Reborn as a Useless Noble with my SSS-Class Innate Talent-Chapter 388: Ch : The Root - Part 4

Kyle stood silently in front of the training ground, the distant clang of metal on wood echoing through the air as General Rean—his puppet soldier—moved with eerie precision, striking through the next dummy.

The quiet hum of corrupted mana still lingered faintly in the back of his mind from their recent excursion, but now, with a moment to think, he needed clarity.

He stepped forward, voice low but firm.

"Rean."

The puppet halted mid-strike, turning his head toward Kyle.

"Yes, young master?"

Kyle narrowed his eyes.

"Does this situation look familiar to you? The black mana, the divine corruption, the way the gods are moving behind the scenes again. Does it remind you of anything?"

Rean’s eyes dimmed for a moment, a sign that he was accessing a deeper part of his fragmented memory. Then, slowly, he nodded.

"Yes. It’s starting to parallel the last days of our previous world. The same creeping blackness. The same slow corrosion of free will. Back then, the gods turned our world into their battlefield the moment they realized humanity no longer intended to bow."

His tone was calm, almost mechanical, but Kyle could sense the anger underneath.

"And you don’t regret it?"

"Never. I would rather die a hundred more times than submit to those tyrants."

Rean said without hesitation.

Kyle allowed a faint smirk to tug at his lips.

"Good. Because it looks like we’ll be doing this all over again."

He paused for a moment, looking up at the dimming sky.

"I’ll be honest with you, Rean. I don’t remember everything. Rebirth took some of my memories. What did we do last time? How did we push back when things reached this point?"

Rean was quiet for a long moment, then turned fully toward Kyle, spear resting casually against his shoulder.

"In our past life, we made the gods bleed."

Kyle raised an eyebrow.

"Specifically?"

Rean’s voice was laced with something akin to dark amusement.

"We dragged the God of Justice out from his hiding place. He had gone too far, corrupting our lands, twisting our people. We challenged him in front of his own shrine. We shattered ten of his divine shards—each one anchored in a key location of our world. That was the price to force him to descend."

Kyle leaned forward, interest piqued.

"Shards?"

Rean nodded.

"Divine shards. They’re like anchors. Bits of his essence scattered throughout the world, hidden in temples, cursed ruins, and blood-soaked battlegrounds. Each shard fuels his power and expands his control. But they also tie him to this realm. Break enough of them... and the god has no choice but to appear."

Kyle’s eyes gleamed with sharp understanding.

"And when he appeared?"

"We nearly killed him. We crushed him under the weight of our world’s wrath. His body broke. His form scattered. If not for a last-second divine intervention by the others, we would have ended him there."

Rean replied, a trace of satisfaction in his voice.

Kyle’s lips curled into a cold smile.

"Then history is about to repeat itself."

The puppet nodded solemnly.

"So it would seem."

Kyle turned away, processing everything.

"We need to find those shards. If we destroy them again, we’ll draw the God of Justice out. Then we can end this nonsense."

"Agreed. But we must be cautious. These shards are likely better hidden than before. And the gods have learned from last time. They’ll protect their assets more aggressively."

Rean said.

"Let them try. I’m not the same man I was either."

Kyle said softly, mana flaring briefly from his body like a cold wind.

He looked back at Rean.

"Start gathering maps. Ruins, shrines, corrupted sites—anything that reeks of divine essence. We’ll sort through them and start hunting these shards."

"Yes, young master."

Kyle’s expression darkened.

"And if the god dares show his face again this time... we’ll make sure there’s nothing left to save him."

Rean’s hollow eyes gleamed with a ghost of his old battle spirit.

"Then let the hunt begin."

___

Soon, word began to spread like wildfire across the territories—Kyle Armstrong was organizing a large-scale hunt against the black, formless monsters plaguing the land.

But more than that, whispers carried an even more intriguing detail: this wasn’t just a monster hunt. It was a divine provocation.

Kyle Armstrong sought to tear apart the veil protecting the gods themselves by hunting down and destroying the so-called "divine shards."

Excitement, dread, and curiosity swept through mercenaries, knights, adventurers, and nobles alike.

The boldest among them sent their notices of participation, eager for glory or redemption, while others simply wished to lend a hand for the sake of their homeland.

But Kyle wasn’t looking for wide-eyed idealists or fragile nobles pretending to be warriors.

"Filter them. We don’t need more corpses. Anyone who looks like they’d die in the first five minutes—reject them."

Kyle told Bruce sharply as he flipped through the pile of names.

Bruce nodded, already pulling out names with a practiced eye.

"Understood, young master. I’ll handpick the teams personally. No weak links."

In the end, six elite teams were formed. Each one was small, mobile, and deadly—trained to raid high-risk areas and fight off the corruption.

Some were composed of skilled mages, others of hardened soldiers and scouts.

Kyle gathered them all in the central war chamber, standing over a large map of the kingdom, marked with red dots that represented possible shard locations.

"These are your targets. Each location holds a high concentration of divine mana. Shards, if they exist, will be hidden in the heart of these zones."

Kyle said, his tone cold and precise.

He looked around the room, locking eyes with the leaders of each team.

"You’re not just killing monsters—you’re hunting a god. Burn through every corrupted zone, destroy anything that hums with divine power. If you can’t confirm it as a shard, report back immediately."

Murmurs of affirmation rippled through the room.

Then, Kyle turned to Melissa and Bruce.

"You two won’t be coming with me. You’ll lead squads and reinforce the outer sectors. Clear villages, rescue survivors, kill anything that doesn’t bleed."

Bruce blinked.

"We’re separating?"

Kyle nodded.

"We’ll cover more ground. I’ll be heading into the deepest zone. You’ll command your squads as you see fit—but don’t get reckless. Our goal is destruction, not martyrdom."

Melissa gave a determined nod, her eyes shining with silent resolve.

"We won’t let you down."

Kyle turned to the map one last time, tapping a finger on the most corrupted area marked in black.

"This one’s mine."

With preparations complete, the hunters began to move.

From the fortress gates, six squads rode out in different directions, clad in enchanted armor, carrying purified weapons, and armed with the knowledge of what they were truly fighting.

The skies were gray, the wind foul, but their spirits burned bright.

And leading them, even if separated, was the one name that gave everyone hope.

Kyle Armstrong—the man who would make a god bleed again.

As the squads vanished into the distance, Kyle stood silently atop the battlements, watching until they were mere specks on the horizon.

He then turned toward his own path—the deadliest region shrouded in dense, poisonous mana.

Behind him, soldiers, healers, and mages bustled with purpose, inspired by his calm authority.

Before departing, Kyle left one final order with the command post:

"Send word to the Crown Prince. Tell him the hunt has begun—and the gods will soon know fear."

Then, without another word, Kyle mounted his steed, dark cloak fluttering behind him like a storm cloud, and rode toward the abyss.