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

The chaos spread like wildfire.

At first, it was only a few incidents—livestock slaughtered, barns raided, farmers beaten for their crops.

But now, the outsiders, emboldened by their imagined invincibility, moved in larger groups, treating the villages and farmlands as nothing more than open-world loot zones.

Dressed in mismatched armor and strange clothing that didn't belong to any kingdom or faction, they laughed like madmen, shouting bizarre phrases like "level up" and "achievement unlocked" as they plundered their way through the countryside.

They ignored the frightened looks from the locals. When questioned, they responded with arrogance.

"This is a tutorial area."

"The NPCs can't really hurt us."

"We'll just respawn anyway."

But they were wrong.

The royal guards were dispatched once reports began piling up. Trained, disciplined, and empowered by real combat experience and mana, the guards met the outsiders with swift and brutal force.

The first dozen attackers were cut down without hesitation. Their blood soaked the earth, their twisted corpses left behind as warnings.

But the surviving outsiders didn't flee—instead, they stood tall, grinning.

"We'll be back. Just wait... We always respawn."

One of them sneered, coughing blood.

Except—they didn't.

Minutes passed and the revival time ended. Their companions waited near the place they thought would be a "respawn point."

But nothing happened. No messages. No glowing revive screens. No status updates. The bodies were burned, and that was that.

Confusion began to spread.

One of the outsiders, a man in a green scarf and leather armor, pulled open his interface—a glowing panel only he could see.

"Why is my party showing zero signal? Where's the map? It's just... blank!"

Another player, a woman with twin daggers on her back, tried contacting the system, but the only being who responded was the one who had brought them here.

"Great God of War! Our people aren't coming back. What's going on? Is the system down? When can they respawn?"

She shouted into the void of her mind.

There was a long silence... then a cold voice echoed in all their minds.

[This is not a game.]

[Your death is permanent.]

[Only through conquest and glory can you earn the miracle of rebirth.]

[Win for me, and live again.]

It wasn't a message box. It wasn't code. It was raw divine power flowing into their souls. The God of War had spoken.

Panic gripped them for the first time.

"What?!"

"No! That wasn't the deal!"

"They said we'd respawn!"

"This isn't fair!"

"We're players—we're not supposed to die!"

But no one answered. No heavenly prompt. No revival bell.

The illusion shattered.

One by one, the color drained from their faces. Those who had previously charged in with reckless glee now staggered backward, realizing that the guards they had mocked could truly kill them.

That the frightened farmers they had tormented weren't just NPCs—they were people. And they had families, and cities, and a kingdom that protected them.

Across the horizon, in a golden divine realm far beyond mortal eyes, the God of War sat on a throne of iron and fire, arms crossed as he watched the panic unfold through the eyes of his marked.

A thousand new invaders had already entered the world, and ten thousand more waited behind them in the corridor between realities.

But these first wave "players" were breaking.

"They were soft. They thought it would be fun. A game. A world to conquer, not one to fear."

He muttered to himself, his voice like the grinding of steel.

He turned to the swirling portal behind him. More figures lined up, many of them dressed in modern uniforms, robes of strange origin, or battle gear from different worlds.

The god's realm had no limits to whom it could summon. But now, he narrowed his selection. He wanted killers.

He wanted those who knew war. Those who had already bled and survived.

Only then could this world be subdued.

Back in the mortal world, chaos reigned—but now, so did dread. One of the outsiders fell to his knees, sobbing.

"We've made a mistake. We were tricked."

Another threw down his weapon, screaming.

"Get me out of here! I want to go home!"

But it was too late.

The guards, having seen their comrades and people slaughtered, no longer hesitated. The order was clear—no mercy.

Strike them down before they infect the heart of the kingdom. The gates of the capital city were shut. The villages were reinforced. Patrols doubled.

Riders were dispatched to warn every noble estate and military outpost: a new war was upon them.

Kyle, sitting quietly beside Amana in the palace's inner garden, read the report delivered to him by a trembling messenger.

"The attackers were from another world. They spoke strangely. Treated life like a toy. But now they realize this is real... and they're scared."

The scout said.

Kyle didn't respond at first. He looked up at the clear sky, lips pressing together. He could feel it again—that shift in the air. The world was groaning under pressure. The fabric between realms was tearing.

"Tell the guards to remain alert," he finally said. "But don't let them grow arrogant. This was just the first wave. The next ones will be worse."

He stood, brushing dust off his coat.

"And I will not wait for war to come to us again. From now on—we go to it."

His gaze sharpened, a storm in his eyes.

In the distance, the divine winds howled.

The God of War smiled.

Let the game begin.

______

Amidst the chaos and panic, the God of War's voice once again echoed through the minds of the outsiders—booming, commanding, impossible to ignore.

[Listen well, warriors of foreign lands. You cower now, shaken by reality. But fear not—I offer you salvation and greatness.]

The god declared.

The world seemed to pause.

[There is one man—one obstacle—who stands in your way. Slay him, and this world shall be yours.]

[His name is Kyle Armstrong.]

The name burned itself into their minds.

[Kill him. Take this land. And I shall return all who have died to your side, reborn and blessed.]

[Not only that—I shall send you back to your world with power, wealth, and glory beyond imagination.]

The promise hit like lightning.

The scattered, panicked outsiders suddenly found their resolve. Whispers of "Kyle Armstrong" began to circulate like wildfire.

Some didn't know who he was—others had heard his name in passing, tied to the throne, or to impossible victories in the past.

The god's voice deepened.

[To aid your quest, I grant you a portion of my strength.]

Suddenly, mana surged within the outsiders. Their bodies pulsed with new power—stronger muscles, sharper senses, glowing marks etched onto their skin like divine brands.

They felt invincible again.

A frenzy took hold.

Dozens, then hundreds of outsiders began organizing into bands, some forming hunting squads, others creating war parties. The panic was gone. Replaced by hunger—greed—zealotry.

Kyle Armstrong had just become the target of the largest bounty ever placed in this world.

And for the first time since arriving, the outsiders were unified by one single goal:

Hunt the man who stood between them and godhood. This was their only way home now and the only thing they strived to achieve.