After the class ended, the guards moved in and ordered the children to line up. Boots hit the stone floor in steady rhythm as they were led out of the hall and toward two large structures ahead—the cafeteria and the training ground.
Both places were massive. Ezra could tell at a glance that each could hold more than a thousand people without feeling crowded.
The cafeteria was the first stop.
When Ezra stepped inside, he slowed without meaning to. His eyes lifted as he took in the space. The ceiling stretched high above, supported by thick stone pillars. Long rows of tables filled the room, each paired with heavy chairs that scraped softly as children sat down. At the far end stood several buffet counters, steam rising faintly from metal trays.
The food wasn't like what he ate back home.
There were no rich sauces or heavy smells. Instead, the dishes looked plain but filling—meat cooked simply, bowls of rice, vegetables laid out neatly, and bread stacked in baskets. Food meant to build the body, not please the tongue.
Ezra stood there for a moment, his stomach twisting in a strange way.
So, this is how it's going to be.
After that, they were taken to the training ground.
The moment he stepped onto the sand-covered field; Ezra felt his steps slow again. The ground stretched wide, packed flat and marked by countless footprints. Sandbags hung from wooden frames. Bars, weights, ropes, and targets filled the space in neat rows.
And then it hit him.
A sudden sense of familiarity washed over him.
Images flashed through his mind—someone exercising in a closed room, hands gripping bars, legs pushing against the ground, breath steady and controlled. The equipment in those scenes matched what stood before him now.
Ezra staggered back and pressed a hand to his head.
A dull ache spread behind his eyes as the images faded.
He let out a slow breath and steadied himself before quietly walking back to his room.
***
Ezra lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling.
His body felt heavy. His head buzzed with thoughts that refused to settle.
"These images keep showing up when I don't expect them," he muttered, rubbing his forehead with his palm.
"What's going on with me? Why am I seeing all this? And why does it feel so familiar every time?" His fingers paused. "The person in those memories… he looks like me."
He stared at the ceiling for a long time, not moving, letting the silence stretch.
Then a short, bitter chuckle escaped his throat.
"We should be glad we survived. Haha." His voice cracked slightly. "Come to think of it… I actually killed him."
He raised his right hand. It trembled.
"But… how was I able to pull the trigger?"
Ezra sat up and slapped his cheeks with both hands, the sound sharp in the quiet room.
"Enough of this."
He stood and stretched, rolling his shoulders and shaking his arms as if trying to throw the thoughts out of his body.
"Hm… what should I do?"
He rubbed his chin and paced the small room, steps slow and uneven. Minutes passed as he thought, turning over everything he had seen and felt. Then something clicked.
Parts of those memories felt unfamiliar, but others felt useful.
His thoughts drifted to the schematics. The designs. The guns.
The moment he focused; images bloomed in his mind.
Clear. Ordered.
Like pages in a book.
Each image listed details—how a weapon was made, what materials were used, how it functioned. Ezra froze, breath shallow.
"Huh…?"
The moment his thoughts slipped; the images vanished.
He frowned, then focused again.
They came back.
He repeated it several times, forcing his thoughts away and pulling them back, until his knees gave out and he dropped down, clutching his head.
"Aah—!" he groaned.
After a few deep breaths, he sat back on the bed, legs folded beneath him, and focused again.
The images returned.
He moved through them slowly, flipping through weapons he had never seen before. Then one stood out.
The revolver.
Information filled his mind, clear and structured.
***
A revolver is a handheld firearm first created in the early 1800s, becoming widely known after 1836. Its defining feature is a rotating cylinder that allows multiple shots to be fired without reloading after every shot.
It is made from solid metal parts, mainly steel. The weapon consists of a barrel, a trigger mechanism, and a cylinder with several chambers. Each chamber holds one round, and when the trigger is pulled, the cylinder rotates to align a fresh round with the barrel.
Most revolvers carry five to six rounds, though some models can hold more. They are known for their simple design, strong build, and high reliability, making them dependable even when poorly maintained or used in harsh conditions.
***
Ezra's brows furrowed.
"1800s…?" he whispered.
"That doesn't match."
From the books he read about his family, Gun Alchemy only appeared around the 1920s, after his ancestors learned from the first gun that was created.
That meant something important.
These memories aren't from this world.
The buildings he saw. The clothes. The military. The laws. Everything was different. And the weapons—grenade launchers, assault rifles, sniper rifles, submachine guns, pistols—most of them far beyond what existed here.
They looked more advanced.
But then he paused.
Maybe they're normal there.
Without Alchemy, their destructive power couldn't match what a Cognis user could do. Still—
"If I can use these ideas when I awaken my Cognis…" Ezra murmured, his eyes lighting up, "I could push gun development in Britannia forward."
More than that.
His chance of surviving this trial would rise.
A smile formed, then faded.
"But making guns is one thing," he said quietly. "My body can't keep up."
His stomach twisted again.
"I'm already sick from just thinking this much."
He needed something else.
Something to help his body grow.
The images shifted.
A list appeared.
Exercises. Diet. A routine.
Military training.
Ezra went through it slowly, but his head shook.
"These are good… but they take time."
He didn't need bulk. He needed stamina. Control. Enough strength to survive.
Then another thought came.
What if I control my body better?
Footwork. Balance.
"I'm quick when I think," he whispered. "That's how I survived the first trial."
If his body could move like his thoughts, things might change.
The moment the idea formed; new instructions appeared.
***
The training begins with the lower body. Squats, wall holds, and heel lifts build strength and keep the stance stable. Strong legs help the body stay grounded and reduce loss of balance.
Core training follows and is the most important part. Plank holds, leg raises, and bridge lifts strengthen the stomach, hips, and lower back. A strong core keeps movement steady and controlled.
Balance drills improve awareness. Standing on one leg, walking heel to toe, and slow lunges teach proper weight shift, helping the body react during sudden movement or uneven ground.
Upper body exercises support posture and control. Push-ups, towel pulls, and overhead holds strengthen arms and shoulders, aiding weapon use and load bearing.
Food supports growth. Eggs, fish, chicken, beans, rice, potatoes, oats, bananas, vegetables, and clean water are required. Without proper food and rest, progress slows.
Training is done several times each week. Over time, the body grows stronger, steadier, and easier to control, forming a base for advanced training.
***
Ezra's eyes widened.
"Wow."
He jumped off the bed, landing lightly, his chest rising fast.
"This memory ability is insane."
Not only could he access weapon knowledge, but training methods too.
"With this… I can survive."
His hands clenched into fists.
"I have to start now."
He grabbed his coat and left the room, a faint smile tugging at his lips as determination settled in his chest.