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Wearing Power Armor to a Magic School (130/?) Revised Version 1
🕑 Added 2025-05-31 22:28:24 +0000 UTCAuthor’s Note: Hey everyone! There’s been a few edits in this one so I’d suggest you guys give this another read! Most of the edits have been made just to improve the flow though, as the fight required a few parts to be reworded and rephrased just to improve how well everything sounded! :D Aside from that, there’s the usual grammar edits! As always, all of the revised sections are highlighted with an underline to easily see what’s been revised! :D
It all happened blisteringly fast.
Though not without some form of warning.
“En garde!” Thalmin bellowed ferociously, barely a second after I nodded at what I first assumed was just a suggestion — a preamble before the ground rules were laid out.
I should’ve expected nothing less from a sparring match, though.
But honestly, it was just as well that this started as abruptly as it did.
Real life rarely gave you any signs or warnings, if any, after all.
I could feel my training kicking into action, adrenaline coursing through me as the lupinor charged forwards following a solid kick of mana radiation warnings.
My breath hitched.
Then, I darted left.
The glint of his longsword flashed past my lenses — just enough to tell me I’d barely dodged his first attack. A sharp whoosh followed closely behind.
Time slowed to a crawl right at that moment as he sped past—
[ALERT]
—only for several things to happen in rapid succession.
One — a solid grip suddenly forming around my right wrist.
Two — a forced twisting motion of my right arm, pinning it against my back.
And three — a blunt jabbing pressure against my left flank.
I barely had time to process even a fraction of the sensations, let alone what happened.
“Not prepared?” The lupinor chuckled, taking a moment to savor his victory, or more specifically, to point out my shortcomings. “Perhaps you’re still stuck in the mindset of the Crimson Waltz, but let it be known that merely dodging an active combatant doesn’t at all guarantee survival following the first strike.”
Thalmin reiterated this by jabbing the guard of his sword against my flank some more.
“Lesson number nine of the Havenbrockian Knights Codex: Always keep your opponent in front of you. To face an opponent at a disfavorable stance, is still preferable to losing sight of an opponent. Or worst of all, allowing an opponent to take up positions behind you.”
The lupinor prince let go of me following that, as I nodded firmly in response.
“I admit, I wasn’t really ready yet. But that’s as much my fault as anything.” I acknowledged.
“The opening move of a typical spar is often a free skirmish, a tradition to remind would-be warriors that war often has but one single rule — the silencing of a foe by any means necessary.” The prince reasoned. “For one cannot expect one’s opponent to be as knightly as oneself. Thus, chivalry and the decorum of war must always be carefully weighed against an enemy that refuses to abide by said rules.” Thalmin smiled confidently, placing two fisted hands by his hips in a valiant pose. “A good warrior must always remain vigilant, ready to take up arms at a moment’s notice.”
“And I was probably overlying on you for that, EVI.” I admitted under a muted mic, moreso to myself than the EVI.
It was at this point that one of Aunty Ran’s parting lessons came to mind, one that hit particularly hard in this instance.
…
“You’re going to have to react quicker when dealing with real world situations, Emma.”
“Power armor and exoskeletons enhance your reflexes.” I recalled arguing back, frustrated at her antics at being ‘too serious’ in our impromptu training sessions.
“And both can fail. All they do is augment your reflexes. You need some good baseline ones to start out with, otherwise it makes the gap between skill and projected abilities that much more jarring.”
“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”
“I am.”
It was that response that threw me off more than any other, as the facade of her invincibility dropped on that day, if only to hammer home the blunt truths of war that I needed to get through my thick skull if I were to decide to follow in her footsteps.
“Whether you go LREF or TSEC, ship or power armor, there’s no one in command but yourself. A VI, construct, or program is only as useful as the operator that wields it. And it can’t multiply your capabilities if you’re multiplying by a skillset of zero.” She stated bluntly. “Over-relying on them can lead to an atrophy of your own abilities before you even get off the ground. I, along with everyone else in my company, understand this intrinsically. But only after we learned it the hard way.” I recalled her pausing, allowing me to just take that in for a moment. “I don’t want you to learn it the same way we did. Because the ones who didn’t learn that lesson in time didn’t get a second chance.”
