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

The air in the war-ravaged plains was still heavy with divine remnants when news of Kyle's clash with Goddess Charrin tore through the realm of Okla like wildfire.

Whispers carried his name from temple to temple—some filled with awe, others laced with dread.

A mortal who faced a god and emerged victorious?

That shattered centuries of belief. Within days, the temples—those that had long stood unshaken in their faith—marked Kyle Armstrong as a prime threat.

Murmured chants in shadowed cloisters turned into plans. Divine zealots, frightened priests, and furious high oracles all agreed: the heretic who felled a god must be extinguished.

But far from the trembling temples, in the gilded halls of the Okla palace, the news brought only joy.

Crown Prince Mikalius let out a loud, carefree laugh that echoed through the royal garden.

Clad in deep purple robes, the prince stood near a marble fountain as musicians strummed softly nearby.

"Prepare a feast! A grand one. The Grand Duchess and her fiancé will be returning from the front as heroes. Defeating a god? Hah! If that doesn't earn a celebration, nothing ever will."

He exclaimed, spinning once in amusement.

Courtiers bowed and scattered to carry out his orders.

The kitchen blazed to life, silks were drawn from their cases, and golden cutlery polished. But as they bustled about, a young servant, timid and sharp-eyed, stepped forward.

"Your Highness, why throw such a party now, when the entire temple network sees him as a threat? Wouldn't this... give someone a chance to strike?"

She asked quietly.

Mikalius paused for a heartbeat, then turned to her with a slow, knowing grin.

"Exactly. This party will be a fire to draw out all the moths. Let them come. It's time we see which rats scurry from the dark when the lights come on."

He said.

______

Meanwhile, back at the frontline, Kyle read the golden-inked invitation brought by a royal courier.

He sat beneath a fractured war tent, surrounded by recovering soldiers. The golden seal shimmered faintly with royal mana.

After a moment, he stood and faced his army.

"We've fought hard. And we'll fight again. But for now—we're going to that banquet."

He said, his voice clear despite the exhaustion weighing everyone down.

A murmur of disbelief passed through the camp.

"It's a chance to rest, eat food that wasn't made in a dented pot, and sit under a real roof. Take it. We leave at dawn."

The soldiers gave a subdued cheer, spirits visibly rising.

As the preparations began, Grand Duchess Amana approached him. Her armor was scratched, her eyes rimmed with weariness—but her posture remained proud.

"Are you sure this is wise? They could be using this to set a trap."

She asked.

Kyle met her gaze.

"Oh, I'm sure they are. But it's the kind of trap we walk into with our heads held high."

She sighed, half-exasperated, half-amused.

"Then I suppose I'll make sure the soldiers wear their good boots."

He smiled faintly.

"Make sure they rest first. No one fights well without sleep."

She gave a nod and turned away.

But Kyle didn't follow immediately.

Instead, he made his way to the healer's tents—ones he'd deliberately avoided since the battle's end.

The scent of herbs and soft chanting filled the air as he pushed aside the cloth entrance. The interior was dim, warm with subtle mana to keep the wounded stable.

The elven healer looked up from grinding dried petals. She blinked in surprise.

"Well, this is unexpected. Didn't think I'd see you here, Commander."

She said with a small smile.

Kyle's eyes flicked to a cot near the back. His expression didn't change.

"Is she awake?"

The healer shook her head.

"Not yet. She's... healing. The divine mana she took head-on nearly unraveled her core. But she's stable."

Kyle approached the bedside. Silvy lay still, her features calm but pale.

Thin vines of mana wrapped gently around her, holding her life force together. Her silver hair shimmered faintly under the mana glow.

The healer watched him closely.

"She saved everyone with that act. Pushed herself far past her limit."

Kyle's jaw tightened.

"I know."

"She did it for you."

"I know that too."

There was a beat of silence. Then the healer said softly.

"You should tell her that if….when she wakes up."

Kyle didn't reply. He just stood there, watching Silvy breathe.

After a moment, the healer turned back to her herbs.

"She'll pull through. She's stubborn. Like you."

Kyle's gaze lingered a few seconds longer, then he stepped back.

"Let me know the moment she wakes up."

The healer nodded.

The elven healer paused at the threshold of the tent, glancing back at Kyle, who stood stiffly beside Silvy's cot. The healer's expression softened.

"You should sit. Familiar mana... familiar presence... it helps more than you'd think. Especially for her. She's tethering herself to this world by sheer will."

He said gently.

Kyle hesitated only a moment before nodding. He pulled over a stool and sat at Silvy's side. Her skin was pale, her breaths shallow but even.

Her hand lay limp beside her, fingers unmoving. Kyle reached out and took it in his own.

"Feel for her mana. Don't push yours onto hers—just... reach out gently. Let her know she's not alone."

The healer instructed. Kyle closed his eyes and let his mana trickle out, searching for the familiar resonance that belonged to Silvy.

He found it, faint and trembling like a flickering candle. But surrounding it, almost overwhelming it, was a deeper, older pulse—something rooted and heavy.

"The elf tree. There's more of its mana in her than her own."

Kyle muttered, frowning.

The healer nodded solemnly.

"She drew too deeply when she made that sacrifice. It's what's keeping her alive. But it's also what's burying her. She needs to come back to herself."

Kyle looked at Silvy's face.

"You're stubborn. Always have been. Don't let that tree eat away at you. Come back... but take your time. Just don't push yourself."

Silvy, of course, didn't answer.

But as Kyle sat there, still holding her hand, he felt the slightest shift in her fingers—a barely-there tightening of her grip, as if she were reaching out to him through the fog of her unconsciousness.

His voice was barely a whisper.

"That's it. Just like that. You're not alone."

And he didn't let go.

Kyle gave Silvy's hand a gentle squeeze, his eyes lingering on her peaceful, pale face.

The subtle warmth of her mana still brushed against his own—a silent reminder that she was fighting, even now.

"I have to go. There's a banquet waiting, and with it... more eyes, more threats. I need to make sure everything stays on track."

He whispered, brushing a few strands of hair away from her forehead.

He leaned forward, his voice low and steady.

"But even if I leave this tent... I'll still be with you. You're not alone, Silvy. I'll come back. Again and again, if I have to. You're part of this fight too. You saved everyone."

The grip on his hand twitched faintly again, and Kyle smiled, though his eyes were shadowed by the weight of everything ahead.

"I'll carry you with me. So rest. Heal. When you open your eyes, I want you to see the world we've been fighting for... not one ruled by the divine."

He said, placing her hand gently over her chest.

With one last look, Kyle stood and turned away, his coat swaying behind him like a shadow of resolve. Even in silence, Silvy wasn't left behind.