Reborn as a Useless Noble with my SSS-Class Innate Talent-Chapter 342: Ch : Resisting With all your Might- Part 3

Inside the sealing cube, there was no darkness. No echoing screams or crumbling illusions. Instead, Kyle opened his eyes to the warmth of sunlight spilling across cobbled roads and wooden homes.

A gentle breeze rustled through flowerbeds lining the dirt paths, and the distant sound of children laughing reached his ears. It wasn’t hell—it was a quiet, peaceful village.

But it was not just any village.

Kyle stood motionless as a wave of inexplicable familiarity washed over him.

He couldn’t remember the name, nor any recent moments he might have spent here, but something inside him stirred—a slow burn of nostalgia that pulled at the deepest corners of his memory.

He walked forward slowly, eyes scanning every detail.

The crooked wooden sign over the bakery, the cracked stones near the well, even the worn path near the riverbank where reeds grew tall—he knew all of this.

A faint, almost dreamlike haze surrounded everything, but the emotions were sharp. Memories were beginning to rise.

"This is..."

He whispered, his voice caught in his throat.

"...my hometown."

The realization struck him hard. He hadn’t thought about this place in years.

Perhaps decades.

The chaos of war, gods, rebellion, and struggle had buried his beginnings deep under survival and purpose. But now, this illusion—this prison—was unraveling his soul piece by piece.

A sound interrupted his thoughts.

Footsteps. Laughter. Shouting.

Kyle turned sharply, only to see a small, familiar boy darting past him. The child looked no older than ten, wild hair bouncing, eyes wide with fear and determination.

A group of older boys chased after him, cruel laughter on their tongues.

The boy—his younger self—darted into a gap between two buildings.

Kyle followed, his chest tightening. He remembered this.

"This was the first time...I ever fought back."

He muttered.

He turned the corner and watched the scene unfold again: his younger self hiding behind crates, heart pounding.

The bullies approached.

He clenched his fists. Kyle, standing unseen in the present, waited for the punch—the moment he remembered so clearly, the moment he had refused to back down.

But something was wrong.

Instead of lunging forward to fight, young Kyle closed his eyes, and a divine light glimmered from above.

A warm, radiant glow descended gently. The bullies froze, their aggression fading. Their hands fell to their sides. Smiles crept onto their faces. And then, just like that, they turned and walked away.

The younger Kyle blinked, confused, but untouched.

The older Kyle watched, stunned.

"That’s... not how it happened."

In his memory—his true memory—he had been beaten. Bloodied.

And yet, through the pain, he had stood his ground. That had been the moment something inside him had awakened. The first spark of resistance.

The seed of rebellion.

But this new version... it had been rewritten.

Divine interference.

He stepped backward, breath unsteady. Around him, the village began to blur and shift. The sunlight softened, the air thickened with incense.

The stone paths melted into polished marble, and villagers bowed as he walked.

He was in white robes now. A priest’s garb.

No armor. No sword. No scarred hands.

He passed under arches carved with divine inscriptions, watching himself—another version of himself—offer blessings, recite prayers, and tend to the wounded in radiant temples.

A voice echoed softly through the air, both beautiful and terrible.

"This is what could have been."

Kyle clenched his fists.

"A life of submission."

"A life of peace."

The voice answered.

"No. A life dictated by your will. Not mine."

The air around him rippled.

Scenes continued to play—versions of him preaching faith, offering salvation to dying soldiers, standing beside divine generals as wars were fought in the gods’ names. In each vision, he smiled.

But that smile wasn’t real.

He saw it now. It was the smile of a chained man who had never once questioned the hand that held the leash.

Kyle turned away from the illusion. He refused to watch more.

"This life... you would’ve had me be your puppet. A priest. A servant. Someone who never fought back."

"You would have been happy."

The voice whispered.

Kyle laughed bitterly.

"No. I would’ve been silent. There’s a difference."

The air twisted violently. The ground beneath him cracked, and the marble floors shattered like glass, revealing the void beneath.

The village burned away, the temple crumbled, and in its place remained only the cube once again—cold, suffocating, and drenched in divine energy.

But Kyle’s eyes were no longer confused. No longer hazed by nostalgia.

They burned bright.

"I remember now. You tried to rewrite my beginning... But you forgot one thing—my end has already been chosen."

He said, his voice steady.

His mana surged, causing the entire sealed world to tremble. Cracks raced along the edges of the cube, and in the real world, the goddess holding it would soon feel the tremors.

He gritted his teeth and steadied his breath. The fight wasn’t over.

Not yet.

The false world inside the cube shifted again.

The warm sunlight faded, and the scent of smoke and blood filled the air. Kyle found himself standing in the middle of a battlefield, where the cries of the wounded echoed across the ravaged land.

Explosions boomed in the distance. Fire scorched the ground. But Kyle wasn’t holding a sword.

Instead, he wore white robes once more.

Bloodied men and women staggered to him, begging for salvation.

His hands glowed with golden light as he reached out to each of them, whispering divine prayers, closing wounds, reviving breath.

He wasn’t fighting.

He was healing.

Dozens gathered around him, whispering his name with reverence.

A priest of the gods. A servant of mercy. He saved without question, asked nothing in return, and each person he healed looked at him as if he were a divine being himself.

Kyle’s fingers trembled as he reached toward the next dying soldier—an enemy soldier—and he hesitated.

’This isn’t me.’

His mind whispered.

The world around him grew brighter, warmer. Softer. Peaceful. The screams dulled. The blood dried. The war faded into a glorious purpose.

Then, a sharp beep echoed in his ears.

[System Warning: External influence detected.]

[Corruption attempting to override mental defenses.]

[Do you wish to resist? Y/N]

Kyle gritted his teeth.

"Of course I do."

[Initiating defensive protocol...]

His body pulsed with a small blast of raw mana, exploding outward in a ring of violent light. The golden scenery shattered briefly, and cracks raced across the false sky.

The calm silence turned to a rumble of defiance.

But the world didn’t break.

It flickered... then stabilized. The robes remained on him. The cries of gratitude resumed. The battlefield returned to that same twisted calm.

Kyle’s heart pounded in his chest, his breath heavy with frustration.

"Still not enough. You’re trying to rewrite me... again."

He muttered, eyes narrowing.

He clenched his fists, power gathering once more.

"Fine. Let’s see how much this illusion can take before it breaks for good."

The world inside the cube flickered, trying to rewrite Kyle’s identity again. Once more, he stood as a priest on the battlefield, healing instead of fighting.

But his system beeped a warning—corruption was attempting to override his will. Gritting his teeth, Kyle released a surge of mana.

The illusion cracked, trembled—but didn’t break. Frustration burned in his eyes.

"Not enough? Then I’ll hit harder. I’m not done yet."

He muttered.

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