Charles's hand, gripping the sword, remained frozen in mid-air, the glint of light on the blade shimmering slightly, reflecting in his suddenly constricted pupils.
He could see the flag fluttering in the Kakkō.
It is Fan Flag, red on top and white on the bottom.
It is the symbol of the Uchiha.
He anticipated that the Uchiha Security Force might intervene in the war, but he didn't take it seriously.
How strong can a chamber of commerce's private armed forces be? They're just a few security teams.
But now, looking at the supply line that had been turned into a sea of fire, at the supply trucks stretching for miles along the trade route exploding in succession, and at the increasing number of Fan Flag emerging from behind the sand dunes in the black smoke, he realized that he had underestimated the enemy.
"Their advance is faster than expected." Charles slowly lowered his sword, the tip touching the iron ring on the forechest of the saddle.
"The intelligence is wrong. This Guard Corps didn't come from Water 7; they should have already assembled within Alabasta."
His tone remained as calm as that of a professional soldier.
Fisher's curses came from behind me.
He rushed out of the tent, his bald head gleaming in the distant Kakkō. He grabbed the binoculars from his chest, looked toward the supply line, and then smashed them on the ground.
"I told you so! I told you so!" He turned around and kicked over the empty ammunition box next to him, the wooden box rolling on the gravel with a dull thud.
Dorovich ran down the sand dune beside the command platform, his fat face jiggle with the rhythm of his run. He reached Charles, put his hands on his knees, and gasped for breath before looking up, his voice shrill. "Who's directing things over there? How many of them are there?"
Charles did not answer Dorovich's question.
He sheathed his sword, took a newly drawn map of the rear terrain from his adjutant, and spread it on his saddle.
His finger traced an arc along the direction of the trade route.
"They're positioned here, some distance from our rear. Their supply lines have been cut, but they don't have many troops."
"A Guard Corps, how many people can it carry in a few speedboats? At most a few hundred. We still have an absolute numerical advantage."
He looked up at Fisher, his gaze regaining its usual calm. "What's the panic? You're a pirate, you've fought so many naval battles, haven't you ever seen a merchant guild's private army before?"
Fisher was speechless at his words, opened his mouth, and found that he really couldn't refute it.
He had seen all sorts of mercenaries and merchant guilds on the Grand Line. There were some who could fight, but he could count the number of private armies that could withstand a regular army charge head-on on one hand.
He had heard of the Uchiha Security Force, but had never seen them in person.
He gritted his teeth, pulled the short spear from the ground, and held it in his hand.
"That would be best."
Charles folded the topographic map and stuffed it into his saddlebag, then drew his sword again.
"Keep the pressure on, the battering ram must not stop. Have two battalions from the rear turn around and engage the Guard Corps. Remember, they are outnumbered, surround them and attack, don't give them a chance to spread out their formation."
The messenger mounted his horse and galloped off, the horse's hooves making a series of rapid, clattering sounds on the gravel ground.
Charles raised his binoculars again. The hand-to-hand combat on the city wall was still at a stalemate, and the wood chips from the battering ram had piled up to an inch thick at the foot of the city gate.
What he didn't know was that he was about to pay the price for his contempt.
His first underestimation was of the Guard Corps's equipment.
Charles was adjusting the focus of his binoculars as the first rank of Guard Corps rolled over the dune ridge.
He expected to see a motley crew of soldiers in chamber of commerce uniforms, armed with machetes and shotguns, charging haphazardly, firing a few shots, and then running away.
What he didn't see were three rows of neatly arranged muskets, each a standard-issue weapon from the Capone family's West Sea arsenal. The barrels gleamed with the matte black sheen of new guns in the morning light, and the sights were uniformly calibrated, giving them a range a whole grade greater than the ragtag muskets the rebels had looted from the Yoba Armory.
A command was shouted from the sand dune, the voice crisp and clear, without any trailing tone.
