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

The grand gates of the imperial capital opened with a flourish as Kyle returned—calm, composed, and far too silent for a man who had just battled and outlasted gods.

Trumpets sounded, and soldiers lined up in perfect ranks to salute him, but Kyle barely registered any of it.

His golden eyes swept across the crowd, stopping only when they landed on the figures waiting at the steps of the palace.

At the top stood Crown Prince Mikalius, clad in ceremonial armor lined with crimson and silver, the sun glinting off his polished pauldrons.

And beside him, radiant and proud, stood Grand Duchess Amana—now no longer just the noble who had once manipulated him into a political alliance, but his wife in truth.

Amana stepped forward first. She didn't hesitate. Her hand extended toward him, the wind tugging gently at her royal blue cloak, her expression unreadable to most but clear to Kyle.

"Welcome back. To my side."

She said, her voice soft but firm.

Kyle took her hand without hesitation, his gauntlet slipping over her gloved fingers as he stepped up beside her.

Murmurs rippled through the gathered nobility and officials watching. Whispers of confusion, of scandal, of awe.

'A marriage of politics turned into affection?'

'Is he truly loyal to the crown now?'

'How did a Grand Duchess and a war commander become a pair that walks in step?'

But neither Kyle nor Amana spared them a glance.

Mikalius offered a faint smirk.

"I see marriage has softened you, Commander."

"Not likely."

Kyle replied evenly.

They shared a quiet chuckle, but the weight behind their eyes was impossible to ignore. The war may have ended—for now—but no one here had illusions that peace would last.

As they entered the grand chamber, Mikalius dismissed the guards and turned to Kyle with a more serious tone.

"What's the situation?"

Kyle gave a curt nod.

"The god of war has been removed. The remaining gods are in disarray. There will be peace—at least for a while."

Mikalius didn't look reassured.

"You sound confident."

"I'm not. But their numbers are few. And they've lost their foothold in this world."

Kyle admitted.

The crown prince let out a long sigh and leaned back on the war table.

"Let's hope you're right. But peace might be the least of our concerns right now."

Kyle raised a brow.

"Oh?"

"There's another matter. The outsiders. The ones the god of war summoned here… They're still stuck."

Mikalius's gaze darkened.

Kyle remained quiet.

"They can't return to their world. The gate has collapsed. And while some of them were coerced, many… many slaughtered our people with smiles on their faces."

The unspoken truth settled in the room like a cold fog.

"You're worried about what to do with them."

Kyle said flatly.

"I can't kill them all. But I can't let them roam freely either. My nobles are demanding justice. The temples are calling for a purge. But I'm not a butcher. Not anymore."

Mikalius muttered.

The silence stretched, until Kyle finally said.

"Leave them to me."

The prince turned sharply toward him.

"You're sure?"

Kyle's eyes gleamed faintly.

"They lost their purpose the moment the god of war fell. Now they're stranded and rootless. That makes them useful—if handled properly."

Mikalius frowned.

"You intend to absorb them into the empire?"

"I intend to erase who they were. Give them new identities. New lives. They will work for the empire, or they will have no life at all. I'll make sure none of them can ever threaten this world again."

Kyle replied.

Amana, silent until now, folded her arms.

"You believe they'll follow you?"

"They already do. I led them through the final battle. They've seen what happens to those who cross me."

Kyle said.

Mikalius leaned forward.

"This is risky."

"Everything is. But they can be shaped. Into soldiers. Scholars. Craftsmen. The Empire needs people like them—people with no ties to the old nobility, no stakes in the current power games. They'll be loyal, or they'll be replaced."

Kyle replied.

Amana stepped forward and placed a hand on Kyle's shoulder.

"Then we will support this."

The prince's brows knit together, but after a long moment, he nodded.

"Very well. The problem is yours, then. I'll keep the nobles and priests off your back for a while—but don't expect that leash to last forever."

Kyle gave a small bow.

"That's all I need."

Mikalius crossed his arms.

"You're aware you're asking the Empire to place trust in former enemies."

Kyle's smile was cold.

"We've always done that. The difference now is that they'll be my enemies."

The prince chuckled despite himself.

"I wonder sometimes, Kyle, who the real ruler is—you, or me."

Amana's lips curled into a faint smirk.

"Don't tempt him."

As they left the chamber together, the weight of the world shifted once more—subtly, quietly—but no one watching Kyle's retreating back could deny that the battlefield had only changed shape.

The war of gods might have ended, but Kyle had already moved to the next one.

One of loyalty. One of order.

And Kyle Armstrong never fought battles he didn't intend to win.

______

The air inside the holding barracks was thick with tension. The outsiders—men and women from another world, summoned here by the god of war—stood in ragged rows, their clothing torn, their eyes filled with equal parts fear and defiance.

Their weapons had long been confiscated, but the instinct to fight still simmered beneath their skin.

When Kyle entered, silence fell like a guillotine. His presence was enough to drain the strength from even the most reckless among them.

He walked slowly through their ranks, his steps echoing off the stone floor, golden eyes scanning each face. Some looked away. Others met his gaze—and faltered.

They had seen what he had done. They knew the legends now walked in mortal form.

"You are all guilty. Some of you by choice. Some by circumstance. But guilt stains you all the same."

Kyle began, his voice calm and unwavering.

Several shifted uncomfortably. A few looked ready to lash out in desperation.

Kyle didn't stop.

"The god of war who brought you here is dead. The gate that connected your world to this one is closed. You have no way home."

Murmurs spread like wildfire. Despair clung to their expressions.

"But I'm offering you something. A chance."

Kyle finally turned to face them fully.

The murmurs stopped.

"You will throw away your past. Your names, your pride, your loyalties. In return, I will give you a new one—under this empire's banner. You will train. You will serve. You will bleed for the land you once harmed."

He let that settle in, then added.

"And in time, I will search for a way to return you home. That is my promise."

A long silence followed.

Then, a voice cracked from the back, uncertain.

"You'd really do that for us?"

"No. I do it for this world. And for peace."

Kyle said flatly.

They understood then: this was not mercy. It was command.

But in a world that had rejected them, Kyle's offer was the only rope they had left.

One by one, they began to kneel.

Kyle watched them with no satisfaction in his eyes—only resolve.