Tech Hero in Another World
Chapter 137: [136] Early action as a Superhero (8)

Chapter 137: [136] Early action as a Superhero (8)

Fujisawa froze for a moment. His eyes widened as he saw that terrifying figure—Ultro, now truly alive. The red light from its visor scanned the entire room before finally locking onto one target: him.

[Identification complete. Command: Eliminate target.]

Ultro’s metal steps echoed across the deck, each movement steady, without hesitation.

Xavier chuckled from the floor, satisfied to see his creation awaken. But the laughter was short-lived—Fujisawa swung a hard punch to his face, then hurled him aside like a ragdoll.

He steadied his breath. What stood before him was no longer human—but the perfect killing machine.

The air inside the transport plane felt heavier than before—as if the very atmosphere adjusted to the presence of something that should not exist. Ultro, the killing machine, stood tall like a war statue. The red light in its visor blinked slowly, scanning Fujisawa’s every movement with clinical precision. Its systems continuously analyzed visual and kinetic data in real time, calculating predictions of the opponent’s motion in microseconds.

Fujisawa stood facing it, his breathing now steady again, knees slightly bent, right hand close to his waist. A sharp glint flickered in his eyes—his tactical vision fully engaged. He knew he was only human. But he was a human who had survived hell—more than once.

Ultro made the first move. Its motion wasn’t rushed, but efficient, each joint locking and releasing in perfect sync. When only three meters separated them, the robot lunged forward at incredible speed.

CLANG!

Ultro’s metal hand sliced through the air like a heavy axe, aimed at Fujisawa’s neck. But the battlefield demon had already shifted position, twisting to the side and deflecting the arm with the inside of his elbow, letting the attack’s momentum pass by.

He countered with a punch to the machine’s neck—useless. Ultro’s armor was as hard as tank plating. But when the robot attempted to pivot and strike from the opposite side, Fujisawa ducked and swept its supporting leg.

THUD—!

Ultro staggered. But it didn’t fall.

Instantly, its stabilizing system kicked in. Ultro’s right leg flared briefly—its hydraulic boosters activating. It rotated its knee and launched a spinning kick.

Fujisawa managed to raise his left arm, blocking with his forearm. The impact rang like a bell—bone clashing against metal.

"Tch," Fujisawa muttered, leaping backward.

Ultro didn’t respond. It simply activated the ’Tactical Reflex v2’ module—a combat prediction program built on hundreds of thousands of military simulations. In a fraction of a second, it had already constructed thirty attack scenarios. And it chose the deadliest one.

The second strike came faster. Ultro jumped—yes, actually jumped. Its body weight, which should’ve crushed the floor, was counterbalanced by internal boosters in its legs, turning it into a guided projectile.

Fujisawa barely had time to think. He bent his back, bracing himself as he caught the incoming charge with both hands and shoulders. The two of them tumbled across the floor, crashing into a stack of logistics crates, sending metal debris flying through the air.

They both rose in a single motion and immediately exchanged blows. Punches, elbows, knee strikes—echoed through the cramped aircraft interior, lit by sparks from severed wires.

Ultro used the confined space with ruthless efficiency. Its arm spun 180 degrees, striking from angles no human could replicate. Fujisawa took a hit to the shoulder, slamming into the wall.

But he twisted his body as he landed. And in the split second before Ultro charged again, Fujisawa yanked a smoke grenade pin from his belt and tossed it to the floor.

PLOOF!

A thick cloud filled the room. Ultro’s visual sensors flickered—vision obstructed, but it immediately switched to thermal.

Fujisawa was already faster. He climbed atop a stack of crates and leapt behind Ultro. With one precise motion, he looped a flexible steel cord—unraveled from his tactical belt—around the robot’s neck and anchored it to a support beam in the aircraft.

Ultro jerked—pulled backward. Its movement was delayed for a fraction of a second.

Enough.

Fujisawa grabbed a blunt iron rod from the floor—a piece of a collapsed rack—and slammed it into Ultro’s sensor array with a full-force swing.

CRACK!

A thin fracture split across the red visor—not much, but enough to show that the battlefield demon wasn’t just any opponent. Ultro responded immediately. Its right arm rotated mechanically, clamping down on Fujisawa and slamming him forward with brutal force.

Fujisawa’s body crashed against the deck, the impact ringing with the sound of metal and flesh colliding. But he rolled through the fall, absorbing the blow with his back and shoulders, then stood again in one smooth motion—though warm blood was already trickling down from his temple.

"Urgh... This is way tougher than I expected..." he muttered, steadying his breath, the knife in his hand still raised. "My Tactical Eye... isn’t enough."

His Tactical Eye—the analytical instinct forged from years of training and honed in blood—allowed Fujisawa to process hundreds of combat simulations per second: enemy weaknesses, optimal attack routes, survival probabilities. It had saved his life countless times.

But Ultro wasn’t just another combat machine—it was the very embodiment of peak military technology. Its predictive system mirrored Fujisawa’s Tactical Eye, only more extreme. Ultro could execute hundreds of attack simulations within milliseconds, continuously adjusting its algorithm in real time to counter Fujisawa’s adaptations.

If something like this gets mass-produced... the battlefield will never be the same again. The world will fall to machines that never tire, never fear... and can’t be reasoned with, Fujisawa thought grimly, his gaze locked on the target.

