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

The journey to the Spring of Rebirth had begun with grand expectations and a carriage full of tension.

Kyle rode at the head of the group, with Bruce by his side, while the others followed in separate carriages.

It had taken a great deal of planning to settle affairs in the village, ensure harvest storage, and assign responsibilities before Kyle could leave for the week-long journey.

But now that they had left, a different kind of storm brewed—one not of swords and politics, but quiet rivalries and layered glances.

Behind Kyle's group, a pair of soldiers rode at ease, whispering like old women in the market.

"Think they'll make it a day before claws come out?"

One muttered, eyeing the carriage where Melissa and Silvy shared space.

"You kidding? I'm more worried about surviving the aftermath. If they go at it, we'll have to flee or get caught in a crossfire."

His companion replied.

But contrary to all expectations, the trio in question—Melissa, Grand Duchess Amana, and Silvy—were nothing like the powder keg people anticipated.

In fact, they were… polite.

Too polite.

Melissa offered Silvy a cup of water when her throat was dry. Silvy helped Amana adjust her hair ornaments when the wind disheveled them.

Amana, with her graceful air, even complimented Melissa's battle gear, saying it was "practical and well-fitted for a true protector."

The surrounding soldiers shuddered more with each interaction.

"That's it. We're doomed. The last time my wife was that nice to her rival, she set the woman's barn on fire a week later."

One muttered.

Bruce couldn't help but chuckle at the rumors floating around. He turned to Kyle, raising an eyebrow.

"Young master, should I be worried?"

Kyle didn't even glance back.

"No. Let them be. Whatever war they have to fight… it's between them. They'll sort it out. In the meantime, we keep moving."

The caravan pressed on.

On the fourth day of travel, they reached their first major stop—Pittsburgh Village.

It was a moderate settlement that had seen its fair share of hardships. The buildings bore fresh woodwork, the streets half-covered in new stone, and the villagers were hard at work rebuilding walls, wells, and lives.

Despite the hardships, they were hopeful—hopeful enough to welcome Kyle's group with reverence.

The village chief, a sturdy woman with short-cropped hair and a practical tunic, greeted Kyle with open arms.

"Young lord! It's an honor. Please, we've kept the finest rooms in the main inn for your party. Come, come!"

Her grip on Kyle's hand lingered a little too long.

Kyle, as always, wore a polite smile.

"Thank you, chief. We'll try not to impose too much."

"Oh, it's not an imposition at all. If anything, I was hoping for a chance to speak with you alone later tonight. So many questions, and not all of them political…"

She replied with a soft laugh, her hand brushing his arm again.

Kyle gently withdrew his hand, maintaining composure.

"I'll be sure to make time if there's anything official."

Behind him, the air dropped several degrees.

Melissa's smile was still present—but it had become fixed, almost frozen in place. Her fingers twitched toward her sword before she disciplined herself.

Silvy narrowed her eyes, her lips pressed into a thin line.

Amana, ever the aristocrat, tilted her head slightly and folded her hands with such elegance that even the irritation behind her eyes seemed graceful.

Kyle noticed all of it.

When they finally reached their rooms, Bruce leaned in and whispered.

"So, are we sleeping with one eye open?"

"No. They won't do anything. Not here. Not yet."

Kyle said casually.

"Not 'yet'?"

Bruce repeated, half-laughing, half-worried.

Inside their respective quarters, the three women sat in silence. Melissa polished her blade furiously. Silvy stared at a cracked mirror. Amana sipped tea in measured calmness.

The tension might've boiled over if not for the soft knock on their doors—a local girl offering evening fruit and chilled towels for their comfort.

Melissa was the first to break the silence.

"She was too touchy."

"Agreed."

Silvy muttered.

Amana simply raised an eyebrow.

"If that was her idea of courtship, I pity her imagination."

Then came the moment none of the soldiers would have ever predicted.

Melissa spoke.

"Let's just get through this trip. The Spring of Rebirth is the goal. Not… sabotaging each other."

To which Silvy nodded.

"Right. The young lord needs rest and recovery."

And Amana, after a pause, softly added.

"Then let's ensure he gets it."

Though the truce was unspoken, it was real. For now.

Meanwhile, Kyle sat with the village chief, surrounded by maps and local complaints.

She continued to angle the conversation toward personal matters—her marital status, her past suitors, how a strong man like Kyle needed "a woman of the land" by his side.

Kyle deflected expertly. He never gave offense, yet never encouraged her more than formality allowed.

By nightfall, as the festival fire in the village square lit up for the visiting lord, Kyle excused himself, citing the long journey ahead.

As he returned to the inn, Bruce caught up with him.

"Chief was a bit… enthusiastic."

"She was."

Kyle agreed.

"And the ladies?"

"They're behaving."

"That's what worries me."

Bruce muttered.

As they prepared for sleep, the trio of Melissa, Amana, and Silvy passed each other in the hallway. Their gazes met briefly.

Melissa spoke first.

"No one gets to cause trouble for him. Not even village women."

Amana smiled.

"That's something we all agree on."

Silvy sighed.

"One week. Let's survive it without burning anything."

A beat of silence.

Then the three of them nodded—an alliance forged not by friendship, but by shared loyalty.

And in the next room, Kyle, lying on his bed, allowed himself a rare smirk.

Peace, however fragile, was still peace.

______

The night was quiet, the soft chirping of insects blending into the cool rustle of leaves outside. Kyle lay in his bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Sleep, elusive as ever, refused to come. His mind—usually disciplined and composed—restlessly wandered from strategy to vague unease.

Something didn't sit right, though he couldn't quite place it.

With a sigh, he stood, quietly slipping out of bed. He pulled on his cloak and stepped outside, deciding a short walk might help settle his thoughts.

The night air was crisp, a stark contrast to the warmth of the guest house. Lanterns flickered gently along the pathways, casting long shadows over the cobblestone.

As Kyle turned the corner, he missed the soft creak of his room's door being nudged open.

Unbeknownst to him, Clara, the village chief, had carefully timed her move.

Draped in a loose, revealing robe, she stepped silently into the now-empty room. Her cheeks were flushed with anticipation, heart pounding in her chest.

'He's too restrained. But that's fine. He just needs a little push.'

She thought, slipping inside with practiced grace.

She had made up her mind earlier that day. A man like Kyle—young, powerful, charismatic—was rare.

Even if he had other women, it wouldn't matter. She was willing to be a concubine if needed. As long as she could secure a place at his side.

'All I have to do… is seduce him. He won't say no.'

But as she approached the bed with a sultry smile, her confidence faltered. It was empty.

Confused, she looked around. No sign of Kyle.

'Did I miss him?'

She thought, her brows furrowing.

Meanwhile, Kyle walked under the starlit sky, unaware of the storm quietly brewing behind him.