Gunpowder Plate Armor and the Magic Revolution

Nozer's face fell instantly after hearing Lucas's words.

How could he have forgotten about this?

Captain Lyman's Swift Sword class was a nightmare for all the infantry students, especially for a complete novice like him who had barely fought before the transmigration and had only touched a sword a few times after the transmigration. Every class was like a public execution.

But if Norze wants to go home smoothly, he will most likely need to get a perfect score in this course.

"Don't look so glum."

Lucas laughed gleefully, hooked his arm around Lucas's neck, and pulled him toward the training field. "Last time you were beaten so badly by the captain that your sword flew out of your hand. You should have practiced for the past two weeks, right? Don't make him run twenty laps around the training field as punishment again."

"I practiced."

Noze was dragged along listlessly. He had no mind to think about healing spells anymore. "Even if you practiced, you couldn't withstand the captain's brutal beating. Do you think everyone is as gifted as you, Master Luke?"

He emphasized the word "master," not as a sarcastic remark about Lucas, but because Lucas's swordsmanship talent was truly terrifying.

In the Federation, "Master" is a formal title, not something given arbitrarily; you can even use it as a prefix before your name.

To become a master, one must establish a school of swordsmanship, develop one's own swordsmanship theory, or create a widely popular style that is admired by many, before being selected as a true "master" by the blacksmiths' guild.

But the title has only ever been given to the dead.

Lucas clearly hasn't reached that level yet, but judging from his ability to match the instructors who have been tempered on the battlefield after only a little practice, from one-handed swords and two-handed swords to the swift sword he's learning this semester, he truly deserves the title of "master" in Nozer's eyes.

At the end of the semester, during the swordsmanship assessment, while others sparred with their partners, Lucas was singled out by the instructors for solo practice. It wasn't that the instructors had any issues with him; they simply wanted to face off against this formidable opponent.

Therefore, at the end of the semester and after all the final exams were completed, enjoying a high-level live sword fight without any worries became the last pleasant thing for infantry cadets at the military academy.

Even the "gentlemen" from the cavalry, artillery, and aviation departments would come to observe.

Of course, betting odds are also a factor, with Nurse always betting on Lucas to win.

"That's not talent, that's the result of sweat and hard work."

Lucas was clearly unwilling to let Nozer underestimate his efforts so much.

Even if I work harder than you, I still can't surpass you in this aspect.

"That's because you haven't tried it!"

"You're just being stubborn. I'm telling you, there's someone who's definitely more hardworking than you."

"Who?"

"Andrew Hart, that magician."

Nozer smiled. "How was it, Luke, General?"

"All right……"

Lucas couldn't find a reason to refute it, so he had to admit, "That 'traitor' really fought harder than any of us."

"traitor?"

Nozer was intrigued by the term. "Was Andrew Hart a traitor? Whom did he betray?"

"No, no, no, he's not a 'traitor,' no, he's a 'traitor' too... it doesn't quite fit no matter how you put it. He's from the province of Kurt. During the later stages of the Thirty Years' War, the Kurt people betrayed the Federation, so they were called 'traitors.'"

Lucas said in a low voice, "Discrimination is clearly prohibited within the Federation, and it's naturally forbidden in schools as well. If someone hears it, you'll be punished."

After Lucas finished speaking, he quickly changed the subject back to Lyman's Swift Sword course.

"Captain Lyman wants to hand over everything he controls to us."

Lucas clearly understood Captain Lyman's thoughts; perhaps this was the mutual respect between masters. "He's a good man and a good instructor."

Captain Lyman's lessons were never just for show; every sparring session was ruthless and realistic. In his words, "I'm holding back now, but the Empire won't hold back on the battlefield. It's better to lose face on the training field today than to lose your life on the battlefield tomorrow."

"Yes, yes, he's a good guy, I'm a bad guy, so I deserve to be beaten by him alone."

Noze said something rather irritating.

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

The training ground was sweltering under the afternoon sun. The brownish-yellow sand was compacted by footsteps. Groups of trainees had already changed into their training clothes and were warming up with wooden swords in their hands. The shouts and the crisp sound of the heavy wooden swords clashing together made one's eardrums tighten.

Standing in the very center of the training field was Captain Lyman.

He wasn't very tall, but he was like a piece of refined steel that had been forged through countless trials, exuding a toughness that had been tempered in the crucible of life.

