Reborn as a Useless Noble with my SSS-Class Innate Talent-Chapter 188: Ch : The Tactic- Part 1

By the end of the third day, Kyle was still walking, talking, and commanding like nothing had happened.

His steady composure and complete lack of symptoms unnerved the ones who had been watching him closely.

The nobles who’d orchestrated the attempt on his life were no longer just anxious—they were unraveling. They had been so certain.

The dose had been precise, the delivery method perfect. But Kyle Armstrong still lived.

And worse, he looked healthier than ever.

The paranoia began to seep in.

Whispers were exchanged in corridors, behind closed doors, around fire-lit halls.

Something didn’t add up.

Their latest theory? The kitchen servant had betrayed them. She must have switched the tray before reaching Kyle.

It was the only explanation that made sense—because no one, no one, could survive that level of concentrated poison.

So they decided to confirm it.

The servant—a young woman barely into her twenties—returned from Kyle’s quarters with the empty dish.

Her hands trembled slightly, though from exhaustion or nerves, it wasn’t clear. Before she could return to the kitchens, she was cornered by three well-dressed nobles.

"What...?"

She stammered, taking a step back.

"Eat! If you served him the same food, you have nothing to worry about, right?"

One of them said, pressing a leftover portion of the meal into her hands.

Her eyes widened.

"My lords, please, I—I’m only doing my job—"

The second noble, face hard and cold, shoved her toward a wall.

"Eat it."

Her protests meant nothing.

Surrounded and overpowered, the girl swallowed—half out of fear, half out of hope that maybe Kyle had, indeed, been given different food.

She collapsed seconds later.

No screams. No convulsions. Just stillness.

One breath... then none.

The room went quiet. The nobles stared at her body, horror creeping across their faces.

"She was telling the truth."

One of them muttered.

Another noble paled.

"Then how the hell did he survive?"

By the next morning, the entire barracks knew what had happened.

And with it came rumors—spreading like wildfire through soldier and servant alike.

They whispered that Kyle Armstrong had been poisoned, not once, but twice.

They spoke of how he ate every bite, smiled the next day, and still walked the yard as if death hadn’t even brushed his shoulder. And now, a servant girl was dead. But not him.

So they reached the only conclusion they could:’

’The gods must be watching over him.

The idea took root fast—Kyle, favored by the heavens. Sent as a protector, immune to mortal harm.

Soldiers who once saw him as just another noble now looked at him with reverent awe. Even the kitchen staff began placing charms of luck and protection near his door.

Kyle, hearing the rumors, leaned back in his chair and scoffed.

"God’s favor? Those divine fools must be rolling in their seats if they hear what these people are talking about."

He muttered, amused.

He took a long sip from the tea in his hands, enjoying the moment of calm.

"Besides, if any gods are listening, they’ll be a lot more trouble than help. Watch—they’ll want a favor back someday."

He shook his head and smiled to himself.

He didn’t mind the rumors if they worked in his favor. Fear and faith had always been better tools than brute force.

Just then, a knock sounded at his door.

"Enter."

Kyle called out lazily.

It was Darnel—stern-faced, grizzled, and loyal to a fault.

The instructor had been watching Kyle from the beginning, suspicious at first, but now solidly in his camp after seeing the way Kyle carried himself and led the men.

"It’s time."

Darnel said.

Kyle raised an eyebrow.

"Already?"

"The scouts returned. The enemy’s moving fast. We leave within the hour."

Kyle stood, placing the tea down and rolling his shoulders with practiced ease.

"Good. The faster we get this over with, the faster I can start working on bringing more of them to my side."

He said.

He stepped out of the room with Darnel behind him, heading toward the yard where his men were already preparing.

The soldiers looked at him differently now—respect mixed with something deeper.

Belief.

As if they were following not just a commander, but a man who could walk through fire and return smiling.

The sun had barely risen when Kyle’s soldiers began gathering in the training grounds, just as he had ordered.

The morning air was thick with tension—uneasy shuffling, anxious glances, the clinking of armor not yet molded by battle.

These were young men, most barely into adulthood, with hands that trembled at the thought of drawing blood.

It was clear from the restless energy in the air that they understood the truth: they were being sent into a battle meant to crush them.

A test. A set-up.

Kyle stood before them, calm and collected, the only still figure amidst a sea of nerves.

His gaze swept over their faces—boys trying to look like men, some clutching their weapons too tightly, others shifting from foot to foot like they’d rather be anywhere else.

He understood them. He’d seen this look before.

"Eyes up."

Kyle called out, his voice sharp and sure. The chatter and movement stopped. Dozens of pairs of eyes turned toward him.

"You’re all wondering why you’re the ones being sent out. You’re wondering if you’re being set up to fail."

Kyle began, his voice carrying easily across the ground.

He paused for effect, letting the weight of his words sink in.

"Well, you are. That much is true."

There was a ripple of unease, a few audible gasps.

"But what they didn’t count on was that you’ve trained smart, not just hard. You’ve listened. You’ve adjusted. You’ve drilled. And you’ve prepared."

Kyle continued.

He stepped forward, raising a gloved hand.

"They gave us broken weapons and rusty armor, but we learned how to fight together. They gave us bad intel, but we made our own plans. They gave us despair—"

Kyle’s voice hardened as he continued.

"—and we turned it into resolve."

A few soldiers straightened up. A few more nodded.

"This is not the war that will end you. This is the fight where you show them you can survive."

The shift in energy was visible. Shoulders squared. Eyes focused. Breathing steadied.

"Now move out! Get into the positions I outlined last night. Formation four—take the eastern slope. Formation three—circle around the low ridge. Formation one with me. We hold the center!"

Kyle ordered.

"Yes, Commander!"

Their voices rose in unison, steadier than before.

The anxiety hadn’t vanished, but it had been tempered. Sharpened. Transformed into something usable.

They moved as he had trained them to—fast, quiet, efficient.

As the dust rose from their marching feet, Kyle stayed at the center, eyes scanning the horizon.

Whatever trap Baron Adam and the others had laid, he would spring it on his own terms—and he would make sure every soldier returned with the will to fight another day.

With everyone in place, it was only a matter of time before the enemies would be crushed to dust.

’I need to keep calm and not get cocky. It is a bad habit. I need to make sure these people survive. After all, they are my investment this time. I cannot afford to lose them.’