Gunpowder Plate Armor and the Magic Revolution

Nozer paused, scratching the back of his head, his tone uncertain: "Reporting to the Colonel, I... don't quite understand what you mean by 'more sophisticated magic'?"

He had only been in this world for half a month, and all his knowledge of magic came from this well-worn basic textbook; he knew absolutely nothing else.

Seeing his blank expression, Hoffman didn't beat around the bush and went straight to the question: "Then tell me, in the 18th year of the Federal Calendar, what were the four main categories of magic that General Richie officially divided into?"

This question happened to be right on Nozer's radar. He immediately composed himself, stood at attention, and answered loudly, "Reporting, Colonel! There are four categories: matter manipulation, elements, healing, and suggestion!"

The moment the words left his mouth, Nozer suddenly understood something. The confusion and bewilderment he had just felt vanished instantly, and he abruptly raised his head to look at Lieutenant Colonel Hoffman.

Of the four major categories of magic, object manipulation is fundamental and a required course for all spellcasters. There aren't many variations, but the simpler and more reliable something is, the more warriors love it.

Elemental spells, on the other hand, rely more on the total amount of magic power output in a short period of time, making them more strategically valuable and the most popular among young students.

This implies that the spell has a special threshold, taking the unorthodox path of mental manipulation. It is easy to get started, but extremely difficult to truly master it.

The remaining healing spells are precisely the category within the entire Federation's magic system that demands the highest precision in manipulation and allows the least room for error.

If an elemental spell misses, at most it's a waste of mana and you don't hit the enemy.

However, if the healing spell is even slightly flawed, the magic will tear apart the wounded's blood vessels and damage intact organs. A person who could have been saved will die on the operating table in the blink of an eye.

Veterans on the front lines often say that a lousy healing mage is more terrifying than an Imperial cannonball. It is precisely because the threshold for becoming a healing mage is so ridiculously high that healing mages in the Federation have always been extremely scarce.

Most young people with magical talent are willing to learn elemental magic, and no one is willing to endure the hardship and fatigue of learning healing magic.

"Lieutenant Colonel, you...you want me to learn healing magic?"

"Looks like you're not so stupid after all; you finally figured it out."

A rare smile appeared on Hoffman's lips as he pointed to the medals on his left chest. "During the Thirty Years' War, I fought the Empire all over the place. I started as a private and saw far too many young men who could have survived, but because there were no healing mages in their units, or even many reliable medics, they either died on the way to the rear or got infected and had limbs amputated, ruining the rest of their lives."

Hoffman's fingertips traced the cold metal edge of the medal, its patterns worn smooth by time and sweat.

"In my third year on the Eastern Front, my company ran into an Imperial ambush."

His voice was lower, lacking the crispness of a soldier, but filled with more reminiscence: "After a battle, there were twenty-seven seriously wounded and thirty or so lightly wounded, all thanks to a single medic."

"We kept watch all night. Of the twenty-seven good young men, we only managed to save three. Two had limbs amputated, and one didn't make it during the transfer."

"The Imperials are different. They have specialized healing mages. Although I've heard that their numbers are pitifully small, there are still some, and they can at least offer some words of comfort to the seriously wounded."

Hoffman chuckled self-deprecatingly. "What else can we say to a severely wounded man who doesn't even have the strength to groan? Pray for the protection of Alistair?"

The corridor suddenly fell silent. Lieutenant Colonel Christian Hoffman seemed lost in some kind of memory. His eyes, which were usually stern, were now filled with complex emotions, including nostalgia and regret.

A gust of wind blew in through the window, ruffling the hem of Hoffmann's casual clothes, and he snapped out of his reverie.

"So, Noze Stella, would you like to give it a try?"

Nozer was already deep in thought.

If I could master this rare and important technology, my resume would definitely look better, and my chances of "going home" would be much greater.

This is clearly a win-win situation for Norze.

"Reporting to the Colonel, if I choose to learn healing magic, when will our training begin?"

Without further hesitation, Noze Stella asked his question.

"us?"

Christian Hoffman realized that Nozer seemed to have misunderstood something, and smiled. "No, no, no, I'm not going to teach you. I don't know how to do such delicate things as threading a needle. If you want to learn, I can introduce you to a qualified teacher."

