Reborn as a Useless Noble with my SSS-Class Innate Talent

In the heart of the holy land, nestled among the golden hills, stood one of Moras's grandest temples.

Carved of pristine marble and adorned with intricate gold-leaf etchings, the temple shimmered under the afternoon sun like a beacon of faith.

Inside, priests and acolytes moved about their duties in serene discipline—tending to the sacred flames, chanting old hymns, and preparing the offerings for the evening rituals.

Then, without warning, the earth trembled.

A low rumble surged through the stone floor, shaking the pillars and causing sacred ornaments to rattle and sway.

A few novices cried out, dropping their incense bowls, and several of the older priests stumbled as the tremors passed.

"An earthquake?"

One whispered in fear.

"No… not in this region."

Said another, eyes wide with dread.

Panicked murmurs spread across the temple. The priests gathered at the center prayer hall, kneeling before the altar as their instinct took over.

They bowed their heads and prayed, voices overlapping in desperate pleas.

"Oh Moras, divine judge, wielder of balance, grant us your vision!"

There was silence, as there always was.

The ground stilled.

The priests exchanged glances and began to calm, assuming it to be a freak occurrence. They began to rise—until the air shifted.

A pulse of divine energy burst through the sacred chamber. The main prayer hall, long bathed in shadowed candlelight, exploded with brilliant white-gold radiance.

The sacred fire leapt into the air like a pillar of flame, swirling with ancient sigils. The scent of holy incense grew intoxicating.

The head priest, an elderly man with a beard like spun silver and robes lined in scarlet, stepped forward and knelt with trembling reverence.

"Children of Moras! Do you see? Our prayers have been answered. After centuries of devotion, our god responds!"

He called out, voice shaking.

The others dropped to their knees in awe. No one spoke.

Then, the divine light grew sharper, clearer—until the vague shape of a majestic figure formed within the glow. A voice echoed through the chamber, serene and commanding.

[My faithful children. I have watched you. I am pleased. Your discipline and piety have not gone unnoticed. You have served well—and now, I shall descend, and bless you personally.]

Moras spoke, his voice like wind over still waters.

Gasps filled the room. Some priests wept openly. Others began chanting Moras's name in reverent whispers.

The head priest bowed his head low.

"Lord Moras, your words humble us. Tell us what must be done. We are yours to command."

The divine form pulsed brighter.

[I require a vessel. A body strong enough to hold my divinity, if only for a few days. One young, pure, and resilient. With it, I shall walk among you.]

The god declared.

The temple fell silent.

"Where, my lord? Where shall we find such a vessel?"

The head priest asked, his voice reverent.

The divine light twisted, focusing into a radiant beam that pointed beyond the temple walls—southward, toward the outer settlements.

Without question, the priests took to their task. A small group followed the light's guidance, traveling across hills and villages.

It led them to a modest home nestled at the edge of a farming village.

There, they found a young boy—barely fifteen and striking eyes that shimmered faintly with mana, though his frame was lean and unassuming.

The priests approached the boy's parents with solemnity and gold.

"We are from the temple of Moras. Your son has been chosen."

One of them said.

Confused and frightened, the parents protested at first—but when the priests revealed the vast offering of gold and divine favor, hesitation faded.

It was a gift from the gods themselves, they insisted. An honor beyond compare.

The boy, uncertain but silent, was taken back to the temple. He did not fight. Perhaps he was too stunned to resist.

By the time they returned, the divine light had grown calmer but no less present. The head priest guided the boy to the sacred altar, where the divine glow greeted him like a gentle wind.

The temple prepared in silence. Every priest knew the gravity of what was to come.

The god of balance, Moras, would soon walk among them.

______

News traveled fast. From the holy lands to the farthest corners of the continent, word spread like wildfire—Moras had descended.

The god of balance, for the first time in recorded history, had taken a mortal vessel to walk among his people.

Kyle heard the whispers before the full news reached him. It came in pieces—traders mumbling in hushed tones, passing pilgrims speaking of divine light and holy signs.

But it wasn't until they reached the main crossroads outside the elf forest that Kyle and Silvy heard the full story from a group of wandering merchants:

Moras had chosen a body, and his followers claimed this marked the beginning of a new era.

Silvy walked beside Kyle, her brows furrowed, fingers twisting the edge of her cloak.

"This doesn't feel right. A god taking physical form... it's not natural. Something bad is going to happen, I can feel it."

She said quietly.

Kyle glanced at her, his expression unreadable.

"You're not wrong. But we still have time. Gods don't just descend and start conquering. Even Moras will need time to adapt to mortal constraints, and his priests will spend days preparing him for movement. Besides…"

He said after a moment.

He looked up at the sky, watching a hawk soar far above.

"...we're not helpless. Not anymore."

Silvy nodded reluctantly.

"I'll follow your lead. Just... let's not get caught off guard."

They walked in silence after that, the forest behind them thinning into farmlands and rolling fields.

By the time they reached the outskirts of Kyle's territory, the afternoon sun had already begun to dip low.

Waiting at the edge of the village gates was Bruce—Kyle's ever-faithful steward, now with a wrinkled brow and bags under his eyes.

The moment he spotted Kyle and Silvy, his entire face lit up, and he practically ran to greet them.

"Young Master! You've finally returned!"

He said, arms flailing in relief.

Before Kyle could even open his mouth, a thick stack of papers was thrust into his chest.

"—And with your return comes all of this. Reports, supply demands, defense logistics, scouting updates—oh, and three letters from the northern front demanding your advice."

Kyle stared down at the stack with dead eyes.

"Did you miss me, Bruce… or just the part of me that does paperwork?"

Bruce laughed, unapologetic.

"Why can't it be both?"

Silvy giggled behind her hand as Kyle sighed dramatically, stuffing the stack under his arm.

"Fine. I'll handle it. But I need to see someone first. Rin—Rachael's brother. I think I've got something that'll help him."

Bruce blinked.

"Racheal's brother?"

Kyle nodded.

"I brought back something from the elves."

Silvy's brows lifted slightly, but she said nothing.

Bruce gave a nod, stepping aside to let them pass.

"He's in the healer's tent. Rachael visits him daily."

Kyle nodded and started toward the makeshift medical area near the village center. As they walked, Silvy leaned in and whispered,

"You're really planning to use that on him?"

Kyle looked at her.

"He's the best candidate. And besides—what better way to test elven healing than to help someone who deserves it?"

Silvy smiled faintly.