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

Nigel's footsteps echoed across the endless marble corridors of the god's palace, the sound sharp and hollow like steel striking stone.

His breathing was steady, but his eyes flickered constantly, tracking every shift of light, every ripple of divine energy in the air.

The system's faint glow hovered at his side, guiding him forward like a torch in eternal night.

He had fought his way through guardians and illusions, each trial testing his body, mind, and willpower.

Now, with the palace growing ever narrower, ever sharper in its beauty, he knew he was close.

Finally, the system's voice broke the silence.

[Warning: Another candidate has initiated the binding process with the system's core at this location. Probability of success if you proceed directly: extremely low. Recommend redirecting to alternate route.]

Nigel froze mid-step. His jaw tightened. Another candidate? That meant someone else was already stealing what he had bled for, fought for, survived for.

His fists clenched around the hilt of his weapon. The system's words pressed against him like a wall, but the fire in his chest only roared higher.

"...You think I'll walk away? No. I've come too far to turn back now. If someone's there, then I'll fight them for it. Even if it kills me."

His voice was quiet, but each word was edged with steel.

[Warning repeated: success rate—]

"Shut up. I decide my chances."

Nigel snapped.

With that, he stormed forward.

The final set of doors loomed before him—towering gates carved with symbols that shimmered faintly, alive with power. He shoved them open, light searing his eyes.

Inside, two figures stood before the system's glowing core, their hands extended toward it as streams of divine energy wrapped around their bodies.

Both snapped their heads toward him at once, their expressions sharp with surprise.

"You—?! How did you get this far?"

One of them hissed.

The second didn't bother with words. His hand flashed, and suddenly a weapon appeared—nothing like Nigel had ever seen.

It was sleek, metallic, almost like a spear but humming with energy that felt completely alien.

He lunged forward, and Nigel had to roll aside as the weapon crashed into the marble, sending cracks spiderwebbing across the floor.

The first followed immediately, drawing a blade that seemed made of pure light.

The speed was blinding, and Nigel barely raised his weapon in time to block. Sparks flew, and the force of the strike rattled his bones.

They were fast. Faster than anything he had fought before. Their power was clean, efficient, and ruthless—like they had been born for this exact moment.

Nigel stumbled back, barely parrying blow after blow. His breath hitched as sweat already rolled down his face.

"What are you people…?"

He muttered between gritted teeth.

Neither answered. They pressed harder, their attacks in perfect sync. For every swing he blocked, another strike came from a different angle.

For every step he took to dodge, they forced him into another trap. It was as if they had been trained their entire lives to fight as one, leaving him no room to breathe.

Nigel's ribs ached from a glancing blow, his arm burned from the weight of their strikes. He was on the defensive, cornered, drowning under their pace.

For a brief, bitter moment, he thought the system had been right. He was outmatched.

But then—something inside him shifted.

His heart hammered in his chest, and he forced his mind to steady.

He remembered every brutal spar with Bruce, every impossible drill Kyle had demanded of him, every time he had been pushed until his body screamed for mercy.

He had adapted then. He had survived then. And he would survive now.

'If I can't win by strength… then I'll win by learning.'

His eyes sharpened. He stopped panicking. He started watching.

The spear-man's thrusts were linear, always overcommitted, relying on speed to overwhelm.

The light-blade wielder always circled clockwise, never counterclockwise, creating a predictable rhythm. Together, they made a net of attacks—airtight, but still a net. Nets always had holes.

The next time the spear lunged, Nigel shifted his body—not to block, but to redirect. His weapon slid along the shaft, just enough to nudge it off course.

The spear crashed into the ground, its wielder momentarily exposed.

Nigel's foot lashed out, kicking him square in the chest. The man staggered back with a grunt.

The other lunged immediately, blade of light flashing down, but Nigel had already braced. He caught the strike, twisted his wrist, and forced the weapon wide.

His knee shot up, slamming into the man's gut.

For the first time, both opponents faltered.

Nigel's lips curled into a grim smile.

"Not invincible, are you?"

They snarled and came at him again, faster, harder. The spear howled with energy, carving through the air.

The blade sang with light, arcs raining down in rapid succession. But Nigel was adapting with every heartbeat.

His body moved smoother, sharper. He could feel their rhythm now, the subtle tells in their stances.

A strike grazed his cheek, leaving a line of blood, but he didn't flinch. Instead, he slipped inside their tempo, forcing them off-balance.

His blade slashed across the spear-man's arm, drawing the first spurt of blood.

The light-blade wielder roared in fury and swung recklessly, giving Nigel the opening he needed to drive his shoulder into his chest and send him crashing to the floor.

Panting, Nigel straightened, weapon still at the ready. His body screamed with pain, but his eyes burned with fire.

"System, you wanted me to run. But if this is what stands between me and that power, then I'll tear them down piece by piece."

He muttered under his breath.

The two strangers staggered back to their feet, glaring at him with venom.

"You'll regret interfering."

One spat.

Nigel only tightened his grip. His stance lowered, ready for the next clash.

"Then make me regret it."

The battle raged again, the palace trembling with the clash of their weapons. For every strike Nigel received, he gave one back.

For every wound he endured, he carved another into his enemies. Slowly, painfully, the tide began to shift—not because he was stronger, but because he refused to break.

And deep in the glow of the system's core, the energy pulsed faintly—like it had taken notice of Nigel's defiance.

The clash of weapons rang through the chamber, each strike echoing like thunder. Nigel's chest heaved, his body battered and bruised, but his eyes burned with unshakable resolve.

He pressed forward again, refusing to yield an inch.

Then, for the first time, the system's voice returned—not cold, not distant, but resonant, as if stirred by his will.

[Acknowledged: Candidate Nigel—resilience exceeds threshold. Potential compatibility rising.]

The core pulsed, light flaring brighter in response to his determination. The two strangers froze for a heartbeat, their gazes snapping to the glow. Their faces tightened.

"Tch… damn it. It's reacting to him."

The spear-wielder hissed.

The other's grip on the light-blade whitened, his voice low and sharp.

"If he keeps this up, the system might choose him. We can't let that happen."

Their aura flared, murderous intent saturating the chamber.

They no longer moved with the efficiency of guardians protecting a prize—they lunged with desperation, their strikes sharper, heavier, aimed not at pushing him back but at killing him outright.

Nigel felt the pressure spike, the killing edge in their movements unmistakable. Still, he only gritted his teeth, planting his feet firm.

"Come then. Try and erase me."

He muttered.