…
“But don’t be so down about it, Emma.” Thalmin suddenly pulled me out of my reverie, slapping me hard on my shoulder. “Consider it a much-needed warm up.” He quickly added with a smile.
With a nod of acknowledgement from my end, the prince quickly took a few steps back, all the while keeping a solid grip on the hilt of his sword.
“The rules from here on out are simple — subdue your opponent either by take-out strikes, or by achieving a killing blow. Parrying is optional.” Thalmin smiled, cocking his head as he did so. “So… are you ready for the next round?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be, Thalmin.” I offered, pulling out my knife. The prince, just as quickly, leaped in my direction this time around.
The man flew forward with a speed and finesse that was more than difficult to counter, putting me on the backfoot. His advances forced me to constantly move, trying to dodge his every attempt to make contact with his blade.
Though this proved to be easier said than done.
The wolf seemed to read my every move, stepping in to fill the empty spaces left in my wake, and keeping me constantly and consistently on my toes.
I struggled to coordinate and counter what was, in effect, two distinct battles happening at once; one with his physical form commanding the motions of the battle, and the other being his actual offensive thrusts.
Each swing felt smooth — planned — yet remained unpredictable in their trajectories.
My frustration grew. Each time I thought I’d figured out a pattern or some logic in his attacks, I found him switching seamlessly into new techniques, completely circumventing my attempts at working up an appropriate counter.
From heavy thrusts that forced me to dart sideways, to overhead slashes that pushed me into ducking and weaving, to these grand, swooping cutting motions resembling tactics reserved for those giant Zweihanders…
I ended up not winded, but disoriented by the constant flow of the battle, finding myself doing ‘catch up’, as we ended up lapping once, twice, thrice along the entire perimeter of the room.
Then, at about the third round, I noticed it.
Not a pattern nor any sort of trick, but a slight reduction in the prince’s ferocity.
He was slowing down, his movements less fluid and more forced.
This was my chance. My grip tightened around the hilt of my combat knife.
I watched for an opening, for that small but growing gap between each change of his combat style.
I huffed, my breath straining as I finally saw it — an opening. A slight gap in the lupinor’s attack as he prepared for a cleaving swing.
I darted rightwards as he swung down, side stepping and sliding across the floor in a mad dash towards his back. I pushed forward, knife in hand, ready to strike—
THWOOSH!
—before suddenly being met by an impossible display of acrobatics. As the prince quite literally planted the tip of his sword in the floor, pushed his entire weight into the hilt of said sword, before propelling himself upwards, avoiding my assault entirely.
It took me a half second before I figured out his next move, but by then it was too late.
I felt a palpable force pushing up against my side, the prince giving his all and slamming feet first into my left flank, forcing me down to the ground with an unceremonious THUD.
The sounds of impact probably made it seem a lot worse than it was. Because despite all of that, I was left not with broken ribs or bruising sides, but just a small bout of dizziness; the armor clearly shielded me not just from harm, but pain as well.
To say the mismatch of motion and sensation was jarring would’ve been quite the understatement, as I felt that barrier between armor and skin more palpably than ever before.
I watched haggardly from the floor as Thalmin approached with his sword, pointing the tip of his blade beneath my helmet’s lower ‘chin’.
We stared at each other in a moment of silence, before he swapped out the blade for a hand and helped me back to my feet.
“Lesson number twelve of the Havenbrockian Knights Codex: If at all possible, take the initiative. Don’t just react to your opponent, but dictate the direction of a fight. Once momentum — your momentum — is solidified, then the fight is already half won.” Thalmin spoke proudly, resting his sword against his shoulder while he rolled both of them in semicircle motions.
