Shield of the Rose

“Clatter—Crash—Bang!”

Glass teacups, porcelain vases, and half-person-tall plaster statues crashed heavily to the ground, shattering glass shards, porcelain splinters, and plaster debris all over the floor.

Poronov turned around to grab the grandfather clock next. Although it was a bit heavy and he couldn’t lift it all at once, he desperately needed an outlet for his rage. Refusing to stop, he exerted force to push against the back of the clock instead.

With another loud thud, the clock crashed heavily to the floor, its glass face shattering and scattering in all directions.

Gasping for breath, Poronov walked over to the desk, pulled out a chair, sat down, and then kicked out with his leg, flipping the desk upside down as well.

Unfortunately, he also caught a stitch in his side and burst into violent coughing.

Poronov coughed painfully, his back hunched, hands clutching his chest, his thin and skeletal frame shuddering with every wracking cough.

The sound of smashing and coughing echoed far and wide, but no one dared approach. The servants in the house were all too familiar with their master’s eccentric temper. In moments when he was in a bad mood, showing concern or attempting flattery was likely to invite disaster.

Yet, ignoring their master was impossible either. If anything happened to him, they might be punished for poor service—a mistake that could cost them their heads.

Just as the servants were growing anxious and panicked, every one of them at a loss, a light two-wheeled carriage drove up from afar.

The moment they saw the carriage, the servants rejoiced. They knew this carriage all too well; it belonged to their savior and their master’s only close friend—Count Antonio. The Count was a very amiable and low-profile man who always drove his own carriage without a groom.

“I could hear the noise over a kilometer away.”

The carriage stopped in front of the house. Before even getting down, the Count spoke with a gentle laugh to the servants.

“My Lord Count, only you can persuade the master!”

The butler finally breathed a sigh of relief.

Count Antonio stepped down gracefully from the carriage with a faint smile and handed the whip to the butler.

Of course he knew why Poronov was in such a rage.

Not long ago, the Monstoke Republic had held a Magitech Armor Design Competition. A second-rate nation with meager Knight strength usually couldn’t attract their interest with such a contest.

However, intelligence confirmed that the competition had been initiated by the other two Great Craftsmen, Espol and Madame Shar, with the goal of selecting a design for the future standard Magitech Armor of the Dante Alliance. Only then did it capture their attention.

Poronov had dug out an old design, revised it slightly, and had someone submit it to the competition.

He had assumed that first place would inevitably fall to him. This was no ordinary design; Poronov had poured immense effort into it, devoting no less thought than he had to the “Rubik’s Cube.”

Unexpectedly, Poronov’s brilliant design had only received second place.

With Poronov’s arrogance, how could he tolerate playing second fiddle to someone else? To him, second place was undoubtedly a colossal insult.

As soon as he stepped into the main hall, Antonio saw the floor littered with debris and carefully walked on tiptoe, avoiding stepping on the fragments as much as possible.

The sound of footsteps caught Poronov’s attention. He was still coughing, though it was much better than before. Turning around and tilting his head, Poronov saw his old friend arrive and suppressed the fury in his heart.

“Cough… Cough… Did you get the news too?”

Poronov wiped his mouth with his sleeve, leaving a faint trace of blood at the corner of his lips.

Antonio didn’t answer immediately. He opened the medical bag he carried, taking out a syringe and two vials of medication.

“Cough cough… I’m fine… Cough… I’m warning you, don’t even think about using that…”

Poronov couldn’t even finish a complete sentence.

“I am your friend, and even more so your doctor. If you don’t cooperate, I’ll have the servants tie you up, just like last time, and give you a sedative to sleep for three days,” Antonio threatened.

Poronov didn’t dare refuse any longer. He knew his old friend meant what he said. With one injection, his coughing quickly subsided and became much milder.

After finishing the injection, Antonio adjusted Poronov’s head to perform an examination.

“Your complexion is extremely pale, you have dark circles, and your eyes are bloodshot. You need rest, and you need to get some sun.”

