Shield of the Rose

The column traveled at a modest pace, though even slow progress eventually reaches its destination. Especially after turning onto Route 276 at Xunoplik, speed accelerated significantly over smooth roads, leaving zero reason for prior delays.

Yet because the human tide proved far too dense, the original plan to rendezvous with Malone’s group at Xunoplik fell through completely.

That highway was severely congested, with crowds packing even roadside pastures, everyone advancing toward the border.

Their massive column couldn’t even halt, for stopping would instantly block the entire highway.

With no alternative, Richie consulted with everyone, leaving Binder’s nephew behind. That boy was roughly Richie’s age, having originally planned to travel with Malone, but Binder’s parents worried for their grandson, bringing him along this route instead. Unexpectedly he proved useful now.

Xunoplik housed a reserve corps, and though a small town, it served as a vital transit hub to the border that couldn’t be left vulnerable.

Richie requested Vilia’s help in delivering Binder’s nephew to the military camp, eliminating concerns for his safety.

Leaving Binder’s nephew to wait for rear stragglers, the main column set off once more, arriving four days later at the border town of Stein.

Stepping off the vehicle, Richie let out a long sigh of relief, a massive stone in his heart finally settling to the ground.

Though the land beneath his feet still belonged to the Monstoke Republic, advancing barely two hundred meters further entered the neighboring nation of Balmer.

Nor was Richie the sole person to breathe easier; fellow travelers shared the exact sentiment.

“We finally arrived! We’re safe now.”

“Next we just wait for Dad and the others to join us.”

“Where are we staying?”

“The town must have inns, right?”

“Impossible. In such a small town, inns were packed long ago, and there seems to be no garrison here either.”

Family members chattered boisterously in discussion.

Richie’s father walked to his son’s side. Though an initial plan had been formulated, it comprised two parts: a general direction and specific details. Detailed plans included exiting the Republic, but terminated at the border, for no one knew actual border conditions. Formulating plans without knowing actual conditions would build castles in the air, impossible to realize.

Richie walked over from the front, delighted to see his father and everyone unharmed. Beside a few people contracting minor colds, the journey had proceeded smoothly—far more comfortable than their initial escape from Glasslovar.

“Let everyone step down to stretch; sitting in vehicles throughout the journey leaves bodies unadjusted,” Richie didn’t address his father’s implicit question immediately, calling out to the group behind: “Gather on that slope over there; don’t wander off, and refrain from entering the town. Someone will arrive shortly.”

Hearing that, the two groups walked toward the indicated slope. Though several women harbored desires to explore the town, they had to abandon the thought.

Before departing, everyone had been warned: whoever wandered off would be left behind, for no single individual would delay the collective itinerary.

The slope indicated by Richie sat at a slight distance from the highway—an ideal spot featuring a sparse grove of thirty or forty trees at the crest, the sunlit face blanketed in vibrant green resembling a manicured lawn.

Seeing others walk off, Richie gestured to his father and the girls—his closest and most trusted companions.

Finding a wind-sheltered corner, Richie scanned the surroundings.

Confirming no one hovered to eavesdrop, Richie relaxed: “Before departing, I asked someone to contact Yiluo, who prepared everything for us. Balmer is a vassal of the Packington Holy Empire, where the Alliance won’t dare deploy troops short-term, though long-term prospects remain uncertain. Thus this place isn’t entirely secure. By comparison, the safest nations remain established powers like the Packington Holy Empire, Omore Empire, and Rosotto Empire. Yiluo has arranged connections, allowing you to choose whichever destination you prefer.”

Richie’s father looked at his son in bewilderment, unable to follow his thought process, asking after a long pause: “Didn’t we plan differently initially? Weren’t we supposed to wait for Malone here?”

“I’m merely offering everyone an alternative option,” Richie naturally wouldn’t reveal his lingering distrust toward Malone, prompting him to prepare a backup route beforehand—a detail he couldn’t share with his father initially: “Right now two paths lie before us: one carries immense risk yet promises a grand future, while the other offers far greater security, though lacking the prestige of the first.”

Richie looked at his father.

