Gunpowder Plate Armor and the Magic Revolution

"If someone as hardworking, diligent, and talented as you can't get an A, then I don't think anyone deserves this grade."

Nozer turned to the side and whispered praise to Andrew, "Except for that freak Luke, of course."

Andrew smiled and nodded, then said softly, "Thank you, Norze."

"Noser Stella, A."

As the third announcement ended, a commotion erupted in the stadium.

If Andrew's A was unexpected yet reasonable, then Norze's A was a complete upset.

Everyone remembers that just a month ago, Norze was a bottom-ranked swordsman who couldn't even maintain his balance in a lunge position and was beaten so badly by Captain Lyman that his sword flew out of his hand.

But in that duel of swords and magic just now, he maximized his advantages and withstood Andrew's impenetrable offensive, winning the decisive round.

"Stella got an A? How is that possible?"

"Didn't you see him sparring with Andrew just now? He could parry a thrust with his eyes closed. Could you do that?"

"What you said actually makes a lot of sense..."

"That settles it."

Norze was taken aback for a moment, then couldn't help but laugh.

His efforts paid off. He has now earned A grades in both magic and swordsmanship. If he adds the healing spells he has already roughly learned, his resume, while not top-notch, is more than enough to allow him to return to his post in the province of Storm.

Go home! Go home! Noze had been fighting for over half a month for a place that only existed in his memory, and now he finally saw hope!

Lyman didn't interrupt the whispers below, but waited until the noise subsided slightly before continuing to read out the remaining results.

The list of students—those with good grades, those with bad grades, those who passed, and those who failed—was short. He read it slowly, pronouncing each name clearly.

After the last name was read out, he folded up the report card in his hand and handed it to the adjutant beside him.

The training hall fell completely silent. Everyone stood ramrod straight, waiting for him to announce the end of the assessment, waiting for the course that had tormented them for an entire semester to come to a close, waiting to leave Herber City, leave Fries, and return to that distant home.

Unlike usual, Kleinman didn't simply and decisively call for the disbandment.

He took half a step forward, lowered his hands from behind his back, and unconsciously rubbed the old scar on his forearm that stretched from his elbow to his wrist.

The air in the stadium suddenly became heavy, and the boys who had just been jumping for joy because of their good results subconsciously stopped smiling.

They had never seen Captain Lyman like this before; he lacked his usual sternness and instead possessed a kind of heavy calm that they had never seen before.

"I know what you're all thinking right now."

Lyman finally spoke, his voice not as loud as when he announced the results, but it still reached the ears of everyone in the stadium clearly.

"I was thinking that the assessment was finally over, that I was finally done with this damn course, and that I would never have to practice the boring thrusting, parrying, and sword-entanglement again, and that I would never have to be kicked out of my stance or beaten with a wooden sword until I was covered in bruises again."

Someone below couldn't help but chuckle softly, but quickly suppressed it; the venue remained quiet.

"Your Swift Sword course for this semester has officially ended today."

Lyman's gaze swept across the entire room, from the first row to the last, from the excitement in Lucas's eyes to the solemnity in Andrew's eyes, to the overflowing sense of accomplishment and satisfaction on Nozer's face, and then to the dejection on the faces of the few students in the back row who had failed.

"In a few days, you will graduate, and the committees of each province will take your transcripts and select you to serve in the military."

"And you will pack your bags and disperse to various provinces of the Federation to become junior officers in the Federation Army."

"I also know that most of you will probably never wear this three-quarter armor again in your lives, never have a proper armored combat with anyone again, and even the standard swift swords hanging on your waists will only be decorations from now on, and you will never touch them in daily life."

"You'll most likely be sitting in the barracks office, approving documents, calculating supplies, and managing the basic needs of dozens of soldiers. You might be in the rear towns, guarding warehouses, patrolling the streets, living a peaceful life. You might slowly forget how to thrust your hips into a lunge, how to generate power when wrapping your sword around your body, and how the center line is crucial in any real sword fight."

The smiles on the faces of the boys below gradually faded, and they looked up blankly at the captain on the platform.

"None of that matters."

Lyman smiled, a rare occurrence. "Peaceful times are a good thing; it proves our blood wasn't shed in vain, our suffering wasn't for nothing. But before you enjoy all of this, I want you to remember one thing!"

His voice suddenly rose in pitch, carrying the resounding strength unique to soldiers.

"Before you think you'll spend your lives as an officer, a clerk, or a logistics officer, remember first and foremost that you are soldiers of the Itniti Federation!"

"A soldier's courage isn't built on the stars on your shoulders, nor on the desk in your office! Don't become a spineless coward after just a couple of days in office, only capable of sitting in a chair and reviewing documents. If you can't even protect yourself in a crisis, how can you protect the soldiers under your command who might risk their lives for you?"

The arena fell into a deathly silence; even breathing was barely audible, with only Lyman's voice echoing in the empty training hall.

"Many of you got an A and think your swordsmanship is invincible, that you can take on ten people at once on the battlefield."

Lyman's gaze swept over the arrogant students, his tone carrying a warning, "Ridiculous! If you're unlucky enough to run into a war, to be in a life-or-death situation, don't rush in alone in a moment of impulsiveness. Don't think you can take on a hundred people just because you've had a few more sword lessons than others at the military academy."

"There is no fair one-on-one duel on the battlefield. There is no referee to stop you, and no rules to protect you. Three farmers with pitchforks can parry your swift sword and throw you into the mud with a single pitchfork if they dare to use their full strength, leaving you no chance to even cry for help."

"Remember, never expose your back to the enemy, never be alone, never overestimate yourself, and never underestimate those who want to kill you. If you can fight in a group, don't fight alone; if you can use the terrain, don't foolishly stand in an open space and fight head-on; if you can bully the small, then bully the small; if you can outnumber the small, then outnumber the small; if you can solve a problem with a musket, then don't fight hand-to-hand."

He continued, talking about the most taboo thing on the battlefield: recklessness, how to lead his men to survive an ambush, and that if the situation is not right, you can't just throw down your weapons and run back blindly, that would be suicide. You have to think before you act, so you don't blindly walk into a dead end.