Tech Hero in Another World
Chapter 116: [115] Reading strange thesis

Chapter 116: [115] Reading strange thesis

Ren sat surrounded by piles of ancient scrolls, the lantern light casting a soft glow over the worn pages that contained forbidden records of Damascus. His breath caught for a moment when he read the words "magical iron seed"—a sacred shard from the heavens, once used to build the towering walls at the borders of Samsara.

According to the records, this wasn’t just iron, but something known as the "Damakus seed"—a term first spoken when the legendary blacksmith, Qadim Al‑Damakus, forged the metal into a sword. Qadim had taken fragments of the wall, said to be a miracle from the gods, and spent ten years hammering them, searching for the perfect method to create a weapon. Along the way, he faced countless problems—the iron would regenerate after a certain period, resisting all permanent alteration.

Ren’s eyes lit up as he gazed at the scroll, each brittle sheet pulsing with the life of forgotten history. Faint lines revealed the tale of the three layers of the wall—manifestations of the divine touching the world. These layers weren’t just stone and metal, but symbols of body, soul, and time. The deeper he dove into the pages, the clearer it became: the "Damakus seed" wasn’t a mined product—it was a holy fragment that once cloaked the entire kingdom of Samsara.

He could feel those layers resonate in his mind—the outer layer as a physical shield, the middle as a soul binder, and the deepest as the holder of time’s echo. Realizing this, Ren understood that the steel was not merely a material, but a fragment saturated with divinity itself. Each crack the metal healed was proof that miracles still lingered in the mortal world.

His eyes narrowed at the next line: this steel could repair its fractures from impact or pressure, using pure karst energy stored at the molecular level. The idea that molecules could "massage" the metal—guiding it like a soul instructs a body—felt like scientific sorcery, a blend of reason and mysticism. If the Mark II could harness that ability, the armor that often melted under TAF exposure might survive dozens of combat trials. Ren pictured the metal cooling, reassembling, and standing ready—like pawns awaiting the pull of an epic lever.

But the record also warned of a weakness: the Damakus structure must remain stable for the healing mechanism to fully activate. Stability wasn’t just about chemical composition, but the harmony of vibrations between its layers—"synchronized karst vibrations," as it was called. Without it, the regenerative energy would stall, and the armor could fracture and fall apart.

Ren swallowed hard. He understood what magical synchronization implied: someone had to create a medium—a resonance chamber, a vibration module, an induction field—capable of imitating the seed’s natural frequency. Implementing such technology on the battlefield would be a nightmare, but if successful, it would evolve the Mark armor into a truly regenerative unit. Even the TAF systems could stabilize without overheating.

In the next scroll, he found the chronicle of Qadim’s lost forging technique: "The forging method is gone, but the physical phenomena remain observable."Those words struck like a siren’s warning—and an impossible invitation. The loss of the method meant generations had forgotten how to synchronize Damakus structures—an alchemical-scientific craft once passed down, now erased by a great conflict known as the "Dark Gate."

Ren jotted down wild ideas: how to combine electric fields with karst gongs, to build plasma resonators, to run micro-vibration tests—all aiming to engineer nano-scale synchronization. He scribbled furiously while scanning earlier researchers’ notes about the "ideal heat spot"—the point where color changed and energy surged, but attempts failed due to brittleness. Strength and heat—two opposing forces—had to be perfectly balanced.

He exhaled and slowly reached for the final scroll on the fifth shelf, the one that made him hold his breath before unrolling it. The lantern’s glow danced across the library, casting shadows that moved like whispers. The wind outside rustled faintly through the window, as if accompanying each ancient letter that appeared. He sat back in the wooden chair, spine and neck stretching after hours hunched over pages. But curiosity refused to release him.

Paragraph by paragraph, he absorbed the contents: this scroll didn’t just retell Damakus legends—this final one contained detailed modern experiments. Simulated graphs of resonance turbulence, thermodynamic formulas mapping temperature, pressure, and karst-particle interaction at the steel’s molecular edge. Even electron microscope diagrams—something he never expected from a copy of a magical scroll. Neat handwriting, margins filled with crisp blue-ink annotations—as if the researcher had foreseen someone would read this a thousand years later.

Ren sat upright, eyes gleaming. "This is exactly what I was looking for," he thought, overcome by a rush of scientific thrill and alchemical wonder. He rubbed his chin—the material’s scientific nature now as clear as crystal. The iron seed stored karst energy in a hexagonal crystal structure, with particles that resonated easily when triggered by specific frequencies. The notes listed synchronization methods: weak magnetic fields, pulse frequency at 7.2 kHz, and temperatures around 1200°C—values that weren’t mystical, but measurable in a standard lab.