His priority was no longer victory—but the destruction of Ultro’s core data. All the combat information being recorded, analyzed, and refined... had to be wiped out.

(Where’s the data stored!?) Fujisawa’s mind raced—AI core in the head? In the chest? Or was it being transmitted directly to an external server?

But he had no time to think further—Ultro lunged, the sudden attack fast and precise.

(Damn it! Forget that for now... the only priority is staying alive!)

he thought, ducking and rolling to the side, just inches from a strike that could’ve shattered his bones.

The military knife in his hand felt increasingly meaningless. Fujisawa knew—he needed more than just sharp steel to bring this thing down.

---

A faint burst of static echoed in Ren’s ear before the connection finally cleared. Kiriya’s voice came through the comm line, tense and anxious.

[Ren... I think you need to help that ossan.]

Ren, who was in the middle of fine-tuning his armor’s calibration system, immediately stopped. "What happened?"

[I’m not sure... But I’ve got a bad feeling. His last transmission just cut out. And right before that, I caught one word—’Ultro activated.’ You know anything about that?]

Ren froze for a moment. His face tightened. Ultro. Just hearing the name made his chest feel heavier. He didn’t need any further explanation. "Damn it..."

Without waiting for any more intel or confirmation, Ren shot into action. The jet propulsion on his Techno armor roared to life, kicking off the ground and launching him skyward. He tore through the layers of lingering dust and smoke that still clung to the battlefield below.

On the horizon, the transport aircraft had already climbed high into the air. Its silhouette dark and menacing, soaring like a steel bird of death. Without hesitation, Ren accelerated, holding his breath, eyes locked on his target.

"Hang in there, Fujisawa-san... I’m coming."

---

In the dim, gently vibrating cargo hold of the aircraft, Fujisawa was down on one knee, pressed to the cold steel floor. Blood streamed from his side, soaking through the tattered remains of his combat uniform. His breaths came heavy and broken, each one laced with the burn of a deep stab wound in his side.

Towering above him stood the machine of destruction: Ultro. Its silhouette loomed tall and dark, clad in titanium armor now marked with gashes from Fujisawa’s fierce resistance. But the blood on the tips of its robotic fingers told the story of who currently had the upper hand.

Fujisawa gritted his teeth. "Damn..." he thought.

——

<Flashback – A Few Minutes Earlier>

The battle had been nearly even. Fujisawa had found his rhythm, leveraging his mastery of close-quarters combat. His tactical knife danced with precision, carving scratch after scratch into Ultro’s steel plating—thin marks, but proof of a fighter with countless hours in the field.

He targeted joints, elbow connections, the neck area—vital points that might mimic human anatomy. But Ultro was no ordinary robot. Its movements acted like automated shields for its own weaknesses—each gap defended as if pre-programmed to anticipate Fujisawa’s every intention.

Then, Fujisawa’s eyes caught something—Xavier’s small pistol lying on the floor just behind Ultro, its metal glinting faintly under the blinking light panels on the aircraft wall. A chance.

His gaze locked onto the weapon. The reflection on the metal surface made it shine amid the chaos. He knew, if he could just reach it, one well-placed shot could change everything.

But standing between him and that hope—was a machine.

Ultro didn’t slow. The damage to its armor seemed meaningless. In fact, it moved with greater efficiency, more aggression, as if each prior skirmish had optimized its combat routines. It stepped forward once, twice, thrice... and in the blink of an eye, it was face-to-face with Fujisawa.

Fujisawa inhaled deeply. The military knife in his hand trembled—not from fear, but from the strain his body could no longer hide.

Ultro swung its left arm in a vertical strike. Fujisawa bent his knees, dodging left, slashing at the machine’s wrist—but the blade bounced off. The joint was too well-armored.

He backed up two steps, searching for a pattern to break. But Ultro gave him no time.

The next sequence came fast—a right punch, sweeping swing, followed by a side kick aimed at his ribs. Fujisawa blocked the first strike, twisted away from the second, but the kick landed full-force.

DUGHHK!

His body slammed into the aircraft wall. His ribs cracked. He dropped to his knees, pain stabbing with every breath.

He’s calculating my every move. Not just reading... but predicting.

Fujisawa’s Tactical Eye could build tactical forecasts, but Ultro had gone beyond—it memorized. Recorded. Adapted. Every technique, every feint—crushed by cold machine logic.

He glanced toward the pistol again. Still there.

With the last of his strength, he rolled right as Ultro charged. The robot’s punch smashed into the floor, sending a thunderous clang through the hold and tearing through the plating. Shards of metal flew.

Fujisawa rose—gasping. The knife was useless now, so he threw it—uselessly embedding it into Ultro’s chest plate.

But the throw was only a distraction.

He lunged for the pistol, sliding low across the floor, grabbing it in one fluid motion.

Ultro reacted instantly. Its motion sensors detected the change, and its left arm swung down.

Fujisawa gripped the pistol—click!

Too late.

Ultro’s metal fingers slammed into his side, piercing through his armor and stabbing into flesh.

Fujisawa screamed—a strangled cry—but still pulled the trigger.

One shot.

But Ultro’s hand closed over the barrel, stopping the bullet as it exploded harmlessly against its palm.

"Argh—" Fujisawa cried out, collapsing to his knees before Ultro as it crushed the pistol and tossed it aside.

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