Gunpowder Plate Armor and the Magic Revolution

The moment the flag was suddenly dropped, Lyman launched the first attack.

Without probing or feinting, Captain Lyman moved with silent, gliding steps, compressing the distance into the attack zone almost instantly.

Every step he took was precisely placed on the edge of Lucas's attack range, neither giving his opponent a chance to strike in advance, nor allowing him to attack prematurely. He used his constantly moving feet to press Lucas's position, forcing Lucas to retreat, hoping to catch any openings he made while moving.

This is the experience of veterans: always keep the initiative in your own hands.

Lucas stepped back in unison, keeping his body directly facing Captain Lyman. The tip of his sword never strayed from the center line of the captain's breastplate, his defense impeccable. He managed to withstand the captain's pressure and avoid being led astray by his precise control of distance.

Norze couldn't figure out much of the strategy and could only rely on Andrew beside him to explain the situation.

As they drew closer, Captain Lyman's wrist suddenly moved.

The sword flipped so fast that its trajectory was almost invisible, the tip of the sword carrying the wind, heading straight for the seam between Lucas's shoulder armor and arm armor. The movement was sharp and realistic, and anyone who saw it would know it was a real thrust.

A low gasp rippled through the crowd; everyone assumed Lucas was about to be forced to raise his arm to block.

But Lucas didn't raise his arm.

He didn't even draw his sword; he simply slid sideways and turned slightly, positioning himself so that his thick breastplate faced the incoming sword tip directly. At the same time, he pushed his own sword tip forward slightly, forcing Captain Lyman to retreat and defend.

This not only avoided the trap of feints, but also created trouble for Lyman.

Lyman’s eyes flashed with approval. The moment he sheathed his sword, he took a sudden step forward, the force of his back foot pushing off the ground transmitted through his steel armor. With a smooth twist of his waist and hips, he delivered a textbook-perfect lunge thrust.

There were no unnecessary movements; it was just a simple thrust, but in Lyman's hands, it became such a fierce attack.

The sword tip, accompanied by the whistling sound of air being cut, headed straight for Lucas's throat guard. It was so fast that most of the students present only caught a glimpse of a silver afterimage.

This sword strike blocked all of Lucas's routes of retreat and parrying.

Even a novice like Norze could see how dangerous that sword strike was.

But just before the sword tip was about to hit the throat guard, Lucas did something no one expected.

He didn't retreat or raise his sword to block; instead, he suddenly turned his body to the side, shifting his center of gravity downwards, and his entire body almost pressed against the outside of Captain Lyman's thrusting sword.

This action was almost a life-or-death struggle; if he had been even a fraction of a second slower, the sword tip would have pierced the gap in his throat guard.

But it was this slight turn that allowed him to completely avoid the path of the thrust.

Captain Lyman's sword tip grazed the edge of his throat guard, striking the helmet with a clang and sending up tiny sparks of metal, completely missing its mark.

Captain Lyman, in a full lunge stance, extended his sword-wielding hand forward, his left shoulder armor fully raised, exposing the narrow slit under his armpit completely to Lucas's sword.

Lucas flipped his wrist, using the force of his sideways movement, and the tip of his sword slid smoothly along the captain's strong blade, while his other hand gripped the bladeless section tightly to assist in controlling the sword.

The blunt tip of the training sword landed firmly on the coarse linen lining with a "thud," without missing a beat.

The entire room fell silent.

Two full seconds later, the referee's whistle blew sharply, with an incredulous urgency, "Score! Score! Lucas Hunter! Goal!"

The moment the whistle blew, the training hall erupted in chaos. Cheers, exclamations, and applause mingled together, almost lifting the roof off the training hall.

No one expected that this cadet, who had not yet graduated, would actually withstand the full force of Captain Lyman's attack and win this round of the duel.

Captain Lyman sheathed his sword and stepped back, lifting his mask. Far from being displeased, he burst into laughter, his booming voice drowning out the clamor of the crowd. "Good lad! You dare to try and steal the inner circle during my thrust!"

Lucas also lifted his mask, revealing a young man's face flushed red, not from exhaustion, but from barely suppressed excitement and exhilaration.

He gripped his sword and bowed deeply to Captain Lyman once more, his voice slightly breathless but still solemn, "Thank you for your mercy, Captain. I won by sheer luck."

"Don't give me that. A win is a win. Don't try to cover for me. I didn't hold back. Besides, there's no such thing as luck on the battlefield."

Captain Lyman patted him on the shoulder with such force that Lucas staggered, his eyes practically overflowing with approval. "Not bad! Not bad! You're a natural-born soldier."

Norze and Andrew rushed over from the sidelines, and Lucas turned around to meet their smiling faces.

Nozer lightly punched his breastplate, his eyes lighting up with a smile. "You actually beat Captain Lyman!"

Lucas grinned smugly, put his arm around their shoulders, and pulled them closer to him. "Of course! Otherwise, how could I deserve the title of 'Master'?"

"I'm getting old."

Captain Lyman, standing not far away, looked at the three boys standing side by side, smiled and shook his head at his adjutant beside him, "If only we could go back..."

Lyman, unusually, began to reminisce about his glorious youth.

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

"Attention, everyone! Now, I'll be announcing your scores!"

Captain Lyman cleared his throat, looked at the report card in front of him, and read it aloud.

"From highest to lowest, Lucas Hunter, grade A."

A round of applause erupted around him. No words were needed, and there was no doubt that this achievement was well-deserved. Everyone was generous in praising this exceptionally skilled swordsmanship genius.

To paraphrase the instructor, the only reason Lucas got an A was because the highest possible grade was only A.

Captain Lyman raised his hand, and the noise seemed to be cut off instantly.

He paused, then continued reading aloud:

"Andrew Hart, A."

There was a moment of silence in the venue, followed by a low murmur.

It's not a question, nor is it surprise; after all, Andrew's efforts are evident to all.

His movements were so precise they could be written into a textbook. His defense was impenetrable, his offense was steady, accurate, and ruthless, and his control of the rhythm was as precise as a textbook. Even the battle-hardened Lehmann couldn't find any fault with him.

Furthermore, the ability to seamlessly integrate magic with combat makes this achievement well-deserved.

If it weren't for encountering the quirky and equally skilled in magic Nozer, Lucas might not have been able to gain the upper hand against him.

Even those who disliked Andrew the most could only snort in secret and then reluctantly clap their hands.

Andrew stood still, subconsciously glancing at Nozer and Lucas beside him.

The two of them were smiling and winking at him, showing no surprise, only a matter-of-fact approval.