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

The battlefield had begun to resemble a graveyard, filled with broken weapons and shattered illusions.

Smoke rose from scorched earth, and the air buzzed with the stench of divine mana and death.

Yet in the center of it all, Kyle stood unshaken. Runa was still tearing through the elites like a reaper of war, a silent testament to the futility of resistance.

From his floating throne behind a divine barrier, the god of war clenched his jaw.

"You think yourself clever, boy? That puppet of yours has given you confidence. But do not mistake a borrowed monster for power."

He said, his voice no longer calm.

Kyle didn't reply.

The god of war stood up for the first time. His feet touched the divine platform, and his eyes burned with raw crimson fire.

"You are not the only one who can use puppets."

He raised his hand.

A ripple of godly mana spread across the field like a shockwave. The ground cracked. The sky shimmered.

From the space behind him, golden threads of divine will began to twist and form something new—a figure that took shape slowly, eerily.

It bore the god's armor, his stature, his smirk, and above all, his suffocating divine pressure.

The puppet of the god of war.

It stepped forward, shaking the ground beneath its feet with each motion.

Unlike the elites, this one radiated focused power, the kind that only the god himself could forge. Its eyes glowed with hatred and divine clarity.

"This puppet is me. A perfect replica. Let's see how long your arrogance lasts now."

The god of war said with a sneer.

But Kyle didn't react with fear or awe. He simply sighed.

"You truly are foolish."

Kyle said.

The god of war's eyes narrowed.

Kyle continued.

"You've copied my strategy without understanding it. That puppet might look like you. It might even wield your power. But it isn't separate from you, is it?"

The god stiffened.

Kyle's voice dropped low, almost bored, as if lecturing a child.

"Everything that puppet feels… you feel. Every blow it takes, you suffer. Unlike Runa, who was built to absorb mana from others—you've made yourself the mana core of your creation."

The smirk vanished from the god's face.

"You've tied your own fate to a doll. You've given me the most direct path to destroy you."

The god's lips curled into a snarl.

"It doesn't matter. You'll never land a blow on it."

Kyle turned to face the puppet, which now marched forward, shield and spear glowing with divine force.

Even Runa paused, feeling the overwhelming pressure pouring from the construct. The puppet wasn't just strong. It was terrifying. Swift. Methodical. Crafted to end wars.

The ground trembled beneath its feet as it dashed toward Kyle with divine speed.

Kyle raised his hand.

The air bent.

And in the blink of an eye, Kyle disappeared and reappeared just behind the puppet, his blade already drawn.

The god of war's eyes widened as the blade struck deep into the puppet's side, sending golden sparks flying. The puppet staggered—not from the damage, but because the god himself had felt it.

A sharp gasp escaped the deity's lips as divine blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

Kyle didn't even turn to look at him.

"That's one."

Kyle said calmly.

The puppet roared and twisted around, swinging its spear in a perfect arc. Kyle dodged with a tilt of his body, grazing the edge of the strike but staying ahead of it.

With a swift motion, he activated a layer of defensive mana that shimmered like glass and turned the next blow aside.

Another slash from Kyle's sword cut across the puppet's chest—light flared, and the god of war stumbled back again, clutching his ribs.

"Stop!"

The god roared.

But Kyle didn't.

Another strike. Another cut. A shallow stab to the thigh. Each time, the puppet hissed, and the god behind the barrier bled more and more.

Kyle's eyes stayed cool and unreadable.

"Your mistake was assuming strength alone wins wars."

Kyle said, sidestepping a crushing blow from the puppet's fist and driving his elbow into its midsection, breaking the divine plating.

"You built a weapon, but you didn't understand the price."

He added.

The puppet fell to one knee, golden cracks spreading across its surface.

The god of war, behind his barrier, was on both knees now, heaving, sweating, pain etched across his divine face.

"You… you dare—!"

He growled.

Kyle raised his sword for the final blow, eyes locked not on the puppet—but on the god.

"This is your lesson. You don't use puppets. You are one."

He said.

And then, with a quiet exhale, Kyle stabbed forward.

The blade pierced the puppet's chest cleanly.

And behind the barrier, the god of war screamed, divine blood pouring from his mouth.

The puppet collapsed. Shattered.

Kyle pulled his sword free, flicked the golden essence off the blade, and turned his back.

Behind him, the god of war gasped, one hand pressed to his chest, the other trembling as he forced himself upright.

His divine aura was flickering.

"You… haven't… won…"

He said between coughs.

Kyle didn't answer him. He looked instead toward the sky—where the gods watched from beyond, where Arkenas and Lucia stood in the distance.

"You're next."

He whispered.

______

In the divine realm, the atmosphere was unnaturally still. The stars that floated in the void beyond shimmered faintly, casting a cold glow over the thrones of the gods.

Chief God Arkenas sat at the highest point, unmoving, his fingers steepled before his lips as he watched the battlefield below like a man watching a chessboard that had spiraled out of control.

Far below them, the god of war writhed behind his barrier, divine blood trickling from his lips, his puppet shattered before him.

Kyle stood unfazed, a predator who had turned the game around with nothing but strategy and precision.

Lucia, the goddess of fate, stood beside Arkenas with her arms folded, her expression unreadable.

But even she, cold and removed as she often was, could not hold back her voice now.

"So that's the last one. Are we just going to watch him fall like the rest?"

She said, her eyes narrowing.

Arkenas didn't respond at once. His gaze remained fixed on Kyle.

"You knew this might happen. He warned you. That mortal… Kyle. He said he'd cut us all down."

Lucia pressed.

Still, silence. Only the humming of the divine realm echoed around them, and the flickering light of dying gods below.

After a long moment, Arkenas finally spoke.

"I am… thinking."

Lucia scoffed, unimpressed.

"You've been thinking since the first one fell."

But Arkenas's voice was quiet, firm.

"The god of war has absorbed two of our kind. Power that belonged to others. Power I allowed him to hoard."

He finally looked toward Lucia, his pale eyes glinting like moonlight.

"He must pay for what he took."

Lucia raised an eyebrow.

"So?"

Arkenas exhaled.

"So we'll save him. Once."

He waved his hand, and divine threads began to stir in the void, preparing to descend.

"But not for mercy. He will fight. He will bleed. And when it's over, that power he stole… will be returned to me."

He murmured.