Tech Hero in Another World
Chapter 135: [134] Early action as a Superhero (6)

Chapter 135: [134] Early action as a Superhero (6)

On the other side, Fujisawa moved swiftly and silently. His skilled hands pressed C4 charges against rows of large wooden crates stacked at the edge of the airstrip. He knew exactly what was inside—killer robots for the client, next‑gen lethal machines yet to be deployed. He set the timers with precision: five seconds to blast, just enough to flee, enough to obliterate.

Just as he secured the final detonator wire, footsteps echoed from the left. Many—too many to ignore.

Fujisawa rose slowly and spun around. His gaze swept the horizon—and his heart pounded as dozens of armed soldiers closed in on him from all directions. Among them, stepped forward the man he knew best: David. The bald figure advanced unarmed, yet his frozen aura felt like time stood still.

"Well... this is an unexpected reunion, David," Fujisawa said flatly, his voice heavy with long‑suppressed bitterness.

"This is definitely not the meeting I expected, kid," David replied, his tone low, calm... and hanging in the air. "But I have my... own conditions to meet."

Fujisawa narrowed his eyes. "Betraying comrades who trusted you—that’s your ’condition’? You broke every code we swore to uphold! Have you forgotten their names? Renolds. Barrick. Sam. Erick. Williams. They all died for the ideals we lived by. You... walked all over that."

A hush fell. Even the Ares Sparta soldiers surrounding him fell silent, some bowing their heads—they remembered those names. They’d also lost friends.

David said nothing.

Fujisawa let out a cynical laugh. "I thought—I thought I found family in this group. But it turns out, even family can betray you."

David snorted in response, then said coldly, "Hands up... Fujisawa."

No emotion. No apology.

Fujisawa shrugged, then slowly raised both hands. "Well, as you asked—"

Ting.

A quiet click, almost inaudible. But David recognized it. The pin had been pulled.

His eyes widened. "SMOKE! SHOOT HIM NOW!"

But it was already too late.

Thick smoke erupted from Fujisawa around his waist, obscuring vision in an instant. The open space warped into a sea of white haze. Coughs echoed, panic struck commands, and gunfire became chaotic.

The smoke swirled like death’s own mist, consuming the ground with brutal speed. In moments, the base turned into a battlefield of illusions—shadowy figures shifting, aimless laser lights, guards stumbling in confusion. Fujisawa stood at the heart of the storm, moving with wolf‑like grace through the smoke.

He no longer appeared human. No hesitation in his stride. No pause in his movements. Only determination and instinct—the killer’s instinct honed by years of warfare.

One soldier stumbled through the smoke. Fujisawa was already there. His military knife pierced kevlar and plunged straight into the man’s heart. His left hand clamped over the soldier’s mouth to silence him. The body slid to the ground. Deadly precision.

"Senjō no Akuma."

That name wasn’t myth. In the darkness, in the chaos, he became living reality—the final face his enemies ever saw.

Fujisawa advanced again, sliding low like a predator, closing in on two soldiers standing back‑to‑back guarding their sector. But the smoke severed sight, and fear filled the void.

He tossed a flashbang.

BOOM!

A blinding blast of light exploded, incapacitating them. Fujisawa was already there—leaping, spinning in the air, delivering two hammer‑like strikes with the rifle’s stock against their helmets. Metal crunched. They collapsed in brutal unity.

"Where the hell is he!?" shouted a soldier from the left.

Fujisawa dropped beneath the line of fire, sneaking up from the side. He switched his rifle to semi‑auto and fired three precise shots—each bullet striking the neck or beneath the helmet. Years of training unleashed as a violent dance in the fog of war.

One by one, soldiers fell, terrorized by the battlefield demon they once called comrade.

And the enemy was decimated—his battle IQ unleashed in a combat zone that betrayed him.

David, witnessing the carnage, drew his pistol and ordered the remaining soldiers to follow his lead.

Gunfire, echoes of explosions, and shouts filled the air, but the smoke front began to dissipate. Fujisawa slid down from the wreck of an armored truck ripped in half, his body blending with the debris. Sweat and blood stained his temple, yet his gaze remained calm—cold and precise like the hands of death’s clock.

Every move calculated. He knew their positions, how they thought—because they were once trained by him. Who would flinch first, who feared darkness, who always led with their left foot.

And now, he hunted them—one by one.

Fujisawa sprang behind a container, evading flying rounds that pounded steel walls. He paused for a breath, then tossed another grenade to his right. A soft click rang out—too late for three soldiers to react.

BOOM!

Their bodies flew backward. One soldier tried to crawl away—but Fujisawa had already dropped to his knees and delivered two shots to his chest. Engine roars, ragged breathing... then, silence.

Only a handful of Fujisawa’s opponents remained, and fear was seeping into their eyes.

"He’s not human... this can’t be real..." one muttered, wild-eyed, shaking.

Fujisawa stepped forward slowly, dropping his empty magazine and snapping in a fresh one with deadly precision. His hands were slick with blood, but his grip didn’t waver. His focus was absolute—his purpose singular.