The approach proposed installing micro-lap resonance sensors into the Mark II, enabling automatic repair vibrations via small electromagnetic units—not just relying on magical rune energy.

The deeper he scrolled, the more technical the details became—temperature testing equipment, microfracture monitoring systems, even alchemical catalysts designed to accelerate the molecular regrowth of karst. The energy burst released from karst could be "harvested" as a trigger for micro-healing within the iron itself. There were tables charting recrystallization speeds, sample tests of Damakus Steel using infrared lasers, and notes on failure points—"Layer structure collapses if initial temperature is unstable. Ease pressure at 950°C for 30 seconds before primary heating."That line made Ren grin. "This rivals any modern engineering thesis."

His hand trembled as he read the diagram for the quench system—rapid cooling using reflective liquid to preserve microcrystals instead of forming large bubbles. There were even notes on using liquid carbon as a temporary coolant—a method that... surprisingly, matched the exact principle he planned for the Mark II. Two worlds intersected: the futuristic robotics tech from Earth and the alchemical science of Samsara.

He felt genuinely moved knowing this ancient researcher wasn’t just an admirer of Damakus steel, but a true scientist—someone who had hacked through the walls between magic and science. This could be the foundation for Ren’s ultimate creation: regenerative armor combining TAF, Damakus steel, and a synchronized magi-scientific system.The final lines of the scroll pointed to unfinished experimental methods, with margin notes scribbled in a sharp hand: "Requires 3cm mini-coil, 14-tooth vibration channel, and minimum resonance window of 4 milliseconds." The numbers made Ren’s heart pound.

His thoughts halted as he realized—this wasn’t just theory. It demanded action. He imagined crafting a retrofit module for the Mark II: micro coils, magnetic field generators, crack sensors, and an automatic quench cooling system. He also realized he’d need karst material from the western ruins—a resource likely sold only on the black market, or harvested through risky excavation. A difficult task, yes, but still more manageable than decoding dark spells.

Ren gently rolled the scroll back up, relaxed now that he had a roadmap for his future research. The lantern’s glow dimmed, but his spirit burned brighter—scientist, inventor, a living hypothesis. He stood, patted the back of the chair, and looked down at the blank parchment on the table.

"Who was this person? How could someone from that era think so... modern?" Ren murmured, puzzled. "Even now, this world’s still basically in the medieval age. But that thesis... feels like something written by someone from Earth. Could they have been reincarnated... or something?"

With that thought lingering, Ren finished reading and turned to leave the library, scroll still in hand, heading straight toward Farid’s study.

He walked slowly through the palace’s long corridor, gripping the scroll tightly. Behind his calm expression, his mind was still racing through the contents of that thesis. The writing was too systematic, too clean—too Earth-like. Not the kind of thinking born from this magic-based world.

Definitely not from here,

Ren thought, eyeing the sharp, deliberate handwriting once more. No name. No trace of identity. Just a faint signature in the corner—an elegant, symmetrical spiral that meant nothing. What a shame... If you had signed your name, I would’ve honored you. But don’t worry... your knowledge won’t go to waste now.

He knocked on the door to Sultan Farid’s study. A laid-back, gravelly voice responded from inside. "All done?"

Ren nodded. "Yeah. For today, that’s enough."

Farid leaned back in his chair, a small smile curling his lips. "Good. By the way... the others—Denon, Derek, Nea, even Arash—they’re putting together a small party tonight. Just to, you know... celebrate the fact that we’re all still alive."His smile widened. "You joining?"

Ren offered a faint smile. "Maybe. After I finish... some work."

"Fair enough." Farid pointed toward the corner of the room. "That box by the wall—those are the ores you asked for. The ones we’ve been digging up forever. We kept them around as decoration since no one knows how to process them. If you figure it out, don’t be stingy with the knowledge."

"Mmm... I’ll think about it."

Farid chuckled. "I’m sure you will."

"Oh, and one more thing," Ren added, holding up the scroll. "This scroll... can I keep it?"

Farid raised an eyebrow. "A library scroll? Sorry, that’s not allowed out. But you can request a copy. What’s it about?"

Ren handed it over silently.

Farid skimmed the contents, then squinted. "This thesis... you pulled it from the fifth shelf?"

Ren nodded. "Yeah. Why?"

Farid rolled it back up, expression unreadable. "No problem. Just... this scroll’s weird. I read it once, years ago. It’s too complicated, too... absurd. Even the elders gave up on it. They thought the author was drunk."

Ren held back a grin. Yeah... that’s usually how they react.Exactly as he expected. When knowledge from a more advanced world enters a place not yet ready to receive it—it’s always dismissed as madness.

And that’s how most geniuses begin.