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

The grand cathedral of the capital stood adorned in silk and gold, bells tolling in harmony with the rhythm of noble hearts.

The wedding of Grand Duchess Amana and Kyle Armstrong had begun. Inside the cathedral, luminescent crystals bathed the guests in soft light, and flower petals rained from the balconies like blessings from the heavens.

Nobles, military leaders, and foreign emissaries stood in hushed awe as Amana entered, dressed in a regal gown that shimmered like moonlight.

At the altar stood Kyle, his presence commanding and calm, eyes locked on the woman who was about to become his wife.

Mikalius, the crown prince, sat in the front row, pride burning in his gaze. With Kyle and Amana united, his path to the throne was clear.

They were not just allies—they were the backbone of his future empire.

But as the priest began the ceremonial rites, Mikalius's expression changed slightly when a messenger slipped beside him and whispered something urgently into his ear.

"They missed a group. Disguised themselves as merchants. They're already moving near the eastern plaza."

The messenger said.

Mikalius clenched his jaw. Rising now would cause panic, and the moment was too sacred to mar. Instead, he whispered to his nearby guards.

"Send the shadows. Keep it silent. I don't want screams ruining this."

The guards nodded and disappeared.

Outside, the group of intruders began moving into position, dressed like workers and servants. Their goal was simple: make enough noise, create enough chaos to delay the wedding—or worse, ensure Kyle never made it back from the celebration.

The crown's guards reached them first, but the enemy wasn't ordinary thugs. They were elite. Trained, armed with rare alchemical weapons and cloaking magic. The clash was immediate and brutal.

Blades flashed in alleyways. Poisoned needles flew.

Despite their training, the guards began to falter. One collapsed from a hidden toxin. Another fell to a cursed dagger.

Then, a gust of silver light exploded in the alley as Silvy landed in a graceful sweep, her twin blades drawing brilliant arcs.

"You're all interrupting something important."

She said coldly, voice cutting through the chaos.

The mercenaries turned—just as another figure crashed through a second-story window, landing beside Silvy with a massive two-handed sword. Melissa, eyes blazing, didn't speak. She simply moved.

Steel met steel, and magic rippled as the two women tore through the would-be saboteurs.

Silvy's movements were fluid, elegant, each step laced with lethal precision. She danced between shadows, blades glowing with moonlight mana.

Melissa, by contrast, was a force of destruction. She broke through shields and shattered defenses with sheer power, her strikes cracking cobblestones and forcing the attackers back with each swing.

The remaining crown guards rallied, emboldened by their arrival.

The battle turned.

Within minutes, the remaining intruders were disarmed or dead. Blood pooled in gutters, and silence once again returned to the side streets.

Melissa looked over at Silvy, brushing her singed sleeve.

"I was trying to take the day off."

She muttered.

Silvy gave her a brief, tired smile.

"You can rest after the vows."

Back inside the cathedral, the ceremony continued undisturbed. The air carried the sweet scent of lilies and incense.

Kyle gently took Amana's hand.

And behind the royal pew, Mikalius sat once again at ease—smiling faintly as he received word that the disturbance had been dealt with.

The wedding of Kyle and the Grand Duchess would not be remembered for its danger.

Only for its beauty.

The cathedral was deathly silent, not from fear or discomfort, but reverence.

Every pair of eyes was locked on the altar where Kyle Armstrong stood, composed and radiant in formal wear of deep black and silver.

Beside him stood Grand Duchess Amana, regal in her flowing gown of crimson and gold, her veil shimmering like dawn light through mist.

They faced each other, their hands joined, as the High Priest stepped forward from the ceremonial platform.

He was an aged man, chosen for his rank and lineage, but even so, his fingers trembled slightly as he held the sacred text in his hands.

His gaze flicked toward Kyle—no, not toward Kyle, but toward the one who had slain gods, bent fate, and defied powers far above mortal comprehension.

His throat bobbed as he cleared it.

"We gather here, under the sacred eyes of the gods—"

"That won't be necessary."

Kyle interrupted gently, his voice carrying throughout the cathedral without needing to rise.

The priest blinked.

"Pardon?"

Kyle smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes.

"I do not recognize the authority of gods who break oaths and torment mortals. I will not invoke their names on the day I make a vow meant to last a lifetime."

A murmur rippled through the crowd. Some guests stiffened, others exchanged glances. Mikalius, seated near the front, merely smirked behind his wine-colored sleeves.

The priest looked to Amana for support, but the Grand Duchess merely nodded at Kyle, her expression unshaken.

"This union, will be bound by our will, not divine approval. And if anyone here believes that makes it any less real, they are welcome to test the strength of our resolve."

Kyle continued, his voice calm and precise.

Silence.

The priest hesitated, then bowed.

"Very well. If that is the will of the bride and groom, then we shall proceed without invoking the gods."

The air shifted. It no longer felt sacred—it felt real. Personal.

Amana's lips parted, her voice steady.

"Then I, Amana von Dreistelle, Grand Duchess of the North, take you, Kyle Armstrong, as my husband. I vow not in the name of heavens, but by my own honor and breath, to be yours. In battle, in peace, in hardship, in glory. You who have stood against the wrath of divinity—you are my shelter. My sword. My pride. And I shall be yours, for as long as my body draws breath."

Kyle met her eyes, unwavering.

"I, Kyle Armstrong, vow to you, Amana, not by stars or spirits, but by my own hands—bloodied, scarred, and unshaken. I vow to stand at your side, whether the world embraces us or casts us into flame. You who never knelt to anyone but still chose to stand beside me—I will be your strength. Your shield. Your future. Until the end of my time, and even beyond."

The priest gave them both a long look, then closed the sacred book.

"Then by the vows you have made—not to the heavens, but to each other—I declare you husband and wife."

A cheer erupted.

The nobles, the knights, the commoners invited as witnesses, even the hardened soldiers—many clapped, others shouted their approval.

But Kyle barely heard them.

Because in that moment, Amana took a single step closer, lifted her veil, and pulled him down by the collar.

Their lips met.

It wasn't gentle. It wasn't delicate.

It was raw, fierce, and filled with every silent word neither of them had ever dared say aloud.

And in that moment, the cathedral shone with light—not from divinity, but from the reflection of two wills joined by choice, not fear.

A kiss not blessed by the heavens—

—but one that defied them.

There was pin drop silence in the hall. No one had ever done something like this before.