The cold air chilled all around him but it did not affect him. It would take more than a cold breeze to take his gaze away from the battlefield. It was a small battle to be had, nothing more than a small insurgency, but it still took all of his focus. He did recall himself for a moment when he heard the sound of a footman running to where he stood.
“My Lord Garen!”
At the sound of his name, Garen turned and saw the soldier, out of breath and kneeling a few steps away. He spoke clearly with power emanating from his voice, “Speak freely soldier.”
The footman collected himself and spoke, “Sir, the Vanguard is ready to move out on your command.” Garen nodded to the soldier and dismissed him as his gaze returned to the snowy field before him. Demacia was beautiful this time of year and he would hate to see it soiled by those who would raise arms against his great nation. He brushed a small pile of snow off of his spaulders before making his way toward his men.
As he walked through the camp, he took the time to inspect his gear one final time before the battle commenced. His golden armor, shining brightly, was neither too lose nor too tight. His enormous build would need the mobility during the fight. His gloves kept his hands warm but were not so full that he could not grip his sword. His breastplate was resting strongly against the torso that equaled the armor’s might. And finally, his sword gleamed with such purity that one could not believe it had been brought into so many battles before. He was nearing the edge of the camp where his elite fighting force was waiting for him. Fifty of Demacia’s strongest, battle hardened soldiers stood in formation waiting for the order. Garen couldn’t help but grin at the sight of each one of them as he recalled some miraculous feat they had performed in order to earn a spot amongst the ranks of the Dauntless Vanguard.
Garen came to a halt in front of his men. He was about to open his mouth to speak when the sound of a horn came echoing from the other side of the field. Garen, along with his men, turned their heads to see an endless horde of barbarians emerge over a hilltop, charging towards their position. Garen smiled at the sight and returned to his men.
“Gentlemen!” He spoke with such confidence and power that the men were more interested in him than the army of the enemy bearing down on them. “My brothers of Demacia! We have come here today to defend our home from these ruffians who seek to dismantle our great nation.” The Vanguard grunted in unison at the idea of defending their home. He seized their attention and pointed his sword towards the enemy, “Look at them. The enemy outnumbers us five to one.” Garen shook his head and spoke through a slight chuckle, “A shame that the odds could not be in their favor.” The men laughed themselves as they looked, almost feeling pity, at the enemy that drew closer. “We have a home to defend today. We know how to defend her and above all we know why we defend her. But the real task,” he paused for dramatic effect, “is to give them a reason to fear her!” The men howled with anticipation, “Let us go and show them the Might of Demacia!”
The men let out an intense, unified battle cry and began to charge behind Garen. The enemy had nearly reached their camp by the end of Garen’s speech that if it were a different commanding officer, he may have been worried. But not Garen. He saw the enemy and he did not tremble nor did he not fear. He knew he was strong and he was ready.
Garen, “the Might of Demacia,” leaped into the air and brought his sword down to the ground.
The Battle had begun.