Tech Hero in Another World
Chapter 106: [105] The Raid (6)

Chapter 106: [105] The Raid (6)

Khan let out a quiet groan as he watched yet another building at the edge of the plaza crumble, destroyed by the shockwave from one of Malik’s massive strikes. Debris rained down, and through the cloud of dust he briefly glimpsed civilians fleeing in panic.

Every massive blow he blocked wasn’t just exhausting his body—it was tearing at his soul. This wasn’t a battlefield. It was the heart of the city, where people lived, where children were raised—and now it had become a wasteland of ruin.

His thoughts drifted—not from distraction, but necessity. Amid the roar of the sandstorm and the clash of elemental might, he remembered a conversation from just hours earlier with Derek, moments after Ren had returned to his van.

A few hours ago, after Ren climbed back into the van to finish prepping his armor, Derek had approached Khan and spoken quietly, but firmly.

"Captain," Derek said, "are you seriously telling us to storm the palace just like that?"

Khan stared straight ahead, silent for a moment. "Yes," he finally said, voice low but full of intent.

Derek frowned, his tone rising slightly. "You’re going to get us all killed. Let’s say we take the palace—then what? What comes after?"

Khan exhaled slowly. He understood the concern—it was real, valid—and he respected Derek for voicing it. "I get your doubt. I wouldn’t ask you to move without a reason..."

"This is about something Malik is using—something that’s making his power grow way beyond normal," Khan continued, his voice now calmer.

"A trick? Not just raw training?" Derek asked, skeptical.

Khan shook his head. "Both Malik and I control sand. But there’s a limit. Malik... he doesn’t just control it anymore. He becomes it."

Derek crossed his arms, trying to process. "You don’t think he’s capable of that through practice alone?"

"I know he’s not," Khan replied immediately. "Back when I lived in the palace, he’d avoid physical training whenever he could. Hated being tired. The only thing he worked hard at... was complaining."

"So you believe he got this power from somewhere else?" Derek asked, now more serious.

"Marbel Emerald," Khan said softly, like the name carried the weight of a thousand stones. "An ancient artifact passed down through the royal bloodline. They say... if blood touches it, the orb can transfer its stored energy."

Derek’s eyes widened. "And you think... Malik used it?"

"Yes," Khan said firmly. "I had no proof at the time, but there’s no way the changes in his power came from training. And that artifact doesn’t need to be carried. All it takes is his blood. Its effects can be felt no matter the distance."

"Incredible... and terrifying," Derek muttered. "So our mission isn’t just about taking the palace—we’re after a small orb the size of a fist."

Khan nodded. "It’s kept somewhere uncertain. But the Hassasin... they know the palace better than I ever did. They’ll find it."

That memory grounded Khan again. His gaze locked on Malik, who towered before him, his sand-giant form trembling with a burning aura. Now he understood: the longer this battle went on, the more destruction it brought. Victory here wouldn’t come from brute force—it would come by cutting off Malik’s source of power.

And to do that... he had to trust Derek, Ren, and everyone now risking their lives inside the palace.

---

In the shadow-drenched corridors of the palace, where darkness blanketed the walls like a second skin, the clash of steel and ragged breaths echoed endlessly. Arash moved slowly, his stance low, eyes razor-sharp as he tracked his opponent—no longer fully human.

At the far end stood Velghan, his body grotesquely swollen with unnatural muscle, skin thickened into moist, scale-like patches. The last traces of his humanity remained only in his eyes—eyes filled with pain and burning hatred.

"So you really gave in... to your own body," Arash muttered. His fingers brushed along his belt, confirming three hidden knives were still in place.

Velghan didn’t respond. He simply growled—then shot forward with a speed that tore the air. His mutated claws slashed the space where Arash had stood—but hit nothing.

Arash was already gone, reappearing a meter behind him, emerging from a pillar’s shadow like compressed mist given flesh.

The first strike landed. Arash’s blade scraped across Velghan’s back, drawing a monstrous snarl as the beast spun and swiped wildly. But he caught only air.

That was the essence of the Hassasin—they didn’t fight with strength, but with absence. Every move Arash made didn’t form an attack line—it disrupted perception.

Velghan clawed at the ground, shredding marble tiles, then leapt sideways onto the wall. He sprinted horizontally, then launched himself downward with a thunderous knee-drop.