Poronov glared at Antonio, growing increasingly impatient: “I’ll rest. I’ve just been a bit busy lately.”

“You’re always busy,” Antonio pointed out incisively.

“I finally managed to get ahead of Espol and Shar…” Poronov tried to convince his old friend.

Antonio cut him off before he could finish: “Have you ever thought about what happens if you collapse just a few meters short of success? Wouldn’t that be a tragic waste?”

He patted Poronov on the shoulder: “Besides, you’re so much younger than Espol and Shar. That in itself is an advantage. Why not make good use of it?”

Seeing that Poronov still wanted to debate, Antonio waved his hand. He didn’t want to dwell on this topic any longer.

“I am, however, quite interested in the reason why you only took second place. Can you guess why?” Antonio asked with a smile.

Poronov rested his feet on the edge of the overturned desk, leaned back against the chair, and pondered with a frown.

Antonio remained quiet at the side, waiting patiently.

“Perhaps…” Poronov hesitated, uncertain. “Perhaps Espol or Shar saw through the trap I hid within the design.”

“Trap?” Antonio was somewhat baffled.

Poronov explained, “That design concealed malicious intent.”

“Isn’t that your old design? I remember you were very satisfied with it back then, and only abandoned it after coming up with the concept for the ‘Rubik’s Cube.’” As an old friend, Antonio understood many of Poronov’s affairs.

“It was an outdated design, drawing from the experience of the Cassomina War thirty years ago. That war proved that in large-scale Knight battles, defensive power is paramount. Thus, after the war, standard armor designs tended to be slightly heavier. That design was the same—big, crude, and sturdy. Furthermore, to facilitate manufacturing, I devised an integrated cast armor shell. Had it been thirty years ago, its performance would have definitely surpassed the ‘Rubik’s Cube.’ Unfortunately, times have changed…”

Poronov stood up and paced across the debris-covered hall, his steps appearing somewhat weak and hollow. “The Chief of the General Staff of the Franca Empire proposed a new theory before the war broke out. He believed that blindly matching strength against strength like in the Cassomina War was utterly foolish. War should be an art, not a contest of brute force. To win, one should attack the opponent’s weaknesses as much as possible, and if there are no weaknesses, create them. Therefore, new standard armor requires sufficient mobility, and because such armor demands high logistical supply, it must be easy to repair. He came to me specifically for this, which led to the creation of the ‘Rubik’s Cube.’”

“The ‘Rubik’s Cube’ is still medium armor. According to your logic, light armor should be more suitable,” Antonio remarked, being no stranger to Magitech Armor given his close friendship with a Great Craftsman.

“Light armor is too fragile in the end, lacking defense. I originally envisioned designing two types of standard armor like Mathilde did, but ultimately abandoned the idea. Having two standard armor models results in terribly poor resource utilization.” Poronov shrugged, feeling a slight tinge of regret. If pursuing perfection, a dual-standard armor design would undoubtedly be more appropriate.

“Perhaps your intentions weren’t seen through by those two, but rather the person acting as your proxy exposed a flaw,” Antonio hypothesized.

“Unlikely. The proxy who submitted the design was a mole placed by Intelligence in Monstoke, who also happens to be a somewhat famous armor manufacturer. I intentionally modified a few places to make the design match his capabilities. Others would at most assume he performed beyond his usual level,” Poronov argued.

“You held back on purpose. No wonder,” Antonio felt he had found the cause. “It’s precisely because you held back that you ended up in second place.”

Poronov shook his head. His old friend wasn’t an armor designer and didn’t understand many things. “If my design hadn’t been selected at all, I might believe your reasoning—that it fell into the hands of an incompetent judge and was eliminated at his level. But now, I received second place, which means Espol and Shar have definitely reviewed my design. With their caliber, it would take at most two or three glances for them to refine it. Otherwise, they wouldn’t deserve the title of Great Craftsman.”

Antonio learned of such intricacies for the first time, but in the blink of an eye, another possibility crossed his mind.

“Perhaps first place belongs to one of Espol or Madame Shar themselves, and naturally, they would favor their own work,” Antonio chuckled.

