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

That night, Clara's pride burned hotter than her embarrassment. Kyle wasn't in his room—fine.

She'd find him. A man like him wouldn't be far.

Maybe he was walking alone, needing company. Maybe he was just waiting for the right signal.

She pulled her robe tighter and stepped out into the night, heels softly tapping against the stone as she searched the moonlit paths of her village.

But the moment she rounded the guesthouse's corner, her instincts screamed.

"Looking for someone?"

Came a cool voice, low and dangerous.

Clara froze. In the dim lantern light stood three women. Grand Duchess Amana, her posture regal and eyes glinting with frost.

Melissa, arms crossed, one brow raised in scornful amusement. And Silvy, standing at the center, a soft smile on her lips that didn't reach her eyes.

They blocked the path like a wall of ice and fire.

"I…Was just taking a walk."

Clara straightened, pasting a diplomatic smile on her lips.

"In your undergarments?"

Amana said lightly, eyeing her silk robe.

Clara's lips twitched.

"I thought the young lord might like some company."

"That's unfortunate, because we don't."

Silvy murmured, voice gentle.

Clara's composure faltered.

"I don't see how this concerns you."

"It concerns us deeply. You think you can walk into his room and offer yourself like a tavern girl? You insult him. You insult us."

Melissa stepped forward, her tone clipped.

"I meant no harm—!"

"No. But intentions don't matter, Chief Clara. Results do."

Amana cut her off, voice dripping with elegance and venom.

Suddenly, the air around the trio shifted. Not with magic, but with pressure. A chill ran down Clara's spine as the three stepped closer in eerie unison.

Then the haunting began.

Everywhere Clara turned that night, they were there.

If she turned to retreat back to her room—Melissa stood waiting by the door, smiling like a cat.

If she looked out her window—Amana's silhouette could be seen across the courtyard, unmoving, watching.

When she stepped out to draw water, Silvy appeared behind her in complete silence, offering a bucket with a too-sweet smile.

Each encounter left Clara rattled, until she was jumping at every shadow, every footstep, every creak of the wooden floorboards.

The fear wasn't from threats. No one raised a hand to her.

But the sheer aura of control, of poised warning, unsettled her in ways she couldn't explain.

And worst of all?

They never raised their voices. Never insulted her directly. Never told her to back off.

They just... let her understand.

By the time dawn broke, Clara hadn't slept a wink. Her hands trembled as she poured tea for herself.

Her reflection in the mirror looked pale, haggard. And worst of all, when she thought of Kyle, that fire from before—the desire to win him, to seduce him—had vanished entirely, replaced by cold, unrelenting dread.

She barely held herself together as Kyle's party gathered at the edge of the village.

The villagers waved their farewells, thankful and cheerful. Kyle stood at the front, calm and elegant as ever.

"Thank you for your hospitality."

He said to her.

Clara opened her mouth to respond, but the words didn't come.

She couldn't look at him. Her gaze kept shifting—left to Melissa, right to Silvy, upward to Amana.

All three watched her with calm smiles. Not threatening. Just... watchful.

Clara bowed low, hiding the shame burning her cheeks.

"We wish you a safe journey."

She mumbled.

"Thank you."

Kyle replied simply.

And with that, the group left. Clara remained rooted to her spot, her knees weak.

Once, she had dreamed of becoming the concubine of a great man. Now, even the idea of standing beside him was enough to make her nauseous.

The female trio had stolen her desire—and replaced it with unshakable fear.

______

The morning sun filtered through the trees as Kyle's group rode steadily away from Pittsburgh Village. The breeze was crisp, and the path ahead promised a quiet, forested journey—perfect for reflection.

At the rear of the group, Bruce guided his horse beside Melissa's, casting a side glance at her.

"…You didn't say a word to the village chief this morning."

He said casually, though his eyes were sharp.

"She looked like she saw a ghost. Or three."

Melissa didn't look at him. Her gaze remained on the path, face calm and unbothered.

"We simply took care of some trash."

Bruce blinked.

"Trash?"

"She was annoying. So we removed the problem. That's all."

Melissa said flatly.

That was not all, and Bruce knew it.

"I see."

He said slowly, trying to digest her words. He thought back to the scene at the gates—Clara had been ghostly pale, her voice shaky as she bid them farewell.

Her eyes had darted toward Kyle only once before immediately looking away, then locking on Melissa, Amana, and Silvy with what could only be described as horror.

Bruce swallowed.

"You mean 'trash' as in, like… threatening trash? Should I be concerned?"

"No. Unless you have any intentions of sneaking into Lord Kyle's room in the middle of the night."

Melissa said sweetly.

Bruce snorted.

"You wound me, Melissa. I enjoy living."

"Good."

He glanced at her again.

"So… all three of you were involved?"

Melissa's smile deepened.

"What do you think?"

Bruce visibly shuddered.

"I think I need to update the survival section of my personal rulebook. First rule: Never provoke any of the three. Second rule: If they're smiling too much, run."

Melissa chuckled softly, the sound light but with an edge.

"Smart man."

"Some of us want to see tomorrow, you know."

Bruce muttered.

Still, curiosity itched at the back of his mind. He'd never seen the village chief look so utterly crushed. But he also liked having intact limbs—and working lungs—so he let the matter drop.

For now.

Bruce exhaled slowly and adjusted his reins.

"Well, I'm not asking what you did. But if I were to ask—which I'm not—would it involve psychological warfare, terrifying smiles, and, say, a few well-placed illusions?"

He said, tone deliberately casual.

Melissa tilted her head, the corners of her lips curving faintly.

"That's quite the imagination you have."

"Right. Imagination. Of course."

Bruce muttered.

Up ahead, Kyle glanced back.

"Is everything alright?"

Melissa gave him a bright smile.

"Perfectly fine, Young Master."

Bruce nodded, trying to look casual.

"Just talking about… flowers."

Kyle raised an eyebrow but didn't press further.

"Alright. Let's pick up the pace."

As the group resumed their journey, Bruce leaned closer to Melissa and whispered.

"You know, you might be smiling, but I'm getting the same chills I get before a monster raid."

"Then maybe don't stray from the camp at night."

She replied sweetly.

Bruce nodded solemnly.

"Noted."

Silvy, riding just ahead, glanced back briefly. Her eyes met Melissa's for a moment.

No words were exchanged, but something passed between them—mutual understanding, shared mischief, and a warning:

'Don't mess with what's ours.'

Behind them, the village of Pittsburgh faded into the trees, quiet and peaceful once more. Clara wouldn't be forgetting that night anytime soon.

And Bruce, despite all his teasing, knew one thing for certain: if anyone ever tried to lay hands—or intentions—on Kyle again, they wouldn't need guards.

The trio of women riding beside him were more than enough to deal with anything.

Silently, Bruce whispered a small prayer for whoever the next poor soul would be.

They wouldn't stand a chance.