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

The moment they stepped beyond the shimmering archway, the air grew heavier.

It wasn't the same oppressive divine energy as before—it was colder, quieter, and filled with a subtle, unsettling hum.

The Spring of Rebirth's second trial awaited them here, and it was unlike anything they had faced.

"This one… you take alone."

Kyle said, voice carrying a calm finality that immediately silenced everyone. His eyes swept over the group, measuring their resolve.

"No one will be there to help you. If you feel you can't handle it, flare your mana. I'll pull you out before it's too late."

Bruce frowned, resting a hand on the hilt of his blade.

"And leave you to deal with the rest alone? Not a chance, Young Master."

Melissa crossed her arms, jaw set.

"We're not calling for you. Not unless… we really have no other choice."

Her tone suggested even that was unlikely.

Silvy gave a small smirk, though there was tension in her eyes.

"You're not the only stubborn one here, Kyle. We've come too far to be a burden."

Amana, standing with her halberd planted in the ground, simply nodded in silent agreement.

Kyle gave them all a long look—equal parts exasperated and proud.

"…Fine. Just remember, there's no shame in retreat if survival is the wiser option. But if you insist…"

He turned toward the glowing entrance of the trial.

"I'll go first. Wait here until I return."

He stepped through without another word.

The moment Kyle crossed the threshold, the world rippled. The colors bled together, the ground dissolved, and the air warped until reality itself seemed to melt.

When his vision cleared, he found himself standing in the wide, open field of his previous life—the one where he had crushed every rival, toppled every power, and claimed everything there was to claim.

Except now… it was empty.

The grand cities were gone. The banners he once ruled under no longer flew.

Not a single human voice echoed in the distance. Just an endless stretch of silent land under a pale sky.

Kyle's brow furrowed as he scanned the horizon.

"So… this is how it's going to be?"

He muttered.

He began walking, boots crunching over dry grass.

The air felt wrong—not dangerous, but hollow, like the whole world was holding its breath.

Then, faintly, he saw movement.

Wisps of pale light floated toward him, coalescing into shapes—humanoid, transparent, their faces familiar in a way that made something deep in his chest tighten.

"…We used to be your companions. We fought for you… died for you. And in the end… we were forgotten."

One of the souls said, its voice drifting like wind through the ruins.

Kyle stopped, meeting the soul's empty gaze.

"…So that's the trick this time."

Another soul stepped forward.

"We stood by you until the last battle, yet you walk here alone. Is this your victory? A hollow throne on a dead world?"

Kyle closed his eyes briefly and exhaled through his nose, a hint of irritation breaking through his composure.

"I've seen this play before. The lonely conqueror, haunted by ghosts of the past, drowning in guilt until he breaks."

He opened his eyes again, sharper now.

"Pathetic."

The souls recoiled slightly as his voice gained strength.

"You think this is going to shake me? I know exactly what I did, and I carry those choices every day. But guilt won't chain me. Not then. Not now."

His mana surged, rippling through the false world.

Cracks spread through the sky like shattered glass. The land beneath him trembled. The souls' forms wavered, breaking apart into fragments of light.

"An illusion is still just an illusion. And I've destroyed better ones than this."

Kyle said flatly.

With a single step forward, he released a burst of pure will, tearing through the fabric of the false world.

The field dissolved into nothingness, the pale sky crumbling into black. In an instant, he was back at the trial's edge, standing in the dim divine glow of the real Spring of Rebirth.

He glanced toward the still-closed portals where his companions faced their own trials. His eyes softened—just a fraction.

"Your turn."

He murmured.

Kyle didn't pace or look restless. He simply waited, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the swirling gateways.

He knew some of them would emerge battered, maybe even broken. But he also knew—without a shred of doubt—that not one of them would call for help.

That was just who they were.

______

High above the mortal worlds, within the blinding white expanse of his divine realm, Chief God Arkenas stood before a massive circular altar carved with ancient runes.

Columns of pure light surrounded him, each one humming with the power of an empty god seat waiting to be claimed.

His eyes, cold and calculating, swept over the cosmic map beneath his feet—an intricate illusion showing countless worlds intertwined, all connected to his authority.

The ritual had begun. Threads of divine essence extended outward from the altar, crossing space and time to seek out the most "appropriate" individuals to inherit godhood.

The selection was not random—it was the culmination of centuries of manipulation and observation.

Those chosen had qualities Arkenas deemed essential: strength, ambition, cunning… and the capacity to reshape the world in ways that suited his design.

One by one, the threads latched onto their targets, embedding the invitations directly into their souls.

The chosen few would feel the call in their hearts, an irresistible pull toward the empty seats of the Divine Council.

If they accepted, they would undergo trials that stripped away their illusions, forcing them to confront their very nature before ascending.

Arkenas stepped back, admiring the weaving network of light.

"It is almost done. They will come willingly. They always do. And when they do, I will mold them into perfect tools."

He murmured, his deep voice echoing in the stillness.

A faint smile played on his lips. Tools—that was what they would be. Ascended gods in name, but bound to his authority, serving his grand vision for eternity.

Yet as the web of invitations solidified, his brow furrowed.

One by one, small anomalies appeared within the system. Several threads had veered from their intended path, connecting instead to unexpected candidates.

Arkenas narrowed his gaze as an image formed before him—Kyle Armstrong and his companions, their figures illuminated within the divine projection.

His expression darkened.

"…This is inconvenient. Of all the mortals, why must they receive the call?"

He said flatly.

Their reputations were known to him—too independent, too unpredictable. They would never bow easily to divine chains.

Worse, they had already caused ripples in the balance of power. Allowing them to proceed unchecked risked turning his carefully constructed game against him.

After a moment's contemplation, he raised his hand, summoning a shimmering figure from the light—a woman whose beauty was as sharp as her gaze.

Her hair flowed like molten sunlight, and her armor was woven from the threads of dawn.

"Lucia."

Arkenas said.

She bowed, her voice calm.

"Chief God."

"I have a task for you. Kyle Armstrong and his allies have received the divine invitation. I do not want them passing the qualification round. You will… ensure that they do not."

He said, his tone carrying the weight of command.

Lucia's eyes flickered, though she kept her composure.

"Do you wish for me to destroy them?"

"No. Not yet. The others must not suspect my interference. Simply… make certain they fail. Break their will. Shatter their unity. Turn their strengths into weaknesses."

Arkenas replied, a thin smile curling his lips.

Lucia inclined her head.

"It will be done."

As she faded into the light, Arkenas turned back to the altar, resuming the ritual with renewed focus. The threads pulsed brighter, the god seats awaiting their future claimants.

But in the deepest shadows of his mind, a single thought lingered—Kyle Armstrong would be a problem.

A problem Arkenas intended to solve before it grew into something far more dangerous.