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

Fenrir strolled through the polished streets of Floor 10, hands tucked into the pockets of his long coat, his steps leisurely but alert.

The town was unlike any of the previous floors—well-maintained stone roads, trimmed gardens, and buildings that glowed faintly with embedded mana lines.

There were no soldiers patrolling, no surveillance eyes in the sky, no cries for help echoing down alleyways. Just laughter, gentle music, and people who wore smiles far too easily.

He clicked his tongue.

'Too peaceful. Too safe. Too fake.'

He stepped into a nearby café, more out of boredom than interest, and sat on the outer deck overlooking a quiet park.

The smell of baked bread and coffee filled the air, but even that failed to stir him. He watched a child chase butterflies while a couple laughed on a bench nearby.

It was a scene that felt untouched by the rest of the tower.

Fenrir leaned back in his chair and muttered under his breath.

"The tower didn't use to be like this…"

Someone beside him stirred. A woman, dressed in travel leathers and sipping tea, tilted her head at him.

"Excuse me?"

She asked, her voice calm but curious.

"I said this place is dull. Too calm. Like it doesn't know hardship."

Fenrir replied without looking at her.

The woman took another sip, eyes on the horizon.

"That's the point. After everything that happened… this floor deserves peace. So does the rest of the tower. Things are better now."

Fenrir snorted.

"Better? What happens when chaos returns? What will this calmness do then? It'll just make people soft. Complacent. Helpless."

The woman placed her cup down harder than necessary.

"People aren't soft. We just finally have something worth protecting. And we won't let things go back to the way they were."

Fenrir glanced at her now. The sharpness in her tone. The intensity in her eyes.

'Interesting.'

"You speak like someone who lived through it. Didn't like the way things used to be?"

He said.

She didn't answer right away. Her fingers traced the rim of her cup.

"There was a time when the tower was filled with fear. When one man's power made entire floors shake. Whether he meant to or not, people died because of him. He tore through everything in his path."

She finally said.

Fenrir smirked.

"Sounds strong."

"Sounds dangerous. We called him the Tyrant. He didn't follow anyone's rules. He didn't care who got hurt, so long as he kept climbing. And when he disappeared, things finally started to heal."

She snapped.

Fenrir raised a brow, amused.

"So he just vanished?"

She nodded.

"Killed. Or so they say."

There was something bitter in her tone, as though she wasn't fully convinced by the story she was repeating.

"You talk about him like he was a demon. But what if the Tyrant didn't mean to cause harm? What if it was just… necessary?"

Fenrir said, swirling the tea he hadn't touched.

"Then he should've been more careful with his strength. Intentions don't matter if the result is destruction."

The woman replied coldly.

Before Fenrir could press her further, she stood up suddenly.

"I need to leave. Enjoy the peace, stranger. While it lasts."

She said, brushing her coat down.

He watched her walk off into the crowd, disappearing between the buildings. His expression shifted from neutral to entertained.

"Well, well…That didn't take long at all."

He chuckled to himself.

He leaned back again, eyes closed as the breeze brushed against his face.

Lady Zelphra, the supposed overseer of Floor 10, was far more accessible than he expected—and clearly not over her past. He didn't need the system to confirm it.

Her words, her eyes, her anger—she knew him.

She hated him.

And yet she didn't recognize him.

That made things… fun.

Fenrir stood and adjusted his coat. "Guess I don't need to storm the gates after all. She walked right to me."

Now the only question was—how much longer could he keep playing the stranger before the truth came crashing down?

He grinned. He had no intention of waiting too long.

Fenrir walked away from the café with a low hum in his throat, fingers brushing the pouch at his side where he'd stored the potions made by his hamsters.

His amusement hadn't faded, but beneath it brewed a familiar edge of anticipation. This floor wasn't just peaceful—it was vulnerable. Too many smiling faces. Too much belief in calm.

'They forgot what fear tasted like.'

And Zelphra—she was the most curious of all. The way she'd spoken about the Tyrant, with such conviction… yet also such uncertainty.

Her version of him was half legend, half ghost. It made sense. The tower had rewritten its story while he'd been gone, turned him into a monster to feel better about moving forward.

He didn't mind.

But he did intend to remind them of the truth.

Fenrir stopped in front of a high observation tower. From here, the entire central district of Floor 10 could be seen.

Wide bridges over rivers, markets buzzing with activity, glass towers rising beside gardens of imported mana-trees.

And above it all, nestled in the hills beyond the city, stood the estate that had to be Zelphra's domain.

He leaned on the railing.

"She never looked like a noble before. Guess power makes you dress up eventually."

He muttered.

A flicker on his system map caught his eye. Zelphra was on the move again, heading away from her estate and deeper into the market district.

Fenrir chuckled. "Still running, huh?"

He descended the tower with smooth steps, deciding to shadow her from a distance for now. No confrontation yet. Not until he understood what she was hiding.

The crowd helped him blend in. Children played with magic toys, and street performers used harmless illusions to earn coin.

It reminded Fenrir of the kind of world he had once tried to build—but in his version, strength had been the currency, not complacency.

He spotted Zelphra by a flower stall, her expression softer now as she inspected a handful of blue blossoms.

A moment later, she handed over some coins and tucked the flowers into a small satchel.

Fenrir tilted his head.

'Odd. Why would a sword-wielding noble be buying flowers during a crisis?'

Unless…

She wasn't just clearing her head. She was mourning.

Penelopy.

Zelphra might've put on a brave front in front of her subordinates, but now, without anyone watching, she was a woman burdened by loss.

Fenrir watched her shoulders rise and fall with a heavy breath before she turned and headed down a quieter path lined with lanterns.

He followed from the shadows.

They passed several alleys, and finally, Zelphra entered a quiet cemetery nestled beneath an arch of mana-grown vines.

She walked with purpose toward a statue in the center—one of a woman made of flame, arms raised toward the sky. Fresh flowers lay at its base.

Zelphra knelt.

"I didn't even get to say goodbye."

She whispered, unaware Fenrir was just a few paces behind the arch.

Fenrir's expression tightened. He hadn't expected this—grief that wasn't performative. Her affection for Penelopy was genuine. Maybe the world hadn't entirely dulled.

Still, it didn't change anything.