Tech Hero in Another World
Chapter 101: [100] The Raid

Chapter 101: [100] The Raid

Once all members of the Band of Massiah had climbed the makeshift stone staircase and entered the fortress complex, the atmosphere shifted drastically. The golden ornamented walls inside seemed to reflect an aura of arrogance forged over centuries.

Their footsteps were silent, broken only by the faint creak of weapons and held breaths. The Hassasins moved at the front, checking corridor after corridor with precise, calculated movements.

Ren hovered low in the shadows, keeping just a meter off the ground to avoid drawing attention. As he approached Derek, who was walking slightly behind the main group, he turned and asked quietly, "So tell me, why are we storming the palace instead of helping Khan fight the Sandman?"

Derek glanced over, ducking under a hanging lantern’s glow. "Because Khan has... deeper thoughts about this," he whispered. "No matter how powerful Miracel is, it’s still bound by cause and effect."

Ren raised an eyebrow behind his helmet. "You mean Malik’s hiding some kind of trick up his sleeve?"

"Yeah... something like that," Derek nodded. "And Khan suspects it’s tied to something called the Marbel Emerald—a magical relic from the sultanate’s war against the demons."

Ren dipped a bit lower, his body now level with Derek’s. "Marbel Emerald? Sounds like something you’d find in a museum exhibit."

"It’s not just a fancy name," Derek explained. "If Khan’s right, that thing stores and channels energy on an insane scale. It can amplify Miracel abilities... maybe even stabilize them indefinitely."

"So basically... an infinite Miracel battery?" Ren squinted. "And we’re supposed to find it in a place this massive?"

"Relax," said Derek. "We don’t have to search the whole palace. Khan and I already narrowed it down. There are three likely spots: the main throne room, Malik’s private chambers, and one other more complicated place... a secret chamber beneath the palace."

Ren sighed but didn’t have time to complain. He knew time was their biggest enemy right now. "Alright. Then we split up and minimize the risk."

"Agreed," Derek nodded. "Each team will have six to seven people. Stick to hand signals or voice codes only. No flares unless it’s do-or-die."

Ren looked toward the fighters now gathering in the fortress’s grand hall. In a clear voice, he said, "I’ll take the underground! Anyone who knows the route, follow me!"

Seven followed him without hesitation—two Hassasins, one scout, and four fighters from the Band of Massiah. They all knew that if the artifact really existed, the hidden room deep beneath the palace would be one of the most heavily guarded places.

"If I don’t come back in twenty minutes, assume I got lost... or I’m too busy blowing something up," Ren said, gave Derek a quick nod, and shot off down the descending corridor.

Their movements melted into the shadows. The shuffle of boots, soft breathing, and the low hum of Ren’s armor blended into one rhythm. Behind him, the fighters followed in tight formation, weaving through the narrow hallway lined with ancient stone walls.

---

Ren moved swiftly but cautiously down the corridor. The small light on the side of his helmet danced across the stone walls, reflecting the rough texture that hadn’t felt human touch in ages.

The Hassasins led the way, moving silently like shadows. Though their steps were light, every movement carried lethal intent.

The corridor led to an ancient stone staircase that spiraled downward, like a vortex swallowing light. The air grew damp, and the temperature dropped sharply.

At the bottom of the stairs, they arrived at a narrow room with an old iron door. Its surface had turned greenish from rust, etched with ancient symbols almost completely eroded by time.

Ren stopped and placed his palm on the wall. "I’m sensing something strange coming from this place..." he said quietly. "You sure this is the spot?"

The Hassasins simply nodded, saying nothing, as if the question didn’t require an answer. Their eyes stayed locked forward—cold and certain.

"Alright then, let’s see what this place is hiding," Ren said. He raised his right hand, the wrist panel sliding open to reveal a short cylindrical barrel.

With one press, a beam of superheated laser burst out. Bright red light lit the chamber as the metal door began to melt under the extreme heat.

CLANG! The iron door collapsed instantly, falling apart into charred black pieces. Thin smoke curled from the melted edges, and a sharp stench immediately poured out from the other side.

But it wasn’t the smoke that made them recoil. A wave of putrid stench—like rotting flesh mixed with old chemicals—slammed into their faces all at once.

The fighters in the back immediately covered their noses, some gagging as bile rose in their throats. One of the Hassasins dropped to one knee, fighting off a surge of nausea.

Ren, wearing a full-face helmet, couldn’t smell a thing. He turned back, confused at his team’s reaction. "Hey, what’s—"

AAAAGHH! Before he could finish, something lunged from the darkness at incredible speed, slamming Ren into the wall.

The creature’s body was wet, twitching, and shaped in a way no living thing should be. Eyes grew where they shouldn’t, and its mouth screamed silently with far too many teeth.

Ren discharged a shockwave from his arm, blasting the creature across the room. Thick black blood splattered against the walls as the creature writhed like a wounded insect.

"Takwin..." one of the Hassasins hissed. His voice was barely more than a curse.

From the shadows, more footsteps echoed—but they weren’t normal. They were wet, uneven, and punctuated by the sound of bones cracking with every move.

