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

Zelphra stood in silence as Fenrir prepared to leave, her mind racing.

She couldn't deny that a part of her still reeled from watching Monarch's Pressure ripped away from her body, as if it had only been on loan from the beginning.

But there were still things she needed to know, even if she feared the answers.

"What are you going to do next?"

She asked, her voice quiet, subdued.

Fenrir didn't slow his steps.

"You don't need to know."

She frowned at his back.

"Still don't trust me?"

He finally stopped walking, turning his head slightly to look at her from the corner of his eye.

"Should I?"

Zelphra sighed.

"I suppose not."

There was a pause. Neither of them said anything for several seconds, the tension between them thick and uncertain. Then, Fenrir spoke again, his tone cool.

"Where is your father?"

She hesitated.

"Zerg. Where is he being kept?"

Fenrir added.

Zelphra met his gaze.

"Do you expect me to betray my people, just like that?"

Fenrir didn't say anything. He didn't need to. The intensity in his eyes—the sheer, unflinching judgment—was more than enough. It was like staring into a storm that had long lost its mercy.

Zelphra looked away first.

"It's not a secret. At least, not one they're trying too hard to keep."

She said quietly.

Fenrir's expression remained unreadable, but he waited.

"They keep him beneath the boss's room. There's a hidden vault—an energy chamber of sorts. My father… he's not just imprisoned. He's used."

She continued.

"Used?"

Fenrir echoed, the faintest edge to his voice.

Zelphra nodded grimly.

"They're using his core to power the boss. That's why the tenth floor boss has never been defeated. It draws on the raw strength of one of the strongest warriors this tower has ever seen. That's how the authorities control him—keep him sealed and subjugated. Just a battery for their system."

There was silence. Then Fenrir gave a dark chuckle, more bitter than amused.

"Of course they would."

Zelphra looked at him.

"So, what will you do now?"

"I'll go down there and free him. Whether he's alive or not, he doesn't deserve to remain a tool for them. And if he's dead, then I'll make sure they pay for defiling him."

Fenrir said.

Zelphra's lips parted in a soft gasp. The certainty in his voice was terrifying. The conviction. The wrath.

"And what about me?"

She asked, though she wasn't sure why she did.

Fenrir met her eyes.

"If you want to join me, you're welcome to. If not, I'll leave you alone. Your choice."

Zelphra's heart beat heavily in her chest. Once, she had followed a path paved with duty and commands. Then she followed ideals. Now, neither felt trustworthy anymore.

"I'm tired of all this. Tired of fighting. Tired of choosing sides. I don't want to be used or pushed around anymore. Not by the authorities… not by my own past. I just want peace."

She whispered.

Fenrir gave a faint nod.

"Then go find it."

"You believe it's possible?"

She asked, unsure if she was mocking herself or genuinely seeking reassurance.

"For someone like you? Probably not. But you're welcome to try."

He mused.

A small, wry smile crossed her lips.

"You really think I can't walk away from all of this?"

"No. You've bled too much into this tower's soil. Sooner or later, it'll call you back."

Fenrir said plainly.

Zelphra didn't argue. Deep down, she suspected he was right. But even so… the offer of a quiet life, however fleeting, was tempting.

"I'll hide for a while. Maybe then, I'll know what I really want."

She murmured.

Fenrir turned to leave once more, his voice trailing behind him.

"Do what you want. But stay out of my way, Zelphra. If we meet again as enemies, I won't hesitate."

She didn't flinch.

"Neither will I."

He paused, just for a second, then continued walking, disappearing into the quiet streets of floor 10.

Zelphra stood there long after he was gone. Her hands clenched at her sides, her thoughts heavy with the weight of old memories and uncertain futures.

She had once believed in the righteousness of her cause. In the structure and control of the tower's system. But now, cracks were forming—and behind them, truths she wasn't ready to face.

The tyrant had returned.

But the worst part?

He wasn't the monster they said he was.

He was something else entirely.

And for the first time in a long time… Zelphra didn't know which side she was on.

Zelphra sat on the edge of the fountain in the middle of the quiet square, watching the water ripple in circles.

Her reflection stared back at her—worn, uncertain, and no longer the unshakable knight she once thought herself to be.

She clenched her fist.

How many people had she hurt thinking she was doing the right thing?

"Damn it…"

She whispered, burying her face in her hands.

The officials would come asking soon. They'd want a report. They'd want to know what had happened—why the system had lost control of Monarch's Pressure, why her synchronization rate had suddenly dropped to zero.

Some of them might already suspect. After all, Monarch's Pressure wasn't something just anyone could tear away.

It could only be reclaimed by its rightful owner.

Fenrir

The name had been buried, scrubbed from records, his face turned into myth.

People whispered about him like a ghost, a shadow that once ruled the tower like a god. The tyrant, the warmonger, the monster.

But he wasn't a ghost. He was here. Alive. And far more composed than the stories had described.

Zelphra exhaled slowly and looked up at the sky.

She had hated her father for so long—for the decisions he made, for abandoning her, for siding with the tyrant without question.

But now, a part of her wondered what truth he saw that she never did. Maybe he had chosen wrong… or maybe she had.

Her comm device buzzed.

It was a message from the tower's central command.

[Lady Zelphra, a sudden power spike has been detected beneath the boss's chamber. Please investigate immediately and report findings. Urgent.]

Her heart skipped a beat.

'He's already moving.'

Zelphra stood, brushing the dust off her armor. She could run. She could pretend she never got the message. But that wasn't who she was—not yet.

"Just once more. I'll go see how far he's willing to go."

She muttered, eyes firm.

If Fenrir was going to break the tower's foundations apart… she needed to see it with her own eyes.

And decide, once and for all, whether she would stop him—or stand beside him.

Zelphra tightened the straps on her gauntlets and headed toward the teleportation point near the city center.

The streets were quiet, the calm before an inevitable storm.

As she stepped into the light of the portal, her mind raced with questions, doubts, and a sliver of something unfamiliar—hope.

'Maybe he's not here just to destroy everything. Maybe he's here to rebuild it in his own way.'

She wasn't sure if that would be better or worse.

But one thing was clear.

If Fenrir Black had truly returned… then the tower was about to change forever.

And she needed to be ready.