His father knit his brows in silent contemplation, his face alternating between flushed red and pale gray as two conflicting choices clashed inside his mind.

After a long silence, he stomped his foot firmly, clapping Richie’s shoulder with force: “Son, you know I lack grand ambition, having drifted through life. Earlier you wanted me to enjoy prestige, but in the end I messed things up. I am indeed useless.”

At those words, his father’s face twitched—an expression blending regret and longing—yet in an instant his eyes shone with resolve: “I still want to try. I don’t want to live my entire life in mediocrity. Hiding in that tunnel for two months allowed me to see through many things. These wild ups and downs made me view prestige lightly, and right now I merely wish to prove one thing: that I existed, and that I tried.”

Richie looked at his father in astonishment, feeling as though he failed to recognize the man before him.

Equally astonished were Emily and the girls, who had hidden in the tunnel alongside him without noticing such a profound shift in Richie’s father.

“You’ve made up your mind?” Richie asked once more.

This time his father hesitated not a fraction.

“I’ve made up my mind.”

“I support you,” Richie placed both hands on his father’s shoulders.

“I knew you would,” his father embraced his son tightly, filled with immense joy. Speaking those words earlier, he had held zero confidence, fearing his son might view him as ungrateful after all the effort expended on his behalf. Now his mind settled completely.

Encouraging his father, Richie pulled back, turning to Emily: “I hope you can go to Yiluo’s side; you can offer little help here.”

“What about you?” Emily asked in return.

“I must balance both sides. Dad strives on this end, while that side represents our foundation. Sophie, Isabella, Caroline, Ingrid, Kristina, Tidi—you all go together as well.”

The named girls and their mothers displayed zero joy—especially Isabella and Caroline, who had lost their parents and had to shape their own futures.

Caroline had hailed from a wealthy background, frequently recalling her past, spending her days in the tunnel planning her own future, eager to leverage this opportunity for achievement.

Isabella lacked Caroline’s ambition, but possessed four younger siblings. Her two sisters’ futures drew little concern, for within their current social circle, securing good husbands upon growing up would prove effortless; her true concern lay with her two brothers’ prospects.

Yet neither girl intended to voice their thoughts right now, for speaking now would merely add chaos. Knowing Richie’s personality, discussing it privately when he held free time would draw zero opposition—he would even offer help, where a single word from him outweighed everything else.

Whereas creating trouble now meant that even if Richie permitted them to stay, he would leave them ignored in cold indifference.

Compared to their silence, unmentioned Jinny and Melissa’s mother and daughter displayed bright joy in their eyes.

Jinny relished chaos, for leaving her behind left her clueless on what to do, while Melissa and her mother, like Caroline, harbored their own plans formulated inside the tunnel.

Those two women enjoyed reading biographies of famous figures, knowing many historical figures rose during chaotic eras when old orders collapsed and new orders emerged, generating countless opportunities.

Compared to Caroline, their vision proved far superior: while female advancement in politics proved difficult, securing a position around the political perimeter was exceptionally easy.

Nor did they value perimeter positions, aiming straight for the innermost circle to become behind-the-scenes manipulators of politics.

“Jinny, you handle communications between both sides,” Richie felt both eager to utilize and cautious toward this girl. Jinny frequently acted unpredictably, causing head-throbbing trouble, yet both sides relied on her.

His father’s side needed Jinny’s aura-discerning ability.

With Malone and four Internal Security Bureau elites present, zero concern existed regarding recruits harboring hidden disloyalty or ambition, the sole concern being hidden spies.

Spies infiltrated high levels of the Republic and Internal Security Bureau, let alone a party assembled on short notice. Malone’s group specialized in catching spies, though success rates weren’t absolute; while Jinny couldn’t read thoughts, she could discern malice, which proved entirely sufficient.

Emily’s side equally needed the girl, for she identified material properties, occasionally stumbling upon new research directions by accident. One could say omitting any single person among Emily, Jinny, and Sophie rendered the laboratory incomplete.

Settling everyone’s duties, just as Richie let out a sigh of relief, Vilia arrived.

Behind her walked another person—an old man with white hair, wrinkled face, clean-shaven chin, and a burn scar across his jaw.

