Tech Hero in Another World
Chapter 97: [96] Forced to be fast

Chapter 97: [96] Forced to be fast

Once the final module was installed in the Mark II, Ren wiped the sweat from his forehead and sealed the armor’s now fully active panel. But his work wasn’t done yet. He walked to the corner of the van and pulled out a small wooden box secured with a simple metal latch.

Inside that box was something no less important—smoke grenades. But not just ordinary smoke. Ren had engineered a sleep gas based on a custom chemical compound designed to target the central nervous system. The effects hadn’t been fully tested yet, but if his theory held, the gas could incapacitate an entire squad without spilling a single drop of blood.

Moments later, as the full Band of Massiah gathered again in the desert clearing to discuss strategy, Ren approached Khan, carrying the box under one arm.

"Hey," he called, flashing a grin. "I’ve been thinking. There might be a much easier way to deal with those three thousand soldiers... and with almost zero risk of dying."

Khan turned to face him, still clad in his battle armor. "What are you talking about, Nico?"

Ren slowly opened the wooden box and revealed its contents. Three small metallic grenades, each etched with a unique symbol, sat neatly arranged inside."Whipped these up about thirty minutes ago—sleep grenades," he said, his tone like someone showing off a new toy.

"Sleep grenades?" Khan echoed, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah," Ren nodded. "Pull the pin, toss it, and these babies will release a gas that targets the brain’s nerve centers. About five minutes after exposure, their bodies weaken, then shut down. They’ll be out cold for one to two hours, depending on their physical resistance."

Khan stared at the grenades in disbelief, like he was witnessing a miracle that had nothing to do with so-called miracels."I... don’t even know how to respond. But this... this is incredible. Thank you."

"Told you—technology’s got nothing to envy from magic," Ren said, clearly pleased with himself. "What we need now is a plan to use these little guys as efficiently as possible."

Khan nodded, then glanced toward the edge of the camp—toward the three Hassasin standing silently like shadows. Their eyes already seemed to know they were being summoned.

"Speaking of efficiency..." Khan’s gaze sharpened as he looked at them. "I know exactly who’s going to use them."

---

After finalizing the plan for a nighttime infiltration—thanks to the sleep grenades and devices capable of neutralizing Malik’s forces—preparations were set into motion with disciplined precision. But as always on the battlefield, bad news traveled faster than readiness.

One of Khan’s scouts came sprinting into camp. His breath ragged, body covered in dust, and his eyes carried the weight of news that could not wait.

"What!?" Khan shouted the moment he heard the report, his voice echoing between the half-collapsed tents.

"I confirmed it myself..." the scout said, nearly collapsing to his knees. "Princess Diana... is scheduled for execution. Four hours from now."

The very air around them seemed to vanish. Members of the Band of Massiah looked to each other, the moment freezing in time. Princess Diana—sister of the previous sultan, and more importantly, Khan’s mother. A figure who had lived in the shadowed margins of Samsara’s history... was to be beheaded before the sun reached its peak.

Khan began pacing, his steps erratic. His face betrayed a storm of emotion rarely seen—restlessness, fury, and fear, all tangled together. His instincts screamed to act now, to charge in if necessary.

But when his eyes met those of his comrades—Ren, calm but ready; Susan, gripping her weapon tightly; Nea, watching with unwavering trust—Khan stopped. He knew a reckless move could destroy more than just the mission. He couldn’t sacrifice everything... just because of emotion.

"Haaah..." Khan let out a long breath, then straightened "Alright. We change the plan.".

His eyes turned toward the western horizon "In two hours, the main force moves to the western side of the palace. It’s the closest point to the main river that flows directly into the inner fortress.".

"The river?" Derek tilted his head. "You planning to swim us in?"

"The Hassasin will bring us boats," Khan replied without hesitation. He hadn’t confirmed that yet, but he trusted the legends that surrounded the Hassasin: when it came to serving the Sultan... nothing was impossible.

Arash, standing quietly at the group’s flank, gave a slight bow "Don’t worry. Our brothers are already inside the fortress. They’re just waiting on your order... Sultan."..

"Then give that order now." Khan’s voice dropped, firm and resolute, like a hammer striking fate.

Without hesitation, Arash nodded. He pulled a silver-feathered pigeon from his robe, its sharp eyes glinting with the focus of a trained soldier. Kneeling, he retrieved a thin sheet of hide and a charcoal pen from a small pouch at his belt.

Arash’s hands moved quickly, precisely. Once the message was complete, he rolled it tightly and tied it to the bird’s leg. With a gentle flick, he launched the pigeon into the sky. It soared high, cutting through the hot morning air, carrying the decree.

