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

The air was thick with anticipation.

In the center of the village, the elders gathered around the sacred array—etched deep into the earth with chalk, blood, and powdered bones.

Lanterns hung from every pole, casting an eerie glow over their wrinkled faces, all stretched into joyous grins.

"It is time. The sacrifices have been offered. God Moras shall rise again."

One of them whispered, arms raised to the sky.

The others chanted in unison, fingers trembling with reverence as they poured mana into the symbols lining the circle. The ground pulsed. The air grew tense.

A distant bell chimed.

The array sparked to life.

But something was wrong.

The glow that should have pulled mana toward the center… reversed.

Instead of drawing in power, it began to ripple outward, like a beast convulsing in agony.

One of the villagers took a step back.

This… this isn't right."

Another elder frowned.

"The sacrifices… they should be drained by now. Where is the power?!"

The array shuddered violently.

Then it screamed.

A blinding light erupted from the ground, followed by a massive shockwave that tore through the village. Homes crumbled. Trees snapped. The chapel exploded in a burst of fire and divine backlash.

And then—silence.

Ash drifted through the sky like snow. Smoke curled upward from shattered buildings. The array's center was now a scorched pit, glowing faintly with inverted runes.

But the humans—those faithful, deluded villagers—were still alive.

Barely.

They lay scattered across the ruins, twitching feebly, eyes rolled back, lips pale. Every last one of them had been drained—completely.

Their mana reserves, once full from years of sacrifice and preparation, had been stolen by their own failed ritual.

Melissa stepped carefully among the debris, checking each body.

"They're alive. But they've been completely drained."

She confirmed, kneeling beside a collapsed woman.

Kyle stood nearby, his cloak untouched by ash, his gaze calm.

"What'll happen to them?"

Melissa asked quietly.

Bruce knelt beside a collapsed man and tapped his cheek. No response.

"They'll wake up. Maybe in a few hours. They're just burned out."

Melissa frowned.

"And after that?"

Bruce shrugged.

"Without mana? They're done. No more offerings. No more prayers. No more Moras."

He stood, brushing dirt off his palms, and gave Kyle a sideways glance.

"Should we end them, young master? Spare them the humiliation?"

Kyle was quiet for a moment.

Then he shook his head.

"No. Let them wake up and feel it. Let them understand that they were never anything more than tools. Let them remember what it's like to survive without a god's crutch."

He said.

Bruce smirked.

"Cruel in its own way."

"It's fair."

Kyle replied.

Melissa stood, brushing off her sleeves.

"The village won't be able to recover from this."

"They're not meant to. Come. We've wasted enough time."

Kyle said simply.

With the last word, he turned away from the smoldering remains of the village and walked toward the outer fields—where the land met a shimmering curtain of pale blue light.

The barrier.

The invisible wall that had once separated the village from the sacred territory of God Moras.

Kyle approached slowly, raising his hand. The mana around it had shifted. No longer dense, no longer volatile. The explosion had softened it—fractured its core structure. He pressed a palm against the curtain.

It rippled.

Then, it parted.

He smiled faintly.

"Looks like our detour wasn't a waste after all."

Bruce joined him, sword slung over his shoulder.

"So, we're walking into god territory now?"

"Not walking. Breaking in."

Kyle murmured.

______

As the trio stepped through the weakened barrier, a hush fell over them. It wasn't silence in the usual sense—it was the kind that pressed down on the skin and clawed at the lungs.

The air was thick, warm, and humming with unseen energy, like the breath of something ancient slumbering just beyond sight.

They had entered Moras's territory.

What lay beyond the barrier was a town—neat, quiet, and disturbingly pristine. The buildings were smooth, carved from pale stone, and arranged in perfect symmetry.

Red banners bearing Moras's sigil fluttered lazily in the still air.

But what caught their attention weren't the buildings—it was the people.

Dozens walked the narrow streets. Men, women, even children, all moving with eerie synchronicity. Their gazes were vacant, their expressions calm but distant.

No one spoke. No one smiled. They simply moved—like cogs in a well-oiled machine. Like puppets with their strings gently tugged.

Bruce exhaled slowly.

"These people… they look like zombies."

He didn't bother to lower his voice. No one even turned to look at him.

"This is scary."

He added, tightening his grip on the hilt of his sword.

"They're not dead," Kyle said quietly. "They're just… occupied."

Melissa looked unsettled.

"Occupied?"

Kyle nodded.

"I can feel it. Moras's divine authority. It's everywhere. In the air. In the ground. In their bodies. It's watching."

He glanced toward the far side of the town, where a grand temple loomed in the distance—tall and dark, shaped like a blooming flower strangled by its own vines. A faint crimson mist curled from its spires.

"I wouldn't be surprised if Moras is seeing through every pair of eyes in this town."

Bruce winced.

"So what's the plan?"

Kyle tilted his head upward. The Queen perched silently on his shoulder, its glassy eyes reflecting the dull light of Moras's realm.

"Don't stare. Don't wander. Don't act curious."

Melissa and Bruce straightened immediately.

"Blend in. We're just more dazed pilgrims, lost in the divine trance like the rest of them. If Moras is indeed watching, we don't give it reason to look twice."

Kyle continued.

Bruce rubbed the back of his neck.

"I don't like this place."

"You're not supposed to."

Kyle replied.

They walked slowly, mimicking the sluggish pace of the townsfolk. Every step felt wrong, as if the very ground resisted their presence.

The sky above looked like it had been painted in shades of dried blood and wilted roses. The sun existed, but it gave no warmth.

Melissa whispered.

"Does Moras know we're here?"

Kyle didn't answer immediately. His eyes scanned the horizon, then the people—searching for inconsistencies, oddities, anything that could give them an edge.

"Its attention is scattered. But if we make one mistake, it will know"

He finally said.

A procession of villagers passed by them. Each one held a bowl filled with thick red liquid. Their mouths moved in prayer, but no sound came out. The smell was metallic.

Bruce resisted the urge to gag.

Kyle remained composed.

They reached the outer circle of the town square, where a stone pillar stood wrapped in thorny vines. At its base, a set of words had been etched in Old Script:

"Moras sees all. Moras accepts all. Moras owns all."

Melissa stared at it for half a second too long.

Kyle lightly tapped her shoulder, barely a brush.

She blinked, then nodded, adjusting her expression and falling back into the rhythm of the walk.

No one around them spoke.

No one around them needed to.

Because in this place, conversation was obsolete.

Moras had already spoken—and everyone else simply listened.

Kyle's thoughts, however, raced faster than ever. His mind mapped escape routes, calculated threats, and weighed their options.

But most of all, it waited—for the Queen's return, for a crack in Moras's veil, for the moment to strike.

He didn't know how long it would take.

But Kyle Armstrong had stepped into a god's domain willingly.

And he had no intention of leaving quietly.