Unfortunately, Poronov was in no mood for jokes. Although he usually looked down on the other two Great Craftsmen, he believed they would never do such a thing.

Just then, a slightly balding, middle-aged man in his forties wearing round-rimmed glasses walked in. Looking at the chaotic hall, he appeared somewhat uneasy.

“I… I am Lieutenant Mir from the Intelligence Department…”

The intelligence officer was interacting with a prominent figure like Poronov for the first time and didn’t know how to begin. He also finally understood why a mere analyst like him had been sent to deliver the message. Others had obviously guessed what the scene here would be like and were unwilling to invite misfortune upon themselves.

“Any new developments?”

Poronov rushed over suddenly, his movements becoming unusually agile, showing no trace of nutrient deficiency or sleep deprivation.

The middle-aged officer was also carrying a briefcase—a leather briefcase whose handle was actually connected to a pair of handcuffs, securing the briefcase to his left wrist.

The procedure to open the briefcase was quite tedious: first unlocking the handcuffs, then unlatching the two locks on the bag itself, only to reveal a few sheets of paper inside.

Those were precisely Richie’s design. The Intelligence Department was equally attuned to this competition, as everyone understood it could very well influence the course of the war.

The effort they put in was vastly greater than Poronov’s. Poronov had merely taken an old design and modified it slightly, whereas they had dispatched two teams specifically for this matter, even activating several deep-cover moles embedded in Monstoke’s high command.

The first-place design draft had been obtained from one of those moles.

“This is the first-place design?” Poronov rapidly flipped through the few sheets of paper.

“Yes,” the middle-aged intelligence officer nodded repeatedly.

Poronov’s next action completely stunned him. He saw Poronov frantically tearing the papers to pieces, turning them into tiny shreds in an instant. With a wave of Poronov’s hand, the paper fragments scattered everywhere like falling flower petals.

“Idiots! Fools! Swine! This couldn’t possibly be the first-place design draft!” Poronov roared hysterically.

The middle-aged officer hastily tried to defend himself: “We… we obtained this design draft through an extremely reliable channel… There shouldn’t be any mistake.”

Poronov grew even more enraged, his face turning bright red as he pointed at the officer’s nose and cursed: “That proves nothing! At most, it proves you are a swine! Everyone in the Intelligence Department is a swine, and the moles you placed are just as stupid! You’ve all been fooled! Tricked by Espol with something completely worthless! This isn’t Magitech Armor at all; it’s a Barbie doll!”

Reprimanded till his face turned pale, the officer didn’t dare talk back. Everyone knew Poronov’s status in the Empire; if he annoyed this Great Craftsman, his superiors would surely banish him to some desolate island to monitor sea birds.

With a woeful expression, he bent down to carefully pick up the paper shreds from the floor. Whether Intelligence had truly been tricked was beyond him, but he knew one thing: if even a single scrap of paper was missing, he would be in deep trouble.

Antonio hadn’t interrupted from start to finish. As the sole friend of one of the Three Great Craftsmen, he understood a fair bit about armor design.

The design on that schematic was far too complex, failing to meet the requirements of standard armor.

He could only sigh for the officer in his heart. The man had terrible luck; clearly, someone in Intelligence also felt they had been duped, yet had to report it, so they picked an honest, taciturn man to serve as a scapegoat.

Sympathy aside, Antonio didn’t plan to explain on behalf of the officer. The only thing he could do was bend down and help him pick up the torn scraps.

Poronov watched the two of them with impatience. If it were just the officer cleaning up the trash, he would have definitely kicked him out, but out of respect for his old friend, he forced himself to exercise some restraint.

With a somber face, he glanced over from time to time.

Glancing at the floor, the paper fragments were torn very small, and the design was similarly fragmented, with many scraps containing only one or two components drawn on them.

He seemed to realize something.

Poronov stepped forward quickly, pushed the officer aside, snatched all the paper scraps from his hand, and then grabbed another pile from Antonio.

