Gunpowder Plate Armor and the Magic Revolution

"Practice in pairs!"

Noze felt like he had been granted a pardon and quickly retreated back to the group. As soon as he stood still, he met Lucas's gaze, which was filled with surprise and admiration.

He could only manage a wry smile, gripping the wooden sword tightly in his hand, and followed Lucas to the edge of the training ground. The shock of that maneuver just now still lingered in his mind.

"You're pretty good. You actually caught the captain's attacks several times today, and that last sword spin was really cool and skillful. I thought you were going to get beaten up again today."

Taking advantage of the moment Lucas leaned forward during the thrust, he lowered his voice, his tone full of amazement.

He gently deflected Noze's sword with his wooden sword, deliberately slowing down his movements.

"What's so cool about him? I'll be done for in two more minutes."

Because of his physical exhaustion, he handed over most of the offensive play to Lucas, while he rested whenever possible.

Lucas was well aware of this, so he deliberately lengthened the probing time before each attack, slowing down the pace to give Lucas more time to catch his breath.

When the whistle blew to signal the end of get out of class, Norze practically collapsed on the steps by the training field. His muscles ached all over, and the places where he had been hit by the wooden sword hurt at the slightest touch. He barely had the strength to even lift his hand to wipe away the sweat.

Lucas plopped down on the step next to him, shoved the water bottle into his hand, and fanned himself with his other hand. His training uniform collar was open, and he was covered in the smell of sweat and sand.

Noze barely managed to lift his eyelids when the icy spout of the kettle was brought to his lips.

Noze took the water bottle and drank most of it. The salt water slid down his dry, sore throat, and he finally managed to regain some strength to speak.

He slumped against the stone pillar behind him, his muscles feeling as if they had been disassembled and reassembled, each movement accompanied by a dull, aching pain.

"By the way, where's the church you mentioned? get out of class is over now, I'll head over there."

Even in this terrible state, Norze still didn't forget to visit the priest.

Lucas raised an eyebrow, his smile fading slightly, and his tone becoming more serious. "You in this state? Going to church? Are you kidding me?"

Seeing Noze nod, he clicked his tongue and pointed in a direction, "Just follow this road, past the shooting range, behind that ash forest, there's a stone house with a pointed roof, you can see it at a glance, but I'm warning you, that priest has a very strange temper."

"Strange?"

"...Anyway, it's weird. I only heard about it from others."

Noze made a mental note of it, patted Lucas on the shoulder, and said, "Thanks. When I get back, I'll treat you to black bread and fried sausage at the cafeteria."

"Come on, you'll have to get past the priest first."

Lucas waved with a smile, "I'm going to take a shower first, I'm all sweaty. See you at the dorm tonight."

After parting ways with Lucas, Nozer followed the directions he had given him toward the church. After walking for about ten minutes, the church came into view.

Unlike the magnificent cathedrals of the Empire, the chapel in this military academy was very small, a simple gray-white stone building with only a low spire. Half-withered vines climbed the walls, and even the stained glass windows were just a few small pieces, depicting the holy relics of the chief god Alistair, but they had already faded.

It was so quiet that you could hear the wind whistling through the eaves.

Nozer straightened his uniform, smoothed out the wrinkled corners, and then pushed open the heavy oak door.

The door hinges clicked softly, without disturbing anyone. A faint scent of incense and dried herbs wafted out, a stark contrast to the pervasive smell of gunpowder and sweat in the military academy—it felt like another world.

The church was dark, with only the setting sun casting dappled, colorful light through the stained glass windows onto the stone surface.

The benches in the front row were empty, and two white candles were lit on the altar, their flames flickering gently, but no one could be seen.

"Excuse me, is Father Cisse Ashford here?"

Noze lowered his voice and asked.

His voice echoed through the empty church, then quickly faded away, and no one responded.

Noze hesitated for a moment, then took two steps inside before hearing a slight noise coming from the small door on the side of the altar, like the sound of scissors cutting something.

He followed the sound and found that behind the small door was a small room. The table by the window was filled with glass jars of all sizes, containing dried herbs, ground medicine powder, and some unknown tissues soaking in liquid. On the wall hung many polished metal tools, from small silver needles to instruments that looked like scalpels. It didn't look like a clergyman's room, but more like a surgeon's clinic.

A man in a black priest's robe was standing with his back to him in front of the table, holding a small pair of scissors and trimming a fresh herb.

He wasn't particularly tall, his black robe was faded from washing, his hair was dark brown, and the lines of his nape were sharp; he looked to be no more than thirty years old.

"Father Cisse, hello."

Nozer stopped and spoke respectfully, "I am Nozer Stella, a cadet in the infantry department. Lieutenant Colonel Hoffman sent me to find you."

The man paused for a moment with the scissors in his hand, then slowly turned around.

Noze saw his face clearly.

Cisse Ashford has very defined features, with a deep profile characteristic of the Valencian Empire. His eyes are slightly deep-set, and his pupils are a light grayish-blue. Perhaps due to the influence of the church, Father Cisse Ashford exudes a kind of divine gentleness.

His face was expressionless, his lips pressed tightly together. His gaze fell on Noze, scanning him up and down. Instead of speaking immediately, he asked, "Noze Stella?"

"Yes."

He composed himself, took out the neatly folded letter of introduction from his pocket, and handed it over with both hands. "This is a letter from Lieutenant Colonel Hoffman to you."

Father Cisse took the note, unfolded it, and glanced at it. There weren't many words on it, and he quickly finished reading it.

He placed the note on the table, tapped the surface lightly with his fingertips, and looked back at Noze with his grey-blue eyes.

"Hoffman wants you to learn healing magic from me."

Father Cisse turned around, placed the scissors he was holding on the table, and said, "Then tell me, in your opinion, what is healing magic?"

Norzhe was already prepared. After a moment's thought, he said, "Father, according to the definition in the 'General Specifications of Army Spells,' healing spells are used to repair injuries to the human body, stop bleeding, relieve pain, reduce the risk of infection, and increase the survival rate of the wounded..."

Before Noze could finish speaking, Cissé impatiently interrupted him.

"Anyone can say those clichés from books. I'm asking for your own understanding. Think about it carefully and tell me, what is healing magic to you?"