The most powerful weapon that even a child could wield to take the life of a grown man, the gun.
It was one of humanity's greatest blessings, or perhaps its greatest curse. A tool born from centuries of conflict, refined through endless bloodshed, perfected for the sole purpose of taking life. On Earth, it was feared, restricted, and heavily regulated, an instrument of death so dangerous that acquiring one as a civilian required navigating a maze of bureaucracy.
But here?
Izikel had a feeling that guns didn't even exist in this world. With Divine Powers ruling the battlefield, what use would anyone have for such crude, mechanical killing tools? Still, even if Divine Believers could withstand bullets, a gun was a weapon of certainty. It required no strength, no training, only the pull of a trigger. That alone made it a valuable ace to have up his sleeve.
Standing on the solid, obsidian-like ground of his dream world, surrounded by the endless cosmos, millions of stars flickering like distant embers in the void. Izikel willed a gun into existence.
The shape formed in his hand, solid and familiar. He recognized it instantly.
It was the very same revolver he had used to end his own life.
A chill ran down his spine as he traced his fingers over the cold steel, the weight and texture identical to what he remembered. He swallowed. The memory of pulling the trigger, the deafening bang, the suffocating silence that followed, it was all still there, buried deep within him.
Shaking off the ghosts of his past, he lifted the gun and aimed it into the abyss, finger tightening around the trigger. He pulled.
Nothing.
A hollow click.
He frowned, flipping open the chamber. It was loaded. The bullets were right there. Then why?
He tried it a few times, but the outcome never changed. Frustration clawed at him as he turned to the ever-present voice of his guide.
"Why isn't it working?"
The response was calm, almost amused.
"That is because what you hold is not a gun, merely the image of one. If you wish to create something real, you must understand every part of it, how it functions, how it was made, how the mechanisms work together to produce an effect."
Izikel felt irritation bubbling inside him.
"In other words, you lack the scientific knowledge required to create a functioning firearm."
His fingers curled into a fist. "How the hell am I supposed to know how a gun works?!"
He barely understood the basics. There was supposed to be gunpowder inside… somewhere. That was it. That was all he knew. Unless you were one of those gun enthusiasts, all the average person knew was that you loaded bullets and pulled the trigger.
He groaned, running a hand through his hair. If he had known he would be transported to a fantasy world, he would have spent less time reading isekai novels where protagonists recreated modern technology with ease and more time actually studying how things worked.
His internal rant was cut short by a sudden, gut-wrenching sensation.
A chill coursed through his body. His breath hitched. Something was wrong.
His soul energy was draining. Rapidly.
It wasn't a slow, gradual depletion, it was vanishing, pouring out of him as if a hole had been ripped in his very essence. He gasped, clutching his chest. His vision blurred for a moment, and a wave of exhaustion crashed over him.
His eyes snapped to the source.
A piece of glowing parchment hovered in the air before him, pulsating with an eerie light.
Izikel's heart pounded. His soul energy was being devoured by this thing, drained so fast that it was as if the Altar, his source of replenishment, wasn't even there.
The numbers plummeted in his mind.
502.
501.
500...
His limbs trembled. His knees buckled.
52.
51.
50....
Terror seized him.
He tried to stop it, to will the parchment away, to cut the connection, but it was like trying to stop a flood with his bare hands.
4.
Then, suddenly, it stopped.
Izikel collapsed onto the cold surface of his dream world, his entire body wracked with weakness. His breath came in ragged gasps. He could barely move. It felt as though his very life force had been wrung dry, leaving him an empty husk.
For a few agonizing seconds, he teetered on the edge of death. Then, mercifully, the Altar surged into action, refilling the void inside him. Warmth rushed back into his limbs, restoring color to his world.
He coughed, sucking in deep breaths. His hands trembled as he pushed himself upright. The sensation of having his soul nearly drained to nothing still clung to him like a nightmare.
He clenched his jaw, glaring at the floating parchment with pure, unfiltered hatred.
What was in this thing, that almost cost him his life?
Reaching out, he snatched it from the air.
The moment his eyes landed on the contents, his anger froze. His pupils dilated with shock.
It was… a blueprint.
No, more than that. It was a detailed step-by-step guide on how to construct a revolver. Every component was illustrated with labeled diagrams, each mechanism broken down in precise detail. The caliber of the bullets, the material composition, the inner workings of the firing pin, information he had never learned, never even seen, was laid out before him with eerie perfection.
His grip on the parchment tightened. His lips parted slightly in stunned disbelief.
"How is this possible…?"
"This," his guide's voice came again, laced with quiet amusement, "is the price of seeking knowledge through dream divination."
"Divination?" Izikel repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. "As in… seeing the future?"
"No," she corrected with a knowing chuckle. "True divination of the unknown is the domain of gods. This is divination of the known, knowledge that already exists somewhere in the world, but was beyond your reach. A dreamer sees all dreams, and dreams reflect knowledge, imagination, and memory. Through this, you have drawn forth knowledge buried in the minds of others."
Izikel's breath caught in his throat.
His gaze lifted, drawn upward to the vast cosmic sky.
The countless shimmering stars…
His heart pounded as realization struck.
"These… these are all dreams?"
He had assumed they were stars, glimmering celestial bodies in the void. But now, looking closer, he understood.
Each light was a dream.
A reflection of someone's soul, stretching infinitely across the sky. A galaxy of thoughts, memories, and lives.
But one star stood above the rest, a massive celestial body burning like a sun.
His own dream.
The foundation of this world.