“Manuel! I never expected you to come,” Richie stepped forward hastily. Beside Yiluo, this old man shared the closest relationship with him—outmatching even the two Great Craftsmen—and traveling a vast distance to greet him represented profound friendship.

“Falack intended to come as well, but his current project reached a critical phase,” Manuel spoke with intense excitement: “When Yiluo told us you resolved flight issues, we wished to witness it with our own eyes, but Yiluo returned while you hadn’t arrived, and when you returned, those events erupted.”

The old man resembled a child, harboring zero hidden schemes, chattering continuously.

“So you came for that reason!” Richie feigned dissatisfaction.

The old man knew he was joking, caring not a bit.

“Unfortunately such armor requires matching specific manuals, making short-term adoption impossible,” Richie sighed helplessly.

“That is true,” Manuel felt mild regret as well; without such constraints, he would certainly have surrounding knights learn flight to further refine the design.

Suddenly recalling something, the old man clapped his forehead, laughing boisterously: “Look at my senile memory—I brought you something!”

“A suit of magitech armor?” Richie scanned around. Though possessing Yaksha, that suit served well for reconnaissance or assassination while offering zero utility on open battlefields.

“Why are you acting just like those knights?” the old man felt dissatisfied.

“I am a knight!” Richie felt bewildered.

“Serving as a knight has zero point; fighting desperately on the front lines, only to encounter such events upon return,” Richie voiced zero complaints regarding his ordeal, while the old man vented grievance on his behalf: “This is a utter waste of your talent!”

Speaking so, the old man retrieved a small box from his left pocket, resembling a jewelry box.

Opening it revealed a badge inside.

That badge caught Richie’s eyes sharply—crafted from a solid piece of ruby, thumb-nail sized, reflecting crimson light under sunshine like a glowing ember. The central pattern was simple—a golden hammer—yet how it was crafted remained mysterious, radiating brilliant golden light.

Richie recognized the object instantly, for Manuel possessed one as well.

It was the Master Craftsman Badge awarded by the Magitech Armor Manufacturers Association.

Richie maintained confidence normally, yet seeing the object, his hand trembled slightly.

“Take it! It’s yours. As designer of the Dragon armor and creator of flight technology, let alone a Master title, Falack, Yiluo, and I even proposed naming you an Honorary Great Craftsman,” the old man chuckled.

“That’s going too far, isn’t it?” Richie’s mouth hung wide open.

“You don’t understand. Previously the Great Craftsman title didn’t exist, and the highest achievement for armor designers was Grandmaster—a title earned not by sheer capability, but reserved exclusively for those making groundbreaking discoveries,” Manuel spoke with longing: “Yet how could groundbreaking discoveries appear easily? Generations frequently passed without a single Grandmaster emerging, so the Association lowered requirements, replacing Grandmaster with Great Craftsman as the supreme title. But one rule remained unchanged: any pioneer of groundbreaking discoveries earned the Great Craftsman title.”

Speaking so, Manuel felt helpless as well. Rules were rigid while humans were flexible; most high-level Association members voted against the proposal, citing Richie’s youth.

The old man understood their rationale: above Honorary Great Craftsman lay only Great Craftsman itself, and given Richie’s age, should he make further discoveries, the Association would face an awkward shortage of titles to confer.

Like all organizations, the Association contained behind-the-scenes trades and calculations, though far better than other domains, for every member understood that groundbreaking discoveries couldn’t be suppressed—they would inevitably flourish, while pioneers turned into milestone figures, leaving any suppressors nailed to history’s pillar of shame.

“Come, I’ll buy you a drink!” Manuel pulled Richie’s arm.

“Wait, wait! My family isn’t settled yet,” Richie stopped him hastily.

“True. Do you need my help?” the old man offered warmly.

Toward such delivered help, Richie naturally raised zero objections.

Though requesting Vilia’s help could achieve settlement, it couldn’t match Manuel’s influence.

Five kilometers northeast of Stein lay a barren valley—spacious, yet devoid of produce, covered in loose stones. The stone quality was fragile, remaining unutilized, so when refugees arrived, it was designated as a refugee camp.

