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

Prince Mikalius sat in his private garden, surrounded by fragrant lilacs and the soft sound of running water.

The tea in his porcelain cup had gone lukewarm, but he didn't mind. The early sun cast golden hues across the palace stones, and for a moment, everything felt peaceful.

That peace was shattered when a shadow crossed the threshold of the garden.

"Your Highness, we've received word… from the internal investigators."

A guard whispered, eyes darting nervously.

Mikalius raised a brow but gestured calmly for the man to continue.

The guard handed over a scroll sealed with wax.

"Clertion is mobilizing forces. It's not open war yet, but… the target is the Grand Duchess Amanda."

The prince's hand stilled mid-motion. He broke the seal, eyes scanning the contents swiftly. A pulse of annoyance flickered in his chest.

"The saintess apparently saw a divine vision. A prophecy that the Grand Duchess will one day destroy Clertion and nearly succeed. Their higher ranks believe this outcome must be prevented. So, they're planning a preemptive elimination.

The guard added,

Mikalius's eyes narrowed.

"And they've chosen to interpret a vision through war."

He muttered, voice cold.

The guard bowed his head.

"Your Highness, we sent word to the Grand Duchess already. But… she's out of her territory. The message falcons returned—they couldn't locate her."

"I see,"

Mikalius said quietly, folding the message back into its case with care. He looked up, his expression unreadable.

"She's difficult to corner. That much works in our favor."

"Should we try again? Or send men directly?"

Mikalius shook his head slowly.

"No. If they're serious, any overt move from our side may be intercepted. She's clever enough to survive on her own. For now, don't panic."

The guard hesitated.

"But, Your Highness—"

"I said don't worry. My cousin is not so easily erased. If Clertion believes a vision is enough to kill her, they've clearly forgotten who they're dealing with."

Mikalius said gently.

The guard nodded and bowed low.

"As you command. I'll make sure our people stay quiet and alert."

"Good. Leave me."

As the footsteps retreated, Mikalius leaned back in his seat and let out a sigh. He tapped his fingers lightly on the armrest as he gazed at the scroll again.

"So… the saintess speaks. The Grand Priest whispers divine doom into their ears, and they move like fools, desperate to outrun fate."

He murmured to himself.

A chuckle escaped his lips—not amused, but calculating. He lifted the teacup and sipped what was left.

"She always was a threat. But she's my threat. You don't get to erase her just because you're scared."

He said softly, eyes gleaming with something sharp.

He stood and moved toward the palace steps, still holding the scroll. The wind tugged at his long coat, lifting the ends like an omen.

"I don't usually interfere in these sacred prophecies and divine temper tantrums. But this once… I think I'll offer a helping hand."

He said, almost lazily.

He smiled then—pleasant, practiced.

"But only because it'll be so entertaining to see who bleeds first."

_______

The sun had risen and fallen once, and still, not a single soul stirred on the training field.

Dozens of bodies lay unmoving under the open sky, scattered like statues frozen in time. It was as if breath itself had been stolen from the world.

Kyle, the Grand Duchess Amanda, and all of their finest soldiers were locked in their mana-induced comas, completely still as the ceremony unfolded inside them.

The villagers kept vigil from a distance, their eyes heavy with worry and awe.

It had been a full day since their young master had initiated the ritual, and no one had dared step forward, as per his strict command.

The field shimmered faintly with ambient mana, a sign that something powerful—something dangerous—was still happening.

"They haven't moved…"

One woman whispered, clutching her child tightly.

"Is this normal?"

Another asked, eyes wide.

"Don't speak foolishness,"

The old village chief said firmly as he stepped forward, voice steady with the weight of leadership.

"What they're doing is not something you or I can understand. They're not here—they're deep in battle with themselves. All we can do is wait."

"But what if—"

"We treat them as if they've gone on an expedition. An expedition of the spirit. That's what our young master would want."

The old man interrupted, his voice resolute.

The villagers quieted, their uncertainty not fully soothed but their faith holding them in place.

That faith grew stronger when Lady Sasha emerged from her workshop near the northern wall. Her arms glowed with arcane tattoos, and scrolls fluttered around her like obedient birds.

"I'll watch over the village in their absence. My ruins are nearly complete. Once finished, they'll protect the entire village in the event of an attack. I won't let anything pass."

Sasha said, her tone confident.

Many of the younger villagers looked at her with newfound admiration. Even without the presence of their powerful leaders, someone still stood guard for them.

Just as calm began to return, a guard burst into the square, panting and pale. He stumbled before the village chief and bowed hastily.

"Chief! A royal messenger has arrived! He demands an audience with Sir Kyle and the Grand Duchess."

The chief's breath caught.

The timing couldn't be worse. With all their high-ranking members incapacitated, how could they handle a royal inquiry?

He took a moment to compose himself, his old hands clasped tightly behind his back.

"I'll speak to him. It is my duty, after all. Until our young master returns, I am responsible for his people."

The chief said solemnly.

Lady Sasha gave him a look of approval.

"You're the only one who can."

With a nod, the chief adjusted his worn robes and made his way toward the guest area, where the royal messenger was being held in polite delay.

As he walked, he cast one last glance at the field.

Kyle stood in the center, unmoving, yet still commanding the respect of everyone present. The chief clenched his jaw and kept walking.

He had faced storms before. He would face this one too.

The village chief arrived at the guest hall where the royal messenger waited, standing tall in embroidered blue and gold—a clear sign of nobility.

The man raised an eyebrow at the elder's approach but bowed politely.

"Where are Sir Kyle Armstrong and Grand Duchess Amanda?"

The messenger asked, voice clipped and businesslike.

The chief offered a respectful nod.

"Currently indisposed, your grace. They are undergoing a highly delicate mana ritual and cannot be disturbed for any reason. I speak in their place until they return."

The messenger frowned.

"I bring an urgent message from Prince Mikalius of the royal court. Clertion is preparing for war, and their first strike may be aimed directly at the Grand Duchess. The prince has requested immediate contact."

The chief's heart thudded, though his face remained calm.

"Thank you for bringing this to us. I will make sure they receive the message the moment they awaken. Until then, I offer you our hospitality."

The messenger hesitated but ultimately gave a curt nod.

"Very well. I will wait."

As the chief turned to instruct a servant to prepare a room, he whispered to himself.

'Hold on, young master. We may not have much time.'