Reborn as a Useless Noble with my SSS-Class Innate Talent-Chapter 193: Ch : The Women of White- Part 2

Chapter 193: Ch 193: The Women of White- Part 2

The young soldier thrashed on the cot, his limbs twitching with fevered distress even as his eyes remained closed.

A low groan escaped his lips, body slick with sweat. Bruce stood nearby, arms folded uneasily.

He watched the boy struggle for a moment longer before glancing toward Kyle, who knelt at the soldier’s side.

“Should I go get a doctor, young master? He looks like he’s in a lot of pain. I don’t think he’ll last the night at this rate.”

Bruce asked.

Kyle shook his head without looking up.

“No doctor can help him. This isn’t a normal affliction. Leave him to me.”

Bruce stepped back, uneasy but trusting.

Kyle placed his hand on the boy’s chest, feeling the irregular flow of mana beneath the skin.

The divine energy had wrapped itself tightly around the soldier’s core, like a parasite trying to claim its host.

With practiced focus, Kyle let his mana thread through the boy’s body, guiding the natural flow and forcing it back into alignment.

As soon as Kyle began, the divine mana resisted.

A violent surge flared against his palm, like a holy fire fighting back against intrusion.

Kyle gritted his teeth, holding his position steady as the foreign power lashed out, trying to pull him in.

He felt its tug, not just on his mana—but on his mind, his soul. It wanted to consume him too.

Kyle closed his eyes, focusing. He needed to go deeper. The world faded, and in the darkness of his mind, he saw it.

A blinding white presence surged toward him—a humanoid shape of searing light, like a woman carved from moonlight and clouds. Pupiless white eyes locked on to his, and she reached out a slender arm.

Kyle tried to pull away, but the figure caught his wrist.

Her touch was cold, not in temperature, but in purity—unyielding, absolute. It was the kind of cold that wanted to erase everything impure.

“You’re not welcome here.”

Kyle said calmly, suppressing the instinct to recoil.

The figure didn’t speak, but the pressure increased. It was trying to pull him deeper, to make him submit.

But Kyle’s mana flared violently, rejecting the pull. He yanked his arm back and forced a spike of his power into the connection.

“Perish.”

The white entity shuddered, the fingers slipping away from his wrist. It didn’t scream, didn’t fight—just stared at him silently as it dissipated, crumbling into dust made of light.

Kyle’s eyes snapped open.

Sweat trickled down his brow, but his breathing was steady. Bruce and Melissa were staring at him, both looking on edge.

“You okay? That looked… intense.”

Bruce asked, stepping forward cautiously.

“I’m fine. And he’ll be fine too.”

Kyle replied, wiping his forehead.

Melissa raised an eyebrow.

“You sure? That didn’t look like normal healing.”

“It wasn’t. But the divine mana is gone. Whatever was inside him—I broke the bond.”

Kyle said.

They nodded, though Melissa still looked uneasy. Satisfied that the boy’s breathing had stabilized, Kyle stood and motioned for them to leave.

“Let him rest. We’ll question him once he’s awake.”

They left the room in silence.

______

Hours passed.

The moon had risen high when the young soldier jolted awake, drenched in sweat.

His chest heaved, his vision blurry, and his body heavy with exhaustion. But panic quickly overrode the confusion.

Where was he?

He didn’t recognize the ceiling above him, nor the blankets tucked neatly around his body.

The scent of unfamiliar herbs and clean linens filled his nose. The divine presence that had clung to him like a second skin was gone—but in its place was raw fear.

He sat up too fast and nearly fell over. A sharp pain flared in his side, but he ignored it. He had to leave. Now.

He staggered to his feet, wobbling slightly, but made it to the door. His hands fumbled with the latch, heart pounding. He didn’t know where he was—but he knew he couldn’t stay.

Someone had dragged him away from the battlefield.

Someone powerful enough to drive off that thing.

He opened the door and slipped into the night, unaware that sharp eyes were already watching from the shadows.

The young soldier gasped for breath as he stumbled through the narrow halls of the unfamiliar building, his heart thundering like a war drum.

His muscles ached, his side throbbed from reopened wounds, but the fear of captivity numbed him.

He didn’t know whose territory this was or how he had ended up here—but in his mind, there was only one conclusion: he was a prisoner of the enemy.

He burst through a side door and into the cold night, ignoring the sting of wind on his clammy skin.

Buildings passed in a blur, their soft lamplight doing nothing to calm his racing thoughts. Oddly, no guards stopped him. No alarms were raised.

In fact, the place seemed… peaceful.

But the boy’s panic had long since overridden any rational thought.

‘They’re toying with me. Trying to see where I’ll run before they strike.’

He thought bitterly.

He sprinted faster, lungs burning.

He reached the edge of the residential area—a wooden fence marking the last barrier between the settlement and the surrounding wild.

With a grunt, he vaulted over it, hitting the dirt and rolling forward.

Only to slam into something solid.

A figure stood before him like a wall of steel, barely shifting even as the boy collided with his chest.

The soldier stumbled back, falling on his rear, and looked up—his blood turning to ice.

Kyle Armstrong stood in the moonlight, arms crossed. His golden eyes glowed faintly, the cold night wind tugging at his coat. He looked down at the boy with unreadable calm.

“That’s far enough. You need to go back to bed”

Kyle said simply.

The boy’s entire body locked up. Something about Kyle’s tone—measured, patient, but carrying a weight of quiet authority—made it impossible to move.

He didn’t recognize this man. But everything in his instincts screamed that this was someone dangerous.

Powerful. Someone who could crush him if he wanted to.

“I… I’m not your prisoner.”

The boy stammered, backing away slowly on his hands and feet.

Kyle didn’t move.

“You’re not. But if you keep running around like this in your condition, you will die. That divine mana almost burned your core out. I pulled it out of you myself.”

That made the boy freeze.

“You…?”

He touched his chest, suddenly aware of how the intense pressure that had haunted him was gone.

Kyle offered a small nod.

“You’re safe. For now.”

The boy wanted to protest—say that he couldn’t trust those words—but the way Kyle stood there, not drawing a weapon, not yelling, just… waiting—made it impossible to argue.

Slowly, the soldier pushed himself to his feet.

“I’ll… go back.”

He said, his voice barely a whisper.

Kyle stepped aside, silently watching as the boy turned back toward the settlement, shoulders slumped, confusion and exhaustion overtaking fear.

—

Far from the village, deep within the shadows of the dying battlefield, something stirred.

The white-haired being stood motionless, her feet resting lightly on the blood-soaked earth.

Her eyes, empty of pupils, stared toward the horizon with unnatural precision—as though distance meant nothing to her.

The divine threads she had scattered into the world pulsed faintly, whispering back to her.

The boy had awakened. The one who had escaped.

She tilted her head slightly, the bones in her neck cracking in protest. A flicker of emotion—something like delight—danced across her porcelain features.

Then she hummed.

It was a haunting, broken melody. Like a lullaby sung underwater, distorted and cracked.

Her vocal cords were damaged beyond healing, and every sound she made was filled with a brittle rasp, as if her throat had once been torn apart and forced to knit itself back together.

The tune warbled strangely as she moved, the grass beneath her feet blooming white with every step. The air around her thickened, charged with divine pressure.

She didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

But her intent was clear.

She would find the boy again.

She would take him back.

And this time, she would not be interrupted.