Tech Hero in Another World

Rumi's sword trembled with every step she took. Her movements were fast, sharp, like a shadow dancing in the glow of the altar. In an instant, she leapt forward, striking down the first warrior spirit with a Pierce—a perfectly precise, straight thrust. The tip of her blade pierced through its chest, splitting the shadowy figure before it burst apart into a cloud of black mist that scattered into the air.

"Kuh…" Rumi drew a deep breath, straightening her posture once more. Her eyes stayed forward, unwavering and resolute.

But the wicked monk's smile only widened. He wasn't the least bit surprised that his summoned spirit had been destroyed. On the contrary, it was as if he had been waiting for this very moment. "Excellent," he said, his voice calm yet dripping with scorn. "That proves you really are a true swordswoman. But…" he raised his black staff and slammed it hard against the ground—thud! "You didn't think I'd just sit back and watch, did you?"

A wave of dark energy spread from the staff's tip. Cracks split open in the ground, releasing thick smoke. Three new spirits emerged, but this time, they didn't move alone. The monk himself stepped forward, his black staff stretching longer, its tip spinning into a sharp blade shaped like a scythe.

Rumi scoffed, raising her sword high. "Then let's do this the honest way."

The monk only chuckled. With a light motion, he charged. His scythe swept from the side, followed closely by two shadow spirits lunging from opposite directions.

The clash was inevitable. Clang! Rumi's sword caught the monk's scythe, sparks of red and black bursting out. The weight behind it was immense, far heavier than the earlier spirits' strikes. Rumi clenched her teeth, struggling to hold, when at that moment, one of the spirits slashed from behind. She twisted her wrist, riding the momentum of Flow, sliding to the side to parry the strike—though it cost her the stability of her guard against the monk's scythe.

"Quick," the monk remarked, his eyes glowing red. He shoved forward with brute strength. His scythe slammed into the ground, splitting it apart. Dust exploded upward, forcing Rumi back two steps.

But she didn't falter. Steadying her breath, she sprang forward. Her blade swung upward with a Guard Break, cleaving one of the shadow spirits clean in half. Its dark energy shattered, fading into nothing.

"Don't you dare underestimate me!" Rumi shouted.

The monk only laughed louder. "Good! Very good! The harder you fight, the better I can test your strength. And the more that seal is disturbed!" His eyes flicked to the altar behind, where Kumara still danced in the white light, her small body trembling but never stopping.

Seeing that glance, Rumi's fury blazed hotter. "Don't you dare take your eyes off me!" She charged, her sword spinning. This time she fused Sweep with Pierce—a wide slash to carve space, followed by a straight thrust aimed at the monk's chest.

But the monk only twisted slightly, catching the thrust with his black scythe. Crang! Metal clashed, and in the next instant, his knee slammed into Rumi's stomach.

"Urgh!" Rumi was thrown backward, her body staggering.

"Rumi!!" Gior shouted from behind, his hands nearly leaving the drum. But he knew if he stopped, the rhythm would falter and Kumara's ritual could be broken. Rumi turned briefly, her face firm despite the blood trickling from the corner of her lips.

"Don't stop, Gior!" she yelled. "Leave the frontlines to me!"

She straightened again. Her body ached, but her eyes burned sharp. With the last of her strength, she raised her sword to the side, lowering her stance, preparing for the next combination.

The monk grinned in satisfaction, his lips curving into a cruel smile. "Yes, that's better. Stubborn opponents make the battle all the more exquisite." The tip of his scythe trembled, slowly devoured by dense black energy. The blade lengthened, leaving behind a pulsing shadow trail like living smoke. His once brown eyes turned completely black, leaving only a thin red line at the center, like fire blazing in the dark. "But… it would be dreadful if that ritual finished on time," he muttered coldly.

"Tch…" Rumi narrowed her eyes, swallowing back the blood welling again at her lips.

Behind her, Kumara kept dancing. Her steps were light but heavy with strain, each stomp sending a subtle tremor through the ground. White light poured from her body, rising into the sky, drawing gray clouds together above. At its center loomed the rampaging nine-tailed fox, and the first roll of thunder echoed, shaking the air.

Rumi knew her time was running short. She couldn't let this monk ruin everything. Swallowing the bitter taste of blood, she lowered her body, shifting into the battle stance she had honed herself: One Sword Style – Atream.

"If I have to die here…" she whispered in her heart, "then let me at least die as a warrior protecting her homeland." Her resolve hardened, her sword trembling, ready to cut.

