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

The old man's sudden generosity sat uneasily in Melissa's gut.

As soon as he turned his back, she stepped close to her young master, voice low and sharp.

"Are we really going to trust this? He appears out of nowhere, offers shelter, and even talks about helping us reach Moras's territory. It smells wrong."

Kyle's expression remained calm, his gaze still following the retreating figure of the old man.

"That's because it is wrong."

Melissa narrowed her eyes.

"Then we're walking into a trap."

"If it is a trap. I don't mind flailing into it."

Kyle said softly,

She blinked at him.

"Why?"

"Because right now, we need information. We need to get close. Rushing in blindly will only lead to more loss. We don't know how many people Moras's temple controls. We don't even know where its true territory begins."

Kyle replied.

Melissa scowled.

"So we let ourselves be bait?"

He glanced at her.

"You think I don't want to burn it all down and carve a path through whatever that thing calls its domain?"

"You've done it before."

She muttered.

"I have. But not when it risks my people. Not when we have no clear route, no allies inside, and no escape prepared. Brute force might get us through one door—only for the temple to chase us with blades and curses."

His voice dropped.

She bit her lip, but said nothing more.

Bruce approached, arms crossed, eyes flicking between them.

"I told the old man we'll take his offer. He's heading to the nearby village to prepare a place for us."

Kyle nodded.

"Let's follow. Stay sharp."

As they trailed behind the old man down a narrow dirt path, the trees grew thinner.

The wind carried an odd scent—part incense, part rot. A quiet village emerged on the horizon, nestled between moss-covered stones and crooked fences. Smoke curled gently from the chimneys.

The moment they stepped into view, the old man raised his hand and called out.

"They've come! Travelers seeking shelter!"

Elders emerged from their huts with bright eyes and too-wide smiles. A hunched woman pressed a flower crown into Melissa's hands.

An old farmer offered Kyle a ladle of what smelled like sweet broth.

"Blessings upon you. May your bones rest easy under Moras's sky."

The woman whispered to Kyle.

Kyle accepted the crown with a nod, but didn't put it on. The broth he left untouched.

Behind him, Bruce muttered.

"They feel phoney."

Kyle's eyes swept over the smiling crowd. The grins never reached their eyes. Their bodies were aged, bent—but none limped, none struggled.

All too clean. Too orderly. The elderly of war-torn lands did not greet strangers like this. Not without fear.

"This is a trap. They're luring us in."

Bruce said quietly.

"I know."

Kyle replied.

Melissa's hand had already crept to her dagger.

"We play along for now. When the time comes, we'll make this village pay."

Kyle murmured.

"And until then?"

Bruce asked.

"Act like honored guests. Watch everything."

He took a slow breath, then added in a hushed tone.

"And don't eat anything they offer."

Melissa raised a brow.

"We don't know what it's laced with. It could be poison, divine essence, or something worse. Even if they don't kill us, it might mark us or bind us."

Kyle said.

The trio exchanged brief glances.

"I'll handle meals. I brought rations."

Melissa said.

Kyle gave her a nod, then turned to the smiling villagers and bowed lightly.

"We are honored to be here."

The old man beamed.

"You'll find our village humble, but full of heart. Come, let me show you to your rest. You must be tired after your travels."

Kyle followed him, Melissa and Bruce at his sides. Every step into the village felt like walking into a spider's web.

The houses, though neat, carried no signs of children. No fresh laundry, no spilled toys. Just old men and women with hands clasped tightly, watching them with reverent hunger.

Bruce glanced around the village, his steps slowing as they neared the old man's cottage.

"Do you worship God Moras as well?"

He asked, tone light, but eyes sharp.

The old man stiffened beside them. It was a fleeting motion—barely perceptible—but Kyle caught it.

"Ah, no, no,"

The man said with a chuckle that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"I'm far too old for gods and prayers, young sir. My joints creak louder than the temple bells these days."

Bruce said nothing, only smiled politely. But Kyle could tell—he didn't believe a word of it.

The cottage was humble, nestled between tilled land and a thicket of leafless trees. The moment they stepped inside, the old man began apologizing profusely.

"It's a poor home, I know. But I hope you'll forgive this shabby hospitality."

He led Bruce and Melissa to their respective rooms at the end of the hallway—sparse but clean. Then he turned to Kyle with a sheepish smile and beckoned him toward a separate door.

"I kept the best room for you, my lord. Please, forgive an old man's poor efforts."

Kyle stepped inside. The room was larger than the others, with a thicker mattress and a clean jug of water on the table. Still modest, but clearly meant to be the best the old man could offer.

"There's no need to apologize. This is more than suffice. I appreciate it."

Kyle said gently.

The man gave a grateful bow before retreating down the hallway, mumbling something about fetching dinner.

The moment Kyle was alone, he moved to the window, cracked it open, and slipped out with practiced ease.

Moonlight kissed the rooftops of the village, bathing everything in a silver hue.

The air was heavy—unsettlingly still. Kyle didn't bother masking his steps as he walked into the dirt paths between homes. No one stirred. No insects chirped.

Then it hit him.

Spike.

A sudden flare of divine energy brushed against his senses. It came and went in a blink—like the heartbeat of a god echoing beneath the soil.

Kyle narrowed his eyes and kept walking. Another pulse. Then another, distant but real. They weren't directed at him… yet.

He reached the edge of a well and crouched beside it, placing his hand on the stones. Warm. Faintly thrumming.

'The village is built atop something... or around it.'

Kyle stood and glanced toward the tallest building—a crumbling chapel half-covered in vines.

The windows were stained with age and soot, but something inside pulsed in rhythm with the energy he'd sensed.

This is a trap, he thought, not surprised but grimly satisfied.

'To catch travelers like us. Use them for what? Sacrifice? Conversion?'

He returned quietly, but not before marking three points of interest with mana: the chapel, the well, and a barn near the edge of the fields that reeked of stagnant blood.

Each had traces of divine presence—old, rotting, yet still active.

Back inside, he found Melissa waiting near his door.

"You snuck out,"

She said in a low voice.

He nodded.

"I had to confirm."

She glanced down the hallway.

"And?"

"It's a trap. But we're not the prey. Not yet."

He said.

Melissa frowned.

"What do they want?"

Kyle looked toward the ceiling, as if seeing through it to the sky above.

"Faith. Obedience. Flesh. Take your pick."

Bruce joined them moments later, clearly restless.

"The old man lied. I saw offerings hidden beneath the floorboards—dried flowers, broken bones, and a charm of Moras."

Kyle nodded.

"They still worship. But they don't want to scare us off. We're guests. Which means they're waiting for something."