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

Under the pale moonlight, the village looked more like a haunted shadow of its day-self.

Kyle followed the woman through the winding, uneven paths that led past rows of dimly lit homes.

The thief walked briskly, keeping her head low and face hidden beneath her hood. Kyle, on the other hand, walked with practiced calm, but his mind remained sharp.

Every footstep was measured. Every flicker of movement caught his attention.

As they drew closer to the so-called temple, Kyle noticed other villagers emerging from their homes in similar attire—hooded cloaks, worn sandals, desperate expressions.

They moved like moths to a flame, their silence heavy with hope and anxiety. Kyle kept his expression unreadable, but his eyes narrowed slightly.

This was not faith. It was dependency bred from manipulation.

They finally reached the building. Kyle stopped in front of it, eyeing the wooden shack that barely stood upright.

It was small, unimposing, with weather-worn planks and no markings of religious significance. No divine emblems, no holy banners, not even a signboard.

If the thief hadn't mentioned it, he would never have guessed this to be a place of worship.

The woman glanced at Kyle, nervous at his silence.

"I know it doesn't look like much. But this is how most temple branches start out. In poorer villages like ours, the clergy say they can't afford to build grand halls, so they begin with what's available. Sometimes it's a barn. Sometimes it's a cellar. This… was once an abandoned home."

She said softly.

Kyle's gaze swept across the building and the people slowly gathering around it.

"And the people trust this?"

He asked, voice low.

"They do. The temple told us that the gods favor the humble. That faith doesn't need stone walls or stained glass. They promised healing. They promised blessings. People want to believe in something, Lord Kyle. They need to."

She said, almost defensively.

Kyle remained silent at first, his jaw set in a firm line. He wasn't ignorant of the desperation that came with poverty.

He had seen it—been surrounded by it in his youth. But it was the divine element that made his blood boil. He had faced their hypocrisy before, and this looked no different.

"You said they demand gold in exchange for healing?"

He asked.

The woman nodded.

"Twenty gold coins or anything of equal worth. They say it's for the rituals and the herbs. Most of us don't have that kind of money… so we gather what we can. Food, tools, family heirlooms."

Kyle turned his eyes toward the building again.

"What happens if someone can't pay?"

"They're turned away. Or told to come back later with payment. Some wait days… others, weeks. My son—he's been sick for months. I… I couldn't wait anymore."

She admitted.

Kyle stared at the people still arriving. No one was talking.

Their eyes were downcast. Some were crying silently. Mothers held sick children close to their chests. An old man with a limp leaned heavily on a stick, trembling as he approached.

"Faith that charges coin. How noble of the divine."

Kyle muttered.

The thief looked away, her guilt mounting.

"I didn't mean to hurt your people. I only wanted to help my son. But if you want to punish me—"

She said.

"I don't. You're not the one I'm angry with."

Kyle cut her off.

At that moment, the makeshift temple door creaked open.

A robed figure stepped out, face hidden beneath a golden hood. Kyle's sharp eyes caught the faint glimmer of divine mana leaking from beneath the robe's sleeves. It wasn't pure.

It was tainted, twisted to obey commands rather than heal. A false priest, using magic not for salvation, but manipulation.

Kyle's hands clenched slightly, but he kept his voice even.

"Go back home. "You've done enough for tonight."

He told the thief"

The woman looked up at him in surprise.

"But… my son—"

"He'll be taken care of. By someone who doesn't ask you to sell your soul."

Kyle said.

Without waiting for her to respond, Kyle stepped away from the path and into the shadows, vanishing from her view.

The woman stood there a moment longer, lips trembling with a mix of confusion and reluctant hope. Then she turned and quietly made her way back.

Kyle, hidden behind a stack of crates nearby, watched as more villagers entered the building. His mana brushed lightly against the structure, probing for traps, wards, or hidden constructs.

What he found was worse: a surge of divine energy being condensed unnaturally inside the structure—channeled not to heal, but to siphon faith.

The moment someone prayed, the magic would feed off them like a parasite.

His expression darkened.

He had seen enough.

Kyle pulled his hood lower over his face, stepping into the dimly lit building with slow, deliberate steps.

The air inside was heavy—thick with desperation, sweat, and the faint tinge of incense burning in the corners.

The space was far too cramped for the number of people packed into it, and yet more kept pressing inside.

Whispers of prayers and pleas floated around, building into a chaotic hum that buzzed in Kyle's ears.

Most of the villagers were pushing toward the front, where a robed priest stood behind a crude wooden altar.

The priest wore a serene smile, hands raised as if to calm the crowd.

"Please. Do not push, my children. The Lord's grace is boundless. There is enough love for all of you. You must simply have faith."

He called, his voice sickeningly gentle.

But the people weren't listening.

They shoved, stepped over one another, some even crying as they tried to get closer. A woman clutched a child who was coughing violently, while an old man kept muttering about coin he had brought in exchange for healing.

The room reeked of desperation—of people who had nowhere else to turn.

Kyle's eyes narrowed. This was beyond pathetic. It was exploitation, wrapped in divine silk.

Towering above most of the crowd and built with a warrior's strength, Kyle began to move forward. He didn't shout.

He didn't push with anger. He simply kept walking. His broad shoulders created a path, and people instinctively moved, either cowed by his presence or pushed aside by the sheer force of his momentum.

Murmurs rippled around him, but no one tried to stop him.

He reached the front with ease, standing directly before the altar now, face still shadowed by his hood.

The priest looked up and gave him a gentle smile, though there was a flicker of something else in his eyes—hesitation, maybe even suspicion.

"Welcome, traveler."

The priest said, hands still raised in blessing.

"How may I serve you? Are you in need of healing… guidance… or a way to repay the gods' generosity?"

As the priest's words ended, Kyle felt it. The divine magic subtly reached out—testing him, brushing against his own mana like oily fingers searching for a weak point.

Instead of retreating, Kyle's own energy reacted sharply, resisting the touch. The magical clash was subtle, invisible to those around them, but both men felt it clearly.

Kyle's lips curled into a slight smirk beneath his hood.

It was exactly as he thought. The divine energy wasn't pure. It wasn't flowing from above—it was being pulled, leashed, and twisted. A parasite dressed in priestly robes.

And if this priest could sense the pushback from Kyle's own mana, then he'd know that Kyle was no ordinary supplicant.

Still smirking, Kyle kept his expression calm and said.

"I'm just here to see what your god has to offer."