The monk struck first. With sudden speed, his black scythe shot sideways, slashing diagonally upward from below. The air split apart with a roaring howl, like the screams of a thousand spirits.

Clang! Rumi blocked with a horizontal swing, sparks of red and black scattering as steel clashed. The crushing force drove her feet half an inch into the ground, but she refused to yield. Using the momentum of the impact, she spun and thrust forward with a piercing strike—Pierce.

The monk merely leaned his body aside, letting the thrust pass him, then drove his knee toward Rumi's stomach. But this time, Rumi was ready. With a low motion, she swept her sword downward, deflecting the knee with the flat of her blade. Her body spun with the sweep, flowing seamlessly into a Sweep—a circular slash that forced the monk back two steps.

"Kuh… interesting." The monk stabbed his scythe into the ground, then raised his left hand. From the shadow at his feet, two black spirits emerged at once, lifting their rusted weapons. They charged, one from the left, the other from the right.

Rumi leapt forward, fusing Flow with Guard Break. Her blade streamed like rushing water, parrying the left spirit's strike before twisting her wrist to smash hard into the right spirit. Slash! The spirit burst into mist, but the monk's attack was already descending from above, his black scythe crashing down with crushing force.

Rumi looked up, eyes blazing. With one hand, she lifted her sword overhead, catching the scythe. Craaaaang! The metallic crash shook the ground. Her body dropped to one knee, shoulders trembling under the weight pressing down. Cracks split the earth beneath her, yet she refused to let her blade waver.

The monk smeared the black blood from his chest with a finger, then licked it with a chuckle. "Hmm… bitter, but nostalgic. You're fascinating, swordswoman." His eyes narrowed, and from within his tattered robe he drew something—a cloth doll wrapped in tangled threads, its face eyeless, stitched only with a crooked mouth. The doll's body was riddled with rusted nails.

"Well then… looks like I'll have to bring this one out." The monk yanked a nail from the doll's chest. Instantly, a surge of pitch-black energy burst forth, spreading like rancid fog that cracked the ground around them. The air filled with the stench of sulfur and blood.

Rumi tightened her grip on her sword. "What… is that…?"

The monk only smirked, pulling out another nail. Duuum! The air trembled. The black fog thickened, and the doll floated into the air, its cloth body ripping apart, transforming into something far more dreadful. From within emerged a towering figure, over three meters tall, its skin blood-red, black veins bulging across its body. Its wild eyes gleamed, tusks jutting from its lower jaw. In its massive hand, it clutched a long O-Yari spear, its silver blade cracked and glowing with malignant aura.

Rumi's eyes widened. "What… is this…?"

"Yes…" The monk's low laugh dripped with satisfaction, his gaze gleaming with malice. "Allow me to introduce it. A supernatural being, an entity of darkness long imprisoned within the shadow dimension… Oni."

The Oni's roar erupted, a guttural bellow laced with ancient rage. The vibration tore leaves from branches, snapped twigs, and cracked the ground around the altar. Kumara nearly stumbled mid-dance, but Gior struck his drum harder, the pounding rhythm resounding as though holding the world itself together. "Don't falter—keep going!" he shouted, his face tense, sweat pouring down his temples.

Rumi clenched her teeth, her gaze locked on the towering Oni now raising its O-Yari spear. "If that's your trump card…" Her voice was low, yet filled with steel. She lifted her sword with her remaining hand, standing tall. "…then I'll draw mine as well."

Inside her, Rumi drew a deep breath. She recalled an old teaching she had once heard, of a power called Touki.

Touki was the art of controlling life energy, the ability to condense vitality and channel it through the body, amplifying physical strength and endurance manyfold. A true master required decades of relentless training, discipline, and a moment of inner enlightenment to awaken it. Touki was the first gate toward the transcendental realm, a pinnacle of power.

But Rumi was not one of them. She hadn't the decades to spare. She had not found enlightenment atop a mountain, nor under the guidance of a wise teacher. As a warrior who had lost an arm, she had been forced to carve her own path.

And that path she named Beast Heart—a technique born of beastman nature, but reshaped into something uniquely her own. With her ingenuity, Rumi had adapted the concept into a power that fit her body and her will.

As she activated it, her heartbeat shifted rhythm. Dum. Dum. Dum. Each pulse struck like a war drum. The wild energy within her body vibrated, radiating outward as a faint silver-white aura that cloaked her sword. A low rumble echoed through the air, as though a caged beast beneath her skin was clawing to be set free.