Tyrant's return: Reborn as a Good-For-Nothing Young Master
Chapter 88: Ch 88: Make a Sword for me- Part 1

Chapter 88: Ch 88: Make a Sword for me- Part 1

Fenrir tapped the flat of his palm against the hilt of his dagger, eyeing Renie with thinly veiled skepticism.

"I’ll make the sword, but only if you get me the materials. I’m not burning my stock for a favor."

He finally said.

Renie beamed like he’d offered her a birthday present.

"Of course. I’ll get you exactly what you need—no corners cut, promise."

Fenrir raised an eyebrow.

"You’re unusually agreeable today."

"I want that sword, Fen. And I won’t disappoint you."

She turned and strode out, waving casually over her shoulder as though she hadn’t stolen his food and potions the day before.

Fenrir watched her go, let out a long sigh, and scribbled a new task into his growing mental to-do list.

"Add ’babysit lunatic’s shopping list’ right under ’survive elite school without going insane.’ Perfect."

The next day at school was no different than the one before—except that it was, in all the worst ways.

Whispers filled the hallways as Fenrir walked through the entrance gates. He could feel the eyes on him. They followed him like shadows, flitting between stares and pointed fingers.

"That’s him, right? The one who broke someone’s wrist?"

"I heard he didn’t even activate a system. Just snapped it barehanded."

"I bet he’s some kind of monster."

Fenrir ignored all of them and headed to his usual seat in class.

This wasn’t the first time people had stared at him like this. Being Fredric Black’s brother had guaranteed his reputation would never be simple.

The classes droned on. Fenrir leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling half the time, barely paying attention.

There was nothing here for him. Nothing useful. No challenge. Just noise.

By the time the final bell rang, he was already packed and halfway out the door.

That’s when he noticed them—three girls lingering near the exit. Their uniforms were crisp, their smiles polite, and their eyes calculating.

Fenrir knew that look all too well. They weren’t here to talk. They were here to use him.

He turned around before they could speak, ducking into the nearest hallway. The girls called his name, but he didn’t stop.

Instead, he darted into the first empty classroom he could find and slipped behind a supply cabinet, crouching low.

They walked right past without a clue, still calling softly to each other. After a few moments, their voices faded.

Fenrir exhaled and straightened, about to push the cabinet door open when he heard footsteps.

He froze.

Then came a voice. A familiar one.

"Ugh. This school’s security is such a pain in the ass. If it keeps up like this, I won’t be able to get to the dungeon at all."

The girl muttered, heels clicking against the tiled floor.

Fenrir didn’t need to peek to recognize the speaker. That was Betty Rose.

He didn’t dare breathe too loudly.

"I’m trying my best. But it’s like they doubled everything. Cameras, mana detection, even the locks on the damn tunnels."

She snapped, clearly on the phone now.

A long pause.

"No, I haven’t been made. Yet. But if I don’t make a move soon—"

Her voice cut off. She must’ve ended the call. Fenrir heard her heels retreating down the hallway until the sound disappeared altogether.

Only then did he step out from behind the cabinet, eyes narrowed.

So Betty was planning something involving a dungeon—inside the school grounds?

He crossed his arms, considering. She hadn’t noticed him. He could report this, maybe even get her expelled. But...

He shook his head.

"Not my problem."

Whatever she was planning, it didn’t concern him. He had other priorities—his own dungeons to worry about, potions to brew, a sword to forge.

Whatever chaos Betty Rose stirred up, she’d either get caught or deal with the fallout herself.

Fenrir left the classroom quietly and made his way home, already forgetting the whole thing by the time he reached his door.

______

The morning sun barely peeked over the horizon when Fenrir stepped outside, ready to begin another meaningless school day.

He was halfway to locking his door when a blur of motion and too-bright energy appeared in front of him.

"Morning, Fen!"

Renie said cheerfully, nearly bouncing on her heels. She shoved a satchel into his hands. "Here’s what you asked for."

Fenrir stared at the heavy bag of forging materials. His shoulders slumped.

"Already? I said I’d do it on the weekend."

"I need it today. The raid is tomorrow. I told you that.""

Renie said, folding her arms with a pout.

"No, you told me that you wanted a sword. You never said you needed it immediately."

He glared at her but knew it wouldn’t help. Renie was like a storm—you couldn’t reason with her, only wait for her to pass.

She smiled, utterly unmoved.

"Come on, Fen. You’re the best at this, and you’ll be done in no time, right?"

"I need time to calibrate everything. And I have school."

He muttered, glaring down at the bag.

Renie leaned closer, whispering as if letting him in on a secret.

"But your school isn’t going to be around for long, right? Just skip today."

Fenrir looked at her, deadpan.

"Did you blow up the school already?"

She only winked in reply and turned to leave.

"I’ll be back in a few hours. Don’t disappoint me!"

"Like I had a choice."

Fenrir muttered, dragging himself and the satchel inside.

Instead of heading to class, Fenrir descended into his personal forge. His workshop, deep beneath his home, was warded from detection and equipped with specialized crafting arrays.

The materials Renie provided were surprisingly high-quality.

"Overkill."

He muttered, but it was good overkill.

He got to work immediately. Flames from his forge roared to life. Hammer met metal, each strike ringing like a heartbeat.

Sweat beaded on his brow as he carefully shaped the weapon, then inscribed runes onto the blade to improve durability and energy flow.

The core was embedded in the hilt, granting the blade a burn effect and enhanced mana recovery.

Fenrir didn’t stop for food or water. His system clock blinked past noon, then early evening.

Hours blurred together, but finally, the short sword gleamed in his hands—sleek, sharp, elegant, and deadly.

The system chimed:

[Forged Item: Emberfang — Grade: S-Class]

[Passive Ability: +30% Mana Regeneration]

[Active Skill: Flame Rend — Unleashes a short burst of flame on slash, 10s cooldown]

Fenrir held it up and frowned.

"Almost makes me want to keep it..."

The temptation lingered for only a second before he shook his head and wrapped the blade in protective cloth.

He messaged Renie about the short sword as well once he was one.

"Not worth the drama."

He emerged from the forge and stretched his sore arms, only for his phone to vibrate violently the moment he stepped into his hallway.

Two names blinked on the screen—Fredric and Rick. Both had sent multiple messages.

[Fredric: Where are you? Why aren’t you at school?]

[Rick: Are you okay? There’s been an incident.]

Fenrir blinked, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

[Fenrir: I’m at my Lab. Had something to finish for a client. Why?]

Rick replied first.

[Rick: Stay there. Don’t go out. The school had a security breach.]

Fredric followed.

[Fredric: An unknown group infiltrated the school grounds. Set off explosives. Parts of the building collapsed.]

Fenrir stared at the screen. For a moment, he thought of Betty Rose and her frustrated mumblings in the empty classroom. It wasn’t hard to connect the dots.

[Fenrir: Let me guess. Some faction looking for dungeon access?]

[Fredric: We don’t know yet. Stay home. We’ll send someone to keep an eye on your place, just in case.]

Fenrir sighed, pocketing his phone.

"Guess I won’t be going back to school after all."

Part of him was relieved. He had no desire to return to that suffocating building. Another part of him was wary—things were accelerating.

Dungeons. Towers. Factions fighting in the open now.

He looked back toward the wrapped short sword, now resting on a table in the hallway.