Tech Hero in Another World
Chapter 132: [131] Early action as a Superhero (3)

Chapter 132: [131] Early action as a Superhero (3)

"Oke... so, what kind of plane is that?" Ren asked, eyes fixed on the small tablet in his hand. The activated satellite feed showed the shadow of a massive aircraft speeding across the conflict zone’s sky, complete with real-time coordinates and heat-tracking sensors.

[I’m not sure of the exact model, but it looks like that FPS opener plane from Playground,] Kiriya’s voice was crisp and direct through Ren’s wireless earphones.

Ren narrowed his eyes. "From COD? The battle‑royale drop plane?"

[Yeah. Even down to the dull color, cargo design, and the big tactical emblem on the tail. They’re not even trying to hide it.]

Ren nodded slowly. "Then it’s definitely a heavy-duty Boeing military transport—maybe a tactical cargo variant. Big enough to drop dozens of robots or heavy weapons in one go."

Fujisawa stood by the cabin window, staring intently at the distant town. "If that’s true... we need to strike before they unload. Once those bots go out, we lose control."

Ren blinked and tapped his phone. "Kiriya, keep tracking them. Don’t let us lose precision."

[Wait, Ren! They’re not heading directly to Mandirinani. I just caught a route shift. The plane... has landed.]

"Landed!?" Ren nearly jumped from his seat.

[Yes. Southwest of the city—there’s a small, old military base. They’re using the emergency runway there. Looks like they’re gearing up.]

Ren exhaled slowly, his expression easing. "So they’re prepping, not dropping directly into the city. That gives us... a small window."

Fujisawa closed his eyes, then opened them with a fierce determination. He strode to the map table at the center of the cabin. "That’s our shot. We can reach their perimeter first. If we encircle them before they deploy those bots, we can shut them down before the chaos starts."

Ren looked at him, then gave a bitter smile. "Great. Just rested after a long flight... straight back into hell."

Fujisawa grinned, snapping on his tactical gloves. "War doesn’t wait for anyone, kid. If you’re looking for comfort, this world doesn’t have any."

Ren stood up and grabbed the Mark I armor case. "Yeah... I get it. Like fate, it comes unannounced and leaves the same way. We face it now."

[Ren, I’ve marked the fastest route to that base. You’ve got the timing.]

"Copy that," Ren replied firmly. He glanced over at Fujisawa. "Get ready, Ossan. We’re going to make them regret bringing that killing machine here."

---

Meanwhile, at an old military base now repurposed as a secret logistics hub, the air buzzed with activity. The clank of crane engines and cargo wheels echoed under shouted orders from field officers. Mercenaries from Ares Sparta—an elite unit known for precision and brutality—worked tirelessly to unload steel-sealed containers from the newly landed military cargo plane.

Amidst the armed soldiers and high-tech logistics, two distinct figures stepped off the plane’s stairs side by side. One wore a perfectly tailored black suit that stood in stark contrast to the dusty desert surroundings, his hair slicked back and dark shades tucked into his lapel pocket. The other was a massive, bald man, his right eye surrounded by a long scar—a permanent reminder of his past.

The suited man spoke first, his tone flat and grating, each word dripping with arrogance.

"Yeah... tell your men to be careful. Every unit in those containers is worth billions, got it? One slip-up and you can kiss the credibility of this entire contract goodbye."

The bald man snorted in irritation, eyes narrowing. "Don’t worry. My guys are trained. They know how to handle dangerous cargo."

"Trained?" the suited man raised an eyebrow and sneered. "If they’re so capable, why is ’The Devil of the Battlefield’—Fujisawa—still at large? Rumor is he’s been on your hit list since day one."

His tone was poisonous.

The bald man’s expression hardened. He took a step forward, locking eyes with the other. "Watch your mouth. Don’t drop names like you know who you’re messing with. Kiriya’s the brain of my team—he planned half our tactics. And the reason I—I agreed to partner with scum like you... is because you promised to cure my wife’s illness."

The mood turned suddenly tense. Soldiers nearby glanced over, then quickly returned to their duties, pretending not to hear a conversation that could get someone killed.

The suited man sneered at David, then raised a hand as if swatting away a fly."Stay out of my face. Honestly, I can smell your breath from here—faint tobacco and rotten hope. Disgusting."

David clenched his fists but held his tongue. He knew this wasn’t just anyone—it was a man backed by a multinational corporation now controlling much of the private military operations in Africa, and he carried real power.