Dust and stone fragments exploded around them. Arash was forced back, shielding his face briefly, but remained calm. From within the smoke, he hurled two knives—one to Velghan’s shoulder, the other to his thigh.

Both landed. Dark blood spilled, but Velghan only laughed. "I don’t feel pain anymore, Arash. You know that."

Arash said nothing. Instead, he doubled—no, projected a moving shadow, making it seem as if there were two of him. The illusion made Velghan hesitate.

That moment of doubt was enough. Arash slipped in from the side, leapt behind Velghan, and drove his dagger into the ridge of mutated bone running down his spine.

Velghan lashed backward, slamming Arash into the wall. The crash echoed through the hall as Arash crumpled, breathing heavily.

But it was all calculated. The direct blow had given him what he needed—a read on Velghan’s full strength. Despite the physical enhancement, the monster’s brain hadn’t fully stabilized its coordination.

Velghan charged again, his movements erratic, frenzied—like a beast gone rabid. But Arash wasn’t dodging on instinct anymore. He was reading the shadows. Each movement left a shape, and from that shape, he saw the opening.

He circled, waiting. Then, just as Velghan paused to take a heavy breath, Arash leapt with both feet, slamming into him and bringing him to the ground.

The third blade came out—thrust into Velghan’s neck, deep enough to sever critical veins. The monster writhed, clawing at the floor, but couldn’t move further.

Arash stood motionless, hunched slightly, watching for the final twitch. Then, slowly, he rose. The body began to decay from within—a side effect of the Hassasin’s chemical-treated blades.

The fight was over. But there was no triumph on Arash’s face—only a suffocating silence. Dried blood and dust clung to his cloak, but that wasn’t what made his steps heavy.

He looked down at Velghan’s fallen body. No longer an enemy, just a shadow of the man who once stood beside him. A brother-in-arms. A soldier who had once laughed with him amid fire and steel.

"Goodbye, old friend..." he whispered, soft enough for only the ghosts of this stone corridor to hear.

He closed his eyes for a moment, offering one second of respect for a comrade turned foe. But the mission wasn’t over.

Arash straightened, adjusted the torn collar of his cloak, and turned to the long corridor stretching toward the heart of the palace. That’s where the real war waited.

He recalled his oath—not to the palace, nor to noble blood—but to one name he now called Sultan: Farid.

And his first duty from that Sultan was clear—protect those who had placed their hope in Samsara’s rebirth.

Without looking back, Arash stepped away from the bloodstained hall, letting the shadows reclaim the aftermath of battle. Silence remained—not an end, but the beginning of what came next.

---

Elsewhere, as Ren blasted through the ceiling and left his team behind, the glow from the Mark II’s thrusters lit up the dim underground chamber. The faint explosions of his ascent echoed through the walls, and Nea squinted upward, following the trail of light with narrowed eyes.

Nea and the others prepared to follow, some already stepping onto the old stone staircase that led toward the opening above. But their steps halted when a familiar sound—wet and bubbling—rumbled from the darkest corner of the room.

There it stood: a cocoon, larger than the others they had fought alongside Ren. This one was thicker, more alive, and radiated a crushing aura that pressed against everyone’s chest like an invisible weight.

Nea and the others exchanged glances. No one spoke a word, but the decision was unanimous and immediate. They nodded in silent agreement—destroy it before moving on.

A young valley-born sorcerer raised both hands, summoning fire. A circle of flame spun in the air before launching directly into the mass of flesh, exploding on impact with a roar of heat.

But when the smoke cleared—nothing. No scorch marks. No damage. The cocoon remained intact, gently pulsing... as if sleeping. Or waiting.

"I don’t like this," muttered one of the warriors, a long-eared archer from the eastern border. He readied three arrows at once and let them fly in a single shot, all hitting dead center.

But again, only a dull thunk—as if embedding into dense, wet clay. No penetration. No bounce.

Another soldier stepped forward, drew his sword, and struck. The blade rebounded as though it had hit pliable steel.

"We’re wasting time," Nea growled, raising her own weapon—a twin-bladed spear pulsing with soft crystal magic.

But before she could strike, a faint hiss crept across the ground. Vibrations crawled up through their boots. The cocoon began to split... slowly... like a grotesque flower blooming on the wrong night.

They instinctively stepped back, forming a defensive semicircle. Ready—but their hearts beat faster than reason.

