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

In the highest chamber of the divine palace, Chief God Arkenas sat upon his grand throne, carved from crystalized starlight and etched with the runes of authority.

The entire realm hummed with divine energy, the air thick with the pressure of creation itself.

Below him, the great system that sustained the gods' collective power pulsed like a living heart—a sprawling construct of interwoven light, laws, and logic.

Every thread in this intricate web represented an aspect of divine governance: the distribution of faith, the allocation of power, the selection of ascendants, and the maintenance of the balance between realms.

It was perfection—or at least, it had been.

Arkenas's gaze swept across the web, his mind simultaneously processing thousands of streams of information.

The trials for the newly selected candidates were proceeding exactly as planned. Faith was flowing steadily from the mortal worlds.

The god seats—once empty—were being filled in an orderly fashion. His influence was growing, solidifying.

But then his attention shifted to a single segment of the construct—a corner of the system that flickered irregularly.

His eyes narrowed.

The "program" responsible for electing the final god was… stalled.

No matter how he examined it, the same problem appeared: the system refused to finalize the last seat.

It was as if something in the very nature of the candidate—or the seat itself—was rejecting divine confirmation.

Arkenas leaned forward, resting an elbow on the armrest, his fingers tapping against his cheek. This was no trivial matter.

The system was the lifeblood of the gods' existence. Without it functioning at full capacity, the entire divine throne—the seat of his ultimate authority—could become unstable.

He initiated a dozen corrective measures in rapid succession. Waves of light surged through the system, algorithms of pure mana rewriting themselves to adapt.

Yet each attempt was repelled, the resistance subtle but absolute.

His frown deepened.

"This is… unnatural. The system does not reject without cause. So why…?"

He muttered.

He tried probing deeper, attempting to trace the anomaly to its origin, but a hard wall met his search.

It wasn't the work of a mortal or even another god's interference. No—this was a limitation of his own current power.

His mana reserves, vast though they were, could not penetrate the identity of the candidate.

All he knew was that the divine power itself refused to elect them.

The unknown was infuriating, but he exhaled slowly, forcing the irritation down. This problem could wait.

Whoever that final god was, they were beyond his immediate reach. And right now, there was a far more pressing threat—Kyle Armstrong.

Arkenas's gaze hardened, his mind shifting to the mortal whose actions had begun to upset the balance of his carefully ordered plans.

If Kyle succeeded in the trials, if he reached a position of influence in the divine hierarchy, then the system's anomaly would be the least of his concerns.

"For now, the last seat can remain empty. Better an incomplete council than a collapsed throne. First, I will ensure the foundation stands… and that means eliminating Armstrong."

Arkenas murmured, settling back into his throne,

Below the throne room, the system continued its rhythmic pulse, though that one flickering thread remained unresolved—a quiet shadow in the grand tapestry of the divine.

Far from the divine realm, within the ancient grounds of the trials, Kyle stood in the soft glow of the Spring of Rebirth.

The divine energy around him shimmered like morning mist, carrying a strange serenity despite the battles they had just endured.

The air was heavy with both beauty and danger, though Kyle's expression remained calm and unreadable.

The trials had separated his companions into different paths, forcing each to face their own challenges.

One by one, they had begun to emerge from the shimmering gates that marked the end of their tests.

Silvy was the first, her expression bright with relief. Behind her came Bruce, then the Grand Duchess Amana, and several others—worn but uninjured.

Kyle's sharp eyes scanned the group, counting. His jaw tightened slightly. One was missing.

Melissa.

He didn't let the flicker of concern show on his face, but Silvy noticed the absence too.

Her earlier relief vanished, replaced with a worried frown. She stepped closer, her voice low but urgent.

"Kyle… Melissa isn't here yet. What are we going to do?"

Kyle's gaze didn't waver from the still-glowing gate.

"You all will go ahead. I'll go and get her."

He said, his tone even.

Silvy looked like she wanted to protest, but before she could speak, Amana's voice cut in.

"Then we'll move forward and clear the path ahead. Be careful. I'll make sure they don't get in your way."

The Grand Duchess said firmly. She stepped past Silvy, her gloved hand briefly brushing Kyle's arm in a silent show of trust.

Without waiting for discussion, Amana turned, gathering the others with a sweep of her presence.

Her tone left no room for argument as she ushered them toward the next section of the spring grounds.

Silvy hesitated, casting one last worried glance over her shoulder, but allowed herself to be pulled along.

The group began to move, their footsteps fading into the distance. Kyle stood alone at the gate, the soft hum of divine energy swirling around him.

He didn't move immediately. Instead, he allowed himself a final glance toward his departing companions.

He could see the trust in Amana's movements, the reluctance in Silvy's eyes.

It was the kind of moment that made people ask questions later—but for now, he was grateful they understood enough to give him space.

Then, with a quiet exhale, Kyle stepped toward the gate, ready to enter the trial path that still held Melissa.

The air shifted, the divine mist curling toward him like an unseen hand. Whatever lay ahead, he knew it would not be a simple retrieval.

______

Melissa's eyes slowly adjusted to the dim, suffocating gloom around her. Cold iron bit into her wrists and ankles, the weight of heavy chains pinning her in place.

A flickering torch on the far wall cast long, taunting shadows that seemed to mock her.

She tugged once, twice—confident that her strength, mana, and willpower would snap them apart with ease.

But instead of the satisfying crack of metal giving way, there was only the rattling clink of unyielding links. Her brows furrowed.

That… wasn't possible.

She gritted her teeth, summoning mana into her arms, letting it swirl and pulse against the restraints.

Sparks danced. The chains glowed faintly under the pressure—then held firm, untouched.

The shock was instant, cold, and unwelcome. Melissa's breath hitched, her heartbeat quickening. In her mind, she could already hear her own doubts whispering.

'If you can't even break these, how will you help him?'

Her jaw tightened. No—she couldn't allow that thought to settle.

Kyle was counting on her. She wouldn't falter, even here. But as she tried again, the chains refused to budge, and a gnawing unease began to coil in her chest.

Something about this trial wasn't testing her strength—it was testing her.