Over two weeks, sixty thousand refugees had flooded the valley, far exceeding Stein’s local population. Arriving here, Richie witnessed endless tents and crude huts.

Naturally wooden barracks stood there as well—resembling military quarters—which represented the finest housing in the valley.

Leveraging Manuel’s prestige, Richie secured a south-facing slope along with construction materials.

Materials were limited in quantity, for wood wasn’t produced around Stein, requiring transport from elsewhere, so securing any quantity proved impressive.

“Materials are scarce, but scarcity has its own methods,” helping Richie resolve the issue was Carmen, who managed finances and served as advisor within their female group—proving herself an expert at utilizing existing resources when designing hideouts.

“Can you ask your knight friends to dig several trenches?” Carmen didn’t forget Richie as a ready resource.

“What kind of trenches?” Richie asked.

“Digging rows upward along the slope like trenches, four or five meters wide, allowing wooden boards to serve as roofs. Sloping the trenches with one side higher than the other, using wooden struts to support the lower side for windows, utilizing every piece of material,” Carmen shared her vision.

“What if fire erupts? A fire would consume an entire row,” Richie worried not for the women—whom Ariana controlled strictly—but for Malone’s independent families. On the journey, someone had secretly lit a fire to cook—specifically Malone’s mother-in-law, acting without fear.

That was why Richie offered his father two choices earlier; before cooperation began, discordant signs emerged, making him worry for the future.

“Covering roofs with a layer of earth prevents fire completely,” Carmen had contemplated various issues, including rain. In mid-March, April would bring heavy rain, requiring immediate solutions.

Richie had asked casually, and knowing Carmen held plans, he ceased worrying, overwhelmed by his own tasks.

Introducing Carmen to Vilia, requesting female knights to dig trenches.

Asking such a favor felt somewhat awkward, so Richie pushed the task to capable hands, knowing Vilia would certainly help as a minor effort.

Furthermore, they still needed him: over the week, five more female knights had broken through bottlenecks, offering hope to others.

Originally his pranks using Soul-Melting Touch had left them in agonizing arousal, paired with discovering hairless intimate areas, prompting thirty percent of knights to withdraw from dual-training the next day. Yet seeing others succeed rekindled their desire, bringing back withdrawn knights while attracting new participants.

As for newly promoted Ace Knights, like Lina’s group, they sought higher breakthroughs.

Settling affairs here, Richie sought out Manuel immediately.

Manuel didn’t reside in town, for Stein proved far too small for a figure of his standing.

Furthermore, town inns were packed, and while clearing a room for Manuel was easy, ensuring safety for a Master Craftsman proved difficult, leaving him to reside in his vehicle.

Manuel hadn’t arrived alone, accompanied by numerous assistants and a knight squad serving as bodyguards.

Their column comprised ten vehicles—small in scale, yet prestigious—with two central vehicles exceeding standard width and length, featuring two magitech armors standing atop their roofs.

Vehicles parked at the town’s northwest corner—formerly an open-air market—now designated a hundred-meter restricted zone.

Richie was naturally exempt from restrictions, for his fame abroad far exceeded domestic renown.

Months ago, former President Yarno had signed an arrest warrant without anticipating the intense international backlash, prompting the Magitech Armor Manufacturers Board of Directors to demand immediate revocation.

Yarno refused, leading the Board to convene an emergency meeting to confer the Master Craftsman title upon Richie—which equaled revealing a fraction of his secrets.

Original designer of the new “Dragon” armor—that identity proved shocking enough, startling non-aligned Alliance nations while sending shockwaves through the Norman Alliance.

Rumors claimed that when news reached Polonov—the Great Craftsman viewed as a genius synonym within the Association—he flew into a rage, refusing to believe it, before vomiting blood upon confirmation from Imperial Intelligence.

Though rumor, credibility ran high. Beside fitting Polonov’s temperament, Richie’s experience paralleled Polonov’s, inviting comparison, making Polonov care far more about Richie than other designers.

Neither hailed from formal armor designer backgrounds: Polonov worked as a mechanic initially, while Richie served as a knight.

