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

The shrine's light had not yet faded when Fenrir issued his next command.

"You've taken the oath, Elden. Now take the message."

His voice echoed within the Paladin's mind, calm but resolute.

"Go to my followers—those who've carried my name in prayer, even before you knew me. Find them. Tell them I have chosen you. That you are my will made flesh."

High above, Fenrir stood in the divine veil, gazing through the veil of clouds as Elden bowed once more and turned from the altar. The new sword—his sword—rested firmly in the man's hand.

A few steps later, and he was gone from the shrine, back into the world.

Days passed.

Elden moved swiftly across the southern valleys, heading toward the heartlands where Fenrir's early followers had gathered after the Foundation Festival.

What had once been a small faith was now an organized order—settlements built near shrines, priests appointed, rituals performed. Their devotion had earned Fenrir karma by the hour.

But something was wrong.

Fenrir saw it before Elden did.

In the great city, guards stood tall at the outer gate, their banners marked with the sigil of the Whispering God.

But beneath that holy symbol flew a second flag—one Elden had never seen before.

And when he arrived, they raised their weapons.

"Turn back! You are not welcome here, traitor."

The head guard barked, steel gleaming under the midday sun.

Elden didn't flinch.

"I bring a message from the god you claim to serve."

"Lies! You aim to become a false god yourself! You abandoned your people to spread heresy!"

Another soldier shouted.

From above, Fenrir narrowed his eyes.

"They still see him as a rival."

He murmured.

The system flickered beside him.

[Current factional conflict is rooted in doctrine disputes. Elden's followers declared war on my worshippers after the Foundation Festival. The old priests proclaimed Elden's teachings superior and began forcibly converting border villages. In retaliation, Fenrir's main followers have labeled Elden an enemy of the faith.]

It said.

"They fight for a man who has already bent the knee."

Fenrir muttered.

He had no time to waste.

"System. Use fifty karma points. Send a divine oracle to all my followers. Clarify that Elden is my chosen paladin."

He said.

[Confirmed. Oracle will initiate in ten seconds. Karma deducted: 50. Remaining karma: 1,488.]

Down in Varash, just as Elden turned to leave, the clouds above cracked with golden lightning.

A hush fell over the guards.

Then a voice—not Elden's, not human—rippled through the air like a divine wind.

"He is mine."

"Elden, the Blade of Silence, is my chosen hand."

"You will not raise sword nor word against him. He speaks with my breath. He acts with my authority."

The earth trembled.

The banners fluttered violently before falling limp.

And the gates of Varash opened.

Hours later, Elden stood before a hall filled with generals, priests, and war-banners. They listened silently as he relayed Fenrir's words, but the tension in the room still crackled.

A message was one thing.

Unity was another.

Outside the city, two armies faced one another across a wide field: Elden's former followers—misguided by ambition and blind loyalty—against the official army of Fenrir's new faith.

It would end in blood.

Fenrir knew this.

And yet, he remained still. Watching.

Observing.

Until Elden stepped forward.

He mounted a horse, armor gleaming in the light, and rode between both armies without hesitation. The battlefield fell into an eerie silence as his voice carried across the plains.

"I no longer serve myself. I am not the god you built temples for."

He said.

Elden raised his sword—the one Fenrir had given him.

"I am the Whispering God's will. His truth. His blade."

The silence deepened.

Fenrir watched carefully, measuring the reaction of the soldiers in the eastern ranks—the ones who had once called Elden a living god.

Their weapons faltered.

Their eyes dimmed.

Doubt spread like ink in water.

And then—it broke.

The banners lowered. The first line of troops dropped their weapons. Then the next. Then the next.

From above, Fenrir exhaled as he felt the shift.

[Enemy army has surrendered. Conflict resolved without direct intervention. Karma gained: +180.]

The system confirmed. Elden dismounted and walked among his former soldiers. Some wept. Some bowed. Others simply stared, confused and broken.

"I never wanted your worship. But now I offer you truth."

He told them.

He raised his sword once more.

"Follow me—not to conquer, but to restore."

Fenrir looked down upon the scene and gave a single nod.

There would be no more confusion.

Elden's path was now absolute.

And the world would learn, by word or by silence, what it meant to follow a god who watched, waited, and whispered power into those who earned it.