"Next, I’m counting on you to weaken Malik’s forces," Khan said, handing Arash and the Hassasin a small box containing the sleep grenades "Pull the pin, toss it into the barracks. It’ll take effect in five minutes. I assume you have more people on the inside?".

Arash opened the box carefully, examining the grenades with a neutral expression. But the spark in his eyes showed genuine interest "Yes. We have more than enough to throw their ranks into disarray from within.".

Khan gave a small nod, then locked eyes with Arash "I need you to infiltrate the heart of Malik’s army. Use everything you’ve got. No one else can pull this off like you can.".

Arash bowed, hand over his chest "As you command, Sultan... it shall be done.".

Khan then turned to the rest of his force, now gathering on the western side of camp "The rest of you—prepare to head for the western riverbank. Ride fast, and once near the palace—coordinate positions. We’ll take control from the inside the moment the strike begins.".

Ren, who had been listening from atop his van, finally spoke. His voice was flat, but his eyes were sharp "Hold up... if everyone’s moving to the west side, what about you?".

Khan gave a small smile, his gaze drifting to the sky as it began to shift color "Me? The elite Janissary Hamzat are most likely still stationed with Malik. There are twelve of them, and each one could take down ten regular soldiers. They’re not normal troops... they’re trained killers.".

Ren narrowed his eyes, already guessing where this was going.

"And Malik," Khan continued, his voice dropping an octave, each word heavy with years of hatred and caution, "He’s not just the enemy’s leader. He’s the core of all this. His power isn’t just magic... it’s his very body."

Ren, arms crossed beside the van, narrowed his eyes slightly. He had an idea where this conversation was heading, but not the scale of it "You mean... his body?".

"Yes," Khan replied with a slow nod. "He has the ability to control sand. He has a ’Miracel,’ just like I do... but stronger."

Ren exhaled through his teeth, glancing at the desert map spread out on their folding table "But you’re the one who told me this morning... ’walk in from the front and kick their asses.’ Were you serious back then, or just sun-drunk?.

Khan let out a long sigh, then met Ren’s gaze head-on. His golden eyes weren’t angry—they were calm "Correction, Nico... That was only half of what I had in mind. I’m not stupid or reckless enough to really send fifty people straight into enemy lines without a plan.".

Ren dropped his arms, his stance softening a bit "Okay, so... you do have a plan.".

"Always," Khan murmured, almost to himself. "But sometimes, for a plan to work... the enemy has to think you don’t have one. We need them off guard. Overconfident."

Ren stepped closer and tapped the chest plate of Khan’s armor with one finger "And you’re choosing to be part of that bait? Again, you know this could very well get you killed, right?".

"I know," Khan answered without hesitation. "But I also know... I’m the only one who can truly distract Malik. So I need to face him. Directly."

The air around them fell silent. Even the desert wind seemed to whisper like a voice from the future—whether warning or blessing, it wasn’t clear.

Khan and Ren locked eyes, and in that quiet exchange, an unspoken agreement was made—one that could no longer be taken back. Their resolve was sealed. There was no room left for doubt.

"Alright," Khan said at last, his voice deep and steady. "We have a deal. It’s time to move."

"YEAAH!" Khan’s warriors roared, throwing their fists into the air in fierce unison.

Ren, meanwhile, simply nodded, casting a quick glance toward his van—or more precisely, the Mark II armor waiting patiently inside.

---

Two hours later, the sun began its climb to its highest point, and the shadows beneath their feet shrank. Dust swirled around the grand but silent Samsara Palace, as if the very ground was holding its breath for the events about to unfold.

In the depths of the underground prison, the sound of footsteps echoed through the cold, damp stone corridors. Torchlight flickered along the walls, dancing with each step of the figure approaching.

Princess Diana sat against the corner of her cell, her body weary, but her gaze unwavering. She wore simple garments—not royal gowns—but she still carried the air of someone born to rule. A woman who refused to surrender, even when the world tried to break her.

The iron door creaked open, marking someone’s arrival. From the darkness of the corridor emerged a tall figure wrapped in a trailing black cloak, flanked by twelve masked men in ornate metal-lined uniforms: the Janissary Hamzat.

Their masks resembled demonic visages—eyes glowing red. They said nothing. They didn’t have to. They stood like statues, ready to take a life at a single gesture.

From the center of their formation, one man stepped forward. Tall, graceful, but cloaked in a coldness that could rival the prison walls themselves. His skin was sand-toned, his long hair tied neatly behind his head. He wore a faint smile—icy, laced with contempt.

"Hello, Auntie," Malik said, his voice mockingly cheerful, like a mischievous child taunting a helpless relative.