He brushed the floor with his foot, clearing away the porcelain and glass shards to create a clean space, and rapidly assembled the torn paper scraps.

Poronov worked at high speed. He had an exceptional mind and an astonishing memory; after scanning a scrap, he would immediately place it in its proper position with rarely an error.

The paper fragments were gradually pieced back together, slowly returning to their original appearance.

Staring at the reconstructed design draft, Poronov remained silent for a long time, crouching motionless.

Antonio and the officer held their breath beside him, afraid to disturb Poronov.

This heavy, suffocating silence lasted for half an hour until Poronov suddenly stood up and walked straight toward the laboratory.

He walked so abruptly that the wind generated by his footsteps blew the painstakingly reassembled design draft apart once again, scattering it everywhere.

Antonio offered an apologetic smile to the officer: “He’s usually not like this.”

“I understand, completely understandable,” the middle-aged officer nodded repeatedly.

“You…” Antonio didn’t know how to send this man away: “Do you need a formal reply?”

“Of… Of course. I… I need to wait for Mr. Poronov’s final conclusion. We desperately need to know how much value this design holds.” Although slow-tongued, the officer realized that rather than dealing with the neurotic Great Craftsman, it was better to seek help from the good-natured Count before him.

Antonio fell silent for a moment. If it were just a simple response, he could have Poronov dismiss the officer right away, but if detailed conclusions were required, that would be tricky.

“You might have to wait for a while—could be a few hours, or a few days,” Antonio said apologetically.

“I have plenty of patience,” the officer smiled. That very quality was why he had been sent here.

“Alright then, follow me. But please keep one thing in mind: we can only watch from the side and must not make a sound,” Antonio warned.

Having spoken, he picked up the paper scraps on the ground, and the officer immediately assisted.

This time they were much luckier. After all, the breeze from his footsteps hadn’t been too strong; though scattered, the general layout of the pieces hadn’t been ruined. With minor adjustments, it was restored to its original form.

Antonio had the servants fetch some paste and stuck the scraps piece by piece onto another sheet of white paper.

It took over an hour to complete the task.

“Clean up the room, and have someone guard this sheet of paper. Once it’s completely dry, store it away,” Antonio instructed. Though this was Poronov’s residence, his orders were equally effective.

He led the officer toward the laboratory.

The laboratory was right next to the villa—an undeniably massive lab. Yet for such a large space, the number of assistants inside was pitifully small, as very few met Poronov’s standards.

These assistants were currently gathered around Poronov, looking exceptionally busy.

Antonio watched from afar, pulling the officer to a corner where they sat on two chairs.

Poronov was busy converting the design he had seen into a physical model.

To evaluate a design, looking at schematics alone was insufficient. Even with his expertise, he had misjudged it initially and was fortunate to realize it in time.

Having a physical model was different. Once built, a series of simple tests could roughly calculate the armor’s performance metrics.

Poronov wasn’t holding the design draft; while piecing together those paper scraps earlier, he had firmly memorized every single component in his mind and had even directly improved some of them.

This was his capability—an ability that even Espol and Madame Shar among the Three Great Craftsmen couldn’t match.

Poronov’s assistants weren’t amateurs like Richie. They followed formal operational procedures, crafting components one by one out of polymer clay, with some smaller parts already being cast in plaster molds.

Each assistant held a schematic drawn by Poronov himself, while Poronov was buried in work at his drawing board.

It had to be admitted that Poronov indeed surpassed the other two Great Craftsmen in overall armor design. He had grasped the subtle brilliance of the design earlier, and once all components were redrawn and labeled with dimensions, the performance and characteristics of the armor took clear shape in his mind.

The disassembled component designs weren’t as numerous as imagined, as most modules were identical.

Once engrossed in work, Poronov was intensely focused. He remained completely unaware when lunchtime arrived, and his assistants were used to it, none daring to complain. Antonio didn’t try to persuade him either, knowing it was futile, and simply watched from the side.

Inside the quiet laboratory, aside from footsteps, there were only the sounds of handling tools and the WHOOSH of alcohol flames. No one spoke; everyone was hard at work.

