The rebels in front of the command post were frantically piling up sandbags.
Several soldiers who had just escaped from the direction of the barracks were mixed in with the ranks. Their clothes were still smoking when the commander grabbed them by the collar and shoved them behind sandbags, cursing incoherently.
Behind the sandbag bunker were three flintlock guns, and the gunman was loading gunpowder into them, his fingers trembling so much that gunpowder powder and alcohol were scattered all over the ground.
Someone was shouting, "Have you seen reinforcements at the north gate?" Someone else was shouting, "Turn the searchlights to the intersection!" The shouts overlapped, and no one could hear anyone else.
Three people emerged from the shadows at the crossroads.
The gunners behind the sandbag bunkers were the first to open fire.
Three lead bullets left three straight trails of gunpowder smoke in the air, flying towards the person walking at the front.
The three easily dodged, and before the gunner could even reload a second shot, Roy had already flipped over the sandbags above him and landed inside the bunker.
Upon landing, he slashed with his sword, and the fire commander and the two loader men beside him fell to the ground simultaneously.
The rebels on the other side of the sandbag hurriedly turned their blades around, but Roy parried the curved blade coming straight at him with a backhand slash, and then slammed his left fist into the face of the man wielding the blade. The sound of the man's nose collapsing as he fell backward was like the sound of a walnut being crushed.
Roy turned around and slashed his longsword in a half-arc from his waist. The second man was cleaved in two, his sword and hand severed. The third man's scimitar was still in its sheath when the tip pierced his chest.
Mila walked past Roy with light, quick steps, as if crossing her own living room. A rebel soldier who had just rushed out from the porch of the command post swung his knife at her. Before the blade was even in mid-air, Mila's knife had already plunged into his abdomen.
As she drew her knife, she flicked her wrist, the blade slashing horizontally. The man screamed and fell against the porch pillar, blood splattering onto the pillar and then flowing down the sandstone's texture.
The rebels who rushed out from the other side of the porch saw this scene and slowed their pace by half a beat. Half a beat later, they slashed.
Mila's blade sliced diagonally across the side of his neck, so fast that it left no trace of pause on the blade.
He clutched his neck and collapsed on the steps, rolling down two steps before coming to a stop.
Barlow ascended the steps, his blade lacking any sweeping arcs, instead displaying an extremely short and precise trajectory. With one strike, he pierced the gap between the hilt and wrist of the rebel directly in front of him, the blade passing past the wrist bone and dissipating all the opponent's grip on the knife. With a second, he smoothly slashed upwards, the back of the blade striking another rebel's temple with just enough force to instantly render him unconscious.
He stepped over the fallen rebels and pushed open the door to the command post.
The lobby on the first floor originally contained a few makeshift desks, on which lay a map of Alabasta and several handwritten reports on troop movements.
Several officers on duty stood up when they heard the shouts of battle outside, knives in hand, blades facing the door.
They saw the three people walk straight in through the front door, as if they were coming home.
The man at the front wore a desert cloak, while the two men behind him were covered in varying degrees of blood and scorch marks, but their steps were calm and their breathing steady.
The officers on duty exchanged glances, then without hesitation, drew their swords and charged forward.
Barlow took a step to the left, Mila cut in from the right, and Roy crashed right in from the front.
The first floor fell silent for a short time. The sounds of clashing blades, the muffled thuds of officers falling to the ground, and the tremor of a scimitar being knocked away and embedding itself in the wall all overlapped in a compressed period of time, and then abruptly stopped.
The three of them went up the stairs.
The doors on both sides of the second-floor corridor were pushed open one after another, and the rebel officers who rushed out were either still fastening their belts with one hand, or barefoot, or holding knives but with the blades not fully drawn.
When they saw the figure coming up the stairs, their reaction was unanimous: no one retreated, no one begged for mercy, and no one hesitated.
The glint of blades flashed repeatedly in the narrow corridor, and new dark red patterns were splashed onto the sandstone reliefs on the corridor walls.
Barlow stopped in the middle of the corridor, waiting for Roy and Mila to take down the last resistance fighter before continuing up to the third floor.
There is only one door on the third floor.
The door was made of thick oak. There used to be a brass plaque hanging on the door frame, but it was pried off, leaving only four screw holes.
The door was ajar, and a faint candlelight shone through the crack.
Barlow pushed open the door.