“You definitely did a great job on keeping me on the backfoot there.” I nodded respectfully. “I take it that the last ‘opening’ I noticed in between your strikes was a trap then?” I inquired with a cock of my hip.
“Indeed it was.” He nodded. “Though to be fair, you fought well for someone untrained in the art of melee fighting. Most, if not all, of the other students at the Academy would have long since crumpled at the first few opening moves.”
“I appreciate that, Thalmin. Thanks.” I acknowledged, before following the prince’s motions and taking several steps back, readying myself for another round.
“Though I admit, I was not expecting my trap to work as well as it did, if at all.” Thalmin chimed in abruptly, entering what I was quickly noticing was his ‘relaxed’ battle stance — what was in effect a posture indistinguishable from his normal standing posture, yet one that he managed to switch up into any number of opening moves without any obvious tells.
“Oh?”
“Your fall following my kick was… unexpected. Indeed, that move was as much a hail mary on my part as your desperate final stand was for you.” The prince continued as he twiddled tapped absentmindedly away at the hilt of his sword. “You’re holding back, aren’t you?” He perked up a brow.
“Well—”
Before abruptly charging at me without any prior warning.
“I witnessed your fight with Ping.” He spoke quickly, his sentences punctuated by each slash of his blade. “You should have not flinched at what was, in effect, a fraction of that raging lunatic’s attacks in the Crimson Waltz.” He breathed out calmly, jumping back from our first mini-engagement and granting me a moment of reprieve.
“I’m not so much holding back—” I took a deep breath, starting to feel the initial strains of the fight. “—as much as I am being honest about my capabilities. This is a spar, a training session, after all.” I managed out, before taking a page out of Thalmin’s earlier lesson, and charging headfirst towards the lupinor.
I watched his features turn to mild yet pleasant surprise, before he deftly dodged my charge.
“Honesty?” He pondered, evading each and every one of my moves as if it was nothing. “Oh! I see… Does this have something to do with your… arachnous nature, Emma?” He teased, causing me to enter a small bout of confusion, which was enough to fumble my momentum. The prince dealt a swift, swooping kick under my feet, causing me to lose my footing and fumble forward to the ground. “I apologize for that low blow.” He immediately spoke. “But where was I? Oh, yes. I’m assuming this is something to do with your… exoskeleton frame, yes?”
I let out a loud sigh from the floor, nodding, before accepting the prince’s outstretched hand once more.
“Yeah, it does.” I admitted. “Like I mentioned previously, the exoskeleton frame helps in enhancing not just our strength, but quite literally everything you can imagine. This includes the ability to completely tank Ping’s strikes which, mind you, was magically augmented. So I consider it to be a fair equalizer in making up for the magic advantage.” I put those last two words into heavy emphasis, even going so far as to raise both left and right index and middle fingers to airquote it.
Whilst the latter motion caused some confusion to form in the prince, the lupinor eventually acknowledged the rest of my explanation with a firm nod.
“I appreciate your candidness, Emma.” He switched from a nod to a slight head bow. “Let it be known that I am likewise respecting the universal rules of the spar, by using only passive enchantments on my weapon, and not my form.” He remarked with a slight smile, which soon shifted to something a lot more sly. “I also see you’re learning from my teachings already. Though, if you’d be so kind, I think you can hasten up the pace some more, eh? I’d like to finally have our blades clash.”
I nodded, getting back in position, and once more tightening the grip on my blade.
“I promise I won’t hold back.” I responded with an egging grin of my own, before charging right back into the breach.
Thalmin, this time, mirrored my charge, holding his sword in front of him, poised for some stylish overhead slash.
I felt every stomp of my armored foot, every slight creak of the floorboards, as Thalmin and I locked eyes poised for the first clash of our blades.
I ignored the EVI’s alerts, my attention squarely focused on his moves, with one particular goal in mind.
I wouldn’t just evade him this time around.
I wouldn’t dart around waiting for an opening like some would-be rogue.
