Tech Hero in Another World
Chapter 88: [87] Infiltrate (3)

Chapter 88: [87] Infiltrate (3)

"There they are!" shouted one of the palace soldiers, pointing sharply toward the tower entrance. The four of Khan’s guards posted at the door immediately braced themselves, shifting into defensive positions as the echo of shouting filled the narrow stone corridor.

Ren’s brow furrowed, and he quickly ducked behind a weathered wooden beam for cover. "Hey! How exactly are we supposed to fight them without blowing up this entire fortress?" he called out, eyes sweeping across the enemy formation as it advanced in tight lines.

"We’d better fall back inside," one of his teammates suggested, voice tense. "The narrow hall will limit how many of them can attack at once."

Ren glanced at the dark hallway behind them. "That’s true, but it could also be a trap. If the exit gets blocked, we’re buried alive."

"If you’ve got a better plan, say it now!" barked Darek, already halfway into raising his sword, urgency thick in his tone.

Ren raised one hand, displaying his metal-armored phone. A holographic interface blinked to life above the surface. "I’ve got a plan. But I need time... just five minutes."

Darek stared at him incredulously. "Five minutes!? We’ll be pincushions by then!"

"Relax," Ren said, tapping the control panel. "I’ve already called in backup. They’re on their way."

Still catching his breath, Darek rolled his eyes and glanced toward the corridor entrance, where the enemy’s boots grew louder by the second. "You sure your backup’s reliable?"

---

Elsewhere, exactly five kilometers from the battlefield, the once-calm atmosphere around the camp suddenly shifted. Alfred and Bella, the Penal Plains tigers, instantly raised their heads, ears twitching as they caught a frequency—unfamiliar, yet oddly familiar. Their three cubs, still curled up under the tent, jumped in alarm as a mechanical hum echoed from Ren’s van.

The source of the sound came from within the metal vehicle, and soon the body of the van began to tremble. Hidden panels slid open, revealing internal mechanisms glowing with a bluish-white light. Pieces of metal shifted and rotated, reshaping the structure with a precision that felt almost organic.

『Launching Mark 2,』 Ultro’s voice rang out—deep, steady, unmistakably mechanical. Its signature tone brought a sense of calm to those who knew it—though perhaps not to anything standing in its path.

Inside the vehicle’s cavity, a capsule sheathed in mithril shielding and jet-black carbon plating began to rise. It resembled a guided missile, but panels on its sides unfolded, revealing small wings and repulsor turbines beneath.

Then, with a low rumble that quickly crescendoed into a sonic boom, the capsule blasted into the night sky. The blue trail from its repulsors cut through the desert darkness, glowing bright and clear like a shooting star defying gravity.

---

Meanwhile, near the entrance of the tower, Ren felt a faint vibration from the phone in his pocket. The signal was clear—Mark 2 had entered its trajectory zone. A thin smile formed on his lips, not out of relief, but because everything was finally falling into place, just as he had planned long ago.

"Yep," Ren muttered casually, as if greeting an old friend arriving right on time. He remained behind the large brick pillar, his eyes never leaving the silhouettes of enemies beginning to encircle the corridor.

Outside the tower, Derek—now taking command of the emergency response—stepped forward with a sharp glint in his eyes. His voice rang out low, but full of authority among his comrades. "I hope you’re right about that backup of yours..." he said, glancing toward the remaining members of Khan’s squad stationed with them.

He raised his sword high. "Everyone, gather and form a defensive triangle! Five meters from here is the death line—anyone who crosses it gets a taste of your steel!"

The small force moved swiftly. With practiced movements, they formed a human barricade, swords, spears, and shields locking into place. Breaths were held, muscles tensed. The clink of armor and scrape of boots on stone marked the final seconds before hell broke loose.

Derek added, his voice heavy, "Fight for your lives. If you fall today, then fall with honor. Because God... God is with us." His words were more than motivation—they were a battle mantra, igniting the fire in every chest around him. In the silence that followed, they all understood—there was no room left to retreat.

At the tower’s entrance, five stood ready. Derek held the center, anchoring the defense. On his left, two warriors from Khan’s group stood with long spears and rattan shields. On the right, an archer with a backup dagger, and... Ren, the outsider, crouched in the rear, pistol in hand.

"Tight formation! Don’t break the line!" Derek shouted just as enemy footsteps echoed down the corridor, their shadows flickering in the torchlight. Ten... no, twelve of them. They were outnumbered more than two to one.

But numbers didn’t matter in a bottleneck like this. This wasn’t open warfare. This was focused slaughter—and Derek knew it.

