Reborn as a Useless Noble with my SSS-Class Innate Talent-Chapter 319: Ch : To War - Part 1

Kyle returned to his office, only to be met with a stare from Bruce that was far too knowing for his liking.

"Young master, have you chosen Sasha as your partner?"

Bruce began slowly.

Kyle didn’t even look up from the reports in his hand.

"Don’t listen to rumors."

Bruce raised a brow.

"It’s not a rumor if someone saw you two kissing."

Kyle’s hand froze mid-page. He looked up and gave Bruce a sharp glance—one that told him clearly to drop the subject.

Bruce held up his hands in mock surrender and walked away without pressing the matter further.

Lunch was awkward. The air was heavier than usual, and hushed whispers trailed behind Kyle as he entered the mess hall.

A few of the soldiers nudged each other, eyes darting toward him and then quickly away. Their expressions carried curiosity, some envy, and a touch of disbelief.

But it wasn’t the others that bothered Kyle—it was the reactions from Melissa and Silvy.

Melissa didn’t even meet his eyes. Her shoulders were stiff, her plate untouched.

Silvy, usually glued to his side with a flirtatious smile, kept her gaze firmly on her food and her voice low as she chatted with the person beside her.

Every time Kyle made an attempt to call either of them, they would suddenly find a reason to leave the table or avoid his glance altogether.

He called out to Melissa once. She pretended not to hear.

He called Silvy’s name. She stiffened and turned her back.

And when they left—far earlier than they usually would—Kyle didn’t try to stop them. He simply sighed, fingers lightly tapping the side of his cup as frustration slowly bloomed in his chest.

The hall was abuzz with gossip, and now even his closest allies were distancing themselves.

He glanced toward Bruce, who had chosen a seat at the far corner of the table. Bruce gave him a slow nod, silently confirming that he’d noticed the same.

Kyle leaned back and muttered.

"This is getting out of hand."

Bruce, always calm in chaos, replied simply.

"You’re a powerful man, young master. It was bound to happen."

Kyle didn’t say anything after that. He finished his food in silence and stood up, ignoring the darting eyes that followed him out.

Back in his office, he threw himself into work, organizing the next phase of their military operation.

The letter from the Grand Duchess had already put him on edge, but this personal drama added an unnecessary complication. He couldn’t afford distractions—not now.

He went through their logistics again: weapon supplies, food reserves, mana cores, field medics, and mage formations. He finalized the units and then picked up his pen. It was time to issue a command.

Kyle’s message was delivered before sundown.

[All personnel must be prepared to march for war in two days. Resolve all personal matters now. There will be no second chances once we depart.]

The news sent a ripple through the territory. Some gasped. Others whispered. But no one protested.

They had known this day would come—it had only been a matter of time. They had seen the changes in their young master.

The way he moved with a calm purpose. The way he looked through problems instead of reacting. The way he talked about the divine, not with awe, but with defiance.

Now, the countdown had begun.

There was unrest in the village—not the kind born of fear, but the kind laced with excitement and anxious energy.

As the news of war spread, people moved with purpose.

The blacksmith worked late into the night, hammering out blades that sparked like lightning. The tailors stitched protective charms into uniforms, their needles dancing with fervor.

Farmers doubled their work, packing dried food for soldiers. Children whispered stories of battles and heroes, wide-eyed and reverent.

And amidst it all, Kyle watched from his office window.

His hands were behind his back, his posture straight and still, but his expression betrayed his thoughts—expectation, tension, a glimmer of something almost like anticipation.

This one decision—his decision to walk into war—would change everything. Not just for himself, but for every soul under his protection.

It would shape their future and determine whether they rose or fell together.

The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows over the village.

"Let’s see what fate has in store."

Kyle murmured to himself.

—---

Far from Kyle’s territory, within the opulent marble halls of the royal palace, Prince Mikalius sipped his tea with measured grace.

The red and gold drapes of the war chamber fluttered slightly, disturbed only by the faintest breeze slipping through the stained-glass windows.

Across from him stood Grand Duchess Amana, her face as composed as ever.

"How are the preparations?"

Mikalius asked, voice low but laced with sharp curiosity.

Amana offered a shallow bow.

"The army is ready, Your Highness. We can begin the march the moment you give the word."

Mikalius gave a satisfied hum, setting down his teacup with a soft clink.

"Good. Very good. This... this is something I have wanted for a long time. For my mother."

His eyes narrowed.

"They conspired to murder her, Amana. And now—now they will learn what it means to provoke the royal family."

The silence between them stretched until he added hastily.

"Not that I’m starting a war over personal grudges, of course. This conflict... was inevitable. The enemy pushed us to this."

The Grand Duchess smiled faintly.

"Of course, Your Highness. I would never imply otherwise."

She understood his pain—more than he realized. The royal court was a nest of snakes, and the boy prince had grown into a man with scars etched into his heart.

She could see it in the tension in his fingers, the slight tremble he worked to hide when his mother was mentioned.

"And Kyle?"

Mikalius asked suddenly, as though the name had been waiting on the tip of his tongue.

The Grand Duchess blinked, caught slightly off guard.

"Kyle?"

"Yes."

Mikalius leaned back, swirling the remnants of his tea.

"He’s the Grand Duke now. Well, not officially. But he has a territory, people, military force and your support. I’m relying on him more than most in this war."

"I haven’t spoken to him directly in the past few days. But... something tells me he’s ready. More than ready."

Amana admitted.

Mikalius tilted his head.

"You believe in him that much?"

Amana’s eyes glimmered.

"I was the one who proposed to him, Your Highness. He’s not just a weapon for this kingdom—he’s its future."

The prince fell silent, lips pressing together in thought.

"Yes... the divine may have gods. But we have Kyle Armstrong. He has already proven himself."

Mikalius said after a pause.

Prince Mikalius chuckled softly at his own words, but there was no jest in his tone—only certainty.

"Let the gods try, and they’ll learn what happens when they challenge a man shaped not by blessings, but by blood and burden."

He muttered,

Grand Duchess Amana gave a nod of agreement, her expression unreadable.

She too had seen the fire behind Kyle’s calm eyes, the kind of flame that could not be gifted—it had to be earned.

She turned toward the war table, fingers brushing over the pieces arranged atop it.

"The storm is coming. Let’s see who survives it."

She murmured.

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