No.
I was intent on parrying it.
Though despite this commitment, a lingering and concerning thought did creep up down my spine.
A fear, a worry, and a concern that this might end up worse than either of us could expect.
But I was already locked in and committed to this trajectory.
There was no going back now.
My pupils narrowed to pinpricks as I rapidly extended my arm with the intent of parrying the prince’s aggressive sideways slash.
Thalmin obliged, as I both felt and witnessed the force of his blade slamming into my own.
CLINK!
They made contact.
TCHINK
Then, I felt something give.
SKRRIIIING-SNAP!
My heart sank, whilst Thalmin’s visage shattered—
SKRAAAANG!
—along with his blade.
Time crawled to a cinematic frame-by-frame as we both watched the blade split jaggedly down the center, bits and pieces of the point of contact scattering to the wayside, whilst the top half of the now-dismembered sword found itself planted into the floorboards a few feet behind me.
The battle came to an abrupt halt, ending with my blade stopping a solid few inches from his shoulder. The prince looked at me dumbfounded, his jaw hanging wide open, whilst his body refused to budge an inch.
We both stood there, completely silent for a moment, as the ramifications of this action sent my heart into a freefall straight into the deepest darkest depths of my gut.
“Thalmin…” I offered. “I… I’m so sorry. I—”
His expression, formerly locked in shock and disbelief, quickly shifted into something I hadn’t at all expected.
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 320% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
An all-out fangy sneer.
“Good one.” He remarked with an excited and heartfelt compliment, stepping back from my ‘death blow’ before bowing to me once as if to acknowledge my victory. Even in spite of the collateral I’d wrought on what I assumed to be a priceless magical artifact.
“What?” Was my only response.
Though the cause behind the lupinor’s perplexing response would become clear to me just moments later.
As suddenly, and with actual warning this time—
WAID ALERT: MANA RADIATION SURGE LOCALIZING IN PROGRESS… FRONT AND REAR.
—I watched as the lupinor reached out with the hilt of his broken blade, and started reconstituting it.
The smaller pieces rose up first, each shard and speck glowing an ethereal glow, before rapidly darting back towards its shattered hilt.
It felt like I was watching the destruction of the blade in reverse, as each and every disparate piece slotted back perfectly into place, culminating in the largest piece of them all — the front half of the sword planted behind me — to launch skyward, spinning through the air before locking firmly into place.
The now-reformed sword then glowed white-hot in Thalmin’s hands.
The jagged crack from before had, for lack of a better term, completely healed. Leaving not a single trace of damage behind.
“Lesson number twenty of the Havenbrockian Knights Codex: the element of surprise is more often than not the most lethal aspect of a fight.” The lupinor paused, before lunging right at me again, swooping in to parry, before just as quickly aborting that move…
Instead, he chose to swiftly outflank me, taking my hesitation to parry and my confusion at that abrupt swap in tactics to plant a well-placed ‘strike’ behind me. “Though rarely, some circumstances leave both parties surprised. In which case, victory is in the hand of the party that first regains initiative.” He concluded, before taking a deep breath and moving several paces back towards his usual ‘starting line’.
However, instead of squaring up again, the prince decided to sit down, landing cross legged on the floor as he did so.
“I will admit, however, that I am left in considerable surprise, at both the sharpness and strength of your blade.” He placed his own sword down in front of him, gesturing for me to join. “Would you care for an exchange?”
I acquiesced with a nervous nod, sitting down in front of him as we swapped weapons.
A bunch of mana radiation signatures erupted the moment I started handling the weapon, as instead of a constant and consistent elevation from background readings, it instead… pulsed, for lack of a better term.
This prompted a snicker from the lupinor, as he reached for the blade’s hilt, causing all of the errant fluctuations to quieten considerably, though not at all completely.
“It seems to be nervous of you, Emma. But that’s probably more than I can say for its reactions to most other people.”
I raised a brow at that, cocking my head as I did so.
