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

The moment of hesitation in the enforcer's stance was all Kyle needed to know—this fight could be won.

Still, the stigma-bearing knight didn't falter for long.

Divine light surged through his veins as he raised his blade again, golden symbols glowing down his arms, his movements once more precise and deadly.

The crowd gasped as radiant mana began to pulse visibly around the enforcer, casting an ethereal glow on the shattered ruins of the false temple.

Kyle exhaled slowly, grounding himself. His own mana surged up from his core, not in blinding brilliance, but in weight. Authority.

The kind that came not from prayer, but from blood, sweat, and raw will.

The enforcer charged.

His blade cleaved down with explosive force, the air around them crackling under the divine energy.

Kyle sidestepped just in time, letting the sword slam into the ground beside him, splitting stone with ease.

Without wasting a breath, Kyle retaliated—his blade moving in a sharp arc toward the enforcer's exposed side.

But the knight brought up his gauntlet and blocked with raw divine shielding, a shimmering barrier rippling over his forearm.

The two clashed again. Steel screamed against steel. Sparks exploded from each impact.

Kyle fought with precision, not flash.

His body was forged through battlefields, not temples. Every movement conserved energy, every strike calculated.

The enforcer, by contrast, moved with practiced ritual—his strength undeniable, his form molded by divine technique.

But Kyle could feel it. Every time their blades met, the divine mana tried to push into his veins. It tried to judge him, test him, bend him.

And every time, Kyle's will rejected it.

With a grunt, Kyle ducked under the next blow and delivered a brutal elbow to the enforcer's chest.

The man staggered slightly, but his armor absorbed the worst of it. In response, he swept his leg at Kyle's ankles—a cheap but effective move.

Kyle jumped, narrowly avoiding it, then drove his knee into the enforcer's shoulder as he landed.

The enforcer retaliated immediately, his fist crackling with divine energy as it slammed into Kyle's side.

The impact launched Kyle several feet, sending him tumbling through broken stone and dust.

The crowd gasped.

Kyle rolled to his feet, wincing as blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. He wiped it off and stared at the enforcer.

"Strong. But not enough."

Kyle muttered.

The enforcer charged again, this time swinging with divine-enhanced speed.

Kyle bent low and let the blade pass over him, countering with a rising uppercut that snapped the knight's head back.

He followed it up with a side kick that sent the enforcer crashing into a collapsed wooden pillar.

Before the enforcer could recover, Kyle advanced.

His mana surged—not flashy like divine magic, but cold, dense, and suffocating. It crashed over the field like a tidal wave, pressing down on everyone in the vicinity.

The villagers fell silent, clutching each other in fear.

Even the priest stumbled back, face pale.

The enforcer roared and tried to stand, but Kyle was already there—slamming him back down with the blunt edge of his sword.

"You've been relying too much on borrowed power. How long has it been since you fought with your own strength?"

Kyle said, voice cold.

The enforcer responded with a burst of divine light that threw Kyle back a few steps. He used the moment to leap into the air, his stigma pulsing, sword drawn overhead.

"Divine Judgment!"

A beam of holy light descended like a blade from the heavens.

Kyle didn't flinch.

Instead, he whispered.

"Collapse."

The earth beneath the enforcer cracked. A runic trap Kyle had carved with subtle steps earlier activated, detonating in a burst of neutral mana.

It cut off the divine connection for a second—just long enough for Kyle to lunge forward and intercept the attack mid-air.

Their blades collided mid-leap. The force of it shattered the ground below them.

The enforcer hit the earth first, breath knocked from his lungs. Kyle landed beside him and swung once more, knocking the sword clean from the enforcer's hand.

The fight was over.

The enforcer dropped to his knees, chest heaving, eyes wide with disbelief. His stigma flickered—then dimmed, the glow extinguishing like a candle snuffed in the wind.

Kyle pressed his blade to the man's shoulder.

"You fight well. But it's not your strength. It's theirs. And they've already abandoned you."

He said.

The enforcer didn't respond, staring at the ground.

The priest stepped forward, panicked.

"No! He is chosen! You—you must've cheated somehow! This isn't over!"

Kyle raised his head and pointed his sword toward the priest.

"You've bled this village dry. Lied to their faces. Used divine magic to control them. And you still dare to talk about 'righteousness'?"

The villagers stared, now less with fear and more with dawning horror.

"Where was your god just now? When your champion needed help? When these people needed healing, not extortion?"

Kyle asked, voice rising.

No answer came.

No light. No miracle.

The priest turned to flee.

A burst of mana struck the ground beside him—missing him intentionally. He fell flat, trembling.

"Take him."

Kyle said, and several of his soldiers appeared from the shadows, finally showing themselves.

The enforcer remained kneeling. His sword broken, his stigma dull.

Kyle looked down at him one final time.

"You can stay here. Or you can start over."

The man said nothing—but didn't resist as Kyle turned and walked away.

And behind him, the people began to murmur.

Not prayers.

But questions. Doubts.

The kind that shattered chains.

The priest scrambled to his feet, face twisted in rage.

"Get up! You worthless tool—get up and fight! Do not embarrass our god like this!"

He bellowed at the kneeling enforcer.

"You were given those powers for a reason! Use them! Strike him down in the name of our lord!"

The enforcer clenched his fists, jaw tightening as he slowly turned his head to look at the man he once served.

His body trembled—not with fear, but with restrained anger. His eyes no longer held reverence, only exhaustion.

For a moment, he looked as if he might stand—not to fight Kyle, but to silence the priest himself.

But Kyle didn't wait.

A wave of his mana lashed out with perfect precision. The priest's body snapped backward as if struck by an invisible hammer, collapsing unconscious in the dirt with a strangled grunt.

Silence followed.

Kyle stepped forward and looked down at the enforcer with calm eyes.

"You've been used. Thrown at enemies like a weapon with no thought for who you are or what you want."

He said.

The enforcer didn't reply.

Kyle continued, voice steady.

"I can sever the stigma. Free you from the god's chains. If you want to live for yourself... now's the time to say it."

The enforcer's shoulders tensed as Kyle's words sank in. His breath was ragged, and his hands dug into the ground beneath him.

For the first time in years, doubt flickered in his eyes—uncertainty not born of fear, but of possibility.

"You… can free me?"

He asked, voice low and hoarse, as if unused to hope.

Kyle nodded.

"Yes. No more blind obedience. No more being a pawn."

The enforcer looked at the fallen priest, then at the fearful villagers still clutching their offerings. Slowly, he reached up and tore the chain around his neck bearing the symbol of his god.