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

Kyle sat down slowly, processing everything Rean had told him.

His thoughts churned like a violent storm, each thread of memory and possibility tangling into the next until one name rose above all: Lucia.

He looked at Rean's now-kneeling figure and let out a sigh.

"I think I know who brought you back."

Rean looked up, curious but silent.

"There's only one being who fits what you described. A beautiful woman, with power enough to preserve a soul after death, and the inclination to do so because it was me she cared about."

Kyle leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

"Goddess Lucia."

Rean's eyes widened slightly, though he said nothing. Kyle continued, his voice measured.

"She was a god, yes—but one who betrayed the others during the great war. She stood by my side, even when it meant forsaking her divine rights. She went back to the realm of gods when it was over… said she had no place in the mortal world. But she made me a promise: that if I ever died, she'd preserve my soul and return it to the cycle herself."

Kyle's hand tightened into a fist.

"But that never happened. I never saw her again after that. I thought the gods had sealed her away for treason. I hoped that was the reason."

His voice darkened.

"Now I wonder if it wasn't her who betrayed me instead."

Rean, still kneeling, lowered his head.

"If she truly meant to preserve you, and yet you returned without her… something must have changed."

Kyle nodded grimly.

"It has. She's behind this. The soul harvests, the puppet attacks, the spreading curse. I'm almost certain of it now. Either she's lost herself… or I was wrong to trust her in the first place."

A silence hung between them for a while before Rean finally spoke again.

"What do you need me to do, Master?"

Kyle raised an eyebrow.

"I do not bleed. I do not hunger. I do not tire. This artificial body is perfect for war, for infiltration, for survival. Whatever you need of me—whether it is to scout enemy lines or fight a god—I will do it."

Rean continued.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of Kyle's lips.

"Even in death, you're the same stubborn loyal fool."

Rean grinned faintly.

"And you're still the same reckless master I pledged myself to."

The brief moment of levity passed quickly, and Kyle's expression sobered.

"But this isn't like last time. We're not just fighting mortal armies or rebellious gods. Someone is trying to break the order of the world. Stealing souls, hijacking divine constructs, spreading a curse that drains the living into permanent sleep."

Rean stood as Kyle rose to his feet.

"What's our first step?"

Kyle looked out the window toward the horizon.

"First, we need information. I want you to travel to the western front. The Grand Duchess and Melissa are currently stationed there. I want you to report to them and help reinforce our forces. But more importantly…"

He turned back to Rean.

"Search for signs of divine influence. Mana flows, relics, anything unusual. If this curse is spreading from a divine source, we need to find its anchor."

Rean bowed deeply.

"It shall be done."

Kyle walked over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"And Rean… don't take unnecessary risks. We've already lost you once. I don't intend to lose you again."

Rean's smile was solemn, but warm.

"You won't. Not this time."

As Rean turned to leave, Kyle returned to his chair and looked down at his hands.

"Lucia… what are you really planning? And why Rean…?"

He whispered to himself.

There was no answer—only the hum of mana in the air and the distant sound of war drums echoing from the far edges of the land.

______

Kyle returned to his chambers, his footsteps slow but certain. The corridors were unusually silent, the weight of the cursed slumber blanketing more than just bodies.

Even the air felt heavier than usual—dense with divine energy that wasn't his. As he stepped inside his room, he exhaled, letting his shoulders drop.

The familiar prickle of foreign mana brushed against his mind. It was soft, almost delicate, like a hand gently pressing against his thoughts.

He didn't resist. Not this time.

He recognized it now—subtle, but unmistakable. Lucia.

He closed his eyes and breathed deep, allowing the divine influence to overtake him.

It seeped through his skin like cool water, pulling him downward—not into sleep, but into something far more dangerous.

The Realm of Death.

A chilling silence greeted him when his eyes opened. The world was washed in dull grey, with neither sky nor ground, only an endless fog surrounding him.

He stood on a stone path that twisted and curled in impossible shapes across the abyss. Here, there was no heartbeat. No wind. No time.

He was neither alive nor dead here.

Kyle clenched his fists and began walking.

"Lucia... I know you're watching."

His voice echoed strangely in the void. She didn't answer—but Kyle hadn't expected her to. He wasn't here to speak with her. Not directly.

He was here to find the exit. The secret path that connected this realm to hers.

Last time he was dragged here, the path was barred to him. Sealed.

But that had changed.

Her interference with his world—through the puppet, through the curse—it meant she had to connect her realm with his.

That connection meant there was a backdoor somewhere, a crack in her divine prison.

Kyle's mana flared lightly in his palms, not to fight, but to sense. The stone beneath his feet responded.

Faint trails of energy scattered across the path, most leading nowhere—but one faint pulse diverged from the others, like a heartbeat beneath stone.

"There."

He stepped off the main road, into the fog, following that subtle thrum. Every step pulled him deeper into the unknown—closer to the center of her power.

The closer he got, the heavier the air became, until each breath he took scraped at his lungs.

But he pushed forward.

He passed broken statues that looked like gods, their faces twisted in agony. Fragments of memories? Echoes of betrayal? He didn't know. Didn't care.

The path finally brought him before a jagged mirror suspended in the air—cracked and flickering with divine light. On the other side, Kyle saw a glimpse of her. Lucia.

She was seated on her throne of obsidian roses, head bowed, her face unreadable.

Kyle reached out, his fingers brushing the cold glass.

"I found your door. Let's see if you'll slam it shut… or open it and face me."

He muttered.

Kyle stood before the cracked mirror, eyes locked on Lucia's distant figure. The air around him pulsed with her divine energy, sharp and cold. He raised his hand, placing it against the mirror's surface.

"I'm here, Lucia. You tried to pull me into this place… so now I'm coming to you."

He said quietly.

The mirror shimmered, reacting to his touch, but remained shut.

Kyle didn't move. He simply stared, waiting—challenging her. If she still had a shred of the goddess who once stood beside him, she would answer.

And if not, he would break through anyway. One way or another.