“I’m assuming you aren’t being metaphorical or overly sentimental here, are you?” I shot back. “I can still tell when spells are being cast, or when mana is atypically higher than what it should be.”
“A keen eye, I see.” Thalmin smiled back in response.
“Does this have anything to do with the whole… reassembly process I saw earlier?”
“Indeed, it does.” The prince grinned snarkily, as if finally excited to be able to demonstrate some of his own toys this time around. “As you can imagine, a blade does not typically reform after such a catastrophic setback. This goes for typically-enchanted blades, no matter how masterfully crafted.”
My mind immediately thought back to Sorecar’s tirades on the nature of weapon enchantments, as I brought up one of the points observed during that hour-long lecture.
“That’s because of the nature of enchanted blades, right? At least the typical variety? From what I recall, there’s a ‘core’ that runs through the center of it, from hilt to tip. So breaking a blade kinda severs that core.” I offered.
“Exactly.” Thalmin nodded excitedly. “My blade belongs to a completely different class of enchanted items. Indeed, I’d be remiss if I even referred to it as enchanted in the typical sense. Artificers and forgers alike would shudder at this misnomer. As in actuality, the blade isn’t enchanted at all, but instead stitched. Soulstitched.”
I blinked rapidly at that revelation, my hands quivering at the implications of exactly what the lupinor was saying.
“That… sounds questionable, Thalmin. I hope that doesn’t mean what I think it means…” My voice darkened, prompting Thalmin to quickly raise both hands as he quickly realized the miscommunication currently underway.
“I understand the term might sound unpalatable, especially after your experiences with Ilunor’s soulbound contract.” He began.
“As well as Professor Sorecar’s whole soulbound thing too.” I quickly added.
“This is all very understandable, Emma.” Thalmin spoke empathetically. “However, the concept is far, far less malicious than both examples.” He continued reassuringly. “Whereas soulbinding has rather questionable intentions and methods, soulstitching, on the other hand, is the art of imbuing an item or artifact with an errant soul.”
I blinked rapidly at that answer, trying my best to make heads or tails of it.
“A what-now?”
“An errant soul.” Thalmin reiterated. “The soul of a magical beast that must be tamed, domesticated, and taken in as a companion for years prior to the process. Indeed, the process can only be done with the souls of those beasts willing enough to continue on the errant journeys and adventures of their masters.”
That answer… completely reframed everything, as Thalmin’s tone of voice shifted to this sort of poignant and thoughtful one, prompting me to make the obvious connection as to the origins of his sword.
“I’m… sorry about the loss of your pet, Thalmin.” I replied, before quickly realizing how this recontextualized the previous incident. “OH GOD! OH NO! AHH! I’m… I’m sorry for hurting your… pet’s soul, Thalmin.” I managed out in a series of confused stutters, prompting the prince to break out into a series of boisterous, wolfy laughs.
“There is no cause for concern, Emma! It is quite alright! Shattering my sword causes no harm or distress to Emberstride! Indeed, the actual thinking mind of a creature is often considered to already be lost following soulstitching.” His tone shifted once more into one of remorse. “I like to think that he’s still there, though. And if he is, I can guarantee that there is no cause for concern.”
“Right.” I acknowledged worryingly. “If you are in there, I’m sorry little guy.”
“Oh, my former mount was most certainly not little, Emma.” Thalmin chided.
“I’ll… take your word for it, Thalmin. Though, this does raise a question… you mentioned how soulstitching items or weapons requires a willing magical animal, right? I… can’t imagine that’s all that common, especially if you have to raise it as a pet or whatnot.”
“Where are you going with this, Emma?”
“Well… I was just wondering if there were less reputable forms of soulstitching, if you catch my meaning?”
Thalmin’s features darkened for a moment before he finally committed to a short, yet worrying answer. “Yes. Those archmages with wills and souls powerful and dark enough have been known to do so. However, the results have been less than favorable. With soulstitched items ending up either destroying themselves or their would-be masters.”