Both achieved early fame: omitting Richie, Polonov completed his first work at twenty-five, astonishing nations.

Perhaps because Polonov served as a benchmark, Richie’s status was elevated implicitly.

Flight technology breakthroughs naturally remained secret, reported to top Alliance levels when Yiluo returned. The raid on Crete represented an unprecedented military precedent, prompting top Alliance leaders to form an expert panel to study records upon Yiluo submitting logs.

That expert panel assembled top Alliance figures, representing another reason why nations valued Richie immensely.

Though un-publicized, the Association hinted at the achievement through varying terminology: Manuel, Yiluo, and Espol termed it a pioneering achievement, while other Association leaders called it a groundbreaking feat.

Thus Richie held immense fame, where higher-level figures held deeper knowledge of him.

Manuel coming to greet Richie was originally a personal initiative, turning into an official reception through high-level intent. Thus Manuel’s entourage recognized Richie, including key figures like his father and Emily’s group.

Seeing Richie approach, someone reported early, inviting Richie inside upon arrival.

Manuel sat in the front vehicle. Stepping inside, Richie’s eyes brightened.

It was essentially a mobile laboratory—lacking only an ironworks, matching the lake laboratory in facilities.

Manuel wore a white lab coat and reading glasses, sitting at a worktable.

Assistants stood beside him, worktable cluttered with papers filled with symbols and formulas.

The old man had been discussing topics with assistants, interrupted by Richie’s arrival, though caring not a bit. Assistants recognized Richie, knowing their mentor’s motivation, harboring zero complaints.

“How is my setup?” Manuel pointed at his laboratory like a child showing off a toy, inviting Richie’s review.

“Unquestionably magnificent! If only Emily possessed such a laboratory,” Richie marveled.

“No problem at all! Vehicles like this are abundant,” Manuel stated.

“Seems I interrupted your work,” Richie felt slightly embarrassed.

The old man waved his hand: “Hardly an interruption; we held zero progress anyway.”

Suddenly looking at Richie, rubbing his hands, flipping through papers to draw one: “You arrived just in time; perhaps you can offer inspiration.”

Richie understood zero content on the paper, yet had to feign understanding to uphold his Master title.

“Which project are you researching?” Richie asked casually.

“I belong to the old woman’s team,” Manuel sighed, referring naturally to Madam Saar. Working under Madam Saar was by no means pleasant, for among the three Great Craftsmen, she and Polonov were famous for bad tempers…

By comparison, Polonov suffered mental instability, smashing objects or self-harming without striking others.

Madam Saar possessed zero mental issues, yet her famous heavy umbrella had struck numerous Masters.

“The new synthetic sinew hasn’t been replicated successfully?” Richie knit his brows.

He knew Madam Saar managed that project. Captured enhanced “Magic Cube” suits from Polmo utilized several new technologies, including new synthetic sinews.

As absolute authority in power transmission, Madam Saar managed over a dozen related projects.

Lacking time to research everything personally, she set general directions, assigning specific research to Master Craftsmen like Manuel.

“I dislike admitting it, yet must concede Polonov that madman is indeed a genius,” the old man sighed: “He used some unknown method to fuse two completely opposing materials together.”

Richie’s eyelid twitched. Though a semi-insider, he understood the immense difficulty.

If Polonov utilized a universal method to fuse opposing materials, that represented a groundbreaking discovery.

If applicable only to this formula, it qualified as a major feat.

That famous neurotic possessed genuine capability, implying Manuel’s short-term replication was near impossible, while even Madam Saar researching it yielded uncertain results.

“Zero progress at all?” Richie pushed the paper aside subtly.

The old man noticed not the movement, gesturing to an assistant.

The closest assistant retrieved three strands from a drawer—resembling steel wires, dark blue in color with silver tips.

Richie held zero unfamiliarity, for every armor contained such sinews.

Manuel sat still while Richie remained unmoved, the assistant clamping three sinews onto a testing instrument.

Richie understood: Yiluo possessed a similar instrument with broader testing capabilities. This instrument contained numerous meters, buttons, and knobs that appeared dizzying.

To Richie’s relief, he understood several meters.

