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

Silvy's palms pressed against the glowing altar, her breath shallow and uneven.

The divine energy still coursed through her veins, yet it did not feel like mana or even life force—it was something foreign, infinite and heavy.

Her heart drummed faintly, but her chest felt hollow, detached.

She looked down at her hand—or what remained of it. Her missing arm ended in clean light rather than flesh, a symbol of divinity, not humanity.

A shiver ran through her as she realized she couldn't even feel pain anymore.

"I… don't feel like me. I don't feel human."

She whispered, her voice trembling.

Her emotions, once so vibrant, so fiery, were now dull embers. Even the adrenaline that had carried her through battle was gone.

Her irritation, her triumph, her fear—all muted. She almost laughed, bitterly.

'Was this what being a god was like? Empty? Detached?'

She slumped against the altar, closing her eyes. For a fleeting moment, she thought—perhaps it was easier to give up.

To let go of all the burdens of fighting, of struggling. If this was godhood, perhaps she didn't want it.

But then—

Kyle's presence flashed before her eyes.

His calm voice, his steady gaze, his unshakable determination. He had always walked forward, even when others faltered. He trusted her. He trusted all of them.

Her dulled emotions flared alive, like sparks reigniting a fire.

"No. Not yet. Not while Kyle is still fighting."

She whispered harshly, her grip tightening against the altar.

Her body trembled, but she reached deeper into the divine system, her will pressing against its structure.

She could see the weave of authority, the balance between Chief God Arkenas's side and theirs.

His candidates glowed brightly, threads of divine authority shielding and strengthening them.

"I'll take this burden. If I can make it easier for them, even for a moment—then this power won't be wasted."

Silvy muttered.

Warning, the system's voice echoed in her mind.

[If you interfere with Arkenas's authority, you will exhaust your own strength. You may not be able to move again.]

"I don't care. If my body breaks, then it breaks. But I won't watch everyone else suffer like I did."

Her voice rang clear now, sharpened with conviction.

She poured her will into the system. Radiant lines of power stretched outward, colliding with Arkenas's divine grip.

His strength pushed back, heavy and oppressive, but Silvy dug her nails into the altar, refusing to yield.

Slowly, piece by piece, the radiant shields around Arkenas's candidates dimmed, their divine threads weakening. Her allies would now face opponents that bled and faltered, just like mortals.

The backlash hit her instantly. Her body locked, her limbs frozen in place.

She could no longer move a finger, no longer even draw breath without effort. But she smiled through the strain.

'This much… is worth it.'

Silvy's body hung limply against the altar, unable to move, but her heart surged with determination. Her choice had been made. She had tilted the scales in her allies' favor.

She whispered weakly, though no one could hear her.

"Kyle… I've done my part. Now it's your turn."

The chamber pulsed around her, a silent witness to the birth of the first god who chose not glory, not power, but sacrifice.

Meanwhile, Bruce and Melissa stepped into their chamber.

The air here was thick with pressure, like walking into the heart of a storm.

A single man stood waiting in the center, tall and broad-shouldered, with golden hair that gleamed under the chamber's pale light.

His presence radiated majesty, his mere existence demanding obedience.

He spread his arms wide, his voice deep and commanding.

"Kneel."

The word wasn't just sound—it was divine power. It clawed into their minds, pressing them toward the ground, dragging at their spines like invisible chains.

For an instant, Melissa felt her knees quiver, her muscles betraying her. Bruce's jaw clenched, sweat dripping down his brow, but neither moved.

"There is only one person I will ever kneel for. And you are not him."

Bruce growled, forcing the words through grit teeth.

Melissa's eyes blazed, her body trembling under the oppressive weight, but she still raised her chin.

"Our knees belong only to our master. Not to you."

The man's expression darkened. The aura of majesty twisted into a storm of fury.

"Insolent mortals. You dare defy me? Then I shall break you. I shall tear away your pride and make you beg for mercy!"

His voice thundered, the chamber shaking with the force of his wrath.

Divine energy burst outward, a shockwave that sent cracks racing across the white stone floor.

His hand stretched, threads of radiant light coiling like chains, aiming to bind Melissa and Bruce where they stood.

But the two exchanged a quick glance, the faintest nod passing between them.

They had no intention of yielding—not now, not ever.

"Melissa"

Bruce said, sliding his foot back into a stance, his sword shimmering with raw mana.

"I know."

Melissa replied, pulling her daggers free, her eyes fierce.

Together, they faced the so-called god-candidate.

And for the first time, the golden-haired man felt the faint stirrings of unease.

The god-candidate's eyes narrowed as Bruce and Melissa stood firm before him, their refusal to bend gnawing at his pride.

His golden aura flared, pressing harder against their wills, but still they held their ground. Irritation darkened his expression, his lips curling into a disdainful sneer.

"Pathetic. If you refuse to kneel, then prove your defiance. Come—attack me. Show me the strength you so proudly cling to."

He muttered.

The air rippled with his challenge, thick and heavy, but Melissa did not hesitate. With a sharp exhale, she dashed forward, her blades flashing like twin streaks of silver.

She closed the gap in a heartbeat, her movements precise, honed by endless training.

Her dagger slashed across his chest, the edge cutting clean and true.

She twisted her wrist and followed with a second strike, aiming for his throat, the kind of blow that would have killed any ordinary opponent.

The impact rang out, steel against flesh, her momentum carrying her through as she darted back with flawless execution.

But the moment her feet slid into position and her gaze fell upon him, her stomach sank.

The god-candidate stood unmoved, his chest unmarked, not even a scratch marring his gleaming skin. His golden eyes burned with amusement, as though she were no more than a child swinging sticks.

Melissa's breath caught, her grip tightening on her daggers.

"What…?"

She whispered.

The man spread his arms slightly, the glow around him intensifying, his voice dripping with arrogance.

"Futile. Your blades cannot even pierce the radiance of my existence. Did you truly believe a mortal could harm me?"

He took a single step forward, the floor groaning beneath the weight of his aura.

"You will soon learn your place. No matter your effort, you cannot defeat my majestic self."

Melissa's lips pressed into a thin line, her body trembling—not from fear, but from anger. She refused to look away, her stance tightening once more.

Behind her, Bruce's knuckles whitened as he raised his sword.

"If blades can't cut you, then I'll just have to hit you harder."

He muttered, his voice steady despite the crushing pressure.

The god-candidate smirked, spreading his arms as though inviting their futile resistance.

"Yes. Struggle more. It will make your fall all the sweeter."