"But our military academy doesn't seem to offer a course on healing sorcerers, so where would we find a teacher?"

"There are indeed no dedicated teachers. You could say there are very few schools in the entire Federation that teach this course. There's a severe shortage of qualified personnel."

"However, Father Cisse Ashford in the military academy chapel is a very powerful healing mage and a good friend of mine. If you'd like to try, I can introduce you to him."

"church?"

Nozer's surprise deepened.

In the past two weeks, he has gained some understanding of the church. Since the establishment of the Federation, the church has long lost the power to interfere in secular politics from the Empire, but it still has deep roots among the people. After all, in an era of scarce medical resources, priests who can perform healing spells through prayer are seen as living miracles that can guarantee the lives of ordinary people.

Although the number was pitifully small, as Lieutenant Colonel Hoffman said, something was better than nothing.

He simply assumed that the church's healing arts and the federal military's standardized magic were two completely unrelated paths.

"Reporting to the Colonel, is the priest... also using General Richie's standardized system?"

He couldn't help but ask.

Hoffman smiled upon hearing this, raised his hand and patted his shoulder with a force carrying the weight characteristic of a soldier.

"That guy Cissé spent his youth at the seminary of the Valencian Empire, and only crossed the border after the Federation was established. He's good at those old-fashioned healing techniques driven by prayer, and he also knows a thing or two about General Richie's standardized theory."

Noze's doubts dissipated almost instantly.

He stood at attention and gave Hoffman a standard military salute. "Reporting to the colonel, I am willing to learn healing magic."

Hoffman's smile deepened, and he raised his hand to return a crisp military salute.

"very good."

He took out his personal notepad and pen from his casual clothes pocket, quickly wrote a few lines, signed his name, tore off a notepad, and handed it to Nozer. "Just show this to Cisse."

The handwriting above, like Hoffmann himself, is firm and crisp, without the slightest hesitation.

Noze took it with both hands, carefully folded it, and put it into the pocket of his uniform.

"By the way, Lieutenant Colonel."

He suddenly remembered something and asked again, "Father Cisse...would he be willing to teach me? After all, I'm a military cadet, not a church monk."

Hoffman waved his hand. "Don't worry, that guy has a lot of other flaws, but he won't refuse anyone who is sincerely eager to learn, as long as they have enough talent."

The long, drawn-out whistle of the end of get out of class suddenly shattered the tranquility of the corridor. Three sharp whistles came from afar, first from the direction of the training field, then carried by the wind through the corridors of the teaching building, echoing repeatedly between the wooden structures, interrupting Lieutenant Colonel Hoffman and Nozer's conversation.

"get out of class is over. Those kids are going to cause a ruckus if no one's watching them. I need to go back and restore order."

He looked up at Noze, his tone filled with expectation, "Father Cisse spends most of his time at the church if he's not busy. You can go see him when you have time."

Just as Nöze solemnly nodded in agreement and was about to leave, Hoffman's large hand suddenly reached out, his thick fingers firmly gripping the spine of the book, and with a gentle pull, he took the textbook away.

Noze instinctively reached out to grab it, his fingertips only brushing against the cold, rough cover, his eyes filled with confusion.

You don't need it anymore.

Hoffman weighed the heavy old book in his hand. "Don't let rules and regulations hold you back. Since your approach is effective, you should dare to think, think, and act."

After saying this, Hoffman said no more, turned around, grabbed his textbook, and pushed open the wooden door to the classroom.

Standing in the empty corridor, listening to the gradually tidying sounds coming from the classroom, Norze suppressed the surging anticipation in his heart and slowly descended the wooden stairs, the heavy solid wood steps creaking slightly under his feet.

As he stepped out of the solid wood doors of the teaching building, the summer sun poured down without reservation, and the somewhat dazzling light hit Noze's face, causing him to subconsciously squint.

In the open space in front of the gate, groups of students walked together after class, some discussing the lessons, others heading towards the canteen. The noisy voices mingled with the sounds of training exercises in the distance, creating a unique and vibrant atmosphere characteristic of the military academy.

