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

Fenrir let out a hysteric laugh as he wondered what had happened, but then he decided it did not matter anymore.

This was a new opportunity to learn the secrets behind everything known—and to further increase his power.

He took another deep breath, letting the mana-rich air seep into his lungs. It tingled.

Not like anything he had felt on Earth—no pollution, no synthetic impurities. Just raw, unfiltered energy. It clung to him, humming in rhythm with his pulse.

Beneath his feet, the soil glittered faintly with embedded crystals.

The trees around him were tall, their leaves glimmering like polished emeralds. Flowers swayed despite the still air, exuding a soft light.

A calm breeze passed, or so it seemed—until Fenrir realized it was not wind but pure mana currents flowing through the environment.

He closed his eyes again—not to sleep, but to feel.

His senses stretched outward like roots searching for water. There were no cities, no signs of civilization. Just boundless land, untouched and waiting.

The world pulsed beneath him. Wild, chaotic—but alive. And unlike anything he had ever seen, even before he was sealed.

A soft ding echoed in his mind.

The system reappeared in front of him, its form now a perfect orb of white light.

[Host synchronization at 91%. God-core adaptation proceeding. Time remaining: uncalculated. Progress exceeds predicted thresholds.]

Fenrir opened one eye.

"Didn't you tell me not to do anything?"

[Correct. Awakening must follow divine protocol. Your interference accelerated core assimilation, but may result in instability.]

The system replied without pause.

"Good. Instability is how things evolve."

He muttered. "

The system hovered closer, scanning him in a grid of rotating runes.

[The trial phase will begin shortly. As the chosen candidate, you are to reshape this realm into a divine domain. Nurture it. Cultivate its order. Maintain balance.]

Fenrir scoffed.

"Balance?"

He turned his back to the orb and began walking.

"I've seen what balance looks like—people groveling under the boot of those who call themselves gods. No thanks."

[You are to become one.]

"Exactly. So I'll do it my way."

The ground shifted beneath his feet—he wasn't walking on dirt anymore.

It had turned into obsidian, warm and perfectly smooth. A ring of ancient stones rose up around him, forming a circular platform etched with runes he didn't recognize, but somehow understood.

[Trial environment loading. You must establish your foundation. Designation: Origin Point.]

The system said.

A flicker of energy burst upward from the center of the platform, revealing a floating sphere of condensed mana—pulsating, formless, unclaimed.

[This is the heart of your realm. Your soul will shape it. Your will shall bind it. What you create here will become law.]

The system continued.

Fenrir approached the sphere slowly. It pulsed brighter as he neared, as if recognizing him.

He stopped just short of touching it.

A deep quiet fell. Even the ever-present hum of mana dimmed.

Then—he placed his palm against the surface.

Instantly, a rush of sensations tore through him. Visions. Possibilities. Futures. Thousands of branching realities unfurled before his mind's eye—some thriving, others falling into ash.

He saw civilizations rising, magic systems forming, celestial laws bending to his design. Every outcome depended on him.

But the sphere began to fight back.

It wasn't just accepting his touch—it was testing him.

His memories surged forward. The seal. The betrayal. The blood. The centuries trapped in darkness. Everything he had fought for. Everyone he had lost.

The sphere tried to devour his mind, to drown him in possibility.

"Not today."

He growled.

He poured his will into it. Not hesitation. Not doubt. Intention.

The sphere trembled.

Cracks formed across its surface, and through them, blinding light poured out—not destructive, but creative. It accepted him. Not as a master—but as a match.

The light expanded rapidly, consuming the stone platform. In an instant, the world shifted.

The trees vanished. The sky split into two halves—one dark and filled with stars, the other golden and sunlit. A vast plain stretched out in every direction, half verdant forest, half obsidian desert.

In the center stood Fenrir, atop a tower that hadn't been there before—crowned in silver, rooted in nothing.

He looked around slowly, taking it all in.

"Now this is a beginning."

He whispered,

The system chimed once more.

Fenrir smiled.

"No laws yet. Let the world breathe first."

He turned his gaze to the horizon—where distant forms shimmered, perhaps other gods, or maybe remnants of forgotten eras.

His heart beat once.

Power answered.

And the silence of the world began to shift.

Fenrir stood at the peak of his silent, dual-aspect realm, his eyes narrowed against the radiant horizon.

The sky still pulsed between day and night—half sun, half stars—reflecting the unresolved balance of creation and ruin that now defined his dominion.

