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

Fenrir sat cross-legged atop his obsidian tower, the void-like sky behind him flickering between dusk and dawn.

Below, the world moved—not in chaos, but in rhythm. The once-savage realm had changed.

Small villages dotted the land now—crude shelters of stone and hide, fire pits glowing through the night.

Smoke curled lazily into the air. In the distance, freshly tilled fields lined the riversides. The people—his people—had begun to settle.

Fenrir rested his chin on his palm, eyes narrowing.

"System. Can I interfere yet?"

The familiar orb of light blinked into existence beside him.

[Negative. You have no remaining karma. You expended it entirely to accelerate development. Direct intervention is not permitted.]

He sighed.

"So what can I do?"

[Indirect influence remains possible. You may observe, nudge, or inspire. By guiding your civilization's progress—within the bounds of natural development—you may earn karma again.]

The system said.

Fenrir leaned back and let out a faint chuckle.

"This feels like a game."

"Clarify."

He smirked.

"In my old world, there was a thing called The Sims. You dropped little people into a house, gave them food and jobs, and watched what happened. Sometimes you locked them in rooms just to see if they'd panic."

The system was silent.

"Don't worry. I'm not planning to trap them in rooms."

Fenrir muttered, shaking his head.

He turned his gaze back to the realm. The humans—still crude in speech and custom—had gathered at the edge of a wide river delta.

The mud was fertile, but their tools were dull and wooden. Some worked in the fields; others wandered in search of berries, unaware of the dangers deeper in the forest.

The wind shifted slightly.

One elder pointed toward the mountains. His people were thirsty, and the wells were drying. Others murmured.

A group knelt near a stone altar they had built—no more than rocks stacked in reverence. They prayed, but they didn't know who or what to pray to.

Fenrir watched, silent.

Then he closed his eyes.

A current of wind swept across the hills. The leaves whispered in a pattern. And, as if instinctively drawn, one young woman turned.

Her gaze locked on a distant patch of land at the base of the hills. She motioned, confused but compelled. Others followed.

Within hours, they began to dig.

And there—beneath cracked rock—they found fresh water.

Crystal clear. Endless.

Cheers rang through the village. The people wept, sang, and offered fruits to the stone altar.

Fenrir allowed himself a satisfied breath. He hadn't spoken a word, hadn't moved a finger—but they'd heard him anyway.

The system's voice echoed beside him.

[Karma Acquired: +1]

[Congratulations. You have received your first karma point through reverence.]

The system said.

Fenrir raised an eyebrow.

"Just one?"

[Religion has been established, but the belief is primitive. A shared mythology has not yet formed. For direct interaction, ten karma are required.]

Fenrir exhaled.

"So I'm back to working my way up from scratch."

Below, night fell over the village. Fires crackled. The people gathered again—this time not to harvest or hunt, but to speak.

The elder raised his hands, repeating the story of how the wind had whispered to the girl, how she had found water where there should have been none.

They called it the Whispering One. A silent force that watched from above.

They gave him no name—yet—but already, they were shaping his image. They drew it in the dirt: a figure in shadow and light, neither cruel nor kind, but always there.

Fenrir stared at the rough shapes.

"I guess this is how gods are born, huh?"

[Correct. You now exist in their collective narrative. This belief will strengthen over time. When enough karma is gathered, you may shape your legend—and resume direct control.]

The system said.

He looked down at the primitive firelit ceremony, then beyond it—to the dense jungle, the mountain ridges, the broken plateaus untouched by humanity.

So much of the world was still wild. And yet... it had begun.

They were learning to reason. To hope. To believe.

And somewhere deep inside, Fenrir felt a shift—not of power, but of presence. He wasn't alone anymore. Not entirely.

He sat back down on the cold stone, arms folded.

"Alright then. If this is how it starts, I'll play along. They want a whisper in the dark? I'll be their storm when they're ready."

The system blinked once.

[Monitoring continues. Karma accumulation rate: 0.0001 per second. Estimated time to next unlock: variable.]

Fenrir chuckled under his breath.

"Great. A god with a progress bar."