The suited man continued casually, "You’ll get what I promised... if you do your job right. Make sure Ultro goes online per protocol. And absolutely no civilian witnesses left alive. We’re testing a new god of war."

David kept his head down, but inside, the embers of betrayal he felt he’d ignited against his former comrade Fujisawa burned hotter than ever.

---

"Come on—you’re turning me into your first-ever human surfboard, Fujisawa-san!" Ren shouted, his voice echoing over the roaring wind as he zipped through the sky in his Techno Mark I armor. On his back crouched the adult—Fujisawa—clutching tight to Ren’s shoulder plating.

"What could I do! Our plane’s too big, too obvious, and can’t land anywhere near! This was the only option!" Fujisawa shouted back, trying to steady himself against the turbulence shaking them both.

"That’s what you said... Sigh," Ren sighed dramatically before breaking into a mischievous grin. "Welcome aboard Ren Airlines. Enjoy your economy-class flight—seatbelts are optional!"

Without warning, he ramped up speed dramatically.

"Oh God—! YOU LITTLE—!" Fujisawa roared, nearly losing grip, but managed to hang on to Ren’s chest plate. The wind battered his face, tousling his hair and whipping his long coat wildly.

Ren laughed softly, clearly amused by the reaction. "Hold tight, Ossan."

They shot through the forest canopy before Ren gradually descended. Stealth mode activated, suppressing heat and radar signatures. The armor’s jet hum was now nearly silent.

About 300 meters from the objective, Ren stopped and gently lowered Fujisawa behind some dense bushes at the forest edge. The two crouched immediately, observing the base from their covert position—perfect tactical approach without alerting guards.

Before them lay the old military base, now buzzing with activity. Tightly pitched green tents formed clusters, electric cables snaked to generators in one corner, and heavy machinery unloaded massive crates from the cargo plane. Armed soldiers stood guard in rigid formation—more disciplined than you’d expect from mercenaries.

Ren focused through his visor. A horizontal green reticle swept across his HUD, zooming in on the scene. His eyes fixed on one uniformed figure standing at attention in front of a steel container. On the sleeve—a haunting emblem: a Spartan-style bronze helmet, painted blood-red.

"That one..." Ren whispered, disbelief in his voice.

Fujisawa, crouched beside him, leaned forward and squinted. His usually calm face tightened, brows knitting together. His breath came slow and heavy.

"That’s..." Ren murmured, turning to him.

"Sparta Ares group," Fujisawa said softly.

Ren nodded, but his tone wasn’t proud—it was heavy, weighed down by a tainted memory. "Yeah. That’s our old emblem. The design I helped create. They... shouldn’t be here."

Ren studied Fujisawa’s face carefully, noticing the fine lines near his eyes and the bitter tone beginning to creep into his voice. "So this means... they’re breaking protocol?"

Fujisawa let out a short laugh, but there was no humor in it—just a faint, lingering bitterness. "Breaking protocol, breaking the code of ethics, breaking every line we once swore to defend. David... you’ve crossed a line—you’re the one who taught us where it was."

His voice was low, thick with a regret that wasn’t born from tactics or strategy. This was personal. Ren could see it—this wasn’t just a mission. It was trust... shattered.

Ren frowned, piecing things together. "David? You mean... he was your old team leader?"

Fujisawa nodded slowly. "Back then... he was the very definition of what it meant to be a true soldier. Stern, wise, and always stood for what was right. Every morning before a mission, he’d remind us of the code—the rules of what a soldier can and, more importantly, should never do."

Ren swallowed, not expecting the history to run that deep. "I see... It must be hard for you, seeing all this."

"Yeah," Fujisawa replied softly. "He wasn’t just a superior. He was a mentor. Someone I looked up to. But now... he’s someone I have to stop."

Ren nodded, understanding completely. "So... what’s the plan?"

Fujisawa let out a slow breath, then locked eyes with Ren, his gaze sharp and focused. "Alright. Listen closely. Here’s our plan..."

Fujisawa began laying out his plan with calm precision, his voice low but firm—each word placed like a piece on a war strategy board. He spoke slowly, deliberately, every sentence carrying the weight of experience and unshaken resolve.

Ren listened without interrupting, his eyes sharp with focus. Every now and then, he nodded, committing the details to memory. For Ren, this wasn’t just a mission briefing—it was a masterclass in military tactics, delivered firsthand by a seasoned veteran.

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