Manuel’s assistant adjusted knobs cautiously—differing completely from Randy’s fluid, swift movements.

Richie had learned from Randy, warning himself to refrain from operating instruments casually before Master Craftsmen to avoid exposing his amateur nature.

Shifting eyes to the meters, he understood differences among the three sinews.

The first displayed ordinary metrics, representing current standard sinews. The second displayed far higher metrics, taken from the captured enhanced “Magic Cube”.

The third proved interesting: displaying metrics several times higher than the second in contraction speed and force, yet lacking control—contracting fully or snapping back instantly in an all-or-nothing fashion.

“Though failing to replicate Polonov’s design, his creation offered immense inspiration. The old woman excels at power transmission, adding her own elements to surpass Polonov’s original performance, yet control issues emerged.”

“How did Polonov achieve it? You can’t be clueless on the principle; once grasping the principle, abandon his method to craft a new one,” Richie said, knowing others had likely suggested it already.

The old man slapped the table: “He used an exotic method—incorporating nerve-like structures along the sinew to re-distribute energy entering from the tips.”

“Micro-adjustments? That’s Espol’s domain; he’d certainly feel interested,” Richie called out.

Manuel nodded: “Espol assigned someone to research it, though lacking expertise in this domain. Resolving control might prove easy for him, but fusing both parts will encounter obstacles.”

Richie knew the old man spoke accurately; had Espol and Madam Saar’s research directions connected easily, they would have joined forces long ago.

Seeing the old man stare expectantly, Richie knew he couldn’t leave without making a suggestion.

He understood the old man knew his limits, merely hoping he might suggest a new direction—just as he had aided Espol accidentally.

“Do you have spare sinews of this type?” Richie intended to let Emily’s group experiment, potentially stumbling upon results by accident.

“Abundant supply!” the old man stated: “Beside single strands, we possess complete test armors.”

Seeing Richie’s confusion, the old man explained: “Ramos devised a compromise: blending both sinew types together with a complex control system—engaging new sinews for high output, while using old sinews for precise maneuvers.”

Richie tilted his head in thought, sensing something wrong: “How were the results?”

“A total failure. Control was overly complex, making movements resemble a madman, barely functional,” the old man looked dejected; had that method succeeded, he wouldn’t be struggling now.

Richie chuckled—an expected outcome, having realized what was wrong.

That operation resembled their accumulator device, which proved useful only during leaps or charges. That accumulator was Jebsen’s achievement, whose capability matched Ramos.

Jebsen had researched the domain extensively, certainly contemplating similar concepts, and had it proved feasible, he would have proposed the theory long ago.

“Interested in inspecting that armor?” the old man invited, seeing Richie deep in thought.

“That armor with madman movements is here with you?” Richie felt surprised, though realizing it was natural since Manuel managed the project.

Stein possessed abundant open ground, enclosing a nearby hill.

That wasn’t the old man’s intent, viewing demonstrating a failed armor as nothing major, yet accompanying officials held different duties. Per regulations, any paper dropped by a Master Craftsman was treated as A-level classified documentation, so the old man’s casual suggestion occupied officials for half an hour.

The demonstration site sat behind a hill, separated from another hill hundreds of meters away to maintain secrecy.

The test armor stood isolated at the center—appearing crude, a basic frame wrapped in synthetic sinews, cluttered with temporary energy lines.

Yet Richie noted not the armor, but its pilot.

“Am I mistaken? You recruited an Honor Knight as a test pilot?” Richie felt astonished, wondering when Honor Knights had turned so cheap.

“No choice; Ace Knights couldn’t handle this suit, so completing maneuvers required an Honor Knight,” the old man sighed.

As they spoke, the test armor began moving.

It executed basic maneuvers initially—walking, running, leaping.

As the old man described, movements were stiff and jerky.

Richie felt as though he watched a fast-forwarded recorder replay—fast-forwarding, freezing, fast-forwarding, freezing.

“See that? A total failure, isn’t it?” Manuel chuckled self-deprecatingly.

Richie didn’t smile, not even hearing the old man’s words.

Unlike the old man, he was a knight, viewing those pauses through a different lens.