Time flew by. The sun rose overhead and gradually sank. By around four in the afternoon, all components were finally fabricated, leaving assembly as the final step.

Everyone qualified to work here was a high-level expert in armor manufacturing. Assembling a model was child’s play for them.

In just fifteen minutes, a beautiful model appeared before the crowd.

Poronov carried the model over to Antonio: “Let’s eat. I’m hungry.”

It was an awkward time, still a bit away from dinner, but Antonio had no intention of declining. He knew that when his old friend spoke like this, it meant he was in a great mood.

In a suddenly cheerful mood, Poronov appeared exceptionally polite, even inviting the intelligence officer along.

Returning to the living room, everything had been restored to its original state. The debris had disappeared, and broken items were replaced, except for the spots where the plaster statue and clock had stood, as there were no spares for those two.

Preparing food naturally took time. Poronov was meticulous and sought perfection in everything, including enjoyment.

The officer seized the opportunity to request Poronov’s final conclusion.

“This is indeed a brand-new standard armor design concept. As to whether it deserves first place, I reserve my opinion. However, I admit its design concept is exceptionally unique and remarkably ingenious,” Poronov stated with a rather solemn expression. Being surpassed by someone else was by no means something that pleased him.

“Who designed it? Could it be Espol or Madame Shar?” Antonio asked.

This was also the question the officer wanted to ask, his ears immediately perking up.

“I don’t think it’s the work of those two old folks,” Poronov said without holding back. “I even suspect the designer isn’t an armor craftsman at all. This person’s design logic is so unique… so unique that it surpasses most common sense.”

“Mr. Poronov, I would like to know how long it might take to complete this brand-new design?” the officer asked cautiously, a crucial detail he needed to report back.

“Not very long,” Poronov offered the alarming answer without second thought.

“How… How is that possible? Didn’t you say it’s a design so unique it defies common sense? As far as I know, the more unproven a design is, the longer it takes…” The officer grew anxious, needing a clear answer to report back.

“The concept is brand new, but this armor uses the most ‘mature’ structures. Its framework completely mirrors the human body. People have tried this in the past, but the manufacturing process was too complex and structural integrity had issues, so it was abandoned. If this design genuinely resolves those two hurdles, the design, manufacturing, testing, and adjustments will be extremely fast. The initial prototype could emerge within six months.”

Poronov calculated in his head. As an armor maker, he could precisely predict design and manufacturing timelines, though testing and fine-tuning were less certain.

Because this armor consisted of numerous small parts, each quite small, replacing or fabricating a new part upon discovering minor flaws would be remarkably fast. Thus, minor adjustments would proceed swiftly.

Furthermore, the Alliance side would likely split into several sub-teams, each responsible for a specific section, shortening testing times even further.

“One year, or a year and a half,” he muttered to himself. “We might see the enemy’s new standard armor by then.”

Hearing this answer, the other two at the table didn’t look pleased. Antonio knew best how long Poronov had spent designing the “Rubik’s Cube.”

Three whole years. From initial concept to final design, the “Rubik’s Cube” underwent over seventy major revisions, producing six prototypes. Subsequent testing and adjustments took another two years, uncovering over three thousand issues large and small.

Both men realized that the five-year advantage the Alliance had gained might vanish in just one year.

With this thought, the mood among all three worsened considerably.

Poronov did not know that his estimate was still conservative, and many internal details eluded him.

The submission period for the design competition was two months, followed by a month of evaluation and announcement. Richie had finished his design right at the start of the competition, drawing immediate attention from the two Great Craftsmen and the master smiths.

In other words, detailed design work and prototype fabrication had been underway since the very beginning of the competition. Over those three months, nations across the Alliance spared no expense, providing personnel and resources without reservation.

The top armor craftsmen of the Republic willingly acted as assistants and supervisors, working around the clock; master smiths from across the Alliance gathered in Peines, each responsible for designing a single component.

Thus, by the time Poronov obtained the design draft, the first batch of prototypes had already been produced.