This is a spacious office, somewhat similar in layout to the president's office at the headquarters of the Water 7 Chamber of Commerce. A large, sturdy desk is placed by the window, with Katya defense map spread out on it. Next to the map is a brass desk lamp with the light dimmed.
A rebel-backed Rapier Sun Flag hung on the wall. Below the flag was an empty liquor cabinet, one of the glass doors of which had been shattered, and the broken glass was still piled up at the base of the cabinet, unswept away.
The window was a large, arched window that covered the entire wall, and outside the window was the still-burning military camp south of Kataya Town.
The Kakkō shone through the windows, casting a flickering, dark red glow over the entire office.
The commander stood by the window.
He stood with his back to the door, his hands behind his back. He was tall and thin, and the Kakkō from the window cast a deep shadow on his profile, between his jawline and chin. His face was expressionless.
The sound of Barlow pushing open the door didn't make him turn around.
As Roy and Mila spread out to stand on either side of the doorway, he didn't turn around.
He stood by the window, looking at the sea of fire, his gaze calmer than that of a commander who had just lost his entire camp.
Then he turned around, walked back to his desk, pulled out a chair, and sat down calmly.
He closed the defense map on the table, pushed it aside, then placed his hands on the table, clasped them together, and looked up at the three people who walked in.
"You guys are amazing." His voice was hoarse, his speech slow but steady, "The three of you turned this place upside down."
"
Barlow stood across the desk, looking at the commander with an appraising gaze. He was around forty years old, thin, with prominent cheekbones and calluses on his knuckles from years of holding a knife.
There was no fear, no anger, not even weariness in his eyes, only a kind of serene relief.
"Your barracks are gone; the entire garrison in the town is either dead or has fled."
"Your reinforcements won't arrive until noon tomorrow at the earliest. You should know very well that you can't hold this town."
The commander did not deny it. He leaned back in his chair, took his hands off the table and placed them on his knees, his posture relaxed, as if he were chatting with a colleague who had come from afar.
"Since you're standing here, you must know that Katya is now in the rebels' territory. Even if the three of you can take this town, you can't take Alabasta."
"Whether we can take Alabasta or not is a matter for later. Right now, we need to know one thing." Barlow's voice was not loud, and his pace was neither hurried nor slow.
What are Prince's next plans for Alubarna?
The commander looked at Barlow, a smile slowly appearing on his lips, and then shook his head.
You won't get anything out of me.
Barlow's brow twitched slightly.
He was somewhat surprised. He had seen too many people driven to the brink of despair; some would break down, some would beg for mercy, and some would trade intelligence for their lives.
But this man, sitting behind his desk, facing three men who had just wiped out his entire garrison, spoke as if refusing a cup of tea.
"Is Prince really that worth it?" Barlow asked.
The commander pushed his chair back half an inch and leaned back slightly.
His gaze passed over Barlow's shoulder, looked at the Rapier Sun Flag on the wall, stared at it for a moment, and then looked away.
"I endorse Prince's ideals and am willing to die for him."
His tone was calm, without any impassioned rhetoric or clenched vows; he was simply stating a fact.
"Don't be surprised, sir. You just haven't met Prince. If he were here right now, telling me 'Let's do it,' I'd go to hell with him."
Barlow paused for a moment, mentally underlining the name Prince.
"What a pity."
A person who can calmly face death in dire straits is a rare commodity in any camp.
Barlow took a step back, and Mila stepped forward behind him.
She stood directly in front of the desk, just an arm's length away from the commander.
The commander's gaze shifted from Barlow to Mila, pausing slightly when he saw her face.
The face was so young that it was hard to reconcile it with the screams that had just come from the direction of the market. Then he saw her eyes.
Three Tomoe floated above his scarlet pupils, slowly rotating. The edges of the Tomoe began to blur, elongate, and merge, until he could see nothing at all.
His pupils lost focus, his facial muscles gradually relaxed from a calm and composed state, his lips parted slightly, and his fingers twitched unconsciously on the table.
A very faint smile appeared at the corner of Mila's mouth.
She leaned forward slightly, placing her hands on the table, and moved closer to the commander's face, which was now in a daze.
Tell me everything you know.
Outside the window, the Kakkō in Kataya Town gradually dimmed.
The ruins of the barracks were still smoking, the smoke rising into the air under the moonlight before being dispersed by the desert night wind.