Tech Hero in Another World
Chapter 82: [81] Yeah, that’s Khan

Chapter 82: [81] Yeah, that’s Khan

"Haaah... and what if I don’t feel like talking?" one of the stalkers hissed, eyes burning with defiance.

Ren exhaled like a man just handed extra work on his day off. "Well then... this won’t be easy," he said quietly, but with weight behind his words. His tone shifted, and with a subtle nod of his chin, he signaled Nea.

From behind the bushes, Nea stepped out holding a compact stun baton—one of Ren’s custom mods. She moved quickly to the opposite side and dragged someone forward: a third stalker, already incapacitated. Nea had taken him down silently while the other two were distracted.

"What!?" one of them shouted, shocked to see their companion taken hostage.

"Where was your attention, buddy?" Ren grinned and lunged forward without warning. With a sharp burst from his propulsion shoes, his body launched, and a sweeping kick aimed for the man on the right.

But the target was fast. He blocked with his elbow and immediately pulled Ren downward, trying to slam him into the ground. What followed was a series of sharp, fluid movements—punches, counters, shifting footwork. It was clear neither of them was a novice.

"Damn," Ren hissed, thrown aside as his opponent’s footing proved more solid than expected. He rolled across the sand and rose again, serious now, though his smirk hadn’t completely faded.

"Nice. Haven’t been humiliated that fast in a while," he said, brushing dust off his jacket sleeve.

The man didn’t respond. But from his lowered stance and sharp focus, he was clearly ready to go all-in. Muscles tensed, eyes locked on Ren like a predator sizing up its prey.

Nea stood at Ren’s side, gripping the stun baton tightly. Her body was tense, but she stayed alert, scanning for anyone trying to flank them.

"Well," one of the attackers growled, drawing a sleek blade from under his cloak, "you’ve officially pissed us off."

Ren raised an eyebrow and smirked like they were arguing over who cut in line at a lunch buffet. "Excuse me? That line’s ours to use."

With a flick of his wrist, Ren pulled a compact weapon from his belt—a small, futuristic pistol with a short barrel. It wasn’t lethal, but the high-impact rubber rounds it fired were more than enough to knock down a grown man with one hit to a vital spot.

The stalkers, unfamiliar with such tech, didn’t grasp the threat. To them, it looked like an odd metal tool that might make a loud noise... not something truly dangerous.

But when Ren fired the first shot, the near-silent TWHUP cracked through the air, followed by the hard thud of impact. One man was thrown back half a meter, tumbling across the sand and gasping for breath as the round hit square in his solar plexus.

"Pro tip," Ren said casually, adjusting his aim, "don’t pick fights with people from worlds where weapons outrun your reflexes."

But his advantage didn’t last. The remaining attacker dashed sideways, using the underbrush for cover. They were trained—adaptable—and moved unpredictably, making manual lock-on difficult. Another rubber round slammed into a tree, kicking up sand but missing its mark.

"Nea! Left!" Ren shouted, spotting a stalker closing in from the flank.

Nea spun and activated the stun baton. Blue sparks crackled through the air, and when the baton struck her target’s shoulder, a sharp scream rang out before the man collapsed, twitching and unconscious.

Ren glanced toward the final attacker—his eyes now wide, not in fear, but in calculation. He growled, then hurled a smoke bomb to the ground, vanishing in a cloud of dust and haze.

"Classic," Ren muttered, shielding his face and stifling a cough.

Several seconds passed in tense silence, broken only by the labored breathing of the man sprawled in the sand. Ren lowered his pistol slowly, then blew across the barrel with mock dramatics like a cowboy finishing a high-noon duel.

"Well," he said, turning to Nea with a faint grin, "that went better than expected. Though I doubt it’s gonna make the martial arts curriculum."

But before the dust could truly settle, the last remaining stalker locked eyes with them, rage simmering beneath his stare. He clenched his jaw and reached slowly for a short blade at his belt, its edge catching the fading light of dusk.

Ren rolled his eyes and let out a deep sigh. "Of course. One of those

But before the man could take a step, a sharp hissing sound—thwip!—cut through the air, and an arrow embedded itself into the ground between them. Sand exploded upward, and the three froze in place.

Ren stepped back half a pace, eyes narrowing as he stared at the arrow. "Oh no... I’ve got a bad feeling about this."