To save time, small-scale trial production began immediately.

No one knew exactly how many suits were made in that first batch. Nations produced a set for themselves, partly to accelerate testing and partly due to vast environmental differences. Monstoke was humid and rainy, full of mountains and forests; the Omoer Empire was the exact opposite, a quarter desert and the rest plains and hills; while a large portion of the Luosuoto Empire lay within the Arctic Circle, enduring winter cold unimaginable to ordinary people. Once returned, these prototypes had to be modified for local conditions.

With prototypes ready, testing naturally followed.

Because of Richie, and also because of Trisli, this task was assigned to Squad 105.

Looking at the twelve suits of armor lined up in a row, Lina pinched Richie’s cheek out of habit: “You’ve finally done something good. This armor design is pretty nice.”

Except for Richie, everyone in Squad 105 was female. The armor’s performance might still be unproven, and prototypes would surely have flaws, but its appearance was an absolute hit with women.

It was simply gorgeous.

Whether by higher arrangement or the Great Craftsmen’s vision, though all prototypes shared the same design, their colors varied: red, orange, yellow, green, cyan, blue, purple, black, white, gold, and silver—eleven colors in total. Only cyan had three suits, obviously prepared for the three sisters.

Standing next to the armor was a smiling, short, plump man.

Testing prototypes was grueling work, certainly not something to bother the Great Craftsmen with. Thus, Yiluo, representing his teacher Espol, presided over the affair—a perfect fit.

“It seems you’re quite satisfied with the appearance and colors. Different colors are meant to facilitate identification,” chubby Yiluo said with a smile. “The concept behind this armor is truly incredible. The abundance of small parts gives every participating craftsman immense room to maneuver. To validate each design, we produced so many prototypes, aiming to minimize testing and adjustment time.”

“You mean these armors are all different?” Richie asked. Though the original designer, once official production began, an outsider like him had no role, so many details remained unclear to him.

“You’re right. Most parts have slight differences. Soft joints alone feature fifteen different designs. The soft joints in your armor’s upper and lower limbs are different,” Yiluo turned and grabbed a thick stack of booklets. These booklets were also divided into eleven colors, clearly tailored to individual suits. “Here are the specs of the armor each of you will test, along with the test tasks you must complete over the coming months. Take them back, read them, and memorize the contents.”

He looked at the top booklet and walked over to Lina: “This one’s yours.”

The booklet Lina received was red—coincidentally her favorite color.

The booklets were handed out one by one. The one Richie received had a silver cover, polished like a thick mirror.

Richie looked up at the armor assigned to him.

It sparkled with silver radiance, its surface as smooth as a mirror.

Although all suits shared the same outer shape, his possessed a unique noble aura. Yet the suit that felt most regal wasn’t his, but Trisli’s.

Trisli’s armor was golden, equally mirror-smooth, but its bright yellow hue imposed an overwhelming presence. Lined up against it, the other suits seemed to stand a notch lower.

Squad 105 no longer stayed in that small town. Their current location was near the town and close to the lake, yet completely isolated. Starting from the town, the area was enclosed by a long barbed-wire fence. Trees on both sides of the fence were cleared away, and guard posts were erected roughly every kilometer. Outsiders couldn’t sneak in even if they grew wings.

Such a vast area housed very few people. Aside from a battalion of guards, there were only Squad 105 and the testing staff.

It was a completely closed world, and residents inside were kept separated. Squad 105 had independent barracks that no one could approach. The barracks themselves were heavily fortified; once night fell, no one could enter or leave.

The testing staff faced similar rules, living several kilometers away. Once the gates shut at night, they were cut off from the outside world.

As for the guard soldiers, they couldn’t roam freely either. Their barracks lay along the inner perimeter, which was the only area they could access. These soldiers comprised two groups: Internal Affairs members and personnel drawn from Alliance nations, keeping watch over each other.

To preserve secrecy, Alliance nations had exhausted every possible precaution.

In the days that followed, members of Squad 105 cooperated with staff to undergo various tests.

