Gunpowder Plate Armor and the Magic Revolution

"Let them say what they want, we'll take our exams. We're almost graduating, why should we care about them?"

Nozer raised an eyebrow nonchalantly. "Captain Lyman only looks at our effective hit count and whether our movements are standard. He wouldn't fail me just because I'm in your group, would he? Besides, the assessment results are my own, and other people's gossip shouldn't affect my graduation grade."

As he spoke, he raised the sword in his hand and gestured with his chin toward the registration desk. "Shall we go? If we don't register soon, the teaching assistants will start random assignments, and we won't even have a chance to team up."

Looking at the composure and seriousness in his eyes, Andrew felt as if something that had been tense for more than a decade had been gently bumped in his heart.

He was used to being ostracized, isolated, and deliberately avoided. Even in class group assignments or training pairings, no one was ever willing to choose him, even if his scores were far higher than others.

Moreover, this final exam, which is crucial for graduation and future prospects, is something everyone wants to stay as far away from as possible.

He was silent for a moment, then nodded solemnly, his voice still low but filled with gratitude, "Okay, thank you, Stella."

"No need to thank me, just don't hold back during the fight later."

Noze chuckled and patted his arm before turning and walking toward the registration desk. Andrew, carrying his sword, quickly followed beside him. "By the way, just call me Noze."

As expected, whispers erupted around them.

"Are you crazy? Noze Stella actually sought out that Kurt for a pairing test?"

"Lieutenant Colonel Hoffman and Captain Lyman had just identified him as a promising talent, and now he's associating with a 'traitor.' Doesn't he fear it will affect his own evaluation?"

"Who cares? One's a 'magical genius,' the other's a desperate Kurt. Maybe it'll be quite a show when they start fighting..."

Those words drifted over on the wind, and Andrew paused, looking up at Norze again.

But Norze, walking beside him, seemed not to hear him at all. He didn't stop walking and even turned around to urge him, "If we stay any later, we won't be able to get an early match. Let's finish this as soon as possible."

The tension and unease in Andrew's heart dissipated almost instantly.

The two walked to the registration desk, where the teaching assistant looked at them with obvious surprise, repeatedly confirming, "Are you sure you want to pair up as partners for this assessment?"

"Sure."

Nozer nodded, his tone crisp.

"Sure."

Andrew echoed in response.

The teaching assistant hesitated for a moment, then looked down and crossed out the two names on the roster, registering them in the first group. The groups that were originally ahead of them were still wearing their armor and chatting, while the two of them were the fastest to register.

Just after registration was completed, the door to the inner area opened, and Captain Lyman came out, clearly having just finished explaining something to Lucas.

He glanced at the register, then looked up at Noze and Andrew standing together, a hint of surprise flashing in his eyes, but he said nothing. He simply raised his voice and announced to everyone in the arena, "Group one, Noze Stella, Andrew Hart, assessment site number one. You may now put on your protective gear. Once you are ready, the assessment will begin."

Lucas, with a "I knew you'd team up with him" look on his face, grinned at Norze and made a hook punch gesture, meaning that Norze should beat Andrew 2-0.

Norzell and Andrew exchanged a glance, then turned and walked toward the armor rack beside them.

Three-quarters of the armor on the shelf were used by previous trainees. The steel breastplates had many scratches and holes, and the straps of the shoulder and arm armor were also worn, but they were still sturdy and could firmly protect the torso and most of the limbs, leaving only a few fatal gaps as effective attack points.

Norze first picked up the breastplate and struggled to put it on, only to find that he couldn't reach the straps on his back. Just as he was standing on tiptoe, Andrew, who was standing next to him, took the straps and said, "Let me help you."

Noze paused for a moment, then turned around and showed him his back. "That's great, I was just worried about not being able to reach it."

Andrew helped Norze tighten and secure the straps of his breastplate little by little, with just the right amount of force—not too loose so the armor would wobble, nor too tight so he couldn't breathe.

"alright."

After tying the last bandage, he muttered something under his breath.

Thanks.

Nozer turned around, picked up the breastplate next to him and handed it to Andrew. "Here, let me help you. It's really hard to put this on by yourself."

Andrew took the armor without refusing, turned his back to him, and asked him to help him fasten the straps on his back.

He copied what Andrew had done, tightening the straps little by little and adjusting the position of the breastplate to ensure it wouldn't affect his power.

The training hall was filled with the crisp sound of armor plates clashing and the noisy chatter of trainees greeting each other, but the two of them stood out with an incongruous quietness beside the armor rack.

Without exchanging any extra words, they tacitly helped each other adjust their protective gear, checking the tightness of the straps and adjusting each armor plate to the most suitable position.

After a while, both of them had put on three-quarters of their armor.

The steel armor carried a heavy weight, and the plates made a soft, clattering sound when they collided during movement. Nozer pushed the mask up on his head, waiting to take it off before going on stage.

He weighed the swift sword in his hand, looked at Andrew opposite him, and brandished the tip of the sword. "Ready? I won't hold back. If I lose too badly, Lucas will laugh at me."

Andrew tightened his grip on the sword, and seeing the smile in Nozer's eyes, he also managed a rare, genuine smile.

The referee was already in position on court number one and waved to the two of them, indicating that they could enter.

Noze took a deep breath, pulled down his mask and fastened it. The cold steel surface covered his face, leaving only a slit for observation. His field of vision narrowed instantly, leaving only his opponent opposite him and the sword in his hand.

Andrew also put on his mask, gripped his sword, and walked to the other end of the arena.

A few meters apart, the two met each other's eyes through the slits in their masks.

The referee raised his flag and shouted, "Both sides, get ready! First set, set—"

Many trainees who were putting on their armor stopped what they were doing and turned to look at Field Number One.

The referee abruptly dropped the flag he had raised. "Start!"

Norzer and Andrew simultaneously shifted to their side and assumed a stance, their military boots firmly planted on the oak planks beneath their feet. Both of them unanimously chose the safest army-style closed stance.

Wearing over ten kilograms of armor, a wide-open stance will only expose weaknesses. Only caution and probing are the key to armored combat.

The steel sword tips faced each other in mid-air, and even though they were three meters apart, they could feel the pressure emanating from each other's swords.