Gunpowder Plate Armor and the Magic Revolution

Monet von Schönfeld, one of the few survivors of the Battle of the Golden Knife.

He was originally a fellow officer with Bilkin Sand, and as a magician with exceptional talent, he naturally rose through the ranks quickly, with a bright future ahead of him.

Before the Battle of the Golden Knife, he had already been promoted to the rank of colonel based on his military achievements, and served as a centurion in the Federal Expeditionary Force, leading his troops from Kut to attack the Valencian Empire.

Then... came that damned betrayal.

The aftereffects of excessive spellcasting, coupled with the psychological trauma caused by his friend dying in the chaos of battle to protect him, plunged him into a state of both mental and physical torment day and night.

After returning to Orentia, Monet voluntarily resigned from his newly promoted rank of major general, left the Orentia Wizards Club, and applied to become a civilian officer accompanying the army.

A genius mage who should have shone brightly on the battlefield or in the academy ended up mingling in the black market, a fate that would make anyone sigh.

"Everyone has their own destiny... Oh well."

Leopold waved his hand, but finally nodded. "I've approved the man for you. You go to the Admiralty first, and I'll send someone to look for him."

"No need, I know where he is."

Graham said with great confidence.

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"Miss Sophie, can you ride a horse? Taking a carriage from the main street to the Admiralty would take you around most of the city, but going through the back streets and alleys would be much faster, and riding a horse is the most convenient way."

Sophie looked up at Graham's tall, long-legged steed and shook her head frankly. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant Colonel Graham, I've never learned to ride a horse. I used to stay in the workshops and research institutes with my father and rarely had the opportunity to be exposed to these things."

Even when acknowledging her shortcomings, she remained poised and confident, unlike the typical person who is hesitant and awkward.

Graham nodded upon hearing this, his gaze shifting between his fiery black horse and Nozer's docile chestnut before finally settling on Nozer, and he spoke as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"That's perfect, Noze. Let Miss Sophie ride your horse. Chestnut can easily carry two people... You don't mind, do you?"

"I have no objection; it mainly depends on Miss Sophie..."

Noze paused for a moment, then extended his hand to Sophie, speaking politely and gently, "If you don't mind that it might be a bit cramped for two people."

"How could that be?"

Sophie looked at his outstretched hand, her fingertips paused slightly, and then she calmly raised her hand to touch it.

Nozer could feel the calluses on her fingertips from years of holding pens and fiddling with parts, and the warmth of her palms.

It feels a little cool.

With a slight effort, Noze used his skill to help her step into the stirrups and steadily mount the horse. Once Sophie was settled in front of the saddle, he stepped into the stirrups and mounted the horse, sitting behind her.

Sophie was very slender and took up almost no space sitting in front of him. She had a faint scent of pine resin on her body, which drifted on the wind to Nozer's nose, a scent completely different from those pungent and heavy perfumes.

He gently tightened his grip on the reins, slightly pulling his legs back to avoid touching Sophie, and whispered to the person in front of him, "If you feel any bumps or discomfort, just let me know."

"Thank you for your help, Warrant Officer Nozer."

Sophie nodded slightly. Even though she tried her best to calm herself down, her hands, which were tightly gripping the front armrests of the saddle, still betrayed her nervousness as a first-time rider.

Graham watched as the two men settled in, then lightly cracked his riding whip in the air.

"Let's go! We need to get to the Admiralty morgue quickly; we can't afford to waste any more time."

As soon as he finished speaking, he gently squeezed the horse's flanks with his calves, and the black horse immediately started to trot along the stone path outside the stable.

Norze gave the reins a gentle tug, and Chestnut obediently followed, taking steady steps to catch up.

The two horses, one in front and one behind, exited the side gate of the Army Ministry and turned into the back streets and alleys of Monsoon City.

The afternoon breeze carried the faint salty smell of the Emerald Sea. Noze deliberately slowed down, making Chestnut walk more steadily, afraid of bumping into Sophie in front of him.

Graham rode in front, glancing back every now and then to make sure the two were keeping up before continuing, all the while giving them instructions.

"When we get to the Admiralty, you two should keep quiet. I'll handle those people."

Graham had prepared a whole host of things to say to the Navy, and he even tried to challenge himself by not using any profanity to make those old men in the Navy faint from anger.

Unfortunately, all his preparations were in vain, because he couldn't even get into the main building of the Admiralty.

"...What? The Navy sent the body to the Port Authority?"

Graham looked at the young, newly graduated officer who was in charge of receiving him, and he was furious but couldn't vent his anger.

"Yes, I'm not entirely clear on the specifics either..."

This naval officer wasn't deliberately causing trouble; he genuinely didn't understand why his superiors would do such a thing.

"What about the autopsy report? Is there one? A whole day has passed; surely the autopsy report hasn't come out yet?"

"...I don't know."

The naval officer had said this countless times.

"Where is your supervisor? Get your supervisor out here and talk to me!"

"I can only inform them, but whether the officer comes out or not is really not up to me... and the body really isn't here. Even if you summon our general, the body won't come..."

"If you're really in a hurry, you should go to the port authority as soon as possible."

"Get out! Get out of here right now!"

Graham's anger was not without reason.

Imagine this: you've made ample preparations for something you've been looking forward to, and just as you're about to showcase your talents and derive joy from it, you discover that it has suddenly vanished.

Anyone who has experienced this feeling of being stopped at a distance must find it extremely unpleasant.

Meanwhile, Graham wasn't the only one feeling unhappy.

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The carved mahogany desk in the office of the Port Authority is polished to a shine. The window faces the estuary of the monsoon harbor, and one can see rows of white sails and masts on the sea. It is the best place in the entire port to see the view.

But at this moment, the atmosphere in this grand office was extremely oppressive.

Marlon Wayne, the Port Authority Director and Customs Director, slumped in his leather seat, oblivious to the long, grayish-white ash trailing from the cigarette between his fingers.

Those eyes, which usually held a sense of ease and confidence, were now filled with barely contained frustration and anger as they stared intently at the seven or eight documents spread out on the table.

Five or six middle-aged men in the uniforms of the directors of various departments of the Port Authority stood in the office, their heads hanging down as if they wanted to bury their heads in their chests.

Some pretended to be looking down at meaningless documents in their hands, while others stared intently at the gleaming tips of their boots, afraid that if they made a sound, they would become the target of the chief of staff's wrath.

"Clatter".

The ashes from the burnt cigarette finally fell, landing on the expensive handmade cashmere carpet and leaving a small scorch mark.

The next second, Ma Long slammed his hand on the table, making the teacups on the table jump and spill tea, wetting the edges of the documents.