Omitting those pauses, the armor’s speed was fast—scary fast.

Within Squad 105, speed was dominated by master Dina’s full-power strike—whose Thunder technique explosive speed was legendary.

Following were his “Wind Gap Flash”, Trisli’s “Shadowless Strike”, and Merlin’s “Half-Step Shift”—all boasting speed, with “Wind Gap Flash” slightly faster, though restricted in practical utility.

The test armor’s speed, while below Thunder technique, far surpassed “Wind Gap Flash”, “Shadowless Strike”, and “Half-Step Shift”.

At that moment, the test armor completed basic maneuvers, executing complex, continuous actions.

The Honor Knight possessed impressive strength; constrained basic maneuvers appeared stiff, but free of constraints, he adjusted movements by intuition, reducing pauses significantly.

Stomping sounds blended with sharp whistling air.

Richie’s eyes narrowed into a gaze.

He had sensed familiarity earlier, masked by pauses, but as the armor accelerated, a deep memory was triggered.

Cold sweat seeped from his back, a past scene floating before his eyes.

An armor leaving afterimages rushed toward him at insane speed, and before he could react, it arrived before him, its raised battleaxe radiating the scent of death.

“What’s wrong? You look unwell,” Manuel’s push woke Richie, realizing he had lost composure.

“Nothing, just recalled something,” Richie intended to share nothing.

“You possess abundant sinews of this type, don’t you?” He had been casual earlier, but now harbored genuine ideas. With his strength, fighting an Honor Knight offered parrying capability—allowing escape if undefeated.

He currently feared two things: “Spiritual Piercing”, which he had suffered, knowing its lethality; and the Franca Empire’s suicide techniques.

“Instant Burst Aura”, “Explosive Aura”, “Instant Activation”, “Mutual Destruction Technique”—various names given by others, the true name unknown, yet its terror was universally recognized.

What he witnessed previously wasn’t even the most lethal application: deploying suicide techniques guaranteed death, so those knights installed self-destruct devices in their armor, instilling fear even in Heavenly Knights.

Returning from Manuel’s camp, Richie visited Emily immediately.

Behind him followed an equipment vehicle provided by Manuel, containing bundles of failed sinews and instruments.

Manuel was generous, offering spare instruments.

Accompanying were three knights and a communications officer—knights serving as porters and bodyguards, the officer handling communications and assisting.

Manuel offered to assign assistants, which Richie declined.

The old man cared little, knowing Masters preferred self-trained assistants accustomed to their working styles.

“You truly view yourself as a Master Craftsman!” Only Jinny dared speak so to Richie, spoken privately without attendants present.

Pinching Jinny’s ear firmly, Richie said annoyance: “Daring to look down on me?”

He chuckled: “Because Manuel suffered a setback, I dare intervene; even if it fails, it matters little.”

“Sly boy,” Jinny and Emily laughed, while other girls smiled silently.

“Not entirely sly,” Richie appeared serious for once: “I harbor genuine ideas.”

His main difference from Masters lay in prioritizing utility, whereas Masters relied on documented data. Take testing for instance: some metrics felt unnecessary to him, like picking up an egg to test precision and touch sensitivity.

He viewed such tests as useless, for using slightly more force or shifting a millimeter mattered little on battlefields.

On battlefields, even Heavenly Knights refrained from seeking absolute precision, exerting full force where precision remained relative.

Cutting hair with a sword was performance; hitting within half an inch constituted precision in actual combat.

Thus his requirement for armor was simple: practical utility.

Madman movements failed requirements, but if stiffness was minimized without frequent freezing, it proved acceptable to him.

“Help me cut these sinews into one-tenth their original length, then reconnect them. The control system poses difficulty, where my vision is…” Richie drew on paper casually.

New sinews possessed poor control, operating in binary states: contracting fully or relaxing fully.

Manuel, Ramos, and Polonov sought to correct that trait.

Richie differed, seeking an approximate result.

Cutting sinews into small segments allowed minor movements by contracting a single segment, while larger movements engaged more segments.

Through this method, executing ultra-precise maneuvers posed difficulty, yet moving fluently presented zero obstacle.

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