He wore a faded training uniform with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing his muscular arms with an old scar running from his elbow to his wrist—a mark left by the Imperials.

He held a wooden sword in his hand and had a real swift sword tucked into his waistband; the iron blade swayed in the sunlight.

When their gaze swept over, the previously noisy students instantly quieted down.

"Stand still, everyone!"

Captain Lyman's voice, like the sword in his hand, was crisp and authoritative: "I know that many of you think that this is the age of firearms and magic, and that practicing this stuff is useless."

He raised his hand and pointed with his wooden sword at the shooting range not far away, where a muffled volley of fire had just been heard.

"I'm telling you, it's useless? When you charge into the Imperial trenches, your muskets will be silent, your magic will be ineffective, and the enemy's blade will be at your chest. What will you rely on then? Your mouth to call for Alistair's protection?"

"Alright, enough talk, let's begin the basic training!"

The next half hour consisted of tedious basic movement training.

Thrusts, parries, slides—Captain Lyman paced back and forth in the ranks, his hands behind his back. Every now and then, he would kick a trainee out of position or smash a wrong parry with his wooden sword, his curses echoing throughout the training ground.

Noze gritted his teeth and performed each movement perfectly, but the physical shortcomings he had developed from sitting in a study for long periods in his previous life could not be made up for in just half a month. It was not just a difference in physical strength, but also a difference in combat experience and instinct.

After completing the set of movements, my arms were sore and trembling, and sweat was streaming down my face, dripping onto the scalding sand.

Finally, it was time for sparring. Nozer was silently planning to find Lucas later and have him train him so he could slack off and get through the lesson…

"Noze Stella, step forward."

Noze's heart skipped a beat. He could only grit his teeth, take a step forward, grip the wooden sword in his hand, and give a military salute.

Captain Lyman gave him a once-over, a cold smile playing on his lips. "I heard you stole the show in magic class this morning? Lieutenant Colonel Hoffman gave you a perfect score, so you don't even have to attend class?"

Noze was startled, not expecting the news to spread so quickly.

That's normal, actually. The infantry department is only so big, and there are only so many instructors. If there's even the slightest disturbance, it will spread to every corner in less than half an hour.

He could only stand at attention and didn't dare to say anything.

"Being good at magic is a skill."

Captain Lyman took two steps forward, weighing the wooden sword in his hand. "But this lesson is about swordsmanship. Let me see if your swordsmanship matches your magical talent."

He took a half step back, creating the standard dueling distance, and casually assumed the most basic army mid-stance. The tip of his sword was pointed diagonally at the center line of Nozer's chest. His arm was relaxed as if he wasn't holding anything, but his whole body was like a fully drawn bow, as if he could unleash a fatal thrust with the slightest movement.

"Come on, I won't restrict you. You can use any method you can think of."

The surrounding trainees instantly fell silent, many with sympathy in their eyes. Everyone knew that when Captain Lyman personally took action, it wasn't just ordinary sparring; it was pure crushing.

Noze took a deep breath, gripped the wooden sword, and assumed the most basic high-stance stance of the Federal Army.

He stood sideways, with his right foot forward and knee slightly bent, and his left foot behind with his toes touching the ground, his center of gravity stable between his two feet.

The sword-wielding hand is raised, with the tip always pointing towards Captain Lyman's brow and the midline of his torso. The arm is naturally bent, and the free left hand is placed at the side with the fingers bent, which can both maintain balance and assist in controlling the sword at any time.

"Their stance looks pretty good, but I don't know if it's just for show. Once they're ready, they'll attack."

Noze gritted his teeth, suppressing the panic in his heart. He pushed off the ground with his back foot, thrusting his waist and hips forward, which in turn propelled his right arm holding the sword straight forward.

This is a lunge thrust that has been practiced hundreds of times. The killing move of the Swift Sword is never the strength of the arm, but the combined force of the whole body pushing off the ground and rotating the hips.

He believed his movements were precise enough; the tip of his sword, whistling through the air, aimed straight for Captain Lyman's upper chest, where the breastplate had a gap—the easiest spot on the battlefield to deliver a fatal blow.

But in Lyman's eyes, the stab was as slow as a snail's pace.

He didn't even move his feet; he simply twisted his wrist slightly, causing the wooden sword in his hand to swing outwards slightly. Using the strong blade near the guard, he steadily caught the weaker part of Noze's sword tip with a crisp "clang."

