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

The young lord of the West Ridge lounged in his private chamber, fingers greedily skimming over piles of gold coins, silver ingots, and ornate jewels stacked on the table before him.

The sound of clinking metal was like music, each coin slipping through his fingers a reminder of the months of plundering he'd orchestrated.

"Hah… all mine."

He murmured, smirking as he tallied the totals in his ledger.

But just as he was about to close the book with satisfaction, a sudden chill raced up his spine. His fingers froze mid-count.

The door slammed open with a deafening bang. One of his men stumbled in, face pale and drenched with sweat.

"M-My lord! You have to run! Now!"

The young lord's brows furrowed.

"What's gotten into you?"

"It's them! The Grand Duke—Kyle Armstrong—he's coming here! Him and his people—they don't care what they have to do, they'll tear through everything until you're destroyed!"

The man gasped, nearly tripping over himself as he crossed the room.

The young lord shot to his feet, heart hammering.

"What? That damned Armstrong… here?"

"Yes, my lord! We have no time—please, you must escape!"

Panic flooded him. He grabbed an embroidered satchel from the corner, shoving gold, gemstones, and a few important documents inside.

"Gather the guards."

He ordered, voice trembling despite his effort to sound calm.

Within moments, six of his loyal retainers entered, armored and armed with swords and shields.

"My lord, we will protect you with our lives."

Their captain assured him.

The young lord gave a shaky nod, but his mind was already racing.

'Protect me? Against Kyle Armstrong and his killers? You'll be dead before you can raise a shield.'

Still, there was no choice—he had to trust them.

They hurried him out through a side passage, leading toward the western road. The air outside was crisp, the forest shrouded in a heavy morning mist.

He had barely taken ten steps toward freedom when a lone figure emerged from the fog ahead, bow in hand.

Silvy.

Her silver hair caught the weak sunlight, and her eyes were cold as sharpened steel. She drew her bowstring, the arrowhead pointed directly at his chest.

The young lord skidded to a halt, heart sinking.

"You—"

Silvy's voice was calm, almost regretful.

"It's a pity I have to bring you back alive. I'd much rather leave you here to rot for what you've done to the locals."

The young lord took an instinctive step back.

"I've done nothing! Lies—rumors!"

"Save it."

She said, releasing the bowstring.

The arrow shot forward like lightning, grazing his cheek before slamming into the throat of one of his front guards. The man fell without a sound, clutching at his neck.

"Protect the lord!"

The captain roared, raising his shield.

The guards surged forward, two flanking, three charging directly at Silvy.

She was already in motion, sidestepping the first man's thrust. Her bow twisted in her grip, the wooden frame cracking across his jaw with a satisfying thunk.

Without pausing, she reached over her shoulder, nocked another arrow, and fired into the knee of a guard trying to flank her.

He collapsed with a cry, his sword clattering to the ground.

The captain closed in, swinging his sword in a wide arc meant to cleave her in half.

Silvy dropped low, the blade whistling over her head, and drew the dagger from her thigh sheath. In a fluid movement, she rolled behind him, slicing deep across the back of his leg.

He stumbled forward, cursing.

"Stand your ground!" the captain barked, but his men were already faltering.

One lunged desperately. Silvy sidestepped again, her dagger flashing as she drove the point into his side, twisting before yanking it free. Blood sprayed across the misty ground.

Another tried to grab her from behind. She spun, the bow in one hand smashing into his temple while her dagger in the other hand carved a clean slash across his forearm.

He dropped his sword with a scream, stumbling backward.

The young lord stared, trembling, as his guards—his loyal guards—were dismantled in seconds.

The captain, wounded but not yet beaten, charged again, shield raised. Silvy loosed an arrow at point-blank range, the shaft punching through the wooden shield and into his forearm.

He grunted, but she was already inside his guard. Her dagger found the gap in his armor beneath the arm, sliding in to the hilt.

The captain crumpled, breath rattling in his throat.

Silvy straightened, blood dripping from her blade. Only one guard remained, hesitating between her and the lord. She met his eyes, cold and unflinching. He dropped his sword.

The young lord stumbled back, panic breaking into full terror. He turned to run—only to feel a hand grip the back of his collar and slam him face-first into the dirt.

Silvy knelt, pinning him effortlessly.

"You're coming with me."

She said flatly, binding his wrists with practiced efficiency.

He struggled, but she hauled him to his feet like he weighed nothing.

"Grand Duke Kyle will decide what's left of you."

The young lord swallowed hard, dread twisting his gut. For the first time, he wished the guards hadn't protected him at all.

The guard's arm trembled as he forced himself up from the bloodied ground, his breathing ragged and uneven.

His fingers scraped weakly against the dirt as he crawled toward Silvy, who stood with the young lord slung over her shoulder like a sack.

"P–please…Have mercy… on him. The young lord… he was only trying to… help his people."

The man rasped, his voice hoarse with pain.

His arm stretched toward them, shaking violently, his eyes desperate.

"Had things been different… we wouldn't have had to… resort to this…"

Silvy's expression remained as cold and sharp as the edge of her dagger. Her eyes flicked down at the guard, and for a brief second, she almost seemed to consider his words—but only for a second.

"Stop speaking. I won't be moved by anything you say."

She said flatly, her tone like frost.

Her grip on the young lord tightened, and without another glance, she walked away, leaving the guard's outstretched hand to fall limply to the ground.

The guard's lips trembled as he tried to speak again, but only a wet cough came out, flecking the dirt with crimson.

He dragged himself forward another few inches, his fingers clawing at the soil as though sheer will could keep the young lord from being taken.

"You… don't understand…He… fed us when we had nothing… gave us work… If the taxes weren't so—"

He forced out, each word costing him breath.

Silvy's sharp gaze cut down to him, silencing him more effectively than a blade.

"I don't care for your excuses. He plundered, burned, and left innocent families in ruin. That is all I need to know."

She said, her voice steady, unyielding.

The guard's eyes dimmed, but he still reached out, fingertips brushing the hem of her cloak. Silvy didn't slow.

With a final, pained grunt, the man's hand slipped from her cloak, and he collapsed fully, his chest barely rising.

Silvy didn't look back.

Her steps were deliberate, each one carrying the young lord closer to judgment, her heart untouched by pleas that sought to paint cruelty as kindness.