One by one, the creatures emerged from the darkness. Some had three arms, others long, rope-like necks, and their skin looked half-baked and malformed. A few dragged their own bodies along, as if unfamiliar with physical existence.

"Contact!" Ren shouted, raising his left arm and firing a mini explosive round into the crowd of creatures.

The small explosion lit the underground chamber in a blinding flash. The blast echoed through the stone corridor, shaking loose dust and knocking chunks from the ceiling.

Chunks of flesh and black blood flew in every direction, coating the walls and floor with thick slime. Some takwin were blown apart, but their misshapen bodies didn’t die easily—several twitched and began to rise again like broken puppets.

Ren stood in the center of the formation, the blue glow from his helmet casting light onto the horror he had just unleashed. "Ugh, I hate sci-fi villains," he muttered, half annoyed, half disgusted.

His eyes fixed forward—toward the corridor now fully revealed after the iron door’s collapse. More creatures began crawling out from the shadows inside, sniffing the air with erratic, uncontrolled motions.

Some walked on four legs, others looked like faceless humans with branching arms. Each one seemed like a failed experiment, forced into life by a twisted will.

"Alright, get ready for close quarters!" Ren yelled, raising his left arm and activating a temporary hexagonal energy shield.

---

The hallway leading to Malik’s private chambers felt unnaturally quiet—too quiet. The walls were draped in thick tapestries, and the crystal chandeliers overhead trembled gently from the distant tremors of battle outside the palace.

Denon led his small team of six elite mercenaries. They moved fast but remained cautious, fully aware that the closer they got to the heart of Malik’s power, the slimmer their chances were of making it out alive.

They were nearly at the black wooden door engraved with a winged dragon—the door to Malik’s private quarters. But before they could reach it, a deep, cold voice stopped them in their tracks.

"Where are you all rushing off to?"

The team instantly froze. Weapons were raised, and a tight defensive formation snapped into place. From the dim end of the corridor, a tall man stepped forward, clad in a dark coat adorned with the royal crest.

His face was not unfamiliar to Denon. It was Velghan Ar’Taim, the former commander of the elite forces who once led three major campaigns for the kingdom before vanishing from the public eye.

"You..." Denon narrowed his eyes, glaring at the figure standing proudly at the end of the hall. "Malik’s aide. So the rumors were true."

Velghan offered a thin smile. His gaze was like a freshly sharpened blade—cold and unreadable. "What are you looking for in the Sultan’s chambers?" he asked in a casual yet heavy tone.

He didn’t wait for an answer. "Ah, never mind. After all, you’re intruders... and dead men don’t talk."

Without warning, Velghan lunged, his body launching low and fast like an arrow. His movements were quick and heavy, like a wolf used to ripping its prey apart on the battlefield.

"Engage!" Denon shouted, drawing a dagger from his belt and stepping back to give his team room to move.

The six mercenaries spread out into a half-circle formation. They wielded simple but deadly weapons—straight swords, light axes, and long spears of rugged steel.

Two moved in first, attempting to flank from both sides. One swung his axe downward while the other thrust his spear in from the side.

Velghan darted left, blocking the first swing with his hardened leather bracer. With a fluid motion, he spun and elbowed the spearman’s neck, dropping him before he could cry out.

In the same breath, he pivoted on his heel and kicked the axeman’s knee backward. A crack echoed, and the man collapsed like a sack of flour.

Denon moved in, slashing from behind with a spinning motion. But Velghan turned just in time, blocked the strike with the handle of Denon’s dagger, and countered with a punch to the gut that sent Denon stumbling.

Another mercenary charged in with a sword, but Velghan ducked under the slash, grabbed him by the collar, and slammed his head against the stone wall. Blood spilled from his temple, and he slumped unconscious.

"Shit," Denon hissed, wiping blood from his lip. "You’ve still got the reflexes of an active commander."

Velghan gave him a passing glance. "Ranks are just symbols. But the instinct to kill? That never retires."

The two remaining mercenaries attacked from opposite sides. But Velghan welcomed them, slipping between their strikes and driving his knee into one’s ribs while his dagger pierced the other’s thigh.

Screams of pain filled the narrow corridor. Bodies dropped around them, and only Denon remained standing—breathing hard, shoulder bleeding from an earlier graze.

"Just one left. The little commander," Velghan muttered, his voice low like a whisper from the underworld. He stepped forward slowly, radiating pressure with every step.

Denon gripped his dagger tighter. "You might kill us. But you can’t cover every crack in Malik’s system."

Velghan stopped a few paces away. "I don’t need to cover everything. I just need to make sure none of you walk out of here."

With a short cry, Denon lunged once more, swinging his dagger with all the strength he had left. But Velghan blocked the strike and punched his wrist, knocking the blade from his hand.

In an instant, Velghan spun Denon around, locked him in a chokehold, and slammed him into the floor. The impact knocked the breath out of his lungs, his chest bouncing off the stone hard enough to stun him.

"Don’t be too upset. You knew from the start you didn’t stand a chance," Velghan said as he prepared to plunge Denon’s own dagger into his chest.

"Yeah, he really didn’t stand a chance..."

A mysterious voice rang out from behind.

Velghan froze, startled, just as he turned—only to find a dagger flying straight toward him.