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

In the aftermath of the skirmish with the black masses, Bruce wasted no time.

Though his limbs still ached from the battle and his mana reserves were low, his priority was clear—get to the village and ensure its safety, then inform his young master.

He mounted his dust-covered horse once again and galloped with urgency, cutting through the forest trails with a focused expression.

The air still reeked faintly of corrupted mana, but it no longer felt as suffocating.

Upon reaching the village, Bruce was relieved to find the defensive formations intact. The villagers were shaken but alive, protected under the barriers Kyle had ordered.

The soldiers stationed here greeted him with wary smiles and thankful nods. Without wasting a moment, Bruce sat down to draft a report.

He detailed everything—the mass of formless creatures, their behavior, the direction of their spread, and how they seemed drawn to areas with dense mana or settlements.

Once finished, he handed the sealed scroll to a fast courier with strict instructions: deliver this directly into Kyle Armstrong's hands.

Meanwhile, in the capital, the atmosphere was thick with tension. Inside the grand council chamber, an emergency summit had been called.

Kings and envoys from the surrendered nations filled the large, gilded hall, their faces tight with suspicion and bitterness.

They had come to formally negotiate peace and reparations, but now they wanted answers—answers about the monsters that were tearing across the continent.

Crown Prince Mikalius sat at the head of the council table, his posture regal but visibly strained.

Beside him, Kyle stood in silence, arms folded behind his back, his presence alone casting a heavy shadow over the assembly. His reputation preceded him, and many couldn't meet his gaze directly.

As the discussion opened, it quickly devolved into shouting.

"You promised us peace! We laid down our arms! And now we're being slaughtered by these black demons!"

A burly king from the west roared.

"This land is cursed! A punishment from the heavens! You've angered the gods with your arrogance and dragged us all into this godforsaken mess!"

Another snapped, slamming his hand on the table.

"Enough! We're all under attack—do not mistake this as a problem of one nation!"

Mikalius raised his voice, standing. But his words fell on deaf ears. The anger in the room had already boiled over.

"You've brought this upon us! You defied the gods. You stood with that man—Kyle Armstrong—and now the divine punishment has begun!"

An elderly minister accused.

Kyle didn't flinch, but his fingers twitched slightly. His cold gaze swept the room, silencing some with nothing more than a look. But before he could respond, the chamber doors burst open.

A group of royal guards ran in, their armor scuffed and faces pale with urgency.

"Your Majesty! We have dire news—the black-demons have appeared in the southern and eastern kingdoms as well. They've breached the border towns and begun rampaging through villages."

One panted. A stunned silence fell across the chamber.

"What…?"

One of the accusing kings whispered, his eyes wide.

"We received urgent messages from two of our outposts. They are not isolated to this land. The demons… they're everywhere."

The guard continued.

The room, moments ago filled with fury and pride, suddenly fell into fearful muttering.

Kyle stepped forward, finally speaking.

"So much for the curse being limited to this 'godforsaken' land, hmm?"

His words cut like a blade, but no one dared rebuke him now.

Mikalius cleared his throat and seized the moment.

"You see now—this is not divine punishment upon one nation. This is a larger threat. And unless we work together, we will all fall together."

Reluctantly, the room began to settle. The prideful kings and nobles, now confronted with the scope of the crisis, exchanged uneasy glances.

None of them could afford to fight amongst themselves anymore—not when something worse loomed over all of them.

Kyle turned toward Mikalius.

"We need full cooperation from all kingdoms. Access to border towns, supplies, and most importantly—mages and rune practitioners. If we're to contain this threat, we must act now."

Mikalius nodded.

"I'll draft the decrees. But you lead the operations, Kyle. This is your war now."

Kyle gave a short nod.

"Then I'll end it."

In the tense aftermath of the council meeting, Kyle stepped forward once more, his eyes scanning the faces of the gathered kings and envoys.

"I'll be borrowing your soldiers. They need to be trained to face the black mass. None of your armies are prepared for this."

He said calmly, yet the weight of his words struck like a hammer.

Gasps rippled through the room, and one of the kings stood up, his face red.

"You presume too much, Kyle Armstrong! Our soldiers are loyal to us—they will not follow the commands of an outsider!"

Another noble added bitterly.

"They swore allegiance to their crowns, not to a self-appointed war hero."

Kyle didn't flinch. Instead, he gave a low, mocking scoff and stepped down from the platform, his footsteps echoing ominously in the grand hall.

"Time will tell. Let's see where their loyalty lies—fear or leadership."

He said, meeting each of the rulers' eyes one by one.

Without waiting for permission, Kyle turned to Prince Mikalius.

"Have all soldiers from every kingdom assembled by dusk."

Prince Mikalius hesitated only a moment, then nodded.

"Make the announcement. I'll issue the decree."

By the end of the day, the palace training grounds were filled with thousands of soldiers.

They came in different colors and armor styles, banners of their respective kingdoms flying beside them.

Confused whispers passed between the men as they looked around, trying to make sense of the summons.

Then, Kyle stepped out.

He didn't wear royal garb or armor—just a long black coat with a blade strapped at his back. He radiated calm power, like a storm held back only by will.

Every soldier fell silent as he stepped forward. Their confusion deepened—who was this man, and why did he command such authority?

Kyle's cold gaze swept the crowd.

"You've all survived one war. But the enemy you'll face next won't grant you that mercy again. If you want to live, you'll train under me. If you want to die, you're free to walk away."

He said, voice sharp and clear.

Silence fell again—no one moved. But already, many eyes had begun to shift… in awe, not resistance.

The soldiers glanced at one another, their uncertainty wavering as Kyle continued to speak.

"I won't promise you comfort. I won't promise you glory. But I can promise you this—under me, you will have a fighting chance. You will not die like animals beneath some god's curse."

He said, pacing before them with slow, deliberate steps.

His voice cut through the still air, cold and resolute.

"You've seen your kings beg for answers. You've seen your gods stay silent. I'm not either of them. I fight, and I win. You've heard of me. You've heard what I've done."

He stopped walking and turned toward them again.

"Now you decide. Will you follow your crowns and die with pride? Or follow me, and live long enough to spit in a god's face?"

At first, silence.

Then, slowly—one soldier stepped forward.

Then another.

And another.

Until hundreds moved toward Kyle's side.

The kings watched, their faces pale with disbelief.

Kyle didn't look back at them. He only raised his voice once more, commanding.

"Get into formation. Training begins at sunrise."

The soldiers obeyed—without hesitation. Whatever loyalty they had brought here… it had begun to shift.