Tech Hero in Another World
Chapter 100: [99] We meet again, Old Friend

Chapter 100: [99] We meet again, Old Friend

Khan walked through the crowd, which parted instinctively at his presence. Every step he took radiated authority and strength, like a man no longer burdened by the doubts of his past.

A deep blue turban was wrapped perfectly around his head, and his battle cloak fluttered lightly in the wind. Around him, grains of sand began to lift into the air, swirling as if welcoming their true master.

Elite Janissary guard Hamzat didn’t wait long. The moment they recognized his face, they charged, forming a human barricade of sharpened weapons in front of the execution stage.

But Khan didn’t stop. He slowly raised one hand, his movement calm, as though signaling to the wind.

The previously drifting sand suddenly erupted in a sharp burst from underground. Like ocean waves, the sand surged forward, sweeping the guards aside without directly touching them.

They were thrown back, weapons flying from their hands, their bodies spinning mid-air before crashing onto the plaza floor. A few screams rang out, but Khan didn’t even glance their way.

He hadn’t come today as a fugitive. He came as someone who had accepted his bloodline, his history, and the burden of a name he had long rejected.

The power he had always suppressed now flowed freely. The sand responded to his emotions, forming a protective vortex that hovered around him like an invisible shield.

The crowd that had moments ago cheered for Malik now fell silent, awestruck by the display of similar power emerging from someone they had long forgotten. They weren’t witnessing just a clash between rulers... but a confrontation between two bloodlines with opposing destinies.

Khan stepped onto the stage without hesitation. His hand remained raised, and the sand formed a bridge beneath his feet, reinforcing each step as if the earth itself supported his presence.

Other guards who attempted to approach were stopped by a wall of sand that surged up in front of them. Khan wasn’t attacking, but he was giving no ground either.

Once on the stage, he looked at Malik with his glowing yellow eyes—like light reflecting off a desert at dawn. There was no hatred in his gaze... only a truth that had been long delayed.

"That’s enough," Khan said, his voice deep and steady. Yet the calmness echoed with force, as if amplified by every grain of sand listening from the soil of Samsara.

Malik looked at him with a smug grin, squinting like a wolf seeing prey approach willingly. But the slight crease on his forehead betrayed the fact that Farid’s arrival was not part of his plan.

Still, Malik didn’t flinch. He untied the rope from his mother’s neck and removed the cloth covering her face. As it was pulled away, Princess Diana smiled brightly at the sight of her son’s return in strength.

"My son..."

"I know, Mom. Get down and move away from here," he said, his eyes focused on the figures surrounding Malik on the opposite podium.

Princess Diana understood and quickly descended, searching for the safest place to hide.

"So, you finally show yourself... Farid," Malik muttered, his voice mocking but laced with caution.

"Yeah..." Khan replied flatly. He slowly drew his sword—a curved weapon, native to the desert lands, glinting with a deadly sheen despite the dust. "I came to finish what we once promised. And what you’ve done."

The atmosphere in the square tightened. Onlookers took a few unconscious steps back, their instincts sensing that something far greater than political conflict was about to erupt.

"Heh... Alright then," Malik said, his short laugh sounding like a lion’s growl from the depths of a canyon. "Then I won’t hold back."

Suddenly, Malik’s body began to disintegrate—melting into golden grains of sand that scattered into the air. The transformation happened so fast even his guards stood frozen, unsure whether this was a show of power... or a disappearance.

As Malik’s body vanished completely, the ground beneath the plaza started to tremble. At first it was subtle, but quickly grew into a rumble strong enough to throw people off balance.

Screams erupted from the crowd. In the streets, citizens scattered like dust caught in a desert wind. In nearby homes, people hid beneath tables and beams, praying the earth wouldn’t swallow them whole.

"Know this..." Malik’s voice boomed, not from one direction, but from every corner of the wind. "The difference in our power is vast, Farid..."

Khan raised his face, staring at the sky which darkened despite it not yet being dusk. Dust and sand rose from the ground, forming a dense spiral windstorm in front of him.

From the vortex, an unnatural figure began to take shape—a humanoid as tall as a watchtower, its body formed from tightly packed, shifting sand that moved like flesh. Glowing red eyes blazed in its head, and each step it took shook the earth like the march of fate itself.

Khan stood unmoving, his cloak and turban flapping in the gale. Though the towering figure would intimidate anyone, his eyes remained calm—he knew fear only gave the enemy a quicker victory.

The sand around Khan began to dance, following the motion of his slowly tightening fist. The grains lifted, spiraling like a living entity—answering the call of a true heir to the land of Samsara.

He didn’t have Malik’s monstrous size, nor did he build threats through scale. But every inch of sand beneath his feet recognized his blood... and bowed to his soul.

From within the massive whirlwind, Malik’s voice returned, sharp and taunting. "As always, desperate for attention... you pathetic nastratik."

Khan didn’t respond immediately. He glanced at the sand giant before briefly turning to check on his mother—making sure the rope was still loose. His breath was deep, as though drawing strength from the earth itself.

"Unlike you..." Khan finally said, his voice heavy but resolute. "A coward who hides behind a giant’s power because he’s afraid to be seen as weak."

