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

The air cracked with unstable mana as the training ground shook violently, cracks splintering across the floor beneath Kyle's feet.

The very foundations of the royal palace trembled, causing alarms to ring throughout the capital. Panic surged like a wave.

Servants stumbled and fled, nobles cried out in fear, and soldiers instinctively reached for their weapons as the violent surge threatened to tear the structure apart.

At the heart of it all stood Kyle—motionless, head bowed, fists clenched—his aura flaring uncontrollably. Divine mana sizzled against the overwhelming pressure of something older, something angrier.

Melissa, already on edge from the rising tension earlier, felt the shift in mana before the quake even hit. Her heart dropped.

"That's him. Young master…"

She whispered.

Without another thought, she took off, shoving past confused guards and frightened nobles. When she reached the training ground, the sight that met her eyes stunned her into silence.

Kyle stood still, his back to her, facing the puppet now seated on its knees, the remnants of a shattered mask at its feet.

But what terrified Melissa most wasn't the puppet.

It was Kyle.

His body vibrated with pure fury. The ground beneath his boots had turned molten from the pressure of his mana. The air twisted and groaned around him.

She reached for her weapon.

She had no idea what had triggered her young master like this—but the puppet was clearly the cause.

She would end it.

Without hesitation, she leapt forward, mana drawn into her blade.

"I'll take care of this—!"

But before her sword could strike, Kyle moved.

His hand clamped around her blade with precision and calm, stopping her mid-swing. The pressure of his grip alone caused her mana to flicker and destabilize.

"Stand down."

He said, his voice low.

Melissa's breath caught. That tone—it was flat, furious, restrained. His usual control was paper-thin.

"But, young master. You're losing yourself. Let me help—"

She tried, her voice shaking.

"No."

The finality in his voice struck harder than any weapon. He released her blade, and his eyes—cold, unfamiliar—met hers.

"I said I'll deal with this myself."

Melissa swallowed hard.

"Then… what do you need from me?"

Kyle inhaled deeply, as if pulling himself back from the edge. Slowly, he lowered his gaze and let go of the mana burning in his hands. The shaking stopped, but the tension remained thick.

"You did a good job coming here. But go back. Tell the others not to come looking for me. I need time. Alone."

He said more gently now, though still distant.

Melissa hesitated, torn between obedience and concern.

"Will you be okay…?"

His silence lingered too long.

Then…

"I don't know."

It was the most honest answer she had ever heard from him.

Something inside her ached, but she nodded.

"I understand, young master."

She stepped back, hesitating only for a second longer, before she turned and left. Her heart weighed with unease, her mind filled with worry.

Whatever Kyle was confronting—whatever that puppet meant to him—it wasn't something she could help him face.

At least not yet.

______

The grand duchess's boots echoed sharply against the stone as she rushed through the corridor, her cloak fluttering behind her.

Servants scrambled out of her way, alarmed by the panic etched into her expression. Her heart thundered against her ribs. The quake, the blast of unstable mana—there was no doubt.

Kyle was the source.

She needed to see him.

But just as she neared the outer halls of the training grounds, a familiar figure blocked her path. Melissa stood tall, her back straight, hands clasped before her like a shield.

"Please return to your quarters, Your Grace. Young Master Kyle has ordered not to be disturbed. He needs time."

Melissa said calmly.

Amana's eyes narrowed.

"Move."

Melissa didn't budge.

"I can't."

"I wasn't asking."

"I wasn't either."

A heavy silence settled between them as both women stared the other down. Amana's grip on her hilt tightened.

"You have no right to bar my path. I am his fiancée. If anyone should be at his side now, it's me."

The grand duchess snapped.

The words were sharp, but to Melissa, they felt like a blade straight to the heart.

Fiancée.

Of course. That was the truth Melissa always tried to ignore.

Her chest ached, and for a moment, her fingers twitched with the urge to let the duchess pass. To admit she had no place in Kyle's world beyond what he offered her as a subordinate. But…

She stood firm.

"I was given an order by my young master. And I intend to follow it."

Melissa said, her voice firm despite the ache.

The duchess took a sharp step forward.

"You think I care about your little orders? You think you can stop me?"

Melissa's eyes sharpened.

"I won't let you disturb him, Your Grace. Not when he specifically asked for space."

Amana exhaled through her nose, frustrated, insulted.

"Then I'll teach you a lesson you won't forget."

Without another word, she drew her sword. A flicker of noble elegance and power pulsed through her stance—this wasn't a bluff. She fully intended to strike.

Melissa took a step back and drew her own blade.

She didn't want this fight.

But if protecting her young master meant standing up to the very woman he was promised to—then so be it.

The two women circled each other, tension thick between them. Amana's strikes came swift and disciplined, the product of noble training, battlefield experience, and raw conviction.

Melissa matched her, not with polish, but with grit and relentless determination. She had trained under Kyle himself. She knew how to endure.

Steel clashed with steel in a blur of silver.

"You're wasting time! He needs support!"

Amana growled between strikes.

"You don't understand. He doesn't need people crowding him right now. He needs space to think."

Melissa countered, pushing back.

"And you know what he needs better than I do?"

"I've known him longer."

That brought Amana to a brief pause. Her hesitation lasted only a heartbeat—but it was enough.

Melissa slipped inside her guard, pressed her blade to the duchess's shoulder—not to wound, but to stop the duel.

Both women froze.

Their swords trembled slightly as they held their positions, breaths coming fast.

The courtyard between the palace wings grew tense as Grand Duchess Amana and Melissa faced one another, blades drawn.

Wind rushed between them, tugging at their cloaks, but neither moved—yet.

"I won't let you pass."

Melissa said, her voice low but resolute.

Amana's eyes narrowed.

"You forget your place, Melissa. He is my fiancé."

"And I'm his subordinate. He gave me an order. I won't betray it."

Melissa replied, holding her sword steady.

A flicker of irritation crossed Amana's face. She lunged first, her blade sharp and swift. Melissa blocked the strike, her arms shaking under the strength behind it.

The two clashed, steel ringing against steel as palace guards peeked from nearby corridors, too stunned to intervene.

"You're reckless! He needs someone beside him, not a wall of stubborn pride!"

Amana shouted, swinging again.

Melissa grit her teeth and countered with a low sweep.

"He needs peace, even if it's just for a moment. If you care for him, then respect that!"

Their blades locked, faces inches apart. Amana's breath was heavy. Melissa's hands trembled, but her stance didn't falter.