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

Fenrir stayed in the shadows, watching Zelphra as she stood alone in the cemetery. Her form was composed, back straight, hand resting just slightly above her sword.

But her mana told a different story—it was restless. Like a caged beast that had finally sensed its original master.

He could feel the echo of himself inside her.

Not in memory or thought, but in power. Raw, familiar, twisted. She had something that once belonged to him.

And it responded to his presence.

Zelphra's brow furrowed slightly. She took a step forward, eyes narrowing, lips parting in suspicion.

"Who's there?"

She asked, her voice low but commanding.

Fenrir stayed silent. It wasn't time—not yet. He wasn't ready to talk, and certainly not to reveal himself.

But the mana within her surged, pulling against her control. It reached toward him like a child recognizing its parent.

She flinched.

In that moment, she knew.

Without hesitation, Zelphra turned and sent out a wave of mana in the direction of the disturbance—toward him.

Fenrir sighed, already moving. The energy sliced into the trees, splitting the ground with a thunderous crack, but he was already out of its path.

He didn't even need to try. He had created that mana.

He knew its rhythm like the beat of his own heart.

Zelphra's eyes widened when the dust settled and no one was hurt.

"You dodged it? That's impossible."

She murmured.

Fenrir's voice rang out, low and amused, from behind the next tree.

"I taught it how to move. Why wouldn't I know how to dodge it?"

Zelphra drew her sword in one swift motion, her mana pulsing around her.

"Come out. I'll spare your life if you do. I'll hear you out. I believe everyone deserves a second chance."

She demanded.

Fenrir chuckled, stepping into the fading light that filtered through the cemetery arch.

"Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night?"

Zelphra froze at the sight of him, unsure what unsettled her more—the familiarity of his presence or the unsettling calm in his eyes.

"You talk about compassion. Is that why you've thrown in your lot with some of the most vile scum still crawling in this tower?"

Fenrir continued as he slowly walked closer, hands in his pockets, his stance entirely unthreatening despite the suffocating pressure he exuded.

Zelphra frowned.

"I don't know who you are, but I've seen enough bloodshed. If you want to throw around accusations, you better come with proof."

Fenrir raised an eyebrow.

"Proof? Are you serious? You think the people you serve are innocent?"

His voice dipped, eyes burning.

"The officials you answer to… they've silenced more voices than the so-called Tyrant ever did. And unlike the Tyrant, they didn't do it for the greater good. They did it for control. For convenience."

Fenrir's calm, casual stride came to a stop as Zelphra called out behind him, her voice firmer now.

"Wait… who are you?"

He didn't turn around.

"I don't think that matters. Let's focus on what actually does."

He replied coolly.

Zelphra narrowed her eyes, still gripping her sword.

"You're walking around like you own this floor. Demanding answers. Acting like you know me."

"I do know you. And I want to know which side you're on."

Fenrir said, finally glancing over his shoulder.

Zelphra's jaw clenched, but she answered without hesitation.

"I'm on the side that protects humanity. That saves lives. I fight for people who can't fight for themselves. I know I can't save everyone, but I'll save as many as I can… even if that means sacrificing a few along the way."

Fenrir slowly turned around, arms folded.

"So you're a hypocrite."

Zelphra didn't flinch.

"I never claimed to be noble. After everything I've done, I wouldn't dare think of myself as some kind of hero."

She said, voice low.

Her eyes were steady now. Honest. There wasn't even guilt behind her words—just tired conviction.

Fenrir let out a quiet chuckle.

"You know, you might be the first person to admit that to my face."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Is that what you're here for? Philosophy?"

"No. I came here because I need something from you."

He said, stepping closer now, voice turning sharp.

Zelphra remained still, her fingers tightening slightly around her sword.

Fenrir's tone turned cold.

"Tell me where Zerg is."

Zelphra blinked.

"Zerg?"

"Your father. You can drop the act."

He said simply.

Zelphra's face darkened.

"Zerg is dead."

Fenrir's expression didn't shift. He just stared at her, unimpressed.

"Don't lie to me."

Her teeth clenched.

"A man like him deserves no better than death."

"That's not what I asked. I asked where he is. Not what he deserves."

Fenrir said, eyes narrowing.

"I told you. He's dead!"

Zelphra snapped.

Fenrir took one step closer, gaze steady.

"Lying doesn't suit you."

Zelphra's mana flared instantly.

The sound of her sword being unsheathed was sharp and angry.

"You bastard…You have the nerve to come here, insult me, demand answers, and then act like you're the only one allowed to keep secrets?"

She hissed, holding her blade forward.

Fenrir didn't move.

"So what now? You going to cut me down because I won't swallow your half-truths?"

He asked.

Zelphra raised her sword, fury crackling around her like a second skin.

"It seems we won't see eye to eye. Fine. Let's speak in the language you seem to understand best."

She pointed the blade at him, eyes burning.

"When I've beaten you, then you can tell me everything I want to know."

Fenrir grinned.

"Oh? Now we're talking."

Without waiting, Zelphra lunged forward. Her blade carved a path through the air with practiced precision, guided by a mana so dense it distorted the light around her.

She was fast—faster than most he had fought recently.

But not fast enough.

Fenrir weaved to the side with practiced ease. He could see every line of movement, every twitch of her muscles. He didn't even have to draw a weapon—his instincts were sharper than steel.

Still, her strength caught him by surprise.

Every swing came with conviction. Not just a desire to win, but a need to prove something—to herself, maybe more than to him.

Their clash echoed through the quiet district. Onlookers retreated, sensing the dangerous mana swelling in the air. Trees bent from the pressure, tiles cracked under their feet.

Zelphra attacked again, this time switching to a feint and aiming low.

Fenrir slid back, letting the edge graze past, and slammed his heel into the ground. A ripple of earth shot upward, aiming to knock her off balance.

She leapt over it and came down with a slash that nearly split the ground.

Her blade met a wall of hardened stone—Master of Earth defending its wielder like a loyal guardian.

Zelphra stared at the shield for a moment. Her blade hummed with power, and she forced it through the barrier with sheer force, breaking it into shards.

Fenrir raised an eyebrow.

"Impressive."

"Still think I'm lying?"

She snarled.

Fenrir didn't answer with words. He just stepped forward and summoned more earthen spikes to twist upward toward her feet.

She countered, twisting around them and aiming a slash at his side.

He caught the blade with a gauntlet of stone around his arm, then kicked her back with a burst of mana. She flipped midair and landed on her feet, panting slightly.

The silence between them returned, thick and tense.