Mana currents swirled gently around his feet, waiting.

He exhaled and spoke aloud.

"System. What's the next step?"

The glowing orb of light shimmered into view beside him, still featureless, still irritatingly calm.

[To progress on your path of ascension, you must establish an energy core for this world. Until then, your realm will remain unstable and incapable of sustaining evolution.]

It said in its neutral, mechanical voice,

Fenrir raised an eyebrow.

"You said I'm supposed to shape this world, right? So where do I begin?"

The system hummed briefly before responding.

[This realm lacks an energy foundation. Before you can seed life or develop sentient structures, you must create an energy system—an ecosystem of flow. This will allow the realm to self-regulate and evolve without collapse. Once this is complete, you must designate a central point of power: a World Core.]

Fenrir crossed his arms and glanced down over the horizon.

"And then I can create beings?"

The system blinked once.

[Affirmative. But not before completing both preliminary steps.]

He clicked his tongue.

"Figures."

He had always disliked being told what to do, but despite his loathing, he couldn't deny one truth: his previous system—despised and restrictive as it had been—had proven useful.

It had offered clarity. Without it, he would have wasted years fumbling through trial and error. Even gods needed direction sometimes.

"Fine. Let's see what options I've got."

He muttered.

He extended a hand, and instinctively, the interface unfolded before him—holographic, translucent, filled with strange glyphs and neatly organized tabs.

He scrolled through a list labeled: Primary Evolution Line Options.

[Elemental Streams]

[Core Fractals]

[Stellar Leylines]

[Origin Roots]

[Divine Pulse Threads]

His eyes hovered on the last one before the system chimed in again.

[Warning: Access to evolutionary paths is locked until core stabilization is complete.]

"Tch. Of course."

He flicked the interface closed and sighed, tapping his fingers against his forearm.

The world was too clean, too perfect—like a canvas that hadn't seen its first brushstroke. There was no tension in the air, no danger of collapse, but also no vitality.

It needed a heart. A pulse. Something ancient, something massive.

Something living.

"I'll keep it simple. No fancy fractures or star-forged leylines. We'll do it the old way."

Fenrir finally said.

The air shifted.

He raised both hands slowly.

"I'll give this world a spine. Something the energy can cling to. Something that'll feed it and root it at the same time."

His voice deepened, filled with purpose now.

"I'll create a World Tree."

The system was silent for a moment.

[World Tree selected as primary Core Construct. Beginning stabilization parameters.]

A low tremor ran through the land. The sky dimmed. Mana began converging toward a central point far beyond the horizon.

Fenrir stepped forward and closed his eyes, channeling his will. His energy flowed downward, threading itself into the crust of this new world, winding like veins through every unseen layer.

At the designated center—where neither sun nor stars fully reached—a crack opened.

From that crack, a single green shoot emerged.

At first, it was nothing more than a wisp of light. Then it thickened, hardened, and pushed upward.

Roots exploded outward underground, anchoring deep. Branches tore their way toward the heavens, growing at impossible speed.

The tree surged higher, taller, until it pierced the cloudline.

And it didn't stop.

Its trunk pulsed with living mana. Each leaf shimmered with a different hue—red for fire, blue for water, gold for light, black for shadow, and so on.

The canopy unfurled slowly, blanketing the sky in a gentle cascade of glowing foliage. The mana in the world responded instantly, drawn into a great spiral around the trunk.

Fenrir opened his eyes.

The pressure had changed.

It wasn't just a tree—it was a living core. A source. A presence that breathed in sync with the world itself.

The system spoke again, this time with what almost sounded like reverence. "Core established.

Energy stabilization in progress. Environmental scaffolding adapting. Mana ratio adjusting for sustainable evolution."

Fenrir said nothing at first. He simply stared at the enormous, divine tree, his expression unreadable.

Then, quietly, he said.

"That's better."

Already, he could feel the realm shifting. The energy was no longer inert. It was learning how to move, how to flow, how to balance itself. The tree was helping the world grow.

He sat down at the edge of the tower and crossed one leg over the other.

"Now we're getting somewhere."

[Estimated time to stabilization: twenty-two hours.]

The system noted.

"Wake me if something explodes."

He muttered, closing his eyes.

But sleep wouldn't come.

Even now, he could feel the possibilities forming around him. Evolution. Life. Civilization. Conflict. Power. All of it awaited his command.

And this time—he would be the one to shape it all.