Tech Hero in Another World

Somewhere on Earth, three months after the great summoning incident that shook the world, a Middle Eastern nation once again turned into hell beneath the scorching sun.

"Alpha, copy! Alpha, do you hear us! Are you still alive, copy!!"A panicked voice crackled from a fallen comm radio amidst shattered concrete and broken glass. The desperate call was drowned out by the relentless roar of machine guns spewing bullets.

On the tenth floor of a fifteen-story building, a squad of Ares Sparta mercenaries was cornered from all directions. Rebel gunfire from the leftist faction hammered the concrete walls, shattered windows, and shook the entire room as if every second was a countdown to death.

Ares Sparta was no ordinary band of mercenaries. In the past three years, their reputation had skyrocketed like a meteor, carving victory after victory across the battlefields of Africa and the Middle East. Their name echoed worldwide after the Sudan tragedy, a controversial operation that pushed them into the global spotlight. With new leadership following the retirement of their legendary commander, David, Ares Sparta had now been contracted by the rightist regime—a government pressed to the brink by waves of rebellion carried under the banner of "prosperity revolution."

The conflict was anything but simple. Vital oil trade routes had been cut off, food prices soared, and civilians had turned into combatants. The leftist faction grew stronger with the spirit of resistance, while the weakened rightists chose the fastest path: hiring Ares Sparta, professional soldiers of fortune who "knew no morals, only contracts."

But even elite soldiers could be trapped.

"Tch… when the hell is our backup coming!!"A veteran pressed his back to the wall, returning fire with an overheating AK-103. His breath came in ragged bursts, sweat and dust clinging to his face. From the stairwell below, the sound of footsteps and shouts in the local tongue echoed—the rebels were closing in.

"Captain!" a young recruit shouted, his voice cracking, almost breaking into panic.

"Don't yell, you idiot! If you're gonna die scared, fall back!" the captain barked, his voice harsh, trying to mask the despair pressing down on him.

"It's not that… look outside!!"

The captain growled, lifting his head just enough to glance through the window. The moment his eyes caught the dark shadow approaching, his face drained of color. An enemy helicopter skimmed low, its rotors churning dust and smoke, while the muzzle of a gatling gun began to spin, ready to unleash a storm of lead.

"Shit… shit!! I didn't come here to die like a rat trapped in a hole!" The captain's grip tightened around his weapon, the fear he had been hiding now starting to crack.

Sunlight glinted off the weapon's barrel. The roar of the gatling engine was like the voice of a demon. Some of the mercenaries could do nothing but shut their eyes, bracing for their bodies to be torn apart by metal rain.

Then—something impossible happened.

A blade shot through the air like lightning, piercing straight into the helicopter's engine. A shriek of twisting metal followed, the rotors spun out of control, and the aircraft lost balance. Before the soldiers could comprehend what had happened, a shadow leapt from the rooftop of another building, soaring with agility beyond human limits.

The figure snatched the sword back midair, then, with a single powerful swing, the blade ripped through the chopper's frame as if slicing thin paper. The machine caught fire, rotors snapped, and the steel beast spun violently before crashing into a building across the street. A thunderous explosion shook the ground, flames spewed skyward, and the shockwave shattered the remaining glass of the high-rise.

"Wh… what the hell was that!?" one of the mercenaries cried, his face pale.

Smoke and dust clouded the room. From the broken window, the figure vaulted inside, rolling lightly across the floor before rising in a smooth, controlled motion—a deadly dance. She slid her sword into the black sheath on her back with a swift, chilling ring of steel.

The Ares Sparta soldiers gawked in stunned silence.

"A… a woman?" one of them whispered, eyes wide.

Yes. It was a young woman. Her long hair was tied back, her cold face sharpened by piercing eyes. Her body was lean but taut with flexible muscle, clad in a fitted black combat suit. Knives and unfamiliar devices hung at her waist.

Her steps were steady, as if she had just stepped down from a stage, not a battlefield. Fire from the burning wreck reflected in her eyes, making her appear both terrifying and mesmerizing.

Captain Utor, who had nearly surrendered moments earlier, now stood frozen, his gaze locked on her. His breath caught, words struggling to leave his throat. "Who… who are you?" His voice was hoarse, barely audible.

The woman did not answer immediately. Only a brief glance from her sharp eyes, followed by the faintest of smiles—a thin, cold line across her lips. It carried no warmth, only the calm of a predator that had just torn into its prey.

"I…" her voice was flat, yet every word pressed down on their chests with invisible weight. "…am your reinforcements."

"Reinforcements?" Captain Utor stammered, still unable to process what had just happened. He had just seen it with his own eyes—a woman cutting down a fully armed helicopter with nothing but a sword. Impossible. Nonsensical. Yet the smoke and fire from the wreck outside the window were undeniable proof.

One of his men shoved a comm device into his hands, its speaker crackling with static. "Captain, incoming transmission!"

Utor snatched it up with trembling hands and pressed the button.

[Ah… Utor, you there?]

Utor's eyes widened. That voice—the voice of the big boss himself, the new commander of Ares Sparta, who rarely ever spoke directly to field squads. He gripped the device with both hands, his voice spilling out in a mix of relief and shock.

"Yes! You're there, Boss!? I'm still alive!"

The voice that came through was deep and calm, filled with unwavering confidence. [I won't waste words. My reinforcements should already be with you.]

