Tyrant's return: Reborn as a Good-For-Nothing Young Master
Chapter 78: Ch 78: First World Quest- Part 3

Chapter 78: Ch 78: First World Quest- Part 3

Rick held the greatsword with reverent hands, eyes scanning the system window hovering in front of him.

The moment the stats loaded, his grip faltered, and the blade almost slipped from his fingers.

[Unnamed Greatsword [A-Class]

• +100% Strength Buff

• Passive Heal: 2% HP every 10 seconds]

"You’re joking. You’re actually serious with this?"

Rick breathed, stunned.

Fenrir leaned against the wall, arms folded, unfazed.

"I don’t joke about weapons. If you don’t want it, I can—"

Rick snapped his head around, hugging the sword like it was a sacred relic.

"Don’t even finish that sentence. This is... this is insane. I’ve tested hundreds of greatswords, but this? This is the best I’ve ever held. I don’t even need to try it out to know—it feels right. Solid. Like it was made just for me."

Fenrir smirked faintly.

"Maybe. Or maybe it’s just that no one else makes things properly."

Still awestruck, Rick tested the weight with a few practice swings.

The weapon cut through the air with perfect balance, the power buff already enhancing his strength with each movement.

"Gods, this is going to make a huge difference."

"Don’t get used to it. You might find things way better once the Tower becomes accessible.""

Fenrir warned.

Rick stopped mid-swing and blinked.

"Tower? Wait, you mean—?"

Fenrir pushed off the wall.

"Just keep me updated on what’s going on."

Rick opened his mouth to ask more, but Fenrir was already walking toward the door, his pace calm and composed.

The moment he exited the testing chamber and turned a corner, he collided with someone—a sharp jolt, the sound of a stiletto heel clicking against the floor as a slim figure stumbled a step back.

"Watch it!"

A sharp, annoyed voice snapped.

Fenrir looked up to see a tall woman in a tight maroon dress suit, her expression twisted into an aristocratic sneer.

Her hair was tied in a perfect bun, her eyes cold and filled with superiority as they narrowed down at him.

"Seriously? A kid? What is this place even letting in these days? Children with no manners, no awareness. You ran into me, you little brat."

She scoffed.

Fenrir’s eye twitched, but he forced himself to remain calm.

He was exhausted from the forging, still sore, and absolutely not in the mood to argue with someone playing the superiority card. But more importantly, he knew her type.

The type that thrived on attention, on reactions, on the validation of being seen as important.

So he said nothing.

He gave her a single glance, unimpressed, then stepped around her without a word—expression completely blank, as if she wasn’t even worth registering in his mental space.

And just as he predicted, it worked.

"You—! Excuse me? Excuse me!? Are you seriously just walking away from me!? How dare you—!"

Her voice shot up an octave.

Fenrir didn’t even flinch. He kept walking, back straight, pace even. The hallway echoed with the sound of her fuming.

"You think you can just bump into me and ignore me like I’m no one!? You kids need to learn respect!"

She continued.

He kept walking.

The woman’s face turned crimson with rage. She turned to one of the nearby security guards, her finger stabbing the air toward Fenrir’s retreating back.

"Who is that boy? I want to speak to his supervisor. Right now!"

The guard looked awkward, clearly unsure how to respond.

Nothing aggravated entitled people more than being dismissed.

He leaned against the elevator wall, letting his body finally relax.

"She probably doesn’t even know who I am. Which is a blessing."

He muttered to himself.

Fenrir was just about to step into the elevator when he felt a hand grab his shoulder from behind. His body tensed, reacting instinctively.

Without meaning to, he let go of the tight control he usually kept over his aura.

The shift was instant.

The oppressive weight of his presence flooded the corridor like a crashing wave, raw and ancient.

A force honed through blood and fire and something older still—unspoken, unacknowledged by the system, but deeply rooted in something far more terrifying than statistics.

The hand on his shoulder trembled.

"W-What—"

The woman stammered, quickly pulling back as if burned.

Fenrir turned his head slightly to glance at her. His voice was calm, almost lazy, but there was steel beneath it.

"Do you have business with me?"

The woman took a step back, visibly shaken.

"No. Nothing at all."

She said quickly, her voice clipped.

Fenrir didn’t press further. He gave her one last flat look and then walked away. As he passed through the hallway, he muttered under his breath.

"Tch. Some ’adults’ really have no manners. Think the world bows to them just because they’ve got some power."

As the front doors opened and sunlight spilled across his path, he heard a voice from behind—one of the nearby workers calling out with nervous politeness.

"Madam Julie Dane, are you alright?"

Fenrir slowed his steps, just for a moment.

’Julie Dane...? Leader of Secret Hunter Services.’

The name sparked faint recognition in his mind. One of the most powerful and well-connected women in the entire hunter world.

He didn’t turn around. But now that he had a name, he’d definitely be looking into her later.

______

Behind him, Julie stood stiffly, shoulders square, jaw clenched.

She could still feel it. That heavy pressure—no, that presence. It hadn’t felt like a regular high-ranking hunter. It hadn’t even felt human.

’What the hell was that?’

She’d faced down S-class monsters. Sparred with world-class hunters. Dealt with aggressive guild masters who used their aura like weapons to intimidate her into business deals.

She’d endured it all without flinching.

But this?

This had almost buckled her knees. Not from pain, not from fear—but from something deeper. A primal instinct screaming predator.

She clenched her fists, forcing her breathing to steady.

’Who was that boy?’

Just then, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed from the hall. Julie looked up as Fredric Black and Rick Hunter came into view, both of them walking briskly toward her.

"There you are! Sorry to keep you waiting, Madam Dane."

Rick called out, waving.

Fredric offered her a polite nod, his usual aloof demeanor in place.

"We got caught up with a weapons demonstration."

Julie took a moment to collect herself, then smoothed her skirt and nodded.

"It’s no problem."

Rick raised a brow.

"You okay? You look a little... off."

Julie gave a tight-lipped smile.

"I’m fine. Just had a... surprising encounter in the hallway."

Fredric’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t ask. He’d learned long ago that Julie rarely appreciated being questioned on anything she hadn’t chosen to share.

"Well, let’s get inside. We’ve got a lot to discuss, especially with the global quest just dropping."

Rick said, gesturing toward the meeting room.

Julie followed them silently, but her thoughts were spinning.

That boy—he hadn’t worn a uniform. He hadn’t looked like he belonged here. And yet, Rick and Fredric hadn’t seemed surprised by his presence at all.

She kept her face neutral as they entered the conference room, but the question burned in her mind.

’Who exactly is he? And how does he have that kind of power at his age?’

Whatever the answer was, she was sure of one thing—this wasn’t going to be the last time she crossed paths with that boy.