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

Outside the city, the sun dipped low on the horizon, casting golden hues across the battered land.

A large wooden carriage trundled slowly along a worn path, its wheels creaking under the weight of the injured soldiers and war victims inside.

Around it rode several medical officers and assistants, hurrying to transport their charges to a secure treatment facility far from the scars of the recent battlefield.

Inside the carriage, groans of pain and hushed murmurs of reassurance filled the air. Bandaged limbs, fevered brows, and pale faces marked the toll of the long war.

Now that the fighting had ended, the doctors could finally give these survivors the attention they desperately needed.

Among the medics, however, tension brewed—not because of the patients, but because of the silent figure seated near the front of the carriage.

It was a puppet. Lifeless in appearance, clad in armor and robes, its blank eyes stared straight ahead.

Sent by Young Lord Kyle himself, the puppet was their escort and protector, meant to ensure they reached their destination without incident.

But despite the puppet's supposed purpose, the doctors were unnerved. It didn't breathe. It didn't blink. It didn't move unless needed. It simply… was.

"I don't like that thing. It hasn't said a word all day."

One of the younger healers whispered, casting a glance toward the puppet.

"Don't be foolish. It's probably stronger than all of us combined. Just be glad it's on our side."

Another muttered.

As the unease lingered, the carriage suddenly jerked to a halt, the horses neighing in protest. Several medics tumbled forward from the abrupt stop.

"What now? We're still hours from the facility."

Grumbled a weary nurse as she pulled herself up.

A doctor slid the side panel open and shouted to the driver.

"Why've we stopped?"

The driver, eyes wide, pointed toward the distance.

"Something's up ahead… I can't tell what, but the horses refuse to go any further. They're spooked."

A murmur ran through the medical staff.

"Bandits?"

One suggested.

"No. Something worse. The horses are shaking. Whatever it is… it's not natural."

The driver muttered.

From within the carriage, the puppet finally moved. Its head turned toward the horizon, and a crackle of contained energy sparked briefly around its limbs.

Without a word, it stepped out of the carriage and landed on the dirt road with a heavy thud. The air changed immediately—heavier, tenser.

The doctors fell silent as the puppet turned back to face them. In a calm, yet chillingly neutral voice, it said.

"Stay here. Prepare to evacuate if necessary. I will investigate the obstruction."

One of the braver doctors stepped forward.

"What is it? Do you know what's ahead?"

The puppet paused.

"Unclear. But the mana in the air is wrong. If my assumption is correct, running may be your best option."

And with that, the puppet vanished in a blur of speed, kicking up dust as it shot down the road. The doctors and guards exchanged anxious glances.

"What… did he mean by 'wrong mana'?"

One whispered.

Another muttered.

"Whatever he's sensing, it's strong enough to worry that thing. That can't be good."

With their hearts in their throats, they waited in silence, the wounded resting uneasily inside the carriage, unaware of the potential danger fast approaching.

The puppet sprinted down the dirt road with inhuman speed, leaving deep gouges in the ground behind it. Its blank eyes fixed forward, it closed the distance in moments.

As it crested a low ridge, it finally saw the source of the disruption—and halted.

A mass of writhing, black sludge squirmed in the middle of the path ahead. It pulsed, as if breathing, ripples of chaotic mana distorting the air around it.

The ground beneath it was cracked and wilting, grass shriveled into ash.

The shape was formless, ever-shifting—sometimes tall like a tower, other times flat like a shadow—and it let out no sound.

Just its presence was enough to make the world around it warp in agony.

The puppet's eyes narrowed slightly. The corrupted mana screamed of something not from this world. It felt unstable, unnatural, like a tear in existence.

Before it could step closer, the black mass surged. Tendrils shot out like arrows, shrieking with mana so dense it made the air vibrate.

The puppet ducked one, blocked another with its armored arm, and then leapt backward as a third tendril slammed into the dirt, exploding it into shrapnel.

The puppet twisted midair, landing lightly on its feet, then surged forward.

Its hands shimmered—its master's mana flowing through its body, enhancing it—and with a powerful lunge, it slashed at the nearest tendril with its built-in mana blade.

CRACK!

The blade collided with the mana-wrapped limb. A shockwave exploded out, hurling dirt and stone in all directions.

The puppet was forced back a few steps, its arm steaming. The tendril, though severed, did not fall—black mist oozed from the cut, reforming instantly.

So, it could regenerate.

Without hesitating, the puppet dashed in again, blade glowing brighter now, infused with pure neutral mana that had been taught to it by Kyle himself.

It jumped high and sliced through two more tendrils with a spiral slash, landing between them. The moment it touched the ground, six more limbs rose and whipped down toward it.

BOOM!

A cloud of smoke and debris erupted as the puppet was slammed into the earth.

But before the dust could settle, the ground cracked—and from within the crater, the puppet launched upward like a missile, spinning through the black mass.

Its blade gleamed with mana, spinning like a drill.

It pierced the heart of the monster.

The mass shrieked for the first time—not in sound, but through pressure. The air warped. Trees bent. The road cracked.

The sheer volume of mana escaping from the creature made the puppet stagger midair, but it held firm.

With both arms, it shoved its blade deeper into the creature, releasing a massive pulse of mana—its mana.

BOOOOM!

A dome of light erupted from within the creature, swallowing the surrounding area in a blinding flash.

The black creature thrashed, twisted, and then violently exploded into scattered particles of corrupted mana.

The puppet fell to one knee, steam rising from its shoulders. Its chestplate was cracked, and sparks jumped from its elbow joints. But the road was clear. The creature was gone. For now.

The puppet rose, slowly but steadily, then turned toward the distant carriage.

The road was safe again.

As the puppet walked back, its steps heavy but resolute, the doctors watched from the carriage with wide, disbelieving eyes.

The air still shimmered faintly with the residue of corrupted mana, but the monstrous pressure had vanished.

One of the younger medics gasped.

"It… it defeated that thing? Alone?"

The puppet reached the carriage and nodded once.

"The threat is neutralized. Proceed carefully. I will walk ahead."

Despite the scorch marks along its arms and a deep crack running down its chest, the puppet showed no signs of fatigue or pain.

It resumed its silent post at the front, scanning the horizon.

Inside the carriage, murmurs of awe rippled through the doctors. They no longer looked at the puppet with fear—but with respect.

"I take back what I said. That's no puppet. That's a guardian."

The head physician muttered.