Gunpowder Plate Armor and the Magic Revolution

Sentences and paragraphs, without any structure, just saying whatever comes to mind.

He rarely talks this much. In class, he might at most say a couple of things like "stupid" or "too slow," or demonstrate the standard movements once. He would never say so many heartfelt things that are unrelated to the course.

He suddenly stopped talking.

He opened his mouth, looking at the young faces below.

Some looked on with deep respect, engraving his words into their hearts.

Some looked blank, clearly not understanding the weight of these words.

Others were nonchalant, their eyes drifting out the window, just waiting for him to finish speaking and announce the end of get out of class.

Lyman had a lot more to say. He wanted to tell them how high the morale of the Empire's professional soldiers was, not the fragile pampered soldiers described in history classes.

He wanted to tell them how cold the mud on the battlefield was, how hard the border soil was in winter, so hard that even digging a hole to bury one's comrades was impossible.

He wanted to tell them how terrifying the plague could be during the summer march, so terrifying that an entire hundred-man squad might end up with only a few survivors.

He wanted to tell them what it felt like to watch their comrades being riddled with grapeshot bullets and die in their arms.

He wanted to tell them not to die for meaningless honors, that living is more important than anything else.

He wanted to say something, he wanted to say something...

But those words were stuck in his throat, as if something was choking him, and for a moment, he couldn't think of anything else to say.

He remained silent for a few seconds, looked around the entire training hall, and gazed at the teenagers who were about to head to various places. In the end, he simply clapped his hands forcefully, his voice regaining its usual crispness.

"I've said what I should and shouldn't have said. How much you take in is up to your own fate."

"Now, I declare the Swift Sword Practical Course for this semester officially over! Everyone, class dismissed!"

As soon as he finished speaking, there was no cheering or commotion as expected.

The trainees stood at attention in unison and gave Captain Lyman a perfect military salute on the platform.

The rhythmic clatter of military boots echoed for a long time in the empty training hall.

"May you always be blessed with good fortune in battle, children."

Lyman looked at them, raised his hand, returned a crisp military salute, turned around and walked into the inner area with his adjutant, without saying another word.

The people in the venue gradually dispersed.

Some people walked out arm in arm, excitedly discussing what to eat in the canteen that evening, forgetting immediately what the captain had said. Others walked with their heads down, pondering every word they had just heard.

Nozer, Lucas, and Andrew stood side by side, not leaving immediately.

Nozer didn't speak, but just quietly watched the direction Captain Lyman left in, his heart heavy.

These words, which sound as rough as they come, are truths built upon countless young lives.

But as Lyman said, how much of it you take in depends entirely on your own fate.

Among the teenagers present today, some will have these words etched into their very bones, and one day in the future, they may even be saved by these words.

Some people will ignore these words and eventually pay the price for their arrogance in the muddy borderlands.

Most of them will only remember this peaceful late summer afternoon many years later, when they are actually standing on a battlefield amidst the roar of gunfire, facing the gleaming swords and watching those around them fall one by one.

Thinking of that old captain covered in scars, standing on the platform in the training hall, every word he spoke was filled with his most sincere conscience.

"I told you, Captain Lyman is a good man."

Lucas said sullenly, "He really is a very responsible and good person."

"Yes, he is indeed a top-notch instructor and one of the best soldiers in the Federation. He truly treats us like his children and his soldiers."

Noze nodded vigorously. "If it were on the battlefield, there would definitely be someone willing to take a bullet for him."

"Alright, stop looking."

Lucas put his arm around their shoulders and shook them. "If you go to the cafeteria late, all that'll be left is hard, dark bread."

Noze snapped out of his daze, smiled and nodded, and together with Andrew, Lucas put his arm around his shoulder as they walked towards the entrance of the training hall.

Sunlight streamed in through the open door, casting long shadows of the three boys onto the scratched oak floor, overlapping with the countless marks left by their predecessors.

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

The cafeteria was still noisy. The three of them occupied their usual seats by the window, their metal trays piled high with food, after all, they had expended a lot of energy in the afternoon.

With two A grades in hand, the weight that had been pressing on Norzer's heart for most of the semester was finally lifted.

As long as Brandon passes his tactical theory class smoothly and doesn't fail the final exam, his return to Storm Province is basically a done deal.

For the first time, my heart, which had been hanging in suspense, felt a sense of peace and security.

Lucas took a big gulp of soup, wiped his mouth, and said, "The three of us actually got A's. I'll have something to brag about when I run into Raymond tomorrow."

"Then I'll say to him, 'Look at Norze, you two were taught by the same master, how come you're so weak?'"

Just as the three were chatting, a tall, straight figure stopped at their table.

The man was dressed in a well-fitting federal army uniform with the rank of second lieutenant on his shoulder insignia. He had a stern face, and Norzer recognized him as the adjutant to Lieutenant Colonel Hoffman.

The previously noisy dining table fell silent instantly, and the three of them subconsciously stopped laughing and sat up straight.

"Cadet Noze Stella?"

The adjutant's voice, crisp and clear like a soldier's, went straight to the point without any unnecessary pleasantries.

"arrive!"

Noze immediately stood up, his heart skipping a beat for no apparent reason.

It's hard to tell whether Lieutenant Colonel Hoffman's adjutant's visit at this time is a blessing or a curse.

"Lieutenant Colonel Hoffmann is waiting for you in his office in the teaching building and wants you to come over immediately."

"Yes! I'll go right away!"

Noze quickly grabbed the remaining half of bread from his plate, wolfed down a couple of bites, then gulped down a mouthful of thick soup. He wiped his mouth, gave Lucas and Andrew a look, and said, "I'll go over there first, and I'll come find you at the dorm when I'm done."

"Go ahead without worry, nothing will happen."

Lucas patted his arm, and Andrew nodded back, his eyes filled with reassurance.

Noze followed his adjutant out of the mess hall. He quickened his pace to catch up, and couldn't help but lower his voice to tentatively ask, "Sir, may I ask what brings you here, Lieutenant Colonel? Is there a problem with my coursework, or...?"

"Cadet Stella, the lieutenant colonel did not give a specific reason."

The adjutant didn't stop walking, his tone calm and measured, revealing not a hint of his thoughts, "But in my opinion, it should be good news. The lieutenant colonel looked quite pleased when he reviewed your file today."

This statement was essentially meaningless, and only fueled Nozer's suspicions.

Was it about the assignment? Or did Professor Cisse say something? Or was it about further learning of healing magic? His mind raced, going through all the possibilities, but he still couldn't figure it out.