Lyman flicked it lightly.

With that one strike, the tip of Nozer's sword was deflected more than half a foot off the center line, and due to the momentum of his lunge, his chest was completely exposed to Lyman's sword tip.

Noze felt a tingling sensation in his wrist, as if the sword in his hand had hit a smooth rock and slid into empty space.

He knew he was in trouble and desperately tried to retract his sword and defend, but he had already fully extended his stance and his weight was on his front leg, so he couldn't pull it back at all.

The next second, the cold tip of the wooden sword was firmly pressed against his Adam's apple.

The force was just right, without piercing the skin, but it carried a chill that instantly froze his muscles, even causing him to stop breathing for a moment.

"Too slow."

Captain Lyman sheathed his sword. "Pre-stance shoulder raise: half a second before you strike, your shoulder shrugs up. You can tell where you're going to stab even with your eyes closed. If you don't extend your hips enough in a lunge stance, you'll rely entirely on your arm to reach forward. The force of the thrust will be weak. Even if you hit the target, it won't cause any damage."

"The most fatal thing is that you put all your weight on your front foot and can't pull it back. Once I parry your sword, you'll be a sitting duck."

He raised his sword and pointed it at Noze's front leg. "The lunge is not for you to rush out and die, but for you to be able to attack or defend. If your front knee goes past your toes, you won't even have room to retreat. Try again."

Noze gritted his teeth, retracted his stance, readjusted his center of gravity, and put more weight on his hind legs.

He knew that his physical strength and experience were far inferior, and he had no chance of winning by directly confronting the opponent's thrusts. He could only try to use the feints taught by the instructor to deceive the defense.

He first took small, sliding steps to shorten the distance, then lightly flicked the tip of his sword, making a feint towards Lyman's outer gate before turning his wrist to change direction and thrust towards Lyman's inner gate's chest.

This is the most basic feint attack, where you first trick the opponent into raising their hand to block the outer gate, then take the opportunity to attack the open inner gate. It's the easiest combo for beginners to learn.

Kleinman didn't move at all.

His sword tip remained locked on the center line without wavering. Just as Noze's sword tip was about to pierce his body, he suddenly lowered his wrist, pressed the wooden sword horizontally, and precisely placed it on Noze's weak blade. Then, he twisted his wrist inward, and the blade slid down Noze's spine, completing a clean and neat sword wrap.

Noze instantly felt as if the sword in his hand was being gripped by a pair of iron hands. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't pull the tip of the sword back to its center line.

Lyman's strong blade pressed down hard on his weak blade, increasing the force in the direction of his strength, forcing the tip of his sword to point lower and lower, exposing all the weaknesses in his upper body.

He tried to retreat, but Lyman's steps followed his sliding steps forward, maintaining the suppression of the sword's entanglement and not giving him even a chance to create distance.

The next second, Lyman flipped his wrist, and the wooden sword, following the force of the sword wrapping around him, struck Norzer horizontally on his right side.

With a muffled "crack," even through his training clothes, Norze could feel a burning pain in his ribs, causing him to instantly bend over and almost drop his sword.

"The feints are like children playing house."

Lyman took a half step back, his tone filled with exasperation. "A feint isn't just about flashing the tip of your sword. It's about making your body, your eyes, and your center of gravity all follow the deception. If you only move your wrists and not your feet, only a fool would fall for it."

"Furthermore, even the Entangling Sword technique can't defend against it. On the battlefield, the sword tip could be piercing your heart in the next second. The core of the Swift Sword technique is sword control, not thrusting. If you can't even protect your own sword, how will you kill anyone?"

Noze, panting heavily, straightened up, waves of pain throbbing in his ribs, and his hand gripping the sword began to ache.

He gritted his teeth, changed his stance, abandoned the high stance, lowered the sword to his side with the tip pointing diagonally downwards towards the ground, relaxed his arm, and adopted a low-positioned, suspended sword stance.

This stance is highly concealed, with the sword tip far from the center line, allowing for a thrust from below, specifically targeting opponents defending in the high post. It was also the move he practiced most often in private.

Lyman raised an eyebrow, but didn't change his stance, maintaining his relaxed, mid-range posture.

This time, Norzer didn't rush to attack. Instead, he took small, quick steps and moved left and right, trying to disrupt Lyman's rhythm and find his weaknesses.