Tech Hero in Another World
Chapter 48: [47] Mutant Wasp vs Techno (3)

Chapter 48: [47] Mutant Wasp vs Techno (3)

Beneath the scorched black plating, Ren groaned in silence. His body felt like it was being roasted alive, the heat inside his armor reaching critical levels. He could barely breathe—sweat drenched him, evaporating faster than tears. With the last sliver of consciousness, he activated the final trump card he had left.

A deep blue glow pulsed from his eyes, like a supernatural heartbeat. "Material Transmutation—Full Release," he whispered.

In an instant, layer by layer, the metal of his armor melted and morphed, peeling away from his body like sheets of mechanical skin. As the final piece dropped, Ren fell to his knees, his body trembling under labored breaths, skin flushed red—on the verge of blistering.

But before he could draw a full breath, his eyes locked onto the crater ahead.

From the smoke and shattered earth, a silhouette rose—not stumbling, but with a terrifying stillness. Thin wings buzzed rapidly, slicing the air, and from the pit emerged Veskar—half his body charred, one wing shredded—but his smile... wider than ever.

"Kkhahaha!! Incredible!" His voice rang out, raspy and raw, yet filled with twisted joy. "It’s been so long since I’ve felt this! The boiling of blood... the taste of fear... the edge of death!"

His pitch-black eyes burned with molten gold, staring at Ren not with hatred—but passion. The kind of passion born from a battle-obsessed maniac.

Ren could barely stand. His legs trembled, his body nearly paralyzed by the G-forces that had driven his blood to his feet. Even his voice caught in his throat, reduced to ragged gasps as his lungs tried to recover from the hellish strain.

Veskar laughed with satisfaction, then reached for a jagged spike jutting from his injured arm. He tore it out—black blood spurting—then bent it with bare hands into a crude, savage spear.

"Be honored, human! You’ll die by a weapon forged from my own flesh!"

But just as he moved to charge—

A red symbol flared across his chest—like a brand seared from within. The glowing mark shrieked with a magical tone, and Veskar’s body froze in place.

"AAAGHHHHH!!" he roared, veins bulging in his neck. He tried to lunge forward, but his limbs refused. The symbol pulsed more violently, radiating an aura of deep, binding magic. "That damn slave mark... YOU FORGOT WHO I AM?!"

From afar, the magical brand glowed with searing intensity—a command forced through every synthetic nerve in his body. The red light wasn’t just a symbol—it was a shackle, one that pierced his very will.

Veskar’s body trembled violently—not from pain, but from brutal inner resistance.

"Ghh—AGH! NO!!" he bellowed, voice cracking with metallic screeches. Every muscle fought back, but each joint began to move on its own. The magic ignited a torturous conflict—between will and compulsion. He, the strongest knight of the Hive, royal guardian to the Hornet Queen, was now nothing more than a puppet pulled by crimson strings.

In his mind, the magic echoed—a cold, soulless whisper from the abyss:

"Return..."

It held no emotion, no respect. It wasn’t the voice of the queen he had served all his life. It was something else... something human... calling itself "master." And that alone made his insect blood boil with rage.

"I... don’t belong to you!" Veskar hissed, grinding his teeth as he slammed a fist into his own chest—trying to destroy the mark, even if it meant ripping out his heart. But his body wouldn’t obey.

Dragged by magic, his steps turned slow, almost pitiful. He floated backward, away from the battle still unfinished. His back turned to the enemy he had nearly slain—and that alone burned his soul with shame. His gaze stayed locked on Ren—not with hatred, but with despair... and a vow.

"I’ll come back..." Veskar growled, his steps faltering as the binding magic forced him away. His eyes didn’t dim with defeat—on the contrary, they sharpened, like embers of vengeance rekindling in silence. "And next time... this honor will be mine!"

Ren stood motionless, his body trembling uncontrollably. The blue glow in his eyes slowly dimmed—his systems heavily damaged. His breathing sounded like a broken engine forcing itself to run. And at last, his shoulders slumped slightly... a sign that—for now—he had survived.

But the price of victory was steep.

Without warning, Ren gagged. A drop of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, followed by a thin stream from his nose and eyes. His body buckled, one knee crashing to the ground with a loud metallic thud. Alarms blared within his armor, warning of catastrophic damage—but they were drowned out by the pulse of pain in his chest.

(Kh... This is the cost... I pushed too far...) he thought, a bitter laugh echoing inside him. He knew the risks. He knew his body wasn’t fully stabilized to endure the strain of Accel Mode. But he had no other choice.

A half-second before the world tilted in his vision, Ren turned his head—toward where Elaria waited, somewhere beyond the haze of battle. His lips moved faintly, as if to say something—but it never came.

His body gave out.

And with a soft, almost inaudible sound beneath the quiet of the night, the knight’s form finally collapsed—falling alongside the still-settling dust of a battlefield Veskar had been forced to abandon.

---

Not long after Veskar was forced to retreat by the binding spell, the night sky fell silent once more—only dust remained, shrouding the battlefield in a haze of chaos and ruin. From the east, torchlight flickered through the trees, glowing like fiery worms weaving through the dark. The elven guard from the fortress had finally arrived—rushing in with weapons drawn and eyes sharp.

But what they found was not an enemy—only a sight that would remain etched in their memories.

At the center of a still-smoking crater, Princess Elaria knelt, her cloak stained with dirt and dried blood. In front of her lay a young man, his body covered in burns and bruises, with wisps of steam still rising from his reddened skin. It was him—Ren, the savior—no longer hidden beneath the shell of his iron armor. The advanced suit that once encased him had melted away through magical transmutation, leaving only shattered fragments of metal strewn around him like the discarded skin of a serpent.

Elaria bit her lower lip, her eyes unblinking as they locked onto Ren’s face—peaceful, yet pale. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, evidence of just how far he’d pushed his body past its limits. Her small hands trembled as they reached out to touch his cheek, feeling the blistering heat still radiating from his skin—like embers refusing to fade. But he wasn’t dead. She knew that. She could feel it.

"Your Highness!" one of the soldiers called out, but Elaria lifted her hand, silently telling them to wait.

She wasn’t ready. Not yet. Not to pull away from the one who had risked everything to bring her back. Especially not after learning that this man—this protector—was human. The same race she had come to hate most, for it was humans who had subjected her to horror, trauma she would carry for a lifetime. But how could she deny the truth? She had seen it with her own eyes—how Ren had fought for her, shielded her, tore his own body apart for her sake.

"I don’t care that he’s human..." she whispered softly, only for herself to hear. "Not after... all this..."

The elven soldiers stepped closer, and upon seeing Ren’s broken state, they moved quickly. Three of them gently lifted the knight’s charred, armor-scorched body. Two others gathered the scattered remains of his shield and helmet. They could all see—this was no ordinary human. And somehow, he had saved their princess.

"Get him to the healing ward. Now!" Elaria finally ordered, her voice regaining some strength despite its tremble. Her eyes never left Ren—even as the soldiers carried him away.

That night, the sky above the forest stretching through the northern realm of the elves was no longer silent. It bore witness to an impossible battle—and to a soul who came from another world, willing to risk death to save a princess who wasn’t his.