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

The meeting chamber was filled with the rustling of papers, the dull drone of debates, and the clinking of teacups as the ministers continued discussing strategies and logistics for the coming months.

But amid the usual bureaucratic grind, a yawn broke through the conversation—loud, prolonged, and oddly contagious.

"I beg your pardon. I didn't sleep well last night."

Muttered Minister Thorus as he blinked hard and rubbed his eyes.

"I feel the same. It's like a blanket of weariness has fallen on this place…"

Added another, stifling his own yawn.

One by one, murmurs of shared exhaustion spread around the grand table. Ministers slouched, blinked slower, and leaned into their hands.

The Crown Prince, initially focused on a scroll, slowly raised his eyes to observe the shift in atmosphere. His normally casual expression turned rigid.

Grand Duchess Amana noticed it too. She sat up straighter, brushing a lock of hair from her face as she scanned the room, brows furrowed.

"Something's not right. We all slept soundly last night. This shouldn't be happening."

She said softly.

Kyle, seated silently until then, had been leaning back with his arms crossed, letting the bureaucrats drone on. But now, his eyes shot open like a blade being unsheathed.

He scanned the room. A tingling sensation crawled over his skin—one he recognized all too well.

Divine mana.

Thick and cloying, like mist in a battlefield just before the enemy's trap was sprung.

"I wouldn't dismiss this as mere fatigue."

Kyle muttered under his breath. He turned to the man beside him just as the minister's head slowly dipped, then slumped forward, landing with a soft thud on the wooden desk.

Gasps erupted around the room.

Another minister fell next. Then a servant who had just refilled the tea tray. One by one, bodies began to fold like puppets whose strings had been cut.

Some collapsed to the floor; others simply nodded off mid-sentence.

The Crown Prince stood up sharply.

"What in the name of the gods is happening?!"

"Bring the healers! Take them to their chambers—quickly!"

Someone yelled as a few servants rushed in, wide-eyed and trembling.

Amana let out a soft gasp as she felt her vision blur. A powerful yawn escaped her lips.

She raised a hand to her mouth, only to realize it was no ordinary yawn—her body felt unnaturally heavy, her limbs sluggish.

"No—this isn't normal."

She muttered. With sharp instinct, she pinched herself hard on the forearm. The pain shocked her system and cleared her head for a moment, enough for her to focus again.

Kyle stood up beside her, face darkening.

"This isn't a disease. It's a curse. A divine one."

He said grimly.

The Crown Prince turned to him.

"You're certain?"

"I can feel it. The mana in this room isn't ours. It's divine... invasive. This isn't random. It's targeted."

Kyle replied, the air shimmering subtly around him.

Amana forced herself to stand, still pinching her arm repeatedly.

"But why now? Why here?"

"To isolate us. Whoever's doing this wants to peel away our defense, one person at a time. They're thinning the herd before the strike."

Kyle said, voice low and calm despite the chaos.

Servants bustled in and out, lifting unconscious ministers and dragging them from the hall.

The room, once bustling with voices, was now eerily quiet save for the frightened whispers of the still-awake.

"We need to reinforce the palace. Set protective wards. No one is to fall asleep until I say it's safe."

Kyle added, turning to the Crown Prince. The prince nodded, jaw clenched.

"Do what you must."

But Kyle wasn't finished. His gaze shifted toward the window. In the distance, he could feel the ripple of mana still spreading outward, slowly encompassing the city.

If this pattern continued, the entire capital might fall into a slumber before nightfall.

And if this curse really was divine in origin—if it came from her—then time was running out.

______

Despite every precaution put in place—enchanted wards, wakefulness tonics brewed by the royal alchemists, and even loud bells ringing every hour through the palace halls—it became increasingly clear that there was no true escape from the creeping exhaustion.

It wasn't simply a curse anymore. It was a fundamental betrayal of the body's most basic function—sleep.

And people had to sleep.

By dawn the next morning, over half of the royal palace had fallen to the slumbering sickness.

Maids were found curled beside hallway walls, guards slumped at their posts, and even seasoned knights laid sprawled across the training grounds, weapons still in hand.

Attempts to shake them awake proved futile. They remained alive—but their breathing was shallow, and their expressions peaceful… too peaceful.

But the curse had already begun leaking far beyond the palace gates.

From the windows of the tower, Kyle could see carriages stopped in the middle of streets.

People asleep on benches, against market stalls, or even slumped over their horses. Reports came in of whole districts shutting down, their citizens unmoving.

Panic spread faster than any rumor, and the weight of helplessness grew heavier with each passing hour.

"It's spreading…This isn't just an attack. It's a collapse of the kingdom."

Grand Duchess Amana murmured as she reviewed the scrolls brought in from outer provinces.

Kyle stood by the window, arms crossed, his expression grim. He didn't need a divine reading to know how dire this situation was.

Then came the news he'd been dreading.

A breathless messenger burst into the war room, his armor unbuckled and eyes bloodshot.

"A coordinated strike. From three borders—Okla to the east, Thamir to the south, and rebels in the west. They've taken our weakness as invitation."

He gasped.

The Crown Prince slammed his fist on the table, his calm demeanor cracking.

"They wouldn't dare if we weren't compromised! This—this curse—it's a trap. We've been lured into it like prey!"

Kyle didn't speak. His gaze had already shifted to the door, the path outside, his mind running through deployments and tactics.

They had to buy time. The capital couldn't afford to lose ground, not now.

"I'll go."

Kyle said.

The room fell silent.

"I'll take the troops that are still awake. We'll hold the borders long enough for you to find a countermeasure. This curse needs a cure. And someone has to keep the kingdom standing until it's found."

He continued.

"But—"

The Crown Prince started, rising from his seat.

"You've done enough, Kyle. You've already faced gods. If you keep throwing yourself into battle, you'll—"

"Die?"

Kyle asked, his tone cool and unmoved.

"Maybe. But if I don't act now, thousands will die. Cities will burn. Families will be lost. And all that blood will fall on our shoulders for waiting too long."

The Grand Duchess stepped forward, lips pressed into a tight line.

"At least take half the elite guard with you. You shouldn't go alone."

Kyle shook his head.

"I'll take only those who are still functional. I won't risk losing more."

The Crown Prince looked at him, worry evident in his eyes. For once, the playful spark that usually danced in them was gone.

"Then promise me one thing, Kyle. Promise me you'll come back. We… we can't afford to lose you."

Kyle met his gaze with that same resolute steel he always wore in battle.

"If I fall, then make sure what I fought for lives on."

Without waiting for another word, Kyle turned and strode out of the chamber, cloak billowing behind him.

Outside, chaos reigned, but his presence carved a path through the confusion. His soldiers—those who could still stand—rallied around him instantly.

They knew what his presence meant.

It meant war.

But it also meant hope.

And right now, that was all they had.