Summoned As A Mere Nobody-Yet Possesses An SSS-Rank Ability

Chapter 262: Eyes That Watches

Nolan exhaled slowly, his breath heavy, almost relieved, as he leaned back in his chair. Empty glasses sat scattered across the table—elven wine, spirit fruit liquor, and something Lyra had insisted was "light."

It wasn’t.

Linda was laughing softly beside him, her cheeks faintly red, while Lyra rested her chin on her palm, eyes half-lidded, clearly enjoying herself far more than she let on. Music still echoed faintly in the distance—harps, flutes, and the rhythmic beat of elven drums—but Nolan could already feel the fatigue settling deep into his bones.

"...I’m done," he muttered, pushing the glass away.

Lyra raised an eyebrow. "You lasted longer than I expected."

Linda smiled. "That’s because he didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of the elves."

Nolan gave a weak chuckle, rubbing his temple. "I think I’ve proven enough today."

Gradually, the music slowed... then stopped.

The celebration had ended.

The Great Hall emptied little by little, laughter fading into echoes as the elves returned to their quarters. Servants cleared tables, lanterns dimmed, and the once-grand atmosphere softened into a calm, almost sacred silence.

The group gathered briefly in the break room—no guards, no nobles, no music. Just them.

Celia stood near the window, arms folded, eyes scanning the forest beyond the palace walls. Damian leaned against a pillar, arms crossed, eyes closed—but Nolan knew better. He was fully alert.

"I’m heading to my room," Nolan said at last. "I need rest."

No one argued.

Nolan stepped into his chamber and closed the door behind him. The room was quiet—too quiet after the noise of the day. Moonlight streamed through the open balcony, casting silver shadows across the floor. He loosened his cloak and sat on the edge of the bed, letting out a long breath.

"...That was a long day."

He leaned back, staring at the ceiling.

Then Nolan lay back on the bed, one arm resting over his eyes as the quiet of the night finally settled in.

"The Beast Folk..." he murmured.

They weren’t dragons.

They weren’t elves.

And they weren’t united.

Unlike the other races, the Beast Folk were scattered—tribes divided by ancient wars, instincts clashing with reason. Some lived as nomads, some ruled hidden territories deep within untamed lands, and others sold their strength as mercenaries.

If I want to build a kingdom, Nolan thought, I’ll need them.

The Beast Folk were powerful, fiercely loyal once bonds were formed, and feared across the continents. An alliance with them wouldn’t just be political—it would be a declaration.

A declaration that Nolan was no longer just passing through this world.

He exhaled slowly.

"First, the dwarves finish my sword."

That blade wouldn’t be ordinary.

It would be forged to withstand divine pressure—something that could exist beside him without shattering.

Only after that...

"I’ll go meet the Beast Folk myself."

They wouldn’t trust easily.

They respected strength, will, and results.

But that was fine.

"My panther is a merchant," Nolan continued quietly. "Trade routes, information, influence... he’ll be the foundation of my economy."

Everything was beginning to connect.

A kingdom.

Alliances.

Trade.

Power.

And yet—

Nolan let out a soft, tired laugh.

"...Linda being a princess still feels unreal."

His thoughts drifted—not to this world of magic and races, but to the one he had left behind.

"My previous world..." he muttered softly.

He hadn’t even searched for a way back. Not seriously. Not even once.

And the truth?

"I don’t want to return."

Even now, it still felt unreal—as if everything around him was a dream that might vanish if he closed his eyes for too long. But the weight of the bed, the quiet mana in the air, the distant sounds of the elven capital breathing in its sleep... all of it told him otherwise.

This was reality.

"I’m fine here," Nolan said quietly.

A faint smile tugged at his lips—bitter, but calm.

Back then, no one would be worrying about him anyway.

Kicked out.

Ignored.

Forgotten.

His siblings wouldn’t care. They probably hadn’t even noticed he was gone. No calls. No concern. No searching.

Yeah... that’s not what matters anymore.

His eyelids grew heavy.

"I’m already sleepy..."

He turned slightly, pulling the blanket closer.

"I’ll just sleep on this side—"

Darkness took him.

Morning.

Warm sunlight slipped through the curtains, brushing against Nolan’s face.

"...Mm."

He frowned.

Something felt... off.

"...That’s weird."

His brow twitched.

"...Something’s moving."

A pause.

"...No. Don’t tell me."

His eyes snapped open.

"Oh, bullshit."

He slowly turned his head.

There—on the floor beside his bed—three familiar figures lay tangled together on a bedsheet like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Celia.

Lyra.

Linda.

Fast asleep.

