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

Melissa's footsteps were silent, but her presence was urgent. She waited until they were behind the house the old man had given them, near the wooden fence that faced the dying trees. Then she spoke, voice sharp and low.

"Young master… we should leave. Now. This place isn't safe."

Kyle didn't answer immediately. His eyes swept over the surroundings—dim lanterns, the flicker of candlelight in windows, the faint scent of burning herbs that clung too long in the air.

The village had grown even quieter than before.

"No. We don't leave. Not yet."

H finally said.

Melissa frowned.

"Why?"

"If I were them, I would have taken precautions. Poisoned the paths. Planted watchers in the woods. Leaving now would be riskier than staying."

"You think they've caged us?"

"I think they've prepared for us."

Melissa clenched her jaw.

"Then we strike."

"Not yet. We don't know what we're dealing with. We need more information. Who they serve. What they want. What they fear."

Kyle's voice remained calm.

She didn't like it, but she obeyed.

"Then what do we do?"

"We wait, and we listen."

He said,

As if summoned by fate, Bruce paused mid-step and turned his head toward the far end of the village.

A group of villagers—six or seven—had gathered behind one of the larger barns. Their voices were hushed but hurried. Bruce gestured with two fingers and moved.

Kyle gave a silent nod, and Melissa instinctively slid to the side, keeping her eyes on the village square.

Meanwhile, Bruce slipped around the corner, his footsteps muffled by the damp grass. He pressed himself against the warped barn wall, just close enough to catch the conversation.

"…finally enough mana for His resurrection."

"…food was strong this time. The guests must've been sucked dry already…"

"…tomorrow, we present the offering. God Moras will return."

Bruce's eyes widened.

'The food. It wasn't just poisoned—it was a siphon.'

He clenched his fists. He hadn't eaten. Neither had Melissa. But Kyle… had he?

He turned around to move—only to stop as Kyle stepped into view, eyes already watching him.

"You heard that?"

Bruce asked, his voice low.

"I did."

Kyle said softly.

Bruce hesitated.

"They're trying to revive it. Using us."

Kyle said nothing for a moment. His gaze turned toward the sky, where the stars were faint behind a veil of clouds. Then he looked back at Bruce, his voice colder than before.

"The plan has changed."

Melissa rejoined them, eyebrows raised.

"What happened?"

Kyle didn't look at her as he spoke.

"We bury this village tomorrow. Before we leave."

Even the wind seemed to quiet at his words.

Melissa blinked.

"I thought you said we'd wait—"

"I did. Ideally, I didn't want to touch this place. There are innocents. Or at least… there were."

Kyle said, cutting her off gently.

Bruce swallowed. The air around Kyle had changed. He was composed, still smiling faintly, still speaking in that level tone—but something about his presence made the back of Bruce's neck prickle.

He had seen this before—rarely. When Kyle abandoned diplomacy. When mercy died in his heart. When he chose violence not out of rage, but cold, deliberate principle.

Bruce shivered.

His young master was pissed.

"We came here for a way into Moras's territory, not to be drained like livestock. They laced the food. Lied to our faces. They would've killed us in our sleep and offered our mana to that thing's corpse."

Kyle continued.

Melissa gritted her teeth.

"They deserve worse."

Kyle's eyes didn't shine with anger—they burned with calculation.

"We make it clean. Quick. No drawn-out revenge. I'll curse the wells, collapse their mana lines, and silence the chapel."

"What about the people?"

Bruce asked.

Kyle's gaze didn't waver.

"If any still breathe when it's over, let them carry the story."

Bruce nodded slowly.

Violence wasn't Kyle's first tool. It wasn't even his second. But betrayal—that stirred something deeper. That was when Kyle stopped being forgiving. Stopped being strategic.

And started being absolute.

He wasn't doing this to send a message.

He was doing it because they tried to take from him.

"We move at dawn. Let them believe their ritual is proceeding. Let them offer up their prayers."

Kyle said, voice like frost.

Melissa's hand tightened around her dagger hilt.

"And when they kneel?"

"Make sure they don't get back up."

Bruce exhaled slowly.

Tomorrow, this village would cease to exist.

And in the shadows of its ruins, not even Moras would find worship anymore.

______

The trio returned to the old man's house as if nothing had changed.

They exchanged polite smiles with the villagers, accepted shallow blessings, and stepped into their lodging without another word. The door shut behind them, and silence fell.

Night passed slowly.

Dawn broke with a hushed chill, painting the village in grey light. Inside the house, everything remained still—too still for the old man's comfort.

He rubbed his hands together nervously, whispering old chants under his breath as he tiptoed toward the room Kyle had taken.

The offering should have worked. The siphoning array had been drawn beneath the foundation itself. The food had been prepared with exact measures.

No outsider could resist such a quiet drain of mana.

"They should be empty now… soft… ready for the altar."

He murmured with a trembling smile.

He reached out to open the door.

It opened for him.

A hand shot out like lightning and clamped around his throat.

The old man barely had time to gasp before he was hoisted off the ground. His legs kicked helplessly as he stared into Kyle's cold, expressionless eyes.

"Young master—"

He croaked.

Kyle slammed him into the wall with enough force to rattle the windows.

"Still think I'm soft?"

Kyle asked, voice low and dangerous.

The old man struggled, his hands clawing at Kyle's arm.

"P-please! I didn't—! This… none of this is my fault!"

Kyle stared at him for a moment, then leaned in.

"I don't like betrayal."

The old man whimpered.

Kyle tilted his head slightly.

"And if you want to fool me… you should act better. Because this? This performance is pitiful."

Realization hit the old man all at once.

He'd been caught.

From the very beginning.

Kyle had known. Had played along. Had watched.

And now, the mask had come off.

"I was just… just following orders—"

The old man wheezed.

Kyle's grip tightened slightly.

"Good. Then you know what happens to those who serve it."

Melissa stepped into view, arms folded, eyes flat. Bruce stood just behind her, resting one hand casually on his blade.

"We'll take care of the rest. Start with the chapel."

Kyle said without looking back.

The old man's heart sank.

This wasn't going to end with a warning.

It was going to end with a reckoning.

The old man's legs buckled as Kyle finally released him, letting him crumple to the floor. He coughed violently, but Kyle crouched beside him, one hand resting on the old man's chest.

"You sold us to your god. Be grateful I'm giving you the chance to watch it all burn."

Kyle said softly.

Melissa moved past them, already unwrapping the scrolls needed to nullify divine sigils. Bruce stepped outside, muttering a short prayer—not to a god, but for permission to draw his blade.

Outside, the village was still praying.

They didn't know judgment was already at their door.