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

In the Crown Prince's chamber, the light-hearted atmosphere that had filled the banquet just a day ago was nowhere to be found.

The room was heavy with tension as Kyle entered, expecting a brief farewell before his return to the village.

Instead, Prince Mikalius greeted him with a grim face and a curt nod, gesturing for Kyle to take a seat.

"We have a problem."

The crown prince said, sliding a report across the table toward him.

Kyle didn't reply. He simply picked up the stack of papers and began scanning them with his sharp gaze.

Inside the report were detailed accounts from multiple villages—scorched land, corrupted wildlife, crops that rotted in minutes, and victims who had simply vanished.

At the center of every incident was one shared detail: a spreading black mass of formless mana, devouring everything it touched.

"We lost contact with five border towns in the last thirty-six hours. Our scouts say it doesn't move like any beast or spell they've seen. And it doesn't respond to conventional magic or weaponry."

Mikalius muttered, tapping his fingers restlessly on the desk.

Kyle set the pages down and leaned back.

"It's divine mana. Or more accurately—corrupted divine mana."

The crown prince raised an eyebrow.

"You're certain?"

Kyle nodded slowly.

"This isn't the work of any sorcerer or rogue kingdom. I've seen this before… during the final years of the divine war. When the gods panicked, they flooded the mortal realm with raw, unstable energy. It wasn't to destroy, not entirely. It was a show of dominance. A message. 'Turn to us or be swallowed.'"

Mikalius clenched his jaw, the weight of the revelation sinking in.

"We just finished a war. We've barely begun rebuilding… and now this?"

Kyle offered a dry chuckle.

"You didn't think the gods would sit quietly after I cut their influence out of this land, did you?"

"I was hoping they'd think twice before making another move."

Mikalius leaned back in his chair, rubbing his forehead.

"Normal soldiers can't fight this. Even my best mages can't get near it without being swallowed whole. We're out of time and out of options."

"You're wrong. The gods are desperate. This tactic? It's a last resort. A tantrum. They've lost control of the people. They've lost face. And now, they're trying to force loyalty through fear."

Kyle said. His voice was calm, but beneath it burned something colder—resolved and unshakable.

Mikalius looked up.

"So what do we do?"

Kyle stood.

"Let me handle this. I want full authority over this threat—tracking, defense, elimination."

"You're asking to command an army again."

"No. I'm asking to end a divine threat before it turns into another war."

Kyle corrected him.

The crown prince was silent for a long time. Then, he sighed and nodded.

"You'll have it. But be careful. If this is what you say it is… then the gods are more dangerous than ever."

Kyle gave a slight bow.

"They always were."

As he turned to leave, Mikalius added.

"You've become the symbol of defiance, Kyle. If you fall, they'll rally the world to its knees."

Kyle stopped at the door and glanced back, eyes unwavering.

"Then I won't fall."

______

By the next morning, the situation had worsened far beyond expectation.

Reports poured in from all corners of the empire—villages going dark, caravans disappearing, scouts failing to return.

The black masses, formless and soulless, moved without rhythm or purpose, devouring land, livestock, and life itself.

Kyle stood at the center of the palace war chamber, surrounded by anxious officials and generals.

With a pointed tap of his gloved finger against the map, he began issuing rapid orders.

"Send word to all major towns and border villages—activate containment protocols. I want formation mages and rune carvers dispatched immediately. If they can erect containment barriers etched with holy runes, these creatures will be stalled. They're mindless—lacking purpose and thought. They can't bypass something they can't understand."

The generals nodded, relief flashing across their faces at having clear instruction.

But the tension never left them. No one had expected the gods to retaliate this quickly or in such a monstrous way.

Bruce, who stood nearby with a grim look, stepped forward.

"Young master, I'll go ahead to the village. We've left people behind, and I want to make sure the settlement is still intact."

Kyle glanced toward him, his gaze heavy but calm.

"You'll go alone?"

Bruce gave a confident smirk.

"I'll be fine. It'll be faster that way. If anything happens, I'll send a signal."

"Don't get reckless. We don't know the limit of these creatures yet."

Kyle's voice lowered.

Bruce's smirk softened.

"Understood."

With that, Bruce turned and exited the war chamber, his hand never leaving the hilt of his sword.

The skies were still dim with early dawn mist when he departed the capital at full gallop, kicking up dust in his wake.

The path to the village was long, but Bruce had taken it many times before. Yet, this time felt different.

The air was heavy with residual divine mana—corrupt and foul, a stench that burned in his lungs. Birds no longer sang in the trees. Even the wind seemed muted.

Hours into his journey, the road turned darker—literally. The ground was blackened, like ink had spilled and stained the world itself. And then, they emerged.

The black masses—formless creatures of writhing mana—crawled, slithered, and floated toward him. They made no sound, no cry, no war drum.

Yet their very presence screamed with the malice of something ancient and wrong.

Bruce halted his horse and dismounted.

"Didn't expect to meet you so soon."

He drew his blade—no gleaming artifact or blessed sword, just tempered steel sharpened through blood, sweat, and battle.

He took a deep breath, and mana surged from his body, coating his limbs in a blazing aura of golden-blue.

The first black creature lunged at him, tendrils whipping forward like spears.

Bruce ducked under one and slashed upward, cleanly cutting through the mass. It let out a soundless gasp before dissipating into nothingness.

More followed, but Bruce didn't falter. He spun, dodged, and struck with deadly precision.

The air around him erupted with shockwaves every time his blade collided with their corrupted forms.

His training with Kyle—the brutal, relentless drills—showed their value now. Where ordinary soldiers would have fallen, Bruce stood like a war god reborn.

With a battle cry that shook the treetops, Bruce drove his sword into the ground and unleashed his mana in a devastating pulse.

The shockwave burned through half a dozen creatures, leaving behind scorched earth and scattered ash.

"Is that all?"

He muttered, breathing heavily, sweat glistening on his brow.

More slithered out from the woods, but fewer this time. Bruce's mana surged again as he leapt forward, carving a clear path through the black sea.

Each slash carried the weight of his loyalty and rage—rage at those who dared bring ruin to his lord's land.

By the time the final creature fell, the field was silent again.

Bruce stood alone among the corpses of corruption, chest heaving, blade dripping with black residue that quickly dissolved into air.

"Pathetic. You're going to need more than that to shake our foundation."

He muttered, wiping his sword clean.

Without wasting another moment, he mounted his horse again and continued toward the village.

His heart burned with urgency—not out of fear, but from the need to confirm that Kyle's people remained safe.

Because this time, he knew—this wasn't just war.

It was a declaration from the gods.