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

Kyle observed the battlefield from atop a ridge, his eyes sharp and calculating. Across the fields, the outsiders—once clueless and chaotic—had begun to stabilize.

Their ragged formations now shimmered with coordinated power. Threads of mana wrapped around their bodies like hastily stitched armor.

Some floated slightly above ground. Others cracked the earth with raw strength as they moved.

But Kyle knew the truth.

"That's not their power."

He murmured.

Bruce stood beside him, his arms crossed.

"It's divine."

Kyle nodded.

"The God of War is sharing his mana with them."

Bruce let out a slow breath.

"He's getting desperate."

"And reckless. Sharing divine essence with mortals on such a large scale… it's dangerous even for a god. The backlash will be immense."

Kyle added.

Bruce's gaze didn't waver.

"Then it's time?"

"Yes. This is the window we've been waiting for. If we push now, we can drive them back and severely weaken the God of War in the process. That will tip the balance of power across all the realms."

Kyle's voice was firm.

He turned slightly.

"But I'm not going alone."

Bruce raised an eyebrow.

"You're taking someone with you?"

Kyle gave a faint smile.

"General Runa."

Bruce blinked.

"The puppet general?"

"Not a puppet anymore. His consciousness is intact. He remembers everything—his training, his tactics. And unlike before, he's free from divine control."

Kyle said.

Bruce frowned.

"I trust your judgment, but he was once under their influence."

Kyle's tone sharpened.

"Which is exactly why I need him. He understands the divine structure. He can help me navigate the battlefield the gods built for themselves."

Bruce looked down at the battlefield.

"Then I'll stay and command our lines. Reinforce the villages, prepare the mages. If this gets worse, we might need to evacuate."

"Good. But keep them steady. The moment the gods falter, we push."

Kyle said.

Bruce nodded once, firmly.

"You be careful. And Kyle… remember, you're not alone anymore. You've got people behind you now."

Kyle smiled, then turned his gaze to the distant sky.

"That's why I'll win."

In the divine sky, where stars pulsed like hearts and clouds shimmered with celestial runes, the God of War stood before the portal he had torn open days ago.

At first, the mana he shared had invigorated him. The sight of thousands of willing warriors pouring into the mortal plane, their blades raised high, had filled him with pride.

The world below would bend, or it would burn.

But now…

Now, his power leaked from his body like blood from a wound.

A crack shimmered across his shoulder, spidering slowly toward his chest.

He gritted his teeth.

"Too many… too fast."

His throne loomed behind him—made of broken weapons from a hundred worlds he had conquered. The divine blades circling him pulsed erratically now, reacting to the weakening core inside him.

And Kyle's face haunted his thoughts.

The storm incarnate. A being that should never have been born. A flaw in the tapestry of fate.

The God of War clenched his fists, and the air around him trembled.

"I must endure."

But even a god had limits.

His gaze drifted to the distant reaches of the divine realm. Floating near the edge of the radiant void were two domains—two thrones untouched by blood or conflict.

The first glowed with serene green energy, eternally blooming with vines, crops, and golden fruit. The realm of the God of Harvest.

The second pulsed with translucent winds, ever-shifting clouds, and trails of ancient breath—Zephyr, the God of Wind.

The God of War narrowed his eyes.

They hadn't joined him. Not truly. They had hesitated—clinging to their neutrality, hoping the chaos would pass.

But this was war.

He took a step forward, his presence crashing through the divine sky like a thunderclap.

One breath.

Two.

Three.

Then he vanished from his realm.

When he reappeared, the God of Harvest looked up from his emerald throne, startled. Golden fruit in his hand withered at the edges as he stood, sensing the aggression.

"You look unstable. You're burning too fast."

The God of Harvest said warily.

"I need more."

The God of War said simply.

Zephyr materialized beside them in a swirl of mist.

"You're not thinking of taking it from us, are you?"

"I am."

The God of War replied coldly.

The wind stirred violently.

"You'll throw the balance of the divine realm into chaos."

Zephyr warned.

"It already is. Because none of you acted. None of you stopped him."

The God of War snapped.

Zephyr's eyes narrowed.

"Kyle?"

The God of War didn't respond. He turned away from them, his cracked skin flaring with raw divinity.

"Help me now, or I'll take it by force."

The God of Harvest lowered his hand slowly.

"You're risking the end of the divine order."

"I'm ensuring its survival."

The God of War hissed.

And then—without warning—he reached forward.

A burst of crimson light enveloped the sky as divine power clashed, shaking the heavens.

The gods had made their move.

But Kyle was already moving.

And this time, he was ready to end it.

______

High above the clouds where no mortal gaze could reach, in the sanctum where stars bowed and time itself slowed, the Chief God Arkenas sat upon a throne carved from fate itself.

He observed the chaos unfolding below—mortals torn apart, divine avatars struck down, cities collapsing beneath foreign invaders. The air was thick with screams and the scent of blood.

But Arkenas' eyes held no pity. No rage. No reaction at all.

By his side stood Goddess Lucia, her expression unreadable. Though her divine light still flickered softly, her gaze was colder than usual as she turned to look at him.

"How long will you let this continue? They're dying like cattle."

She asked quietly.

Arkenas did not respond immediately. His fingers traced the armrest of his throne, eyes still locked on the carnage.

"There's no need to interfere. Everything that happens has already been written. This game is nearing its end. I'm simply waiting for the pieces to fall into place."

He said at last, his tone clinical.

Lucia's brows knit.

"So you call this a game now?"

He gave a slight, almost imperceptible smile.

"What else has it ever been? Mortals struggle, gods rise, then fall. Over and over. It's always the same. But I'm finished with this version. This round was tainted from the start."

Her voice darkened.

"You mean Kyle."

"I mean all of them."

Arkenas replied coldly.

"The gods have grown arrogant. Rebellious. Unpredictable. But once the God of War falls, the balance will shatter. That's when I'll reset the board."

Lucia's lips parted in quiet shock.

"I'll erase this world. And then I'll appoint new gods—better ones. Ones that will listen. Ones that will never question the hand that shaped them."

Arkenas continued, as if discussing a minor chore.

He finally looked at her.

"Obedient ones."

Lucia stared at him, searching for any trace of the divine wisdom the other gods once revered in him.

But there was nothing—only cold, mechanical certainty. She felt a shiver run through her core, though no wind blew in the realm of gods.

"You'll destroy everything. All the worlds bound to this one. All the prayers, hopes, faith…"

She whispered.

"All necessary sacrifices. Hope can be rebuilt. Faith can be redirected. What matters is control. This time, there will be no Kyle to ruin everything."

Arkenas interrupted flatly.

He leaned back in his throne, eyes glinting.

"This time, I win."