The three platoons take turns firing, with the first platoon firing from a kneeling position, the second platoon firing from a standing position, and the third platoon loading and waiting to be deployed.
There were only brief intervals between each salvo, and the barrage was so dense that several platoons of the two rebel battalions that turned to meet the attack were swept down before they could even form a battle line from their marching ranks.
In the time it took the rebel soldiers to reload their muskets, the Guard Corps had already fired two rounds.
The rebel infantrymen at the forefront, swords in hand, were shot down one by one by volley fire before they even reached the Guard Corps.
Charles saw this through his telescope, and the usually calm smile on his lips slowly faded.
He also underestimated the fighting capacity of the Guard Corps.
After firing several volleys, the Guard Corps's Teuchi did not stop on the sand dunes to continue their position.
They slung their muskets over their backs, drew their standard-issue swords from their waists, and charged down the sand dunes.
Their charge was not a skirmish, a sudden rush; it was a standard tactical triangle formation, three men in a group, one in front and two behind, the one in front carrying a knife to clear the way, and the two behind providing cross-cover to the flanks.
The spacing between each squad was maintained with extreme precision, and the formation remained intact even while running.
When someone was shot and fell, someone immediately took their place, the speed of which was exactly the same as the tactical maneuvers of the elite Marine Corps.
When training this group of people, Roy used the Navy's physical fitness standards as the passing grade and incorporated the basic footwork of the Uchiha Style Swordsmanship into close combat subjects.
Those Guard Corps who make it through the patrol team's annual assessment have all undergone at least a year of rigorous elimination.
Those who are eliminated won't die, but they'll be sent to Rosa's place for logistics. Roy's exact words were, "Those who aren't strong enough will die sooner or later anyway, so it's better to be eliminated here and still live."
Once they got close, the Guard Corps' knife skills completely baffled the rebel soldiers.
Their usual opponents were militiamen who would wield knives and hack wildly, mercenaries who would stab with spears, and garrison troops who would exchange fire with muskets.
They had never encountered a private armed force before. Each of them wielded their swords with the same eerie rhythm, anticipating the direction of your swing and placing their blades in the path of your blade, so that you would collide with the blade when you slashed.
This is a simplified version of the Uchiha Style Swordsmanship. Roy removed the parts that required Chakra assistance, leaving only the most basic predictive footwork and hand-switching frequency.
Simplified as it may be, it's more than enough to deal with rebels who have only received formal training for a few days.
The two battalions of rebel troops were pushed from the sand dunes into the depressions on both sides of the trade route by the Guard Corps in less than the time it takes for an incense stick to burn.
Their much-vaunted numerical advantage was completely ineffective against the tactical triangle formation of the Guard Corps.
When the rebels huddled together and swung their knives, they often slashed their own men in the back, while the Guard Corps, in groups of three, blocked the exit of the depression, killing one person with a single blow, their movements so orderly it resembled an assembly line operation.
Charles finally realized he had made a mistake.
He subconsciously looked down on any non-formal employment.
He was a regular soldier, a true soldier who had received systematic training, was part of an official unit, had a designation, and carried a military flag.
Private armed forces? Just watchdogs for the chamber of commerce.
But the private army he was seeing was equipped almost like the kingdom's regular army, and their individual combat capabilities far surpassed those of the rebel elite forces. Their commander was not even present on the battlefield.
Meanwhile, Charles, the captain of the Alabasta Kingdom Guard and the chief commander of the rebels, was having his supply line slashed from behind by a merchant guild's Guard Corps, while also being repeatedly tormented by the city walls that he couldn't breach from the front and the three Uchiha who jumped down from the walls.
This wasn't the last straw that broke the camel's back.
The fact he had ultimately overlooked finally jumped out from the red crosses on the map and clearly surfaced in his mind at this moment.
The elite troops are attacking the city, while the Guard Corps is advancing along the trade route behind them.
His army was caught between two forces, attacked from both sides.