But as he looked down again, watching a small child place a woven charm on the altar, he smiled faintly.

He may not have had power now. But belief was forming.

And belief, he realized, was the seed of every god.

The fire in the center of the village had long died down, but the people remained gathered around the stone altar.

Smoke trailed faintly into the air, and the embers pulsed gently like a living heart.

A young boy held a sharpened stick in his hand, tracing shapes into the dirt beside the altar—symbols. Or perhaps, something more.

Fenrir watched from above, one leg draped over the edge of his perch. He leaned forward slightly, intrigued.

"They're trying to record what happened. Trying to hold the memory."

He muttered.

[Language and myth evolve hand in hand. You are witnessing the early formation of symbolic thinking. They are beginning to anchor your presence into their understanding of the world.]

The system responded beside him.

Fenrir tilted his head.

"How much karma do I get for something like that?"

[Symbolic representation of the divine, even if unrefined, is valued at 0.5 karma.]

A gentle chime echoed in the air.

[Karma Acquired: +0.5]

Fenrir smirked.

"Small steps."

[Belief accumulates slowly but compounds with influence. Consistency is key. Once their myths solidify and spread beyond a single tribe, exponential gains will follow.]

He raised an eyebrow.

"So if I want them to worship me across the entire world, I need to keep helping them survive."

[Correct. Sustained divine presence—interpreted as protection, guidance, or punishment—will become the foundation of a world religion. From there, karma flows naturally.]

Fenrir rose to his feet, stretching. Below, the tribe was beginning to stir again. Hunters were forming groups. Children were gathering berries near the river. One woman was shaping clay around a crude wooden mold.

He frowned, then pointed toward the north ridge, where dark clouds gathered.

"They're heading straight toward a coming storm. Can I… give them a sign?"

[Indirect influence permitted. Wind, light, and instinctive guidance are allowable within current karma constraints.]

"Perfect."

Fenrir raised his hand gently. A breeze formed, subtle and cool, brushing past the fields and through the trees.

A single strip of smoke from the smoldering fire twisted unnaturally, moving against the wind, curling toward the south instead of following the storm.

One of the hunters paused.

He tapped his companion on the shoulder, pointing. Then, after a few uncertain glances at the altar, they adjusted their path.

The group turned toward safer grounds, unknowingly dodging the storm entirely.

A second chime rang.

[Karma Acquired: +1]

Fenrir gave a low, satisfied hum.

"They're learning fast."

The system floated beside him, pulsing brighter than usual.

[You have reached 2.5 karma. At 10, direct interference becomes available again. Estimated trajectory: three to five cycles, depending on cultural acceleration.]

"Let's speed it up."

He crouched again, watching the group of women by the river now.

One of them was struggling to purify water using hot stones dropped into carved-out bowls. The others watched, half-interested, half-bored.

Fenrir tilted his head, then whispered a thought into the air—not words, just intent. A memory. A flicker of method.

The woman paused. Then, with a sudden change in motion, she adjusted the angle of the bowl, added certain leaves nearby, and watched as the impurities separated.

The water cleared slightly.

The others gasped. Someone clapped. Another bowed toward the altar.

[Karma Acquired: +1.5]

Fenrir sat back and crossed his arms. "Feels almost unfair. They're making me a god because of a lucky breeze and a few nudges."

[Divinity is not defined by fairness. Only by perception. If they believe in your guidance, you are their god—regardless of what you truly are.]

The system answered.

His smirk faded slightly at that.

He glanced back toward the altar again. Now more stones had been added. They weren't praying anymore.

They were building.

The beginning of a shrine, maybe.

One of the hunters was carving patterns into the surface—spirals, jagged lines, and at the center, a rough silhouette: a tall figure with horns. Or shadows.

Him.

Fenrir stared at the image.

"…They're making me into a monster."

[They are trying to understand power. They cannot imagine it without danger. Mystery must take form—and often, it takes form in fear.]

The system said.

He didn't respond. Instead, he simply stood there, watching the first crude temple rise from stone and mud.

He had once torn down gods who demanded worship. Now he was becoming one.

Not by force.

But by whispers.

And they were listening.