I could only nod warily in response following that, as Thalmin quickly shifted his attention to the other elephant in the room.
“Now this.” He spoke, holding my blade by the hilt. “I would like to know exactly how your unenchanted, manaless blade was able to shatter and sever Emberstride.”
“To avoid going into an industrial and material science tangent, I’ll keep it brief. You know how blades are typically made sharper, right?”
“Yes. Refining an edge, typically by thinning it in either the sharpening or forging process. Amongst many other considerations, of course.”
“Well… just imagine if you managed to make a blade so thin, that its leading edge is about a hundred times thinner than an Ure. That’s how thin this leading edge is.”
It took Thalmin a few seconds to really wrap his head around that, his hand moving to caress his forehead, as he began making circular motions around the side of his temples.
“Such blades are possible.” He acknowledged. “But that is firmly within the realm of magic, artificing, or more accurately — advanced forgery.”
I felt a snicker coming up at that last statement, reminding me of Sorecar’s little master forger joke from a week back.
“Moreover, such a blade, without enchantments… would simply be too delicate for any sort of use.” He reasoned.
“You’re right. Typical materials, even way into the early contemporary era, were too delicate for monomolecular blades. However, as time went on, we managed to invent different methods of combining, producing, and also maintaining these new materials capable of withstanding the forces involved. Granted, it requires a bit more maintenance than the typical blade, but the processes and equipment involved in doing that is rather simple, all things considered.”
Thalmin remained unresponsive following that answer, as he simply regarded the knife in silence for a moment before conjuring up a piece of fruit from his pocket, throwing it up high, and allowing it to slice cleanly through the blade.
“Impressive.” Was all he said, before handing the blade back to me. “While I would typically request some form of proof…” Thalmin trailed off, reaching for one of the cleanly sliced pieces of fruit that had landed squarely on his lap and snacking down on it. “... I think the results of its actions speak for itself.”
We both exchanged some banter following that. Thalmin even offered me a piece of fruit, only to once more be met with the sullen reality of my permanently suited disposition.
Topics ranged, though they remained primarily within the realm of swordsmanship and bladed weapons, the prince running through about a hundred different configurations that Emberstride could morph into. From arming swords, to long swords, to spears, polearms, and blades that I literally had no name for… the prince was quite literally wielding an arsenal in his sheath.
Eventually, it was time for another round, though it was clear that the both of us weren’t really feeling up for it.
Thankfully, we were both saved by the bell with the arrival of a certain felinor arriving through those double doors, with several more upper-yearsmen in tow.
“I apologize for the interruption, but I’m afraid the both of you will have to make way for another reservation.”
“It’s quite alright, professor.” I responded. “We were just actually leaving.”
With a dip of our heads, we left past the professor and the gaggle of ogling upper yearsmen, some of which had a few choice words as we left earshot.
“Preparing for the quest for the everblooming blossom, no doubt.”
“Ah! Yes! That little affair.”
“I believe these are the more destitute amidst our ranks. They probably lack the means to expedite this quest.”
“Shame… we shall see if they make it back in time then, if at all.”
“But isn’t the armored one currently a library card holder?”
“If they are, I’d like to see what ‘great things’ we can see out of them.”
“Or alternatively, what we can derive out of them. They are, after all, in our House, no?”
I didn’t bother on focusing on whatever else they had to say, as even I could see Thalmin’s lips curling up into a bout of disgust towards them.
A part of me was tempted to give them a taste of some human vulgarity.
However, another part of me held out hope that amidst one of them was another Etholin, or perhaps even another Thacea or Thalmin.
Why do they make it so hard to be a diplomat… I thought to myself.
Comments
Ignacy Olszta
Now hold on a minute… just their faces? Think big! >:D
Ignacy Olszta
EVI, enable *Extreme Humbling* protocol.
Dennis Hornsby
Derive? Emma's gonna derive their faces into the ground
