Gunpowder Plate Armor and the Magic Revolution

Andrew unscrewed the kettle in his hand, took a sip of water, and the icy water slid down his throat, suppressing the burning sensation in his throat.

He looked at Noze, who was leaning against the horizontal bar beside him, hesitated for a long time, and finally asked the question that had been hidden in his heart, "You know I am...aren't you afraid?"

"What are you afraid of?"

Nozer turned his head, looked at the other person's pale face, and said seriously, "All I know is that you are Andrew Hart, the top scorer in the magic affinity test for the infantry department at Herbert Military Academy, and an infantry academy student who ranks at the top in every course, that's all."

Nozer didn't say anything more, just patted him on the shoulder, just like Lucas often did.

"I'm going over there with my friends to practice swift sword, do you want to come?"

Noze asked casually.

Andrew suddenly looked up, his eyes filled with disbelief.

He opened his mouth, about to agree, but then remembered something, his eyes darkened, he shook his head, and said softly, "...No, I have...things to do."

He was afraid that getting too close to Norze would cause him trouble.

Noze saw his concerns and didn't press him. "Alright, we'll head over now. If you want to practice swordsmanship or talk about magic later, feel free to contact me anytime."

After saying that, Nozer waved his hand and turned to walk towards Lucas.

Andrew stood there, quietly watching Norze's retreating figure.

A gust of wind blew in again, carrying the heat of summer.

He raised his head, and for the first time, a slight smile appeared on his pale face.

He looked down at the water bottle in his hand, then looked up at the horizontal bar in the distance, took a deep breath, turned around, jumped up again, gripped the bar, and continued to complete the rest of his training.

Meanwhile, Lucas looked at Nozer as he approached and said with a helpless expression, "I'm impressed with you. You really don't know how to stir up trouble."

Noze chuckled, picked up the wooden sword from the ground, and casually tossed it around. "It's no big deal, just handing over a bottle of water."

"Just you wait, tomorrow the whole school will know that the infamous Norse Stella of Storm has spoken to Kurt's 'traitor'."

Lucas rolled his eyes, but still struck a pose. "Fine, let them spread whatever they want. It won't do any harm anyway. Come here, I'll teach you some swift sword fighting techniques so that Captain Lyman won't beat you to a pulp next time."

Noze smiled, gripped the wooden sword in his hand, and assumed a standard high-level stance.

"Come on, I'm still looking forward to getting a perfect score in the final Swift Sword Armored Practical Test of the semester."

"Ha, then you're in for a tough time."

Sunlight streamed onto the training ground, the crisp clanging of wooden swords clashing together, mingled with shouts and the rustling of the wind through the ash trees in the distance, creating the most vibrant daily routine at the academy this summer.

-------------

In the late summer of the 45th year of the Federal Calendar [473rd year of the Imperial Calendar], it was the final week of the military academy term.

A faint, almost imperceptible smell of burning oil suddenly mingled with the herbal scent in the church's back chamber.

Sweat dripped from Noze's forehead down his jawline onto the stone tabletop. In his hand, he carefully threaded a magical thread through the skin of the frog's abdomen, precisely wrapping it around the ruptured blood vessel, and used a steady output of magic to burn and stop the bleeding.

Throughout the process, he breathed very softly, not even his fingertips trembled, for fear that the slightest deviation in the magic would roast the experimental frog's internal organs until they were crispy.

"stop."

Father Cisse's voice rang out from the side, and Noze immediately withdrew his magic, his fingertips still feeling a slight numbness from casting the spell.

He looked at the table. The wound on the frog's abdomen was clean and neat, with no excess bleeding, and there were no traces of magical burns on the surrounding muscle tissue.

"It's seven seconds faster than last week, and the error rate has dropped to zero."

Father Cisse put down his pocket watch, his grey-blue eyes filled with approval. "With your current precision, you're perfectly capable of handling common wounds and stopping bleeding on the front lines."

Noze let out a long sigh of relief, relaxed his body, and stretched his stiff shoulders.

More than half a month has passed since he became an apprentice. During this time, he would go to the church every afternoon after class. From the most basic identification of human tissues to the magical manipulation of ex vivo tissues, and then to the wound repair of living animals, Father Cisse's teaching was rigorous to the point of being harsh.

It was thanks to his biological foundation from before his transmigration, coupled with his almost abnormal talent for manipulating magic, that he was able to withstand this harshness.

"However, having enough and being able to use it skillfully to save lives on the battlefield are two different things."

Father Cisse picked up the gauze on the table and covered the experimental frog's wound. His tone became calm. "Back then, there were no quiet rooms, no stable tables. All you could hear were the roar of shells and the screams of the wounded. Stray bullets could fly in at any moment. At that time, being able to stay calm was the real skill."

Noze's expression also became more serious. In the past half month, rumors about the border had never stopped, and there had been "small-scale frictions" going on.

Recently, the students in the cafeteria have even started spreading terrifying rumors that "the Imperial Royal Sorcerers have reached the border and destroyed two border posts of the Federation," but these rumors have never been confirmed.

"Father, is war really about to break out at the border?"

Noze couldn't help but ask.

When Father Cisse heard this question, he remained silent for a few seconds before slowly speaking, "The more the enemy wants you to see something, the less likely it is to be true."

"You mean there won't be a fight yet?"

Noze breathed a sigh of relief.

"I'm just saying the battlefield is most likely not on the border, at least not now. Who knows what will happen later... After all, what world can have fifty years of peace?"

Father Cisse's tone remained calm, carrying a sense of detachment: "I can teach you the techniques, but whether you can survive on the battlefield and save lives still depends on your own calm judgment."

"I understand, thank you, teacher."

"You're welcome."

Father Cisse smiled, but a hint of melancholy lingered in his eyes. "I only hope that you'll see fewer lives slip through your fingers in the future."

When I came out of the church, the setting sun had already dyed the sky a deep orange-red.

As soon as I reached the entrance of the training ground, I heard the familiar sound of wooden swords clashing coming from a familiar corner.

Noze looked up and saw Lucas and Raymond standing at the corner of the training field. Lucas was holding a wooden sword and correcting Raymond's basic blocking movements little by little.

For the past two weeks, Noze has spent most of his free time practicing swordsmanship and physical fitness with Lucas at the training ground.

Of course, Raymond from the artillery department also had to prepare for the real sword test.