Having previous experience switching to the “Valkyrie,” everyone in the squad handled it skillfully, quickly getting a feel for controlling the new armor.

Initial testing saw constant issues, mostly concentrated on the soft joints.

Fortunately, the armor craftsmen had prepared several fallback options in advance. Damaged parts were immediately swapped out to continue testing, while replaced designs weren’t casually abandoned. Whoever designed a part would continue improving it, as no one knew if a modified version might turn out better.

Pressure served as the ultimate motivation. Pushed by the Norman Alliance’s new armor, everyone worked frantically.

The design drew closer to perfection by the day, and the armors’ performance rose continually.

By the twenty-fourth day, the orange armor operated by Merlin was the first to complete all preliminary testing items, meeting all target specs. Close behind, Robin’s purple armor, Ailie’s Cyan-1 armor, and Lina’s red armor completed testing one after another.

Three days later, Espol, Madame Shar, and the group of master smiths entered this heavily fortified location.

For secrecy, test records couldn’t be taken out; outsiders only knew which parts broke and why. Only now were all records laid out before them for inspection.

For an entire morning, experts gathered to study the dry data, accompanied naturally by intense arguments, though everyone remained remarkably restrained, keeping debates brief.

“This is standard procedure to avoid endless bickering and wasting precious time. Any disputes during armor finalization are recorded, and currently, parallel testing will be conducted to verify whose view is correct,” Yiluo explained to Richie from the side.

At the moment, both were crouching beside Richie’s armor, attaching “mirror plates.” When Richie first discovered that his suit’s sleek silver shell was made this way, he felt disappointed, but soon realized it offered incredible efficiency.

This layer consisted of highly resilient soft steel, backed by oxhide glue as a buffer. Even if an entire armor plate shattered, this steel layer might remain intact.

Most importantly, it was easy to attach.

Replacing his mirror shield in the past had been a hassle. Even with Miss Randy’s help, unscrewing bolts, opening clasps, swapping shields, tightening screws, and closing clasps took at least ten minutes.

Replacing the last damaged “mirror plate,” Richie stroked the restored armor gently and asked Yiluo beside him: “Next should be field and combat testing. Mass production should start in six months, right?”

“Not that simple,” Yiluo shook his head with a laugh. “Teacher and Madame Shar believe there’s room to boost performance further and simplify manufacturing steps, so they plan to revise the specs.”

Suddenly, he warned Richie in a low whisper: “You’d better not mention this to the Junior Army folks.”

Richie froze briefly, but quickly grasped Yiluo’s meaning.

The armor craftsmen sought perfection, while high-ranking Alliance officials wanted the highest-performing standard armor, ideally leaving the enemy’s standard armor far behind.

For the Republic, however, delays were bad news. Manufacturing armor took time, Knights adjusting to new armor took time, and deploying armor into battle took even more time.

Richie felt conflicted, unsure of what choice to make.

A melodious bugle call pulled Richie back to reality—it was the noon break signal.

Inside the makeshift wooden barracks, a large hall housed a ten-meter-long table easily capable of seating everyone for meals.

Invited to join, Richie sat alongside the experts.

To his left sat the librarian uncle, and to his right was Yiluo.

Glancing at the other members of Squad 105, the librarian uncle smiled subtly at Richie: “Impressive! You actually helped most of your squad break through. You can practically call yourselves an Ace Squad now. Truly remarkable.”

Richie blushed, catching the hidden meaning.

Speaking of Ace Squads, the current Squad 105 genuinely qualified. Aside from Captain Calli, Margaret, Robin, and Richie himself, everyone else had become an Ace Knight.

Miss Calli had one foot in the Ace Knight rank, ready to break through anytime. He and Margaret were so young; becoming official Knights at their age meant becoming Aces in the future was almost guaranteed. As for Robin, given her inherited bloodline, it was only a matter of time.

“How does your armor feel?” Madame Shar turned to look at Richie.

“Very good,” Richie could only say so much. Praising it too much would sound like bragging about his own original design, and he wasn’t that thick-skinned.