Hair scattered.

Breathing steady.

Completely unbothered.

"...They came into my room again," Nolan said flatly.

Just... them. Sleeping peacefully.

"...And without my permission."

He stared for a long second.

Then he sighed—deep, long, and utterly defeated.

"...I give up."

Without another word, Nolan swung his legs off the bed, carefully stepping over Lyra’s tail and avoiding Celia’s arm, which had somehow latched onto the corner of the bedsheet.

He walked toward the washroom, rubbing his face.

"I’m not even surprised anymore."

Behind him, the room remained quiet.

Three girls slept soundly—completely unaware that they had once again.

Nolan finished dressing in the washroom, the faint scent of soap lingering as he dried his hair with a towel. He stepped out, yawning deeply, eyes half-lidded.

"Ahh... I’m still sleepy."

He exhaled slowly, stretching his shoulders.

"That celebration really drained me..."

That was when movement stirred behind him.

Celia’s eyes fluttered open first, followed by Linda’s. Both were still lying on the bedsheet on the floor, their hair slightly messy, expressions drowsy but gentle.

"Good morning, Master," Celia said softly.

"Good morning, Master," Linda followed, rubbing her eyes.

"...Good morning," Nolan replied, glancing down at them.

They still looked half-asleep.

He paused, then sighed.

"Now tell me," Nolan said calmly, "what exactly are you all doing in my room?"

"And no matter how many times I ask this," he added, looking toward the door, "how do you keep getting in? I always lock it."

Linda shifted slightly on the bedsheet and smiled sheepishly.

"Well... my bed isn’t as soft as yours, Master," she said innocently.

"...Of course," Nolan replied flatly.

Celia nodded like that explanation made perfect sense.

Just then, Lyra stirred. She stretched her arms lazily, her movements slow and elegant, tail flicking slightly as she yawned.

"Master... you’re awake already?" Lyra said, her voice still heavy with sleep.

"Good morning."

"Morning," Nolan replied.

Before he could say anything else—

Knock. Knock.

The room went quiet.

No one moved.

"...Are none of you going to get that?" Nolan asked.

He walked over himself and opened the door.

Standing there was Damian.

"Master, good morning," Damian said with a polite nod.

"I hope you had a wonderful night."

He stepped inside—and immediately froze.

His eyes landed on the scene.

Linda.

Celia.

Lyra.

All in Nolan’s room.

All clearly having slept there.

"...What the hell?" Damian said.

He slowly turned toward Nolan.

"So they greeted you before me," he added dryly.

Nolan rubbed his temple.

"Let’s not focus on that."

Damian’s expression shifted, becoming serious.

"Right," he said. "Then let’s talk about the main issue."

Celia sat up slightly.

"Main issue?" she asked.

Damian nodded.

"I’m sure you’ve noticed it too, Master," he said.

"We’ve been watched... for a while now."

Nolan’s eyes sharpened.

"The presence hasn’t disappeared," Damian continued.

"It’s subtle, but persistent. Whatever it is, it’s still observing us—even now."

Lyra’s gaze darkened slightly.

"They’re keeping their distance," she said.

"But yes... they’re still there."

Nolan crossed his arms, calm as ever.

"The castle’s wards are holding," he said.

"And whoever it is knows better than to strike directly."

He glanced toward the window, eyes unreadable.

"For now, they’re not a threat," Nolan said.

"But that doesn’t mean we lower our guard.

"But Master," Lyra said, her voice low as her eyes narrowed slightly,

"shouldn’t we pay them a visit?"

Nolan shook his head calmly.

"No. Not now."

He walked toward the window, looking out at the towering elven trees swaying gently in the morning light.

"They haven’t crossed the line yet," Nolan continued.

"As long as they’re only watching, we let them watch."

Celia frowned slightly.

"Master... who are these people?" she asked.

"Are you certain they’re elves?"

Linda tilted her head, concern flickering in her eyes.

Nolan nodded slowly.

"Most likely," he said.

"An elven sorcerer—or someone tied to the priesthood. Their mana feels... ritual-based."

Damian folded his arms.

"So they’re hiding behind techniques instead of showing themselves," he said.

"Cowards."

"I can trace them," Nolan added casually, as if talking about something trivial.

"Pinpoint their location. Erase their concealment."

Everyone looked at him.

"But," he continued, turning back toward them, "that would be a waste of our time."

Lyra blinked.

"A waste...?"

"Yes," Nolan said.

"Because whoever it is already knows they can’t win by approaching us directly."

He paused, eyes sharp.

"They’re waiting. Watching. Gathering information."