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

"Return to me."

Still nothing.

Her brow furrowed. Her eyes narrowed. She focused fully on the puppet — on the divine link she had forged into its form. The same thread that had delivered the soul.

Dead silence.

Lucia blinked.

'That's not possible.'

She sat up straight, her back no longer resting against her throne. Her hands moved with quick gestures now, casting a deeper probe. It wasn't just disobedience — it was absence. Emptiness. As if the puppet was no longer hers at all.

She tried again. More divine power. More force.

"Obey me."

Nothing.

The string was severed.

Lucia rose from her seat completely, her usually calm face now disturbed by genuine confusion.

"It was only gone for a few minutes… Did he destroy it? No, that's not it. The body still functioned. It delivered the soul."

She wondered aloud.

But after that… it had gone dark. Void.

And that wasn't supposed to happen.

She waved her hand again, summoning the mirror of worlds. In it, the puppet's last location flickered — Kyle's war camp.

The scene was fragmented, like an unfinished memory. She saw the puppet fall, but the actual cause… was unclear.

"Who are you, mortal? You break into fate, kill a god, sever divine links, and yet still wear a mortal's skin."

Lucia whispered, eyes narrowing with growing interest.

The orb pulsed in her hand.

She looked down at it again.

"…And you still care enough to chase this soul."

There was power in that sort of loyalty. And danger.

Goddess Lucia knew better than anyone: Love was the one force even gods could not predict.

In the quiet cold of her chamber, Goddess Lucia stood still—her silken robes brushing the marble floor as a storm of divine unease churned inside her.

Her fingers clutched the soul orb tightly, but her gaze was elsewhere—fixed, distant, and troubled.

The severing of her connection to the puppet should not have been possible. Not unless—

"No."

She muttered aloud, almost defensively, the word echoing off the pillars.

The thought pressed at the back of her mind like a creeping shadow.

The last time she had felt such a backlash, such divine dissonance, was because of him—the man whose soul she had once tried so desperately to reclaim.

The man she had loved. The one for whom she had betrayed gods and fate alike.

Kyle. The one she knew and had kept her going for so long. The person she missed and would do anything to see once more.

But Kyle was dead.

Her Kyle was dead and in a way where she could not find him anymore. She had tried and tried and tried once more until she was forced to give up.

She had seen it. Felt it. His soul had vanished long ago into the void, far beyond reach. Even she, a goddess, had been unable to retrieve it.

And she had tried. Gods knew she had tried—hundreds of years, thousands of prayers, all for nothing. The man had slipped away completely.

He was gone.

And yet…

The puppet's loss, the divine thread's unraveling—it all felt the same.

"No."

She repeated again, stronger this time, shaking her head, as if doing so would banish the dread crawling up her spine.

'I will not let history repeat itself.'

If someone else—mortal or otherwise—was trying to cause the divine trouble, then they would be dealt with swiftly and completely.

She would not allow herself, or the remaining gods, to be humiliated again.

Her gaze dropped to the glowing soul orb in her hand—the elf girl's essence, still warm with life and memory.

For a brief moment, her grip softened. It was a beautiful soul. Pure, stubborn, brimming with loyalty. And… it had been protected. Fought for.

Just like she had once been.

Her lip curled.

"I won't let this escalate. I won't let someone else destroy everything I've rebuilt."

She whispered, voice tightening with new resolve.

She waved her hand and the orb vanished into a sealed vault in the depths of her realm. She would keep it safe. Not out of cruelty—but because it was leverage.

'Useful leverage.'

Then, turning away from her dark collection of motionless puppets, she summoned a map of the lower realms. Of the human world. Of the one place she had sworn never to descend into again.

"It's time to finish what others failed to."

She murmured, walking into the shadows.

Back on the war-scarred fields of Kyle's camp, dusk hung heavy in the air, painting the sky with purples and burnt oranges.

Kyle walked in silence, sword still strapped to his back, a strange unease dragging at his thoughts.

The puppet followed behind him and Melissa, silent and unnervingly obedient. With its cracked porcelain face and eerily lifelike movement, it looked more like a broken human than a tool. But Kyle could sense the difference. There was nothing in its eyes. No spark. No resistance. It wasn't just lifeless—it was soulless.

And he knew exactly whose soul it had stolen.

His hands tightened into fists at the memory of Silvy's pale, breathless form. He had tried to shake the thought from his mind ever since leaving her tent, but it clawed back in the silence—reminding him of his failure.

Still, he kept his face calm. Stoic.

Beside him, Melissa finally broke the silence.

"Young master… are you sure we shouldn't tell the others?"

Kyle didn't stop walking, but his voice cut through the air.

"No."

"But—"

"If word gets out that Silvy's soul is gone, we'll lose morale. And panic will spread. We've just survived a god. The last thing we need now is fear."

His tone was steady, but sharp.

Melissa hesitated but nodded.

"Understood."

Kyle sighed, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.

"Keep your head up, Melissa. You're a leader here. If they see doubt in your eyes, they'll start doubting too."

Melissa straightened her back immediately, her jaw set.

"Yes, young master."

He stopped walking then, looking around at the camp. Tents were being repaired, soldiers were tending wounds, and scouts reported in hushed tones near the borders.

Everyone was busy—trying to pretend things were normal.

But Kyle knew. Deep down, everyone felt the shift.

The puppet wasn't just an intruder. It was a message.

And it had been sent by someone dangerous.

His gaze shifted back to the puppet. Though it walked quietly, its mere presence unsettled him. It didn't attack. It didn't resist. It simply was. Like an echo of something unfinished.

And it was watching. Always watching.

"I don't trust it."

Kyle muttered.

"Should we destroy it?"

Melissa asked quietly.

"No. Not yet. It's connected to whoever sent it. If we destroy it now, we lose a trail."

Melissa frowned.

"Then what do we do?"

"We wait. Watch. And when the time comes… we follow it back to its master."

Kyle stepped closer to the puppet and stared into its glassy, empty eyes.

"I don't know who you belong to, but if you're listening… I'm coming for you. And I will take her back."

He whispered.

The puppet didn't respond. It didn't even blink.

But far away, in the divine realm, a shiver passed through Goddess Lucia's spine—and she didn't know why.