in him.
Two hours after midnight, and four hours since the Iron Line came into view, the sea of flames in front of them finally appeared to have an end in sight. And the number was astonishing.
If Blanc were to guess how many enemies were in the Golden Forest, he would have said easily a hundred thousand.
A number that he would never have imagined he would witness or have to fight against.
Yet this was also such a small portion of the entire Iron Line that he knew that if they failed to win against these, they would stand no chance against an army at least forty times their size.
He could not imagine an army larger than this being possible. Yet they were a few days away.
So, with a sharp breath, he steadied himself as he whispered, "My love, as agreed, we do not go down until a few minutes after the last of the enemy passes us."
"I know," she nodded, "I hope the others have not forgotten as well."
Another twenty minutes passed, watching as the last of the Iron Line kept on marching below them, and awaited the voices and sea of flames to fade as far away as possible.
Once they did, Blanc spoke, this time normally.
"Time to go," he said to Celine before whistling, imitating a bird.
The whistles echoed back. Confirmation. With a nod, Blanc and Celine began the silent, careful descent into darkness, with no light sources carried so as not to draw the attention of the soldiers.
"What now?" Celine asked once she managed to climb down from the tree.
"We keep our distance and follow them," Blanc replied. "Ponca, are you down?"
"Yes, Young Lord. They were worse than I thought they could be." Ponca said, clearly frightened.
"Indeed. But no time to waste. Tell the ones to your right to maintain their distance and follow the light. And tell them to pass the message," ordered Blanc.
"As you command," Ponca replied, before turning and speaking to the Wardens near him.
And, as the order traveled between the Wardens, Blanc and Celine began walking in the Iron Line's direction. Maintaining at least a mile between them and the enemy as they walked.
Even though it took them forty minutes to get here, it took the Iron Line three hours to advance almost the same distance, with the front of the enemy already nearing the entrance to the Golden Forest as per Blanc's calculations.
They maintained a clear visual on the enemy's back as dawn came, using the torches the soldiers carried throughout the night, making it easier for them to follow and remain unseen.
"We start approaching them slowly," ordered Blanc, "The others should begin their attacks soon."
"Young Lord," Ponca said, pointing with his head minutes later.
The direction he pointed towards was a valley in the forest that the Iron Line took.
The valley would have taken them directly near the entrance that Blanc and the rest had taken earlier. The valley was filled to the brim with the soldiers of the Iron Line, unable to advance further from the sheer number of people packed in that tight spot.
That, and what was likely happening at the front.
"And so, it begins," Blanc muttered, straightening his back.
"Young Lord," began Ponca, "Any words you wish I share with the rest of the Wardens?"
"Do not die. And may the Vita protect you all," replied Blanc, turning towards Celine.
"Are you ready?"
"Ready as one can ever be," Celine replied, a playful smile still on her lips despite the situation they were about to throw themselves into.
"Then you are better than I," Blanc said as he took her hand, "Be careful."
"You too, dear," she replied, giving him a small peck on the lips before turning her head towards the valley, nocking the first arrow in.
"Well then," Blanc began, nocking one of his own and pointing his bow towards the sky, "Rain death upon the bastards."
For a moment, the forest held its breath. Then Ponca's hand rose.
And as it fell, two thousand arrows soared into the valley, striking either tree trunks or flesh.
"Loose at will, leave none alive!" Blanc ordered at the top of his lungs.