From the opposite flank, David emerged into the open. He stood firm—still fit for a man past fifty. He drew his blade, its carbon-black sheen showing years of combat etched on its edge.

"Form the perimeter! Don’t run. Don’t break formation!" he barked. "Follow my lead, we take him down as a unit!"

Three remaining soldiers shifted into a circular shield.

Fujisawa watched them from behind a stack of wooden pallets, paused, and exhaled. He’d taught them that formation once. Now, he would dismantle it.

With lightning speed, he surged right, targeting the formation’s weak link. A bullet smashed into the first soldier’s knee—he crumpled, screaming. Fujisawa vaulted onto his back, using him as cover from the others’ fire.

Rounds pounded into the shielded corpse. Before they could redirect their aim, Fujisawa slipped through and jabbed a blade into the exposed neck in one seamless, silent motion. The last soldier fell—and now only David remained, standing in a battlefield gone eerily quiet.

He gripped his blade tight, chest heaving, his eyes locked on Fujisawa as he strode through the carnage.

"So... your move, kid," David murmured, his voice low and echoing through smoke and ruin.

Fujisawa paused a few steps away, exhaling heavily.

"Alright... you asked for it."

In one fluid motion, they lunged—blades clashing.

Smoke-blackened skies loomed overhead, wreckage and frozen carnage stalking the ground around them. There were no more soldiers, no guns roaring—just two warriors facing off, each driven by duty, pain, and shattered history.

Fujisawa drew a deep breath, his compact blade gleaming faintly against the dying firelight from a burning vehicle. Opposite him, David crouched, poised, his grip firm—an embodiment of Spartan resolve.

David struck first—swift, calculated. Fujisawa sidestepped and parried, metal ringing, sparks flying. David spun and struck with his empty hand like a wrecking hammer. Fujisawa stumbled back, barely holding his ground, then delivered a kick to David’s midsection.

David absorbed it with his forearm, shoving Fujisawa backward. They separated for a moment, breathing heavy.

"You’re still fast," David remarked, voice tight but steady.

"And you’re still stubborn," Fujisawa retorted, spitting something Scarlet across the ground.

They collided again.

David swung downward with brutal precision. Fujisawa deflected, slid sideways, attempting a thrust to David’s flank. David twisted, trapped Fujisawa’s arm under his armpit and raised his blade high.

In a flash, Fujisawa kneed David’s thigh three times. David released his grip. Fujisawa stepped back and flung a spare blade from his boot—it embedded deep into David’s left shoulder.

"ARGH!" David roared, yet stayed upright.

He yanked the blade free, dripping blood, and held his stance.

Both men were battered—blood and sweat caked their skin—but their resolve stood unbroken.

David charged again, swinging his blade in that signature move: a straight, trained thrust followed immediately by a powerful left-arm strike—his shield arm. But Fujisawa anticipated the pattern. He twisted his body at the last second, letting the blade graze his combat jacket, then ducked low and slammed his elbow hard into David’s ribs.

Crack.

A sickening snap echoed, followed by David’s ragged grunt. He staggered, thrown off balance.

Fujisawa didn’t hesitate. He jumped, spun in midair, and delivered a straight-on kick to David’s chest. The older man flew backward, crashing into a burning ammo pile. Sparks scattered like fireworks around them as the final act of their battle ignited the fallen field.

Amidst the flames and choking smoke, Fujisawa stood, breathing heavily. "Why?" he asked quietly—not from exhaustion, but from a deeper, emotional wound.

David lifted his head slowly. Blood streamed down his face, but his eyes were clear. "Urgh... well... I’m in the same situation as you, kid." His voice rasped with honesty. "My wife... she had a rare disease. Not like your sister. Her illness was aggressive. After the diagnosis, doctors gave us two months. Two months to hope... two months to prepare for loss."

He drew a shaky breath. "I panicked. I was scared... terrified. I’ve lived through hell, and she was the only warmth in my world. When that man showed up with a promise of a cure—crazy technology, unbelievable stuff—I believed. I needed to believe."

"You trusted him just like that!?" Fujisawa snapped, emotions flaring.

"I saw it with my own eyes," David replied softly. "A machine that could read cellular structures. Molecular-therapy tools. Impossible, yet real. And I... I gave everything for one chance."

"But that’s no excuse for genocide!" Fujisawa thundered, pressing his pistol against David’s temple.

David remained still. "You’re right. I broke every code. I betrayed my team. I even betrayed myself. But I’m only human... scared of losing everything."

He met Fujisawa’s gaze. "You’re not my subordinate anymore. I’m not worthy of calling you one. If you want to judge me... do it."

Fujisawa stayed silent. His hand trembled, his gaze piercing. Finally, he lowered the gun.

"No... I’m not killing you," he said coldly. "Not because I don’t want to. I do. But that would be too easy. Too light. Your life... will be your judgment."

David hung his head, body slumping.

Fujisawa reached into his pocket and pressed a small button.

BOOM!

A massive explosion rocked the night behind them. The killer robots—the bloody project—vanished in a blaze that licked toward the starless sky.

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