Reborn as a Useless Noble with my SSS-Class Innate Talent
Chapter 260 - 260: Ch 260: At What Cost- Part 3

Moras let out a low, mocking laugh at Kyle's declaration, the divine markings across his body pulsing with contempt.

"You speak with such certainty. But your words change nothing. The elves are already doomed. Their fate was sealed the moment they rejected divinity. They turned their backs on me—on all gods—and now they are simply paying what they owe."

He sneered.

Kyle stared at him, unamused.

"Is that really what you believe? That destruction is payment for independence? You're not a god—they just happened to pray to the wrong parasite."

He took a step forward, his sword humming with raw mana.

Moras snarled and lifted his spear, but Kyle's mana surged—sharp, cold, and unyielding.

A clean slash of silver light tore through the divine energy around Moras, severing its hold. The spear wavered in his grasp.

"I'd suggest trying humility. But I doubt it's in your nature."

Kyle said flatly.

"You—"

Moras tried to retort, but something was wrong. His arms… he couldn't move them. They remained frozen, stiff as stone.

His divine senses blared warnings too late. He looked up—and saw Kyle, his entire body glowing with a terrifying brilliance, mana so refined it looked more like a blade than light.

And then, for the first time, Moras felt something he hadn't experienced in eons: fear.

A cold chill ran down his spine.

Every instinct screamed at him to get down, to flee, to submit. The pressure bearing down on him was unnatural—impossibly dense and absolute.

'This mortal… this mortal can kill me.'

Moras swallowed, eyes wide, and let out a shaky laugh that failed to mask his panic.

"Who… who are you?"

He asked.

Kyle didn't flinch.

"Someone you feared in the past. And someone the gods will fear again."

He replied coolly.

Moras wanted to laugh. He wanted to mock the absurdity of it.

But something about those words—something about Kyle—echoed too deep.

That voice… that power… they stirred ancient memories. Forgotten fears. Shadows of stories whispered even among the divine.

His body shivered. His limbs failed him. He knew—somehow—that this man would not stop. That this man could end him.

And that was exactly what he intended to do.

Kyle raised his hand, a final surge of mana gathering in his palm like the rising sun.

Moras closed his eyes—not in peace, but in resignation. The last thing he felt was a suffocating weight of defeat pressing into his chest.

And then, he fell.

No sound, no scream. The god simply collapsed—divine light flickering out from his body like embers dying in the wind.

His form dissolved slowly, crumbling into particles of fading power, and then into nothing.

The corrupted remains of the elf tree groaned behind Kyle, hollow and still. No longer divine. No longer dangerous.

Silence descended.

The battle was over.

Kyle lowered his hand, breathing heavily. His body trembled—not with exhaustion, but with the fading intensity of power that still hummed through his veins.

Lysander let out a small whimper from nearby, curled behind a boulder where Kyle had ordered it to hide. The dragon was tired, too. They all were.

And then, at the edge of the shattered clearing, the elves arrived.

Led by Silvy and the elf chief, they stumbled upon the scene—the broken remnants of their once-sacred tree, and the lone man standing at its heart.

Kyle didn't turn to face them. He merely stared at the spot where Moras had vanished, his expression unreadable.

Silvy was the first to approach, her breath catching as she took in the sight.

"He's gone?"

She asked quietly.

Kyle nodded.

"Gone. For good."

The elf chief bowed his head, sorrow in his eyes as he looked upon the ruin of the tree.

"This should never have happened. This tree was once our pride… our foundation."

"And it was used against you. That's what happens when you depend on borrowed power. It always comes at a cost."

Kyle said, voice cold. Silvy glanced at him, eyes softening.

"We were fools. But… thank you."

Kyle said nothing.

The wind blew through the ruins. Petals from the broken canopy scattered around them like the last tears of a dying memory.

And somewhere, faint and distant, the gods stirred.

The aftermath of the battle hung over the clearing like a dense fog.

The elves stood around the broken remains of the world tree, stunned and silent, eyes wide with disbelief and despair.

Not a single leaf stirred on its branches now—its once vibrant glow had dimmed into ash.

"What do we do now?"

One elf whispered, voice trembling.

"Our mana…It's gone. The connection is gone."

Another said, holding out her hand as if expecting something to return.

"We're finished. Elves without mana are just… weaker humans. We'll be hunted, enslaved—used as tools. That's all we'll be."

Someone muttered bitterly.

Murmurs of agreement spread through the crowd.

Despair weighed on every shoulder, dragging them down. The very identity of the elves—so closely tied to the world tree and the flow of mana—had been shattered.

The elf chief stepped forward, grief etched into his face. He looked at Kyle with quiet solemnity.

"You have done us a great service, Kyle. Without you, none of us would have survived. You protected us, even when it wasn't your fight. For that… we are grateful."

Kyle remained silent, his gaze on the broken tree.

"But, perhaps now is not the best time for you to remain among us. The people are mourning. And your presence—" he hesitated, "—reminds them of all that has been lost."

The chief continued.

Kyle glanced at the crowd. He could feel it too—eyes watching him, filled not with hatred, but confusion, pain, and helplessness.

It wasn't personal, but it still weighed on him. With a silent nod, he turned to leave.

But before he could take a step, a clear voice rang out.

"This isn't over!" Silvy shouted, stepping forward.

Everyone turned.

Silvy stood tall despite the weariness in her limbs, her gaze fierce and unwavering.

"We are not finished—not yet! I may have lost my mana… but I have not lost my will. And I think… I might know a way to help us. A way to rebuild. To survive."

A ripple of surprise passed through the elves. Kyle turned slightly, eyebrows raised.

The elf chief looked at her carefully.

"You think there's still hope?"

Silvy nodded, her voice steady.

"There has to be. If we give up now, then everything we've been through—everything Kyle fought for—will mean nothing. I won't let that happen."

The crowd grew quiet again, this time not in despair, but anticipation. Kyle looked back over his shoulder, curiosity sparking in his eyes.

Silvy met his gaze and gave a small, firm smile.

"You saved us, Kyle. Now it's my turn."