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

In the boundless expanse of the god's realm, Chief God Arkenas stood upon a balcony made of pure light, his gaze fixed on the countless worlds spiraling beneath his feet like glowing spheres in an endless void.

His lips curved into a faint smile as divine threads pulsed, each one connected to a mortal now caught in the race he had set in motion.

Nine threads shone brighter than the rest—candidates who had already begun carving a path toward the empty god seats.

"They move quickly. The invitations have been sent. Now, all that remains is for them to prove themselves worthy—or die trying. Nine shall ascend, and the new age will be born."

Arkenas murmured, his voice echoing through the celestial air.

Behind him, Goddess Lucia stepped into the light. Her eyes, deep with unease, lingered on the same threads.

"And if they are not worthy? If the ones who reach the seats are corrupt? Selfish? Dangerous? You speak of a 'new age,' Arkenas, but what if it is worse than the one we have now?

She asked softly.

Arkenas turned to her with a smile that did not quite reach his eyes.

"That, my dear Lucia, is a risk I am willing to take. The greater good demands bold moves. If the world cannot withstand the rise of flawed gods, then it is proof that it is unworthy of survival."

Her hands clenched at her sides, but she said nothing more.

She knew Arkenas's will was absolute—and in the hierarchy of gods, divine authority was the strongest law. No one, not even she, could overturn it. Still, a heaviness settled in her chest.

Arkenas, meanwhile, returned his gaze to the worlds below.

"The race is on. Let the strong claim divinity, and let the weak be washed away."

He whispered.

Far below, in the unforgiving heat of the desert, Kyle's group approached the sprawling stronghold of the wealthy merchants they had heard about.

The sun was low, shadows stretching long over the sand, and the scent of blood drifted faintly on the wind.

Melissa slowed her pace, hand instinctively going to the hilt of her weapon.

"Something's wrong. Too quiet."

She muttered.

Kyle's gaze sharpened.

"Stay alert. We're here to talk, not fight… unless they give us a reason."

The gates to the stronghold stood half-open. Inside, the once-bustling courtyard was eerily empty.

The air was heavy, thick with the acrid stench of corrupted mana. Silvy's nose wrinkled as she stepped past the threshold.

"That smell… it's the same as the monsters we fought earlier."

They pushed forward, their footsteps echoing on the stone. What they found inside made even the battle-hardened Bruce curse under his breath.

The merchants—dozens of them—were scattered across the main hall. But they were no longer human in any recognizable sense.

Flesh had warped into twisted shapes, limbs lengthened into clawed appendages, and their eyes glowed faintly with an unnatural crimson light.

Some had grotesque, insect-like growths emerging from their backs; others dragged half-melted bodies as if caught mid-transformation.

Kyle's jaw tightened.

"Half-mutated. And from the looks of it, the process is almost complete."

He said coldly.

One of the creatures turned toward them, lips peeling back to reveal jagged teeth. It opened its mouth, but instead of words, a wet, guttural screech echoed through the chamber.

The sound triggered a chain reaction—the others began to stir, moving with jerky, unnatural motions, their clawed feet scraping against stone.

"They've lost their sense of self. There's nothing left to save here."

Silvy said grimly, her voice laced with pity.

Bruce stepped forward, weapon ready.

"Orders?"

Kyle's eyes hardened.

"Eliminate them. Quickly."

The first wave lunged, their movements a disturbing blend of animal ferocity and human cunning.

Kyle's blade flashed once, and a mutated head fell to the ground.

Melissa moved like a shadow beside him, each strike precise and fatal, while Bruce's heavier blows sent bodies crashing into walls. Silvy's mana flared, summoning blades of wind that tore through the enemies.

Despite their grotesque strength, the creatures were no match for the seasoned group.

Within minutes, the hall fell silent again, only the stench of corrupted blood lingering in the air.

Kyle stepped over a mangled corpse and approached the long table at the center of the room.

On it, half-buried beneath splatters of blackened ichor, was something that pulsed faintly—a fragment of a divine artifact.

He studied it with narrowed eyes.

"This… might be the source."

Silvy tilted her head.

"You think the artifact mutated them?"

"Not directly,"

Kyle replied.

But it could have amplified whatever corrupted mana they came into contact with. If they were chasing power blindly…"

He trailed off, his gaze darkening.

"This is what happens when mortals try to touch something meant for gods."

Melissa glanced around warily.

"If one group found something like this, there could be others. We need to move faster."

Kyle nodded, pocketing the fragment.

"We'll burn what's left of this place. No one else needs to stumble into this corruption."

As they stepped out into the fading light, the desert wind howled against the walls of the stronghold.

Far above, in the god's realm, Arkenas's smile deepened—another piece of his game falling perfectly into place.

The flames of the burning hideout painted the desert night in violent shades of orange and red, smoke curling into the sky like a warning to anyone watching from afar.

Kyle's eyes lingered on the charred remains for only a moment before turning away.

"We're done here."

He said, voice calm, decisive.

The group began making their way toward the dunes, the heat of the fire at their backs. But halfway through, Kyle stopped mid-step, his gaze narrowing.

"What is it?"

Melissa asked, hand instinctively drifting toward her weapon.

He didn't answer immediately, scanning the horizon instead. A faint ripple of mana brushed against his senses—swift, deliberate, but lacking hostility.

"Someone's coming."

Kyle murmured.

Amana's eyes sharpened, and her fingers twitched toward her sword.

"I'll take care of it—"

Kyle raised a hand, stopping her.

"No. Wait."

She frowned.

"You're saying it's not dangerous?"

"Not to us."

His tone was absolute.

The others exchanged cautious looks but obeyed, shifting into subtle defensive positions without advancing.

Within minutes, a small figure crested the nearest dune, moving at an unnatural pace.

The desert wind caught its cloak, revealing wooden joints and a porcelain face—expression blank and unblinking.

"A puppet?"

Silvy muttered under her breath.

The thing slowed as it neared, its glassy eyes fixed solely on Kyle.

It stopped a few paces away, head tilting with eerie precision before bowing low, one delicate wooden hand clutching a small, faintly glowing crystal.

Kyle's gaze darkened.

'This mana… familiar.'

The puppet straightened and stepped forward, extending the crystal toward him without a word. The glow pulsed faintly, carrying a signature he recognized all too well.

"…Lucia."

The desert fell silent around them, the crackle of the distant fire swallowed by the weight of the moment.