Suddenly, an idea struck him: “Could you add a sound receiver to mine, one exceptionally sensitive to direction?”

The request surprised everyone around.

“Direction-sensitive? What a strange request. Others want receivers with wide range, ideally omnidirectional without blind spots. You’re quite unique,” Yiluo chuckled.

The only person unperturbed was the librarian uncle sitting on Richie’s other side. Stroking his chin, he thought for a moment: “An auxiliary martial art seems to have a similar requirement. I can’t recall the exact name, as it’s quite obscure…”

“What is that martial art used for?” Madame Shar asked, somewhat dissatisfied with the uncle’s rambling.

“Perceiving surroundings through hearing. The creator was reportedly a Recon Knight, though ironically it wasn’t very useful for Recon Knights. As for ordinary Knights, once reaching Honor Grade 1, they comprehend ‘Field,’ accurately sensing surroundings through ‘Field.’ Thus, this martial art was deemed useless and went ignored for centuries. I only know of it because I collect obscure disciplines,” the librarian uncle explained.

“Do you have the specific training method?” Richie asked excitedly. That was exactly what he needed. Having an existing discipline saved him from figuring it out himself, saving precious time.

“I’ll need the person managing the library to check before I can give you a definitive answer. I recall there’s a training method, but I’m not sure if it’s complete,” the uncle remarked cautiously.

“Although I’m not a Knight, I’ve heard that randomly practicing a bunch of disciplines is definitely bad,” Madame Shar advised, showing rare concern.

Before Richie could respond, the uncle spoke up: “It’s fine. It’s just a martial art, an auxiliary one at that, not a core discipline. Learning a few extra auxiliary techniques won’t hurt.”

That wasn’t entirely true. The uncle knew Richie’s secrets and was aware that, except for Robin, everyone in Squad 105 practiced a chaotic mix of martial arts and disciplines without any issues.

“I heard you’ve been reading a lot of books lately?” The uncle glanced at the back of Richie’s chair, where a thick, massive book rested.

“Miss Trisli suggested it to me. Over the past month, I’ve indeed felt that stuffing more into my head is a good thing.” Richie subconsciously touched the book behind him.

Recalling the books read recently, Richie smiled gently. Over these past months, he had squeezed value out of every second, carrying a book everywhere without wasting a moment.

There were just too many books to read.

Initially, he only planned to read through the training methods for the seventeen Divine Arts. While Divine Art training methods were unobtainable for others, they were completely accessible to people of status like Trisli, Lina, and Robin.

Only then did Richie learn what technique Lina had taught him back then, keeping him excited for days.

Among the seventeen Divine Arts, what tempted him most wasn’t Lina’s “Lightwheel Cleave,” but the sole defensive Divine Art—Vajra.

Though termed defensive, Vajra wasn’t purely defensive; it included attacks like “Vajra Might,” “Great Vajra Strike,” and “Vajra Extinction.”

When he first saw it, he felt unbearable itchiness. Unfortunately, the technique was highly exclusive; practicing it required destroying all previous disciplines.

Richie naturally refused.

The seventeen Divine Arts and their methods expanded his horizons, revealing the ultimate nature of power. This fueled his interest in lower-tier Secret Techniques.

Secret Techniques were far more numerous, generally counted at over two hundred types.

A large portion derived from Divine Arts—some created as transitional techniques toward Divine Arts, others developed because Divine Arts proved too difficult.

Those who created Secret Techniques were undeniably profound minds; even just reading without practicing offered deep insights.

Reading through those took a month. Since Divine Arts and Secret Techniques were limited, he spent remaining time on small booklets.

If Divine Arts and Secret Techniques revealed a grand highway, the contents of small booklets were like gravel paving that highway, or humble grass along the roadside.

Some ideas in those booklets had been realized into Secret Techniques or Divine Arts, showcasing clear thinking absent in completed techniques.

Unrealized ideas were even more precious to Richie, potentially hiding gold. His only regret was lacking sufficient strength to dig that gold out.

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