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

During the dead of night, long after the fires in the camp had dimmed to embers, a new kind of fire began to rise—one born not from chaos, but justice.

The soldiers who had once trained under Kyle, who had marched beside him and tasted victory under his leadership, could no longer contain their resentment.

Quietly, decisively, they moved. The nobles who had plotted against Kyle—who had thrown him in prison despite his valor—were seized from their tents and quarters.

Resistance was minimal; the soldiers moved with swift precision, giving the lords little time to react.

"You'll regret this!"

One noble barked as he was shoved into a cell.

"This is treason! You dare imprison nobles under the Baron's command?!"

Another screamed.

But the soldiers didn't flinch. They locked the doors and turned away.

Within moments, the cells held a small cluster of complaining nobles.

Red-faced, bewildered, and indignant, they hurled accusations and appeals in every direction.

"This is absurd! This is still Kyle Armstrong's doing! He's brainwashed the men!"

Cried one.

"Calm down. You're all overreacting. This is temporary. The Baron's just trying to make a point. Once he calms down, we'll be out and they'll be punished."

Another scoffed, lounging against the wall.

"Yes, yes. He won't throw away seasoned commanders over one brat."

The arrogance in their words clashed sharply with the cold iron surrounding them. They were far too comfortable for men locked in chains.

Meanwhile, at the Baron's tent, a very different conversation was unfolding.

Baron Adam stood stiffly across from Kyle, the weight of the past twenty-four hours evident in the lines of his face.

"I offer my sincerest apologies for what transpired. It was never my intention for you to suffer this disgrace."

Kyle's expression was unreadable. Queen perched silently on the beam above, its gaze sharp and unblinking.

"I accept your apology. But this isn't something that can be brushed aside with a few words. It happened. And it could happen again."

Kyle said after a moment, his voice calm.

The Baron exhaled.

"Then name your condition. Within reason, I'll grant it."

Kyle's eyes narrowed slightly.

"You will not stop any soldier from resigning, should they choose to leave. No intimidation. No coercion. They go freely."

The Baron blinked in surprise.

"That's all?"

"It is. I have no need to punish people. They'll make their choices on their own."

Kyle said.

A long silence passed before the Baron nodded.

"So be it. If that's the price, I'll honor it."

Baron Adam assumed the request to be symbolic at best.

After all, he prided himself on providing care and order. Who would willingly abandon that?

The answer came quickly.

By dawn, one soldier came forward.

"I resign, sir. I'm heading with Lord Armstrong."

Then another.

"I'm sorry, my lord. But I owe my life to Lord Kyle."

And another.

"Where he goes, I go."

The Baron watched, stunned, as his assumption shattered before his eyes.

The resignations flowed steadily—orderly, respectful, but unyielding. Soldiers packed their things and saluted, walking away from the familiar barracks and banners with heads held high.

The nobles behind bars were less composed.

"What is happening out there? Why are the soldiers… leaving?""

One demanded, grabbing the bars.

"They're deserting?"

Another whispered.

"No. They're following him."

Someone answered, voice hoarse with dread.

And indeed, they were.

Kyle stood at the edge of the camp, quietly watching as the soldiers gathered behind him. Queen circled above, as if keeping count of their growing numbers.

He didn't gloat. He didn't smile. He simply nodded at each man and woman who came forward, acknowledging them with the gravity of someone accepting responsibility—not praise.

Back in his tent, Baron Adam sat in silence. He had thought loyalty stemmed from duty, rank, and comfort. But Kyle had proven otherwise.

Loyalty, it seemed, came from trust. And Kyle Armstrong had earned more of it in weeks than his officers had in years.

______

Baron Adam sat behind his desk, hands clenched into fists, his eyes bloodshot from a sleepless night.

The tent, usually filled with the chatter of aides and scribes, was silent. A large map lay sprawled in front of him, its corners curling from the heat of the lantern flames.

Across its surface, figurines marking the positions of his units had been crudely rearranged—more than half of them gone. Taken. Lost.

He gritted his teeth.

"Damn that Kyle Armstrong…That bastard played me."

He muttered under his breath, the words tasting bitter.

It wasn't just desertion—it was defection.

The bulk of his first and second units had followed Kyle, leaving behind empty barracks and broken trust.

The nobles imprisoned for their actions had been a necessary sacrifice to calm the storm, but it had cost him dearly.

Their allies in court would not forgive so easily, nor would they forget that Adam had chosen a newcomer over them.

And worst of all? It had been a setup from the start.

He realized that now.

Every quiet glance, every deferential tone, every polite smile from Kyle had masked sharp calculation.

That damned boy had made him feel in control right until the last moment.

Adam had been maneuvered like a pawn and now sat in the wreckage of his own command—depleted forces, divided nobles, and one triumphant, departing "guest."

The flap of the tent shifted.

"Father? Did everything go according to plan? Has that Kyle Armstrong been properly humiliated yet?"

Rose Adam stepped inside, her tone light, unaware of the storm inside. She walked confidently toward the desk, brushing her golden hair back.

Adam looked up at her with a face twisted in fury. His hand slammed onto the desk, startling her.

"Humiliated? You think this was a success?"

He roared.

Rose blinked, stepping back.

"W-What?"

"Your ridiculous scheme to chain Kyle Armstrong to my army backfired. We didn't humiliate him—we empowered him! Do you understand? Half of our forces are gone! And every noble now sees me as a traitor to my own kind!"

"But—"

Rose began, voice faltering.

"No more 'buts'! Your petty jealousy and your pathetic plan cost me not only manpower but political capital. This isn't just a defeat—it's a damn disaster."

Rose shrank under his gaze, pale and stunned into silence.

Baron Adam waved her away with a furious gesture.

"Get out. Just get out before I lose whatever patience I have left."

______

Meanwhile, on a dirt road cutting through the highlands, Kyle walked with quiet purpose.

The road behind him stretched far into the distance, and beside him, Darnel matched his pace with silent loyalty.

They had left the camp only a few hours ago, but the sound of marching feet slowly grew louder behind them.

Kyle glanced back briefly as soldiers caught up—dozens of them. Then hundreds.

Darnel moved quickly, stepping in front of Kyle.

"Wait."

Kyle raised an eyebrow.

"These men. They didn't follow you on a whim. They talked about it through the night. They know what they're doing."

Darnel said, turning his head slightly.

He looked Kyle in the eye.

"They want to serve under you. Not the Baron. Not any noble. You."

Kyle remained silent for a moment, eyes flicking over the gathered soldiers now standing behind Darnel—young and old, battle-hardened and green alike.

Their faces held no doubt. No hesitation. Only quiet determination.

Darnel stepped aside.

"We're yours if you'll have us."

Kyle exhaled slowly, then nodded. "Then welcome to the beginning."

A wave of relief passed through the crowd. Some let out small cheers, others bowed their heads respectfully.

Queen let out a sharp cry from above, as if marking the moment.

Kyle turned toward the village, the place where everything had begun.

It was still far ahead, nestled in the hills like a promise waiting to be fulfilled. He didn't know what the future held.

But with these people behind him, it felt like the first step toward something bigger.