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

At the break of dawn, Kyle's arrival at the army camp sent ripples through the troops.

His imposing figure stood against the mist, cloaked in a quiet fury that unnerved even the most hardened men.

The moment his boots hit the camp's dirt, the soldiers straightened with a mix of reverence and unease.

Something about his presence always felt larger than life—and now, it radiated with tightly restrained wrath.

The camp commander, a battle-worn man named Farlen, hurried forward, bowing deeply.

"Young master Kyle. We've managed to contain the situation. Only a few have collapsed, and we've halted all intake of supplies from the capital for now. The rest are stable, though furious."

He greeted.

Kyle nodded, his expression unreadable.

"And the source?"

Farlen grimaced.

"The water. All the affected batches came from the latest imperial shipment. We believe it's been laced with mana—only slightly at first, but consistent enough to build up in the body. Those with weaker constitutions collapsed first."

Kyle's eyes darkened.

"So it was slow poisoning… drawn out, deliberate."

The entire atmosphere in the camp grew heavier.

"I'll handle it from here. This is no longer your burden."

Kyle said sharply.

Farlen took a step back, sensing the shift.

"Yes, sir."

The surrounding soldiers exchanged looks as they watched Kyle inspect the poisoned crates and speak to the injured.

He asked about their symptoms, where the supplies were stored, and what changes they noticed leading up to the incidents.

With each answer, his expression grew colder, sharper—like a blade being honed.

But beneath that coldness, there was something else.

Concern.

Not just as a commander, but as someone who had taken responsibility for every life under his banner. And the soldiers could see it.

One young soldier, bandaged and weak but standing, spoke up.

"Young master, you don't need to… dirty your hands for us. We can handle this ourselves. You've already done more than enough."

Kyle turned, eyes piercing.

"Dirty my hands?"

He took a slow step forward, his voice low and steady.

"Do you think washing filth off our house is a stain on my honor? No. This—"

He picked up a contaminated bottle and crushed it in one hand, mana surging around him—

"—this is what stains us."

He looked around at his men.

"You fight, bleed, and die for this land, and they send poison in return. You stand your ground with honor, and they answer with betrayal. You think I'll let that go?"

Silence fell, thick with emotion. A few fists clenched. Eyes gleamed with unshed tears.

Bruce stepped forward, hand resting casually on his sword.

"Young master. What would you have me do?"

Kyle didn't hesitate.

"Prepare a list. Every name. Every household involved in this shipment. I don't care how big or small—nobles, merchants, handlers—everyone."

"And the supply records?"

Bruce asked.

"Get them all. We'll trace every poisoned drop."

Kyle turned toward his tent but paused.

"I'm heading back to the capital. I need the crown prince's permission to deal with this trash properly."

Farlen, who had been listening from behind, stepped forward again, alarmed.

"Young master, forgive me—but isn't that dangerous? They won't just let you act freely. They'll twist your intent. You shouldn't have to—"

"They want fear. But I won't give them fear. I'll give them judgment."

Kyle cut him off.

A moment passed, and then he added, softer this time.

"You're not pawns. You're mine. And no one poisons what's mine and walks away."

The men around him stood taller. Determination flickered like fire in their eyes.

They had already admired Kyle as a leader.

But now… they believed in him.

As Kyle turned to leave, the camp echoed with renewed energy. It wasn't just loyalty anymore—it was faith.

Melissa walked up beside him, quiet until now.

"You were very dramatic back there."

She muttered, trying to hide the smile on her lips.

Kyle gave her a sideways glance.

"Sometimes, drama gets the point across better."

She nodded, gaze sweeping across the men still watching them with reverence.

"Still… they're lucky to have you. I don't think any other commander cares for his people as much as you care for them."

Kyle didn't respond.

But in his mind, there was no 'luck' about it.

They were his, and he would burn the world before letting anyone hurt them again.

___

In the quiet of the royal study, Kyle stood before Crown Prince Mikalius with his arms crossed, expression unreadable but firm.

The air between them was tense, weighed down by the storm Kyle carried into the room.

"I'm going to make several noble families disappear. It would be wise of you not to interfere."

Kyle said, his voice flat and absolute.

Mikalius blinked once, taken aback not just by the words, but by the sheer confidence behind them. Then, slowly, he leaned back in his chair and exhaled.

"I was hoping this was a figure of speech. But knowing you, it's not."

He muttered.

Kyle said nothing.

The prince ran a hand through his hair and stared at the ceiling for a moment.

"Is there anything I can say to change your mind?"

Kyle raised an eyebrow.

"Sure. You could offer me their heads directly. That would certainly please me."

A dry laugh escaped Mikalius as he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"You're asking a man bound by tradition and law to serve up nobles like platters at a feast. You know I wish I could. But the chains of being crown prince don't let me move like you."

Kyle's expression didn't shift.

"Then don't move at all. Just look the other way. Because what's coming won't be clean."

Mikalius sighed heavily and stood up, walking over to the window. He stared out over the capital for a long moment before replying.

"Fine. I won't stop you."

There was silence, and then his voice turned a shade softer.

"But… if you can help it, spare the innocent. The staff. The children. Not everyone under those roofs is a traitor."

Kyle didn't reply. His gaze remained level, cold, and determined.

Mikalius turned back, but Kyle was already walking away.

The air left behind felt colder.

Mikalius remained at the window, watching the slow bustle of the palace grounds.

Servants moved, unaware of the storm that had just passed through the chamber—and the greater one approaching.

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration simmering beneath his calm exterior.

"Kyle. You're going to set this empire on fire just to cleanse it."

He muttered under his breath.

He couldn't deny the corruption, nor the betrayal. But Kyle's justice was rarely tempered. It was absolute, ruthless, and terrifyingly effective.

A knock came at the door.

"Enter."

Mikalius said without turning.

A royal aide stepped in, hesitating.

"Your Highness… the nobles from House Renlor and Tavien have requested an urgent audience."

Mikalius closed his eyes. Of course. The ripples had already begun.

"Tell them I'm unavailable. And… cancel all court appearances for the rest of the day."

He said, voice firm.

The aide bowed and left.

Left alone, Mikalius leaned forward on the windowsill.

"I gave you my silence, Kyle. Now show me that this is worth the blood you're about to spill."

He whispered.

Far off, thunder rolled. But it wasn't from the sky.

It was from the streets below.