Days passed in a strange, dull rhythm.

After the confrontation, the world had grown quiet.

Too quiet.

Fenrir sat on the edge of his divine observatory, watching as Elden led his people with the quiet strength of a man who had nothing to prove.

Temples rose across the lands. His name—Fenrir—echoed in prayers, songs, and stories. Karma flowed steadily now, no longer in desperate bursts but in a smooth, constant tide.

[Current karma: 2,310.]

The system reported one morning.

Not bad. Not thrilling, either.

Fenrir leaned back, resting on the stone of the veil, one leg dangling over the edge as he stared at the silver clouds drifting through the sky below.

"I'm bored. Elden's doing well. The wars are settled. Even the heretics are quiet. And yet…"

He muttered.

He trailed off.

What was it all for, if he couldn't feel the pulse of competition? If there was no clash of powers, no test of divine dominance?

Then, at last, the silence broke.

[Alert: Your world has reached sufficient maturity and civilization stability.]

[Eligibility for Interdimensional Ranking confirmed.]

[The Tower may now be activated.]

Fenrir sat up immediately.

"Well, it's about time. Open it."

He said, eyes narrowing with interest.

[Before we proceed, would you like to review historical data on your past world's ranking?]

The system continued,

Fenrir paused. He hadn't asked before.

There hadn't been a reason. His old world had fallen into ruin. The gods who ruled it were either dead, asleep, or irrelevant. But curiosity, bitter and sharp, itched at him now.

"Yes. What was its ranking?"

He said quietly.

A silence followed.

Then:

[Unranked.]

The word rang out like a slap.

"What? Unranked? You mean we didn't even qualify?"

Fenrir asked, blinking.

[Correct. Your previous godly manifestation failed to accumulate the minimum karma required to open the Tower. That world never progressed far enough to be considered for competition. It faded into entropy.]

Fenrir clenched his jaw.

All those years. All that blood. All those endless wars. For nothing. A god who had demanded worship but inspired none. A people who begged for miracles but lacked belief.

And now he knew why the system had reset him. Why he'd been given this world.

A second chance.

"I see. So be it."

He muttered, gaze hardening.

He stood tall, stretching one hand forward toward the heart of his realm.

"Activate the Tower."

The ground trembled.

In the center of Fenrir's world—between the lands of Elden's faithful, the rivers of trade, and the ancient forests—something rose.

First, it looked like smoke. Then obsidian spires clawed through the earth, spiraling skyward.

A single monument emerged, impossibly tall and covered in glowing symbols no mortal tongue could translate.

The Tower.

A gate to the multiverse. A beacon to all gods. A test of realms.

From above, Fenrir watched as his people—villagers, kings, merchants, scholars—stared up at the impossible spire. Some knelt. Others wept. A few ran in fear. But the message was clear.

This was a divine challenge.

And it bore his mark.

[Tower activated. You have been entered into the interdimensional world rankings. Current global karma standing: 10,388 of 10,000]

The system confirmed.

Fenrir's brow twitched.

"Wait. I'm not even in 10k?"

He said.

[Correct. Despite world maturity, your overall ranking is near the bottom. Most competing gods possess karma in the millions and established populations across centuries of cycles. You have only recently qualified.]

The words stung. Not because they were unfair. But because they were true.

"I see."

He said flatly.

He looked down at the Tower.

Already, Elden and his commanders were organizing expeditions. Brave warriors and scholars from across the land flocked to its base. The people wanted to prove themselves.

Fenrir's fingers twitched.

"Good. Let them enter. Let them climb. If the world must rise, then let them carry it on their backs. And I'll carry them in turn."

He said.

He took one slow breath.

"I don't care how far below I am. I will climb."

[Tower trials will commence in three days. You may select champions, invest karma to enhance blessings, or allow them to enter unaided.]

The system added.

Fenrir smiled. There was fire behind his teeth now.

"I'll choose soon. Let them show me what they're worth first."

Below, the Tower loomed over the horizon, its tip lost to the clouds, its surface etched with the language of gods.

Elden stood at its base, silent, the divine sword at his back. Soldiers saluted him. Priests lit fires. Adventurers and mercenaries whispered rumors of glory.

Fenrir's world had entered the stage at last.

And this time… he would not go unranked.

Not again.