Chapter 69: Ch 69: The Hunt is out - Part 2 - Tyrant's return: Reborn as a Good-For-Nothing Young Master - NovelsTime

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

Chapter 69: Ch 69: The Hunt is out - Part 2

Author: 20226
updatedAt: 2025-07-17

CHAPTER 69: CH 69: THE HUNT IS OUT - PART 2

Fenrir stood at the edge of the dungeon, the air thick with mana and tension.

The moment he stepped through the gate, his senses lit up—not because of the dungeon’s monsters, but because of the oppressive weight of gazes on his back.

His instincts screamed a warning: he was being hunted.

He didn’t turn around. Didn’t react.

Just walked forward slowly, pretending not to notice the silent footsteps that followed behind.

But his eyes were narrowed and sharp.

His senses, honed through countless battles and enhanced by his potions, picked up at least a dozen presences trailing him.

Close enough to observe, far enough to avoid suspicion. Professionals. Or obsessed lunatics. Maybe both.

"They’re trying to confirm it. Whether I’m really Mr. ’X’ or not."

He muttered to himself, glancing at the jagged rocks and twisted roots ahead.

He knew this would happen eventually.

Ever since Team Gram put up those potions for sale, the internet had exploded with theories and speculation.

The timing of his dungeon outings, the cloaked appearances, the sudden release of rare potions—all of it pointed back to him. And now these people were determined to prove it.

For a moment, he considered turning back.

But he shook the thought away. He couldn’t afford to give ground now—not when a hidden quest with a rare construction-type familiar was waiting at the end of this dungeon.

"...Fine. Let’s give them something to look at."

Fenrir said under his breath.

He stopped abruptly and tugged at his hood. Then, without warning, he pulled off his mask and let his long, silver hair fall free.

A moment of silence passed, the kind that made the dungeon itself seem to hold its breath.

Then, he let out a very deliberate groan.

"Ugh, it’s so stuffy in these dungeons. Being from a rich family sucks. Everyone expects you to hide your identity all the time."

He said loudly, rubbing the back of his neck.

His voice echoed down the hallway, and out of the corners of his eyes, he saw the faintest flinches and rustles in the shadows behind him.

He knew they were watching. Recording. Snapping pictures.

Good. That was exactly what he wanted.

He turned his head slightly, giving them a clean profile view before tugging the mask and hood back on.

Within minutes, the search had begun. His name—Fenrir Black—lit up every message board and stream.

Screenshots of his face circulated alongside posts like:

"It’s not Mr. ’X’! It’s just Fenrir Black, the recluse rich kid!"

"Explains the hiding. Rich kids love drama."

"Confirmed: not a potion master, just a paranoid young master."

Slowly, the number of footsteps behind him began to thin.

One by one, the hunters lost interest, realizing they weren’t tailing the famous and elusive Mr. ’X’, but someone they thought was merely eccentric and privileged.

They turned back, retreating toward the dungeon’s entrance with mutters of disappointment.

But not everyone left.

Fenrir could still feel it—three, maybe four individuals still keeping pace behind him.

These weren’t curious observers. These were opportunists. People who didn’t care who he was, only that he was worth something.

Maybe they thought they could extort him, or maybe they hoped to get a piece of whatever riches he was carrying.

That’s when Fenrir decided he’d had enough.

He silently slipped a vial from his belt and crushed it beneath his boot.

A whisper of green mist spread out around him. [Shadowstep Mist]—a high-grade stealth potion that blurred his presence to both sight and mana detection.

Fenrir then veered off the main dungeon path and entered one of the monster-infested corridors.

He moved quickly, silently, weaving through ancient trees and crumbling ruins.

The air buzzed with the presence of monsters—twisted beasts, shadow-dwelling hounds, and mana-starved bats.

He triggered the area’s aggression with a flare, tossing it behind him. The explosion of light and sound drew every monster in the area.

Screeches and growls erupted behind him. Fenrir didn’t need to look back to know what was happening.

The hunters who had followed him walked right into the chaos.

He dashed ahead, moving through shadows, hopping over roots and rubble with expert precision.

By the time the noise behind him quieted, he was already half a floor away, completely hidden and alone.

He crouched low, taking a moment to listen.

No footsteps. No whispers.

Just the dungeon’s eerie silence.

"...That’s better."

He rose to his feet, dusted himself off, and smirked beneath his mask.

"Let them chase shadows. I’ve got a familiar to win."

He said.

With that, Fenrir vanished deeper into the dungeon, every step now silent and focused—ready to take on the hidden quest waiting in the shadows.

______

Fenrir stepped into the final chamber of the dungeon and immediately felt a pulse of oppressive mana ripple through the air.

At the center of the room, atop a cracked dais of stone and twisted roots, stood a giant imp cloaked in a sickly black aura.

Its eyes glowed with a dull crimson light, and corrupted mana hissed around its form like a slow, burning fog.

"So that’s the boss."

Fenrir muttered, narrowing his eyes.

Unlike the other monsters he’d encountered in the dungeon, this one gave off no bloodlust. There was no immediate aggression.

It stood still, like a statue—watching.

Fenrir tilted his head, scanning the area.

The imp’s corrupted aura was strong, but something about its stillness, about the way it seemed almost... restrained, tugged at Fenrir’s memories.

In his past life, he had seen this kind of thing before—monsters that were once familiars or guardians, now twisted and cursed by seals or forbidden rituals. If this was the case, then—

"I can’t kill it. It’s the reward."

Fenrir whispered to himself.

He scanned the chamber again, his sharp eyes moving past the boss and toward a low rise in the back.

Behind the imp, mostly hidden by debris and broken columns, was a tomb. Faint inscriptions glowed on its surface, too far to read clearly.

But Fenrir didn’t need to read them to know—that was the key.

"Classic contradiction seal. Hide the answer behind the boss, and force the challenger to either brute force their way through or figure out the right path."

He muttered.

He rubbed his chin, thinking.

The imp was clearly guarding the tomb, but it hadn’t attacked yet. That was likely because Fenrir hadn’t made a move toward it.

He didn’t want to fight. Not unless he had to.

That’s when he had an idea.

With a sharp whistle, Fenrir called forth his smallest but surprisingly useful familiars—his hamsters.

Fluffy, round, and deceptively quick, the five blinked into existence on his shoulders with their usual energy.

"You five. I need a distraction. Get his attention and keep him busy. Don’t hurt him—just make sure he’s focused on you."

Fenrir said, pointing toward the imp,

The hamsters exchanged excited squeaks and immediately shot off, bouncing and darting toward the imp with playful squeals.

One of them threw a pebble at the boss’s head. Another started running circles around it while blowing raspberry sounds.

The imp’s red eyes twitched, and for the first time, it moved—stumbling off the dais and growling as it began to chase the tiny terrors weaving around its legs.

Fenrir used the opening instantly, dashing low and fast toward the back of the chamber. The imp didn’t even notice.

"Good job. Now let’s break your curse."

He whispered as he neared the tomb, eyes fixed on the glowing inscriptions.

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