"Left barricade, thrust only—no slashing! Narrow space, efficiency first!" His orders were sharp and fast.

The first enemy charged in with a roar, swinging his sword toward Derek’s left. But the spearman didn’t block—instead, he spun his shaft low, sweeping the attacker’s legs. The man toppled, and before he could rise, Derek’s blade came down, cleaving through his helmet and ending him.

The next wave came hard. Two palace soldiers tried to push through the right flank—but one dropped with a bullet in his neck, courtesy of Ren. The second almost reached Derek before a sharp stone struck his face—another precise shot from Ren, avoiding direct combat but far from passive.

"Nice shot!" Derek barked, just before angling his sword to deflect a diagonal strike from above. The clang of metal filled the air, thick and hot. Their breaths came ragged, blood beginning to stain the stone floor.

Ren narrowed his eyes, gaze never leaving the sky. Four more minutes, he thought. Just need to hold for four more minutes.

Suddenly, the enemy tried a trick—shoving two heavily armored soldiers forward. Derek spotted it. "Half-step back! Let them come in!" he yelled.

As the two fully entered the corridor, Derek gave a swift signal. His two teammates on the left struck at once from the sides—a tactic known as "Little Lungs," trapping foes in a seemingly shrinking space before skewering them from both flanks.

Blood sprayed. The two enemy soldiers dropped, collapsing onto their comrades behind. The chaos was enough to shatter the enemy’s formation.

But exhaustion was starting to show. One of Derek’s comrades had his spear snapped. The archer was now relying solely on a dagger, and even Derek was slowing down. Though their brilliant strategy had kept them alive so far, time was no longer on their side.

Then came a shout from the enemy’s direction, "Just break through! There’s only five of them!"

Derek held his breath. He didn’t know if he could withstand the next wave. And at that moment... the enemy soldiers came charging in at once.

"How much longer!?"

"Almost there!"

"Come on!"

They had no choice but to hold out a little longer, even as one enemy with a noticeably different level of strength stepped forward and effortlessly took down Derek’s comrades.

Derek’s breath caught, his eyes blinking rapidly as sweat began to sting his eyelids. He didn’t know if he could make it through the next wave. But one thing was certain—they were coming again. And this time, it wasn’t a hesitant squad. The sound of metal boots and fierce shouting drew closer, like a thunderstorm rolling in with terrifying certainty.

"How much longer!?" Derek turned to Ren, his voice bordering on desperation.

"Just a bit more!" Ren answered, eyes still locked on his phone screen. His fingers were slick with sweat, but steady.

"’A bit more’ could mean life or death, you know!"

"Exactly, so hold on a bit more!" Ren shot back.

But the enemy came faster than they had hoped. The narrow corridor turned into a slaughterhouse. They were forced to endure even longer under relentless pressure. Derek had already blocked more than ten strikes in the past two minutes, and his shoulder was going numb.

Suddenly, the enemy’s footsteps changed. Not a clamor, but one... one heavy step at a time, like a hammer pounding stone. His armor creaked—not from age, but from a strength no ordinary man could possess.

From beyond the torchlight, a different figure emerged. Tall and broad, his eyes glowed a faint red beneath a reinforced helm. In his hand was no ordinary sword, but a massive double-bladed axe—one edge to cleave, the other to crush.

"Big problem," Derek muttered, narrowing his eyes. "Who the hell is that?"

"Sultan’s Elite," one of his comrades gasped. "They don’t send guys like that unless the target’s important..."

The massive man didn’t speak. He stepped forward, and with one swing, smashed into the shield of Derek’s ally on the left. A loud crack echoed through the corridor, then the soldier was flung against the wall, groaning before falling still.

Derek’s shout rang out. "Fall back! Don’t take him one-on-one!"

But it was too late. Another tried to counterattack, but the axe slammed into the ground, sending out a shockwave that shook their footing. The second soldier was tossed aside like a ragdoll, collapsing unconscious.

"He’s not human!" cried the archer, still clutching his dagger.

Ren shifted slightly from his crouch. His face was now tense. "Ultro..." he whispered into the small mic sewn into his jacket.

『Forty seconds,』 came Ultro’s mechanical voice.

"Derek! Just forty more seconds! Hold the line!"

"Forty seconds!?" Derek growled, glaring at the hulking figure now advancing. "He could kill us all in twenty!"

Then, in a deep, guttural voice, the enemy spoke for the first time. "Surrender. In the name of the Sultan, you will not be forgiven."