Tyrant's return: Reborn as a Good-For-Nothing Young Master

Penelopy's full attention was still locked on Nedrax as the dragon weaved between her attacks, roaring with defiance and fire.

Her unconscious magic lashed out with terrifying precision, but she never once noticed the shadow creeping along the cracked arena floor—Fenrir.

He was already behind her when he struck.

With a sharp grunt, Fenrir slammed his palm against her chest, a pulse of mana surging from his hand and sinking directly into her body.

"Got you."

Her eyes fluttered—finally cracking open—but they were unfocused, confused, and dim.

Penelopy's body reacted violently. Her aura flared, blades of water and ice erupting outward in reflex. But Fenrir didn't budge. He planted his feet firmly and summoned his power again.

[Master of Earth: Bind.]

Jagged roots of stone rose from the arena floor, spiraling around her arms and legs, locking her limbs in place.

The elemental resistance screamed against him, but he poured more mana into her core, manipulating the raging stream within her.

His mana clashed with hers, wrestled for control, and gradually began to stabilize it.

"No more fighting. You're free."

He murmured.

The chains that bound her sparked violently as his mana crawled across them, syncing with the magical runes etched into their surface.

One by one, the shackles began to crack, and then—

Snap.

They fell, clattering onto the stone floor, lifeless.

Penelopy slumped forward, her head resting against his shoulder. Her lips trembled as her last bit of energy left her body.

er eyes, now clear for a moment, looked up at him—and then she smiled. Just once.

And then, in a soft shimmer of fading mana, she vanished.

Nothing but chains remained.

Fenrir stood there for a long while, one hand clenched, the other still slightly raised where he'd touched her. The silence pressed in on him harder than her magic ever had.

"…Stupid woman. You should've lived."

He muttered, voice low.

Nedrax landed behind him, folding his wings with a heavy thud. The dragon's golden eyes watched the empty space where Penelopy had been.

"So… that's it?"

Fenrir didn't look back.

"She would've died if I hadn't acted. You would've killed her without blinking."

Nedrax tilted his head.

"I could've held back. Maybe."

Fenrir finally turned.

"That's not good enough. You saw what she was. She didn't even know who she was anymore. Just a puppet tied to this damn tower. This was the only way to set her free."

Nedrax huffed, smoke curling from his nostrils.

"So that's your new thing now? Liberator of the broken?"

"I'll climb the tower. I'll crush anyone who stands in my way. But if I find more of my people like her, twisted and used—I'll free them. One way or another."

Fenrir's eyes darkened.

The dragon gave a low growl.

"Careful with that talk. Some of your old followers might not want to be freed. You think Penelopy had it bad? Others chose this path. They might fight harder than she ever did."

"I know. But I won't stop."

Fenrir said simply.

Nedrax regarded him for a moment, then chuckled.

"You really haven't changed."

"Nope."

The dragon flapped his wings, rising a few feet into the air.

"Want me to stick around?"

"No. Head back. Keep the others in line. Especially the five hamsters."

Fenrir opened his system and pulled up the summon interface.

Nedrax gave a rumbling laugh.

"Those little monsters? They almost ate my tail last week."

"Then make sure they don't. Or I'll let them ride you again."

"You wouldn't dare."

Fenrir smirked faintly.

"Try me."

With a final snort, the dragon shimmered out of existence, pulled back into the dungeon.

And just like that, Fenrir stood alone in the ruined arena, the last light of day fading into shadow. He glanced once more at the broken chains, then turned his back to them.

"Onward. There's more work to do."

He muttered, voice like stone.

Fenrir stood at the cracked threshold of the boss arena, staring up at the stone archway that shimmered with the system's familiar notification.

[Proceed to Floor 10?]

His hand hovered mid-air, fingers twitching with anticipation.

Everything inside him screamed to move forward, to storm into the next battleground and tear down whatever waited for him on the other side. But something held him back.

"Zelphra and Zerg."

He muttered.

He clenched his jaw.

Unlike the earlier floors, this one couldn't be taken lightly. Floor 10 was where things started getting complicated—entrenched politics, dangerous figures who played the long game, and people who knew him.

Lady Zelphra wasn't just a noble with shadowy connections—she was a tactician. Fenrir lowered his hand.

"No. Not yet."

He said aloud, stepping back.

He opened the dungeon gate, a swirling circle of darkness forming beside him.

With one last glance toward the Floor 10 entrance, Fenrir walked through, vanishing from the tower's structured floors and into the heart of his domain.

The familiar scent of mana and scorched stone greeted him, and before he even took three steps, he was tackled.

By fluff.

"Ugh—get off."

The five hamsters—each the size of a small boulder and packed with elemental energy—swarmed him with chirps, growls, and uncoordinated enthusiasm.

One of them was hanging from his shoulder like a scarf, while another was busy chewing on the hem of his coat.

"I missed you too."

Fenrir muttered, shoving them off one by one.

They scattered and began running circles around him.

Their glowing fur pulsed with magical energy, each one attuned to a different element—lightning, fire, frost, wind, and shadow.

Despite their destructive potential, they were undeniably loyal—and incredibly stupid.

"You better not have ruined the lab."

He said, brushing off hamster fur as he marched deeper into the dungeon.

The lab was intact, miraculously. Dozens of small potion vials were laid out neatly on the workbench, most of them glowing with faint colors.

He picked one up and uncorked it, sniffing the contents. A spicy, acrid scent hit his nose.

"Hm. Not bad."

He ran his fingers along the rows of potions. Healing, mana regen, a few resistance brews. Crude, but functional. Just like he'd taught them.

Fenrir quickly set the potion she needed to send out and he kept the rest back in the storage that he would send out next time.

With that settled, Fenrir turned back to the inventory table and began picking out what he needed for Floor 10.

A few vials of regeneration, two invisibility drafts—unstable, but workable—and a single smoke burst capsule for a quick escape if things turned south.

He stowed them all in his inventory, his fingers tapping against the edge of the table.

Zelphra was clever. She would already know someone had been causing chaos on the lower floors. She'd either expect him—or be preparing to trap whoever came next.

He couldn't allow her to be a step ahead.