Suddenly, heavy breathing and heavy running sounds came from behind Noze. The sounds grew louder and faster as they approached.

Before he could react, a tremendous force suddenly struck from behind. Two arms, whose muscle contours were still faintly visible under his training clothes, wrapped tightly around his waist like iron hoops, so strong that he couldn't breathe for a moment.

The sudden bear hug made Nozer's muscles tense instantly. He bent his elbows, gathering his strength to slam backward.

"Nozer! I've finally caught you."

Lucas Hunter rested his chin on his shoulder, his tone full of teasing envy, "I really envy you, someone who plays with magic. You don't have to run your legs off like us every day to build up your physical strength. You can even skip morning exercises when you have classes. You can just wake up and leisurely go to your morning class."

Noze stopped his elbow strike in time, but was jolted by the way he was being pulled. He pushed Noze's arm in annoyance. "Luke! Let go! I don't have to do morning exercises, but you're going to take the final magic exam for me? I have to take the physical fitness and swordsmanship exams with you guys. You can pass with a little practice, but I don't have your talent."

Luke is Lucas's nickname, and his close friends call him that. Of course, he likes it when people call him that.

According to school rules, magic-affinity students should not reveal their identity to other students, and other students should not inquire about the identity of magic-affinity students.

But from ancient times to the present, rules are rules and reality is reality. A group of hot-blooded teenagers, if they have any outstanding qualities, they can't wait to tell their friends about them eight times. What secrets can you expect them to keep?

Moreover, the more authority forbids something, the more these unruly individuals want to do it, as if it were some kind of honor.

Of course, this doesn't mean that these future federal officers are a bunch of unruly thugs; it's just that in a military academy where there are no usual forms of entertainment, they have to find ways to relieve stress.

Later, the school found that even with disciplinary measures, such incidents continued to occur, and the severity of punishment was difficult to determine. So, the school simply stopped punishing them, maintaining a delicate balance of neither prohibiting nor forbidding such behavior.

Lucas chuckled, releasing his grip and patting his shoulder, wiping the sweat and dust from his hands as he did so. "Alright, alright, everyone has their own difficulties. So, where are we headed?"

"Go to church."

Norze answered casually.

Upon hearing this, Lucas's eyes widened instantly. He took a half-step back, feigning astonishment, and exclaimed, "No way?! Someone who hasn't even read two pages of the Gospel of Alistair is going to go to church and convert?"

After saying that, he took two steps closer and added with a grin, "Have you lost your mind because of magic?"

Before he finished speaking, he raised his dirty hand, which was covered in dust and sweat, and made a gesture as if to touch Noze's forehead.

Noze quickly dodged to the side, slapped his arm away, and then kicked Lucas hard in the butt.

"Luke, no, Lucy!"

Nozer, annoyed, turned Lucas's nickname into a nickname. "Take me to the church. To be honest, I've never been there before. I don't even know where it is."

What are you going to church for?

"secret."

"And it was done in secret..."

Lucas gave him a "not very brotherly" look, "But you're not making it today."

Why?

Noze looked at him questioningly. "Is today some kind of special day?"

"I don't know if it's special or not, I only know that today is your day of suffering."

Lucas grinned at Nozer. "Today's Captain Lyman's Swift Sword practice lesson! My good partner!"

In an era when gunpowder and firearms were developing so rapidly, people generally believed that cold weapons, including heavy items like full plate armor, would quickly disappear from history.

But clearly, they were only partly right. Full-body plate armor did disappear, but people's fundamental desire for protection remained unchanged; it simply shifted from pursuing complete safety to simply wanting to survive.

Therefore, extremely thick and heavy breastplates were developed as key protection, giving charging soldiers at least some psychological comfort.

As for why cold weapons haven't disappeared from the stage yet... mutual shooting can't conquer cities and territories. In the end, someone still needs to be the vanguard to rush in front of the enemy, stabbing with a sword, slashing with a knife, or even biting with their teeth.

To completely conquer the enemy, besides making them see their own people shed blood and feel fear, we must also let them know that we are not afraid of our own people shedding blood, thereby causing them to break down.

It's actually no different from fighting fiercely.