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

Deep in the fog-covered valleys of the borderlands, a group of robed priests huddled around a rune-inscribed device, their expressions ranging from tired irritation to open disdain.

The bitter wind carried the stench of sulfur and old magic as they stood near the remnants of the underground hideout they had just evacuated.

"I still don't get it. Why come all this way just to retrieve a single storage ruin? Couldn't we just make another back home? It's not like we're short on divine energy."

One of the younger priests muttered, rubbing his arms for warmth.

Another priest grunted.

"Exactly. This is a waste of time. If it weren't for that madwoman from Charrin's temple messing up the timing—"

"Enough."

The lead priest, a tall man with cold silver eyes, cut them off sharply.

"This ruin contains months of harvested mana, fused with divine essence. If it had fallen into enemy hands, especially his hands, it would have compromised our entire operation."

The younger priests fell silent at that, eyes darkening with unease.

The lead priest pulled a carefully sealed object from his cloak—etched with both Moras's holy insignia and faint traces of repurposed ruins from the now-compromised Temple of Charrin.

"It's done. Our mission here is complete."

His lips curled into a cold smile.

"Now we return."

Back in the village, Kyle stood just outside his office, watching Sasha closely.

The tension hadn't quite left her shoulders even after returning, and despite her insistence, he could tell something still weighed heavily on her.

"You don't have to look so guilty. You panicked. It happens. But you didn't do anything wrong."

Kyle said gently.

Sasha drew in a long breath before releasing it slowly.

"Thanks. I'm just not used to... this kind of pressure. I was fine until I wasn't."

Kyle gave her a small smile.

"Even the best of us falter sometimes."

She nodded, visibly more composed, and stepped back as Kyle knelt once again over the area where the trail had gone cold.

His eyes closed as his mana extended outward, brushing over the lingering energy.

This time, he felt it—just a thread. A weak imprint of divine magic mingled with artificial sealing runes. He followed it for a few moments, tracing its erratic, fading line.

But then, his instincts screamed.

It was too late. Whoever had left this trail was long gone.

He stood slowly, sighing.

"They moved fast. Too fast. Whatever was here is gone."

Sasha's brows furrowed. "So that's it?"

"For now. But I'll find them again."

Kyle glanced toward the sky, narrowing his eyes.

Kyle returned to his office, face calm but eyes cold.

Bruce was waiting inside.

"No luck?"

"They cleaned up well. But I felt something strange when I touched the trail. Whoever did this wasn't just hiding—they were taunting me."

Kyle admitted.

Bruce's gaze hardened.

"You think it's someone powerful?"

Kyle gave a tight nod.

"Almost certainly."

"And what about Marquess Terrance? You think he's involved?"

"I don't know yet. But if he's hiding something, I'll find it. One way or another."

Kyle said quietly.

Elsewhere, in a lavish estate nestled along the edges of Kyle's newly secured territory, Marquess Terrance paced back and forth across his war room, a handkerchief clutched in one hand.

Panic twisted his features with each step.

"He's searching my lands. Why else would Duke Armstrong's youngest be combing through the outer borders like a mad dog? He wants my territory. That must be it."

The Marquess hissed.

An advisor cleared his throat nervously.

"Marquess, we can't be certain that's his intention—"

"Oh, really?"

Terrance snapped.

"He's the Grand Duchess's fiancé. He tamed the beast lands. He's got support from the military and the royal court. And now he's sniffing around my borders right after the Charrin temple mess was exposed. You want me to believe this is all coincidence?"

The advisor shifted uncomfortably.

"Even so, we can't afford to act rashly. If you offend him—"

"I can't offend him! But I also can't give him my land!"

Terrance exploded.

Another advisor stepped in, calmer, older.

"Marquess, listen. The only way to hold your ground is to stand firm. You're still the rightful noble of this region. Until there's a royal decree to remove you, Kyle Armstrong can't legally take your territory."

"But if he wants it…"

Terrance muttered.

"Then stall him. Make alliances, create paperwork barriers, invoke old treaties—do anything to slow him down. If he comes, greet him with respect, but make it clear this land is yours. Do not roll over."

The elder advisor said.

Terrance looked torn, eyes darting about the room like a cornered animal.

"But if I resist and he decides I'm hiding something…"

"Then you better make sure you're not."

Silence followed.

Marquess Terrance sat in his study, forehead glistening with sweat despite the cool evening air.

His advisors stood in a half-circle around him, all of them watching with growing concern as he stumbled over the same line for the fifth time.

"I-I am the—no, I remain the ruler of this land, and you, Kyle Armstrong, must… must understand that!"

He barked, only to immediately flinch and glance at his advisors for approval.

Silence.

One of them, a gaunt man named Elrick, cleared his throat delicately.

"My lord, might I suggest softening the tone a little? Or perhaps… tightening it. It sounded less like a demand and more like a plea."

"I know how it sounded, Elrick!"

Terrance snapped, then immediately looked away, ashamed.

"Sorry. I just—he's the Grand Duchess's fiancé. The Duke's son. And—have you seen what he did to the temple priests? Just wiped them off the street like they were pests! And now he's sniffing around my territory like a hungry wolf."

Another advisor, Lady Vernia, folded her arms.

"That is precisely why you must act with strength. Letting him run around unchecked will only make the other nobles think you're weak. You must be the Marquess. Reaffirm your sovereignty before he decides to claim it."

"Yes, yes, of course. But what if I offend him? What if he reports me to the crown? I can't afford a political scandal."

Terrance muttered, rubbing his temple.

Elrick sighed.

"Hence, the dinner. A civil conversation. No need for raised voices—just a gentle but firm reminder that this is your land."

"Right. Yes. Dinner. That's good. Harmless. Friendly."

Terrance nodded, trying to convince himself more than anyone.

"We'll eat, chat, and somewhere in between the soup and the roast I'll tell him not to overstep. Easy."

"Shall we try again, my lord?"

Lady Vernia asked.

Terrance swallowed. He rose from his chair, squared his shoulders, and cleared his throat dramatically.

"Lord Kyle, while I appreciate your enthusiasm, I must kindly insist that you respect the established boundaries of my authority in this region."

He paused, and the words hung in the air like a fragile glass sculpture.

Then he burst out.

"Ugh! It sounds like I'm begging again!"

The advisors exchanged helpless glances.

"It's the delivery, my lord. Perhaps speak from the stomach. More confidence."

Elrick said delicately.

Terrance groaned and sank back into his chair.

This is going to be a disaster."

Lady Vernia narrowed her eyes.

"Then fake it. Smile, drink, talk. And when the moment comes, look him in the eyes and say it like you mean it. You are the Marquess. Stop acting like his servant."

Terrance nodded weakly.

"Right. I'll invite him tomorrow."

None of the advisors looked reassured.

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