The outer flesh peeled open like a giant tendril. Black fluid oozed across the floor, and from within emerged a tall, imposing figure—a takwin unlike anything recorded in known lore.

Its body was smooth, hairless, almost metallic flesh grown over muscle. Its face... horrifying. No eyes. Just skin. And too many visible teeth.

But what truly shocked them was this: it didn’t attack

Instead, it looked up... toward the opening Ren had disappeared into. Then, in utter silence, it leapt—just a soft boom on the stone floor—and its body shot upward, vanishing through the gap as if summoned by something.

"It didn’t attack..." Nea murmured, her breath still heavy.

"It... ignored us?" one of the soldiers asked—half relieved, half confused.

But Nea gripped her spear tighter, staring at the place where the creature had vanished. "No. It knows we’re not the target. But its target... is up there."

---

Meanwhile, in the throne room, Ren’s body slammed hard against the stone wall, spiderweb-like cracks splintering out across the surface. The loud BRAAK! was followed by chunks of rock crumbling to the floor, a testament to the sheer force behind the blow.

Dust billowed around him as the Mark II armor slowly rose from the new crater in the wall. The cooling system hissed quietly, trying to stabilize internal pressure after the extreme impact.

『Master, new power detected. Estimated threat level: 87%.』 Ultro’s voice echoed calmly inside the helmet, unshaken despite the escalating danger outside.

Ren shook his head, cracking his neck side to side. A mechanical click followed from the still-hot servos of the Mark II. "Okay... So now we’ve got a Hulk? What’s next—Godzilla?"

The dust hadn’t even settled before heavy footsteps echoed, shaking the rubble-littered stone floor. They weren’t human footsteps—too deep, too heavy. Something not meant to exist was approaching.

Emerging from the wreckage where Ren once stood, the creature revealed itself with a low growl, like an old machine’s dying breath. Nearly three meters tall, its grotesquely muscular body was veined with cords bulging under rough, greenish-gray skin like a clay mold left half-finished.

It had no eyes—only two dark hollows staring out at the world with pure emptiness. Its breath hissed like steam from an iron furnace, unnaturally pressurized.

Ren narrowed his eyes and adjusted his stance, locking his elbows and wrists into place. "Perfect timing," he muttered. "I needed someone to test out my newest upgrade."

From across the room, a voice rang out—calm, quiet, and entirely unfazed. Not from the creature, but from the young witch. The same woman who’d held the Marbel Emerald now stood back, watching like a connoisseur admiring her latest exhibit.

"Well then... What are you, some kind of geneticist?" Ren asked, sarcasm thick in his voice as he stood fully upright, locking into combat position.

She turned toward him with a faint smile. "Geneticist? No... I’m an alchemist." Her eyes were vacant, but her tone brimmed with pride.

She stepped forward fearlessly, standing behind the towering monster as if it were her masterpiece on display. "This child is my creation. The result of years of experimentation—blending my knowledge of Western monsters..."

She raised her hand, fingers sketching symbols into the air. Faint red runes formed around the creature, pulsing in sync with its heavy breathing.

"...and combining them with the forbidden sciences of this kingdom. Takwin," she continued, "is the craft of creating homunculi—living beings not born, but built."

Ren raised a brow behind the helmet. "Great. So it’s not just Hulk. It’s Hulk with a sadistic alchemist mom and unresolved childhood trauma."

She didn’t answer—only smiled. Beneath her silence, whispers of ancient tongue filled the room as the giant creature let out a mechanical crack, tightening like a spring before lunging forward.

Ren held his breath for a moment, estimating the creature’s weight and center of gravity by sound alone. "Ultro, log every move. Let’s see how smart this kid really is."

『Analyzing. Muscular fiber profile unstable. Estimated strength exceeds twice that of an augmented human.』

The creature stepped forward, each stomp like a hammer against stone. The walls cracked. Debris rained softly from above, like the final grains of sand slipping through an hourglass of destruction.

Ren shifted one step to the right, activating his forearm shield. But it wasn’t fear that showed on his face—it was curiosity. "Alright, kid. Let’s find out who’s more unhinged—your creator or this grease monkey in a tin can."

The monster roared. The room shook once more—not just from power, but from a clash of two ideologies. The future’s cold, precise technology... versus the forbidden alchemy of a long-buried past.