From behind the bushes and dunes surrounding the oasis, silhouettes began to emerge one by one. Some walked swiftly, others rode tall desert horses fitted with worn, black leather saddles. Each wore loose, dark-colored clothing and veils over their faces—the unmistakable uniform of desert warriors.

They moved in silence, but their presence was heavy, pressing down on the air like a storm waiting to break. Weapons were already drawn—some lifted bows, others unsheathed curved short swords typical of desert fighters.

Ren tilted his head and glanced sideways at Nea, his expression a mix of resignation and mild amusement. "Friends of yours?"

Nea swallowed hard and gave a quick nod. "Band of Massiah," she whispered. "They... they’re Khan’s group."

Ren’s eyes widened slightly before shifting toward the figure leading the group—a tall man standing atop a large stone, face half-hidden by cloth, staring directly at him.

Ren straightened, tugging his jacket back into place and muttered under his breath, "Oh great... looks like I’m in trouble."

---

Ren, Nea, and the two stalkers who had just been their enemies were now restrained with light magical bindings. They were being escorted to a hidden location—the headquarters of the Band of Massiah, nestled within a vast cavern among the towering red hills in the northern Mandaley desert.

The journey there was silent. The Band’s escorts didn’t speak much, but every movement radiated discipline and the kind of unspoken trust forged through countless battles fought side by side.

At the mouth of the cave, they were greeted by the dim glow of torches and magic crystals. Inside, the cavern opened into a wide chamber like a natural hall, its stone ceiling glinting faintly. Carvings covered the walls—some ancient symbols, others clearly tactical diagrams or desert maps.

Ren muttered under his breath, "This place... beats the crap out of any luxury apartment I saw in Dubai."

His comment died instantly as his gaze landed on a figure standing at the center of the hall. The man stood tall and commanding, his war-weathered features marked by a faint scar at his temple. His tanned skin and sharp jaw were framed by a thin beard.

What stood out most, though, were the wolf ears protruding from his jet-black hair, and the dark gray tail swaying behind him. He wasn’t just human—he was beastkin. And from the way the air around him changed, it was clear this man wasn’t some ordinary warrior.

The man’s gaze locked onto Ren’s like a blade, sharp and penetrating, as if he could read minds with just a glance. A heavy silence fell as he finally spoke.

"What about them?" he asked calmly, but his voice carried a weight that made shouting unnecessary.

One of the soldiers standing beside him answered immediately, standing straight. "They’re clean. No active magic weapons, no tracking sigils. One carries a... strange object, but non-lethal."

The man nodded slowly, then walked toward Ren and Nea with steps so steady they seemed to ripple through the air. As he drew near, even the two stalkers who had dared to fight earlier bowed their heads slightly—not out of respect, but fear.

Ren met his eyes unflinchingly, though he felt a strange pressure settle in his chest. The man’s aura wasn’t just physical—it was something deeper. Something primal that warned of danger without words.

"So..." Ren gave a crooked smile, even with his hands still tied behind his back. "You must be Khan."

Khan didn’t answer right away. He turned slightly, his movement fluid, like a predator sizing up prey. His face now clearly visible, bore sharp Persian features—a straight nose, strong jaw, and deep, dark eyes—accented by a pair of wolf ears emerging from his unkempt long hair and a thick tail that swayed slowly.

"Yes, that’s me," he replied at last. His voice was calm, but carried a force that silenced everything around it. "And you are?"

Ren gave a casual shrug, as much as his bound arms allowed. "Oh, you can call me Nico... for now."

Khan narrowed his eyes, repeating the name silently in his mind. "Nico... Nico..." he murmured, almost as if trying to recall something. Then his gaze dropped to the fang pendant hanging around Ren’s neck. "Did you bring this?"

Ren nodded once. "Yeah, that’s right. I didn’t steal it, if that’s what you’re worried about."

Khan stepped closer, his movement slow but filled with purpose. When he finally stood just inches from Ren, he slightly towered over him, and his expression turned serious.

"I’ve only ever given out two of those. One to my mother... and the other to an old friend. Someone who saved me back when I was nobody."

His eyes hardened. "So tell me... where did you get it?"

Ren held his breath for a moment. He knew one wrong answer could go very badly. But he chose to be honest. "A friend gave it to me. His name’s Ryul... he’s an elf. Maybe you know him."

Khan blinked slowly at the name, then inhaled deeply. "Ryul... I see," he said quietly, more to himself than to Ren. His expression softened slightly, as if an old memory had pulled him back.

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