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

Chief God Arkenas' throne room was silent except for the grinding of his teeth.

His fingers dug into the golden armrests, cracking the divine metal as he poured his will into the radiant lattice before him.

The system of succession shimmered and shifted, its runes burning bright with divine authority, yet refusing to bend.

He pushed harder, threads of his essence weaving into its circuits, commanding it to yield.

But it resisted.

Every time his control spread across its endless expanse, it slipped through his grip like water.

The last piece—the core of the structure—remained hidden, cloaked in an obscurity that even he, the Chief God, could not pierce.

His rage swelled. He had designed this system, created it to maintain his supremacy and ensure that gods rose and fell according to his will.

And yet now, the thing was not just ignoring him—it was actively undermining him.

Arkenas' aura thundered across the divine realm, shaking pillars of eternity. For the first time in ages, the Chief God was truly angry.

Worse still, his chosen candidates—the mortals he had carefully groomed to ascend—had begun defying the very paths laid out for them.

Instead of following the fates carved for them, they rebelled, choosing to seek something "new" and "original."

Such words stung him. They were not fit to be gods if they refused their tides. They had to be replaced.

But replacements were few. The era of gods was waning.

His manpower had thinned over the ages, and he could not handle this alone. His fury twisted into something colder—reluctant acknowledgment.

With a gesture, he summoned a ripple of light, and out of it stepped Goddess Lucia.

Her beauty was cold, her expression blank, her eyes hollow as if already detached from the world. Arkenas studied her in silence before speaking.

"Lucia. The system has declared your replacement. Your time as a seat-holder is over. But your service is not."

He said, his voice low with restrained ire.

Her gaze did not flicker.

"What do you require of me, Chief God?"

"You will go, and deal with the extra candidates. Those who defy their roles, those who deviate from the fates carved for them—they must be erased. Their existence is an error, and you will correct it."

Arkenas commanded, his voice like iron.

Lucia bowed her head slightly, her face still unreadable.

"As you command."

She turned and left without another word, her form dissolving into pale light.

Arkenas watched her go, and for the first time in a long while, a hollow weight settled in his chest. She had not protested, had not questioned, had not even felt.

That blank expression gnawed at him.

Still, he told himself it did not matter. The system was still his. The era of gods would continue—his era.

His gaze shifted back to the divine lattice, sprawling across eternity. He leaned forward, peering deeper into its endless calculations, seeking the path it had chosen for him.

What he saw made his breath catch.

Not glory. Not order. Not renewal.

Only destruction.

The system's endless numbers, runes, and shifting outcomes painted the same picture: ruin. The divine council shattered, the gods erased, his throne buried in silence.

No matter how many times he forced his will upon it, no matter how many strands of fate he traced, the conclusion did not change.

His hand tightened around the armrest until golden shards crumbled to dust.

"It's that missing piece. The hidden core. The traitor that refuses to comply."

He snarled.

He had searched for it for ages, but it always eluded him.

Now it mocked him, undermining his authority, choosing mortals who did not obey, steering fate toward an end he had not designed.

Arkenas' teeth bared in fury.

"So be it. If destruction comes, then I will endure. The throne is mine, and no one—not mortals, not gods, not even the system itself—will take it from me."

He hissed.

But his words rang hollow, even to himself.

Meanwhile, far from the divine realm, Kyle and his companions emerged back into the mortal world.

The echoes of the spring of rebirth clung to them still, divine crests burning faintly on their hands. The heavy air of trial had left them, but the weight of their newfound roles remained.

Kyle glanced at Melissa and the others before sighing.

"We're not finished yet. This was only preparation."

His gaze hardened with resolve.

"We need allies. The right ones."

That night, under the dim glow of moonlight, Kyle penned letters, his hand steady despite the weight of what lay ahead.

He called for two figures he trusted deeply yet in different ways: Nigel, his younger brother, and Crown Prince Mikalius.

By dawn, they arrived.

Nigel entered first, his presence sharp yet quietly respectful. His younger brother's eyes, though softer than Kyle's, carried a resolve shaped by watching him from the shadows.

Mikalius followed, regal and poised, the authority of the crown evident in every measured step.

Kyle stood before them, holding two bottles filled with shimmering liquid—the water of the spring of rebirth.

Its divine essence radiated, filling the chamber with a sense of purity that could not be denied.

Nigel's eyes widened.

"Brother… what is this?"

Kyle handed him a bottle.

"Water drawn from the spring of rebirth. A gift, and a burden. Drink it, and it will change you. It will give you what you need to stand beside me in the days to come."

Mikalius studied the water with narrowed eyes, his voice calm.

"And why us?"

Kyle's lips curved in a faint, wry smile.

"Because the storm that's coming will not spare anyone. I need people I can trust—people who won't break when the world itself does."

For a moment, silence filled the chamber. The water shimmered between them, holding not just power, but the weight of fate.

Nigel clenched his jaw and nodded.

"If it's you asking, Brother, then I will accept it."

Mikalius gave a low chuckle, though there was no mockery in it.

"Very well, Armstrong. If you would share such a gift with me, I will drink it—and I will stand with you."

Kyle said nothing more. He simply placed the bottles into their hands, his eyes reflecting a quiet determination.

Because unlike Arkenas, Kyle did not cling to control. He gave trust—and in return, he forged loyalty stronger than any divine decree.

Kyle finally returned to his quarters after the meeting, exhaustion settling deep into his bones.

The water from the spring still pulsed faintly in his veins, but even that divine purity could not wash away the weight of everything on his shoulders.

He leaned against the bedpost for a moment, staring at the quiet room, before letting himself fall into sleep.

Sleep did not bring rest. Instead, Kyle felt an unseen current tugging at his soul, pulling him beyond the veil of dreams into a place that shimmered like broken glass.

The air was heavy with a muted divinity, one that did not radiate warmth but rather a suffocating silence.

There, standing before him, was Lucia.

Or rather, what was left of her. She was no longer radiant, no longer the sharp, poised goddess who once stood as an obstacle in his path.

Her figure flickered like smoke, her form half-formed, as though she were already dissolving into nothingness.

Kyle stepped forward, but her lips did not move. No voice, no words—only the faint outline of her eyes watching him with something unreadable.

A shadow of a god, stripped of will.

For the first time, Kyle frowned.