Malik’s sand giant roared, its screech splitting the air and shaking the buildings around the square. Tiles shattered and fell from rooftops, thick dust cloaking the sky.

That roar wasn’t just a threat—it was the start of a deadly assault. The giant’s arm lifted high, forming a massive strike aimed straight at Khan.

But before the blow could land, the sand beneath Khan surged upward, forming jagged walls like the fangs of the earth challenging the sky. The clash was inevitable—the impact thundered like a small explosion.

---

On the other side of the trembling Samsara, a boat silently drifted across the surface of the Rul River. The dim light from the overcast sky reflected on the still water, casting a faint golden shimmer like a promise yet to be fulfilled.

The boat was heading upstream, toward a place long thought to be impenetrable—the Golden Palace. The name wasn’t just a metaphor; much of its architecture was literally coated in gold, reflecting sunlight like a boastful declaration of unshakable power.

Standing on the deck of the boat, Ren crossed his arms as he stared at the grand structure slowly emerging from the mist. His eyes narrowed—not because of the light, but from focus. He knew that once they arrived, there would be no time to second-guess.

Hours earlier, the Hassasins had emerged from the shadows aboard a stolen longboat taken from the eastern harbor. A mission like that was child’s play to them—like snatching an apple from a toddler’s hand.

"Ready?" Nea’s voice came from behind, but Ren only answered with a small nod. There was no room for small talk now. All their attention was locked on one target: infiltrating the heart of Malik’s power.

As the current slowed near the shore, Ren stepped toward Arash, who stood like a statue at the side of the boat. Beneath his dark cloak, he looked like a shadow molded into human form.

"What about the grenades?" Ren asked bluntly, his voice flat but firm.

Arash turned slightly, revealing half his face behind a black cloth. "Just as you said," he replied. "Effective. Five minutes after inhalation, the entire guard barracks went down like babies."

Ren nodded without surprise. He knew exactly how the compound worked—he had crafted it himself, blending old-world chemistry with new-world transmutation techniques.

"But," Arash continued, his tone even, "one of our guys got too close during the toss. He went down too. Idiot."

Ren paused, then chuckled. "Ahahaha... I should’ve made gas masks too. Forgot you guys aren’t exactly OSHA-compliant."

Arash didn’t laugh, but the slight twitch at the corner of his eye might’ve been his version of a smile. Elsewhere on the boat, several members of the Band of Massiah were checking their weapons and compact packs.

"We’re almost there—get ready!" Derek shouted from the bow, his voice slicing through the quiet river now narrowing between walls of stone and hanging tree roots.

The current slowed further, a sign they were approaching the inner waters of the Golden Palace. A faint golden glow began to pierce the fog, reflecting off the tall towers that stood like divine sentinels.

Ren stepped forward, eyes narrowing as he spotted something not in the original plan. A fortress wall rose from the river’s edge, encircling the palace all the way to the waterline.

"There’s a wall on the river side?" he muttered, stepping toward Derek at the helm.

"Yeah," Derek replied, still focused on steering. "It’s high—fifteen meters at least. Looks like Khan forgot to mention his secret shortcut."

Ren studied the wall, observing the stone’s texture and mineral color. He tilted his head slightly, as if reading something invisible to others.

"Alright," he murmured. He walked over to one of the large crates on the deck, hauled aboard earlier with help from two Band of Massiah members.

When the crate was opened, it revealed the Mark II Armor—a metallic suit that merged futuristic aesthetics with high-precision engineering. Its primary color was a silvery blue, glowing faintly with a blend of titanium and mithril, giving it an almost ethereal sheen under the dim dawn light.

Delicate engravings on the chest pulsed with a bright blue hue, following internal energy pathways designed for full body synchronization. Beneath its surface lay the suit’s true strength—a perfect balance of science and spiritual engineering.

Several Band of Massiah members stared in awe. They’d heard of Ren’s technology, but this was their first time seeing one of its masterpieces up close.

Ren ignored their wonder. He donned the Mark II with practiced ease—panels opened, plates locked in with soft clicks, and the helmet lowered over his head.

Once the system activated, the eyes of the helmet glowed bright blue. Energy coursed through fine channels along his arms and chest, producing a soft yet intimidating hum.

Without saying a word, Ren leapt from the boat—just as it looked like he would fall, the repulsor jets on his feet and back ignited.

He hovered toward the stone wall, placing his right palm against its surface. His helmet’s visor flickered to life, and data began streaming across its inner display.

"Composition: high-magnesium granite, local alloy," he muttered. A fine spark of electricity crackled from his glove. The ions in the air responded, and a transmutation field activated in a tight radius.

His helmet’s glow intensified, and electric currents carved a circular path into the wall. Within seconds, the pattern formed into a staircase building itself from the wall’s surface.

Stone blocks rose slowly from the main structure, aligning and locking into place with stabilization fields embedded through material manipulation. A solid stone staircase emerged, clinging to the fortress wall with high-precision accuracy.

Ren glanced back briefly, catching the mixed looks of awe and disbelief on everyone’s faces. "If you still have the energy to be impressed, start climbing. We don’t have time."