Utor's head snapped toward the woman who had just sheathed her sword. "Y-yeah… she's here! But why the hell wasn't I told our 'reinforcements' were a woman!? And what the hell, Boss—she just cut down a goddamn helicopter with a sword! A SWORD!! This is—"

[Woah, settle down, Utor.] The voice chuckled faintly, as if Utor's outburst was expected yet amusing. [I know you're still in shock. But that's how it is. She's no ordinary soldier. She's top tier. With her here, your situation won't be nearly as desperate. Kaori, you there?]

The woman stepped forward, her boots clicking firmly against the dusty, glass-strewn floor. Her tied-back hair swayed lightly, and every eye in the room was drawn to the chilling aura that surrounded her.

"I'm here… Victor."

Her soft voice drifted through the room, but instead of soothing them, it pressed heavier on their hearts.

[Good.] Victor's tone was satisfied. [Think you can handle it?]

Kaori let out a small sigh, as though the question were far too trivial. She turned her gaze toward the window, where the rebels swarmed the streets below, their rifles glinting in the sun. At least a hundred of them.

"Relax…" she said casually, her eyes calm as a dark sea. "…a hundred men? That's not nearly enough to trouble me."

"Hey, wait a damn minute!" Utor blurted, still half in a daze, his face tight with panic. "How the hell can you call that easy!? There are a hundred men down there, armed to the teeth! And we're still surrounded from every side! That's insane!!"

Before he could continue, Victor's voice cut through the static again—calm, but pressing with weight. [Utor, didn't I tell you to relax? Just watch how that woman moves. Do you know why Ares Sparta has grown this powerful in such a short time? Without Kaori, we'd be nothing.]

Those words struck the room silent. The soldiers exchanged glances, their faces twisted between disbelief and suffocating curiosity.

Utor swallowed hard, goosebumps crawling up his skin. If the boss himself said so, then this woman truly wasn't ordinary. But still, his mind struggled to accept it. How could someone with just a sword overpower the might of modern weaponry?

[That's enough. Finish the job, Kaori.]

"Roger…" she answered, calm and clipped.

The room fell into a tense silence. Only the pounding of their own hearts echoed in their ears. The woman walked slowly toward the window, standing tall at its edge. The harsh sunlight glinted coldly off the blade on her back. Desert winds swept through, carrying dust and smoke from the earlier explosion, framing her silhouette like some divine shadow descending upon the battlefield.

The Ares Sparta mercenaries held their breath. They knew whatever happened next was no longer war as they understood it. They were about to witness something beyond the scope of modern combat.

Kaori stood steady at the dusty window ledge, unfazed by the stray bullets pinging against the building. Her black hair whipped in the hot desert wind as her eyes fixed firmly on the street below.

Then she turned, her face expressionless as she looked at Utor and his men. "There are plenty down there. You handle the ones that make it up here. The rest… leave to me."

Her words were so light, it was as if she were speaking about a simple household chore.

Utor froze, his blood running cold. "Y-yeah, but how!?" he half-yelled, glancing from the stairwell back to the window just to be sure. But when his eyes searched for her—nothing. She was gone.

He stood stunned, then whipped around to his men, his face pale. "She… she just jumped…"

"WHAT!?" the other soldiers roared in unison.

---

On the streets below, dozens of heavily armed rebels closed in tight, preparing for the finishing strike. Their radios crackled with overlapping orders.

"The building's sealed off! No one's getting out alive!"

"Heh, Ares mercenaries? This time they're finished!"

Harsh laughter spread among them. Assault rifles were raised, RPGs primed. Their helicopter had gone down, sure, but their confidence remained unshaken. A hundred armed men, they believed, were more than enough to grind down anyone trapped above.

But then—the sky above them tore open with a deafening rush of air. SWOOOSH!

A black figure plummeted from the heights, her hair whipping wildly, her long coat flaring like raven's wings. Kaori. Her hand already gripped the longsword gleaming with the desert sun.

"WHAT THE HELL IS THAT!?" one rebel shrieked in panic.

"A person!? No way—she jumped from up there!?"

"No sane human would—!"

Their shouts of disbelief bled into bursts of automatic fire aimed skyward. Dozens of rounds tore through glass and slammed into the asphalt, but the figure was far too fast. Kaori's body streaked downward like a meteor, her eyes locked solely on the cluster below.

DUARR!

She struck the ground with a booming impact that blasted dust in every direction. The street quaked as if shaken by a small explosion. Smoke and grit swallowed her form.

"Quick! Shoot her! Bring her down!!"

Automatic rifles roared again, pouring a storm of bullets into the haze. But within the smoke came only the piercing shriek of steel. CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! Each round was deflected by the blade flashing at inhuman speed, leaving only streaks of silver light.

"No way… she's deflecting bullets!?" one rebel gasped, eyes wide in horror.

Kaori's shadow moved. Her steps were calm, yet every swing of her sword carved death into the crowd. With a single sweeping slash, she shredded the front line. Blood sprayed, bodies flung into the air. The first screams tore through the street, ripping apart the confidence that had filled the air only moments before.

"Sh-she's a monster!!"

"Run! RUUUN!!"

But Kaori offered them no escape. Each motion was swift, precise, as if she had calculated every bullet's path before the triggers were ever pulled. In mere seconds, the street beneath the building turned into hell itself: the crackle of gunfire mixing with the screams of dying men, the thunder of small explosions blending with the relentless gleam of her sword.

From the upper floors, Utor and his men could only stare in stunned silence. Their faces were pale, cold sweat dripping down their temples. Not one of them could utter a single word.