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

In the silent, dimly lit chamber of the gods, the Chief God looked down at Lucia's crumpled, unconscious form with something between disappointment and pity.

He raised his hand and snapped his fingers.

Lucia's eyes fluttered open.

But there was no recognition in them. No warmth. No trace of defiance or sorrow.

Just an eerie stillness—her violet irises glowing faintly with divine light, devoid of the spark that had once made her distinct among the gods.

She rose mechanically, every movement precise and lifeless like a wind-up doll. Then, with a perfect bow, she said in a hollow voice.

"Awaiting your command, my Lord."

The Chief God folded his arms behind his back, staring at her for a long moment before he exhaled a deep sigh.

"You were once our most radiant, our most beloved. Had you simply chosen the right side… had you not fallen to emotion, to sentiment… you could've remained whole."

He said, voice heavy with regret.

Lucia did not respond.

"But I am merciful. I will grant you purpose again. You shall have your happy ending—one molded by our divine will."

He continued, stepping around her like a general inspecting a soldier.

He turned to face the vast, shimmering window that revealed the mortal realms beyond.

"Go. Fulfill your duty as the Goddess of Death. Cleanse the world that defies us. Those who do not accept the gods do not deserve the world we've blessed them with."

Lucia bowed again and wordlessly walked toward the edge of the divine platform, preparing to descend into the realm of mortals.

Each step she took was precise, free of hesitation, without the inner turmoil that had plagued her before.

The divine wind rippled her long white robes, but she did not flinch, her expression as still as stone.

As she vanished into a beam of divine light, a second presence emerged from the shadows of the chamber.

Broad-shouldered and clad in red and black divine armor, the God of War—Kratos—stepped forward, watching Lucia's fading form.

"…Was that really necessary?"

He asked, his voice rough and tinged with disapproval.

The Chief God did not turn.

"It was."

Kratos narrowed his eyes.

"We could have won without using her like this. The war is shifting, yes, but it hasn't reached desperation yet. She could've been persuaded in time."

"You think persuasion works against a heart that already made its choice? She chose that human over us. Over you… over me. The same human who has returned from death. Again."

The Chief God asked coldly.

Kratos flinched slightly.

"But she still had potential. She wasn't beyond saving."

The Chief God turned to face his general now, eyes gleaming with divine wrath.

"We've already lost Charrin. We've lost Tirakos. The balance is slipping. I will not risk losing another."

Kratos clenched his jaw but said nothing. There was no changing his lord's mind.

"Lucia was a liability. Now she is a weapon. And that weapon will be aimed at the one person she once betrayed us for."

The Chief God finished.

There was a long silence between them as they looked down at the mortal realm, where war stirred and fate trembled.

______

In the grand council room, heavy silence hung over the gilded walls as the nobles gathered around the long marble table.

Though the curse of death had lifted, its shadow still loomed over the empire.

Tension crackled like static in the air, and every noble present wore furrowed brows and pinched expressions.

"What we are dealing with is not over. The other nations have begun branding us heretics. Traitors to the divine order."

Duke Terevin muttered, voice trembling with barely contained fear.

"And they're not wrong. We were cursed. Cursed! And if that's not a divine warning, I don't know what is. Now they're using it as justification to unite. We're facing a potential holy war!"

Marchioness Lira added sharply.

The murmurs around the table grew louder. Fear was contagious, and these men and women—once proud and composed—were now desperate and restless.

"They're forming alliances. Even bitter enemies have found common ground in the idea of our destruction. If we don't act soon, we'll be crushed."

Baron Clove said gravely.

Prince Mikalius, seated at the head of the table, tapped his fingers on the armrest of his chair. His jaw was tight. His eyes scanned the room as the nobles' voices rose in agitation.

"We must offer a sign of repentance. Something that shows the gods we're still loyal to them. A great sacrifice—perhaps a temple, or even a festival of offerings. We need their blessing again!"

Duke Terevin pressed.

"No. We've already suffered enough. I will not ask more of my people. Our first responsibility is to them—not to gods who may or may not even care about our survival."

Mikalius said firmly, cutting through the chatter like a blade.

The room fell into a tense silence.

"But Your Highness. If we do nothing, we will be attacked from all sides! You want to protect the people? Then this is how! Give the gods what they want!"

Lira protested.

"And what is it they want, Marchioness?" Mikalius asked coldly.

"Our homes? Our children? How many lives must be thrown to the altar before you're satisfied?"

The nobles shifted uncomfortably. Some glanced around, seeking support, while others avoided his gaze entirely.

"That's enough. I've made my decision."

Mikalius said, voice low.

The door creaked open.

"You've made the right one."

Came a new voice—calm, deep, and unwavering.

All heads turned as Kyle stepped into the council room, his long black coat trailing behind him, the puppet Rean a silent shadow at his side.

The air shifted instantly. Every noble straightened in their seat, stiff with discomfort. Some narrowed their eyes, others looked away, but none dared speak first.

Kyle walked slowly, eyes scanning each of them with unflinching confidence.

"You nobles talk a lot about gods for people who barely understood the curse they just lived through."

He said, voice quiet but carrying across the room like thunder.

"Kyle Armstrong. This is a royal council. You weren't summoned—"

Duke Terevin muttered.

"I don't need to be summoned. You forget that I was the one who ended the curse that none of you could lift. While you were cowering in your beds, I was fighting gods."

Kyle cut in.

Terevin went quiet.

Kyle stepped beside Mikalius's chair and folded his arms.

"Let me make this simple. You want to sacrifice something? Then sacrifice your pride. Stop whining like children left out in the rain."

"You dare speak to us like this?"

Lira hissed.

"Yes. And I'll continue doing so. Because I'm the only one in this room that the gods are afraid of."

Kyle replied.

A tense silence followed his words.

"No god will set foot in this land while I still breathe. And if they do, they won't leave."

Kyle continued.

The nobles looked pale now, unsure whether to call his words madness or divine protection. They couldn't deny his strength. But that didn't stop the unease that curled in their bellies.

Prince Mikalius suppressed a small smile, hiding it behind a sigh.

"Thank you, Kyle."

Kyle nodded slightly, then turned his gaze back to the nobles.

"Now stop wasting time on rituals and start preparing for the real threat—the humans gathering to destroy you. Because unlike the gods, they will attack."

The nobles said nothing. One by one, they looked down, lips tight, minds already spinning with schemes.

They couldn't challenge him openly. But in the shadows, resentment brewed. And so, the first seeds of betrayal were sown.