Reincarnated as a Princess's Pet: With Trash Stats, but SSS-Rank Skill

A distant noise could be heard.

Max stopped short. It came from behind the large main tent, muffled by the music and laughter of the show that was about to begin, but unmistakable: wheels over dirt, wood striking wood... something heavy being moved.

"Did you hear that?" he murmured.

Elanor nodded immediately.

Without a word, she raised a hand. A gentle current of air wrapped around Max’s ankles, lifting him just high enough to peer over the fabrics and crates stacked around the tent’s perimeter.

Max held his breath and looked.

Behind the massive performance tent, farther away and almost hidden in the shadows, stood another tent—much smaller. Worn. Without bright colors. In front of its entrance, several cages... open.

"There are... cages," he whispered, narrowing his eyes. "But I can’t see well. The reflection from the lights... better to go straight there."

Elanor slowly lowered her hand.

Max descended carefully, his boots cushioning the fall as if the air itself were holding him until he touched the ground without making a sound.

"Alright," he said quietly. "Let’s go."

Gawain leaned toward them with a conspiratorial grin.

"Listen, brilliant idea," he murmured. "What if we paint our faces like clowns? To infiltrate."

Max let out a short laugh.

Elanor glanced sideways at him.

"Sometimes you sound intelligent, Gawain," she said calmly. "This is not one of those times."

"Besides," Max added, "we’re pretty noticeable even without makeup. Painting our faces won’t help us blend in."

Gawain raised his hands in surrender.

"Alright, alright. Just saying."

Another sound made them fall silent.

Voices. Footsteps. Something being dragged.

The three of them slipped behind a stack of crates covered with thick cloth, holding their breath.

Max twisted the ring on his finger.

An invisible field expanded, swallowing all sound.

From their hiding place, they watched several clowns advance, pushing reinforced wooden crates, sweating under their costumes. They were taking them in the same direction as the small tent.

Then—

Clink.

Gawain had taken a step back.

A rattle rolled out from one of the crates, tinkling against the ground.

The silence shattered.

"Huh?"

"What was that?"

The clowns turned their heads.

"Shit," Max whispered.

Gawain was already moving.

He leapt out of hiding and charged straight at them, the first blow sharp and brutal, dropping one before he could scream.

Max followed right behind him.

"I told you not to leave the silence area!"

"Sorry!" Gawain replied as he struck the second clown. "I slipped!"

The last one fell without a sound.

Max approached one of the open crates. He frowned. Inside were large chunks of meat. All kinds. Some still dripping.

"...Who the hell are they planning to feed with all this?" he asked aloud.

No one answered.

In the distance, the circus music swelled. Applause. A voice announcing the start of the show.

Elanor looked toward the small tent.

"Whatever it is," she said, "it’s in there."

Max nodded.

"Let’s go."

And while the show began for the audience, they moved toward the tent that stood suspiciously apart.

***

They heard various noises inside the small tent as soon as Max pulled the canvas aside just enough to look in.

Dark.

The air was heavy, thick, loaded with a rancid smell that mixed iron, old smoke, and spoiled food.

They entered carefully.

The first cage was on the right.

Then another.

And another.

Creatures of different species filled the interiors—some sitting in silence, others slumped against the bars, exhausted. Small beasts crammed into cages too tight to move, and larger ones marked with scars, chained or muzzled.

On the ground, between the cages, lay open crates.

Half-eaten meat. Trampled vegetables. Leftovers tossed aside carelessly.

As if someone had eaten... or fed something... in a hurry.

Gawain clenched his teeth.

"I can’t believe what I’m seeing," he murmured. "This is... we have to free them. All of them."

Max didn’t answer right away. His eyes scanned the place carefully, searching for something specific.

"One thing at a time," he finally said quietly. "Moon has to be here."

They moved a little farther in.

Then they saw it.

A different cage.

The bars were scorched black, bent outward as if something had exploded from the inside. The ground was covered in charred remains: burned meat, carbonized vegetables, irregular scorch marks.

The heat still seemed to cling to the metal.

Max approached slowly.

Among the debris, caught on a broken bar, was a piece of white fabric.

Torn.

His heart began to pound.

"...It’s from Moon’s apron," he said.

But the cage was empty.

Elanor pressed her lips together.

"I knew it," she murmured. "They lied to us from the beginning."

She didn’t get to say anything else.

The air changed.

Thick smoke began to seep in from the back of the tent, fast, silent, filling the space like a gray tide.

"What—?" Gawain managed to say.

Max took a step... then another... but his vision suddenly spun.

His legs stopped responding.

The smoke burned his lungs.

"Elanor—!" was the last thing he managed to say.

Gawain dropped to his knees first.

Then to the ground.

Elanor reacted instantly.

One step back.

She covered her nose and mouth on reflex, tried to use her magic, but the smoke wouldn’t disperse. The air shoved her outward in a desperate burst. She made it out of the tent just as the smoke swallowed it completely from within.

She fell to her knees outside, breathing hard. She hid behind an abandoned wooden cart.

When she looked up—

The canvas no longer showed anything.

Only smoke.

And inside, Max and Gawain did not move.

***

The first thing he heard was the roar of the crowd.

Applause.

Laughter.

Shrill music.

Max’s eyes snapped open.

The light blinded him for a second.

When his vision cleared, a headache hit him.

He was standing... or at least upright.

Tied.

His arms spread and bound with thick ropes to a wooden cross raised above the sand. The rope cut off circulation at his wrists. His feet barely touched the ground.

The smell of sawdust and sweat filled the air.

The circus.

A spotlight swung around and fixed directly on him.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" said a familiar voice, amplified and theatrical. "Tonight we have something truly special!"

Max lifted his head with effort.

At the center of the ring, arms spread and smiling with perfect fangs, stood Lionel.

"Before you," he continued, strolling elegantly, "a creature never before seen in the entire kingdom of Eldoria."

The crowd murmured, curious.

"Hairless," Lionel said, pointing at him with a gleaming cane. "Delicate features, almost elven... but with small ears."

The light traced Max’s body as if he were an exhibit.

"A new race," he concluded with delight. "A true living mystery!"

Laughter and applause erupted.

Max turned his head desperately.

Beside him, another cross.

Gawain.

Also bound. His head covered by a rough cloth sack, his body motionless.

"Gawain..." he tried to say.

No sound came out.

Lionel snapped his fingers.

"And now," he announced enthusiastically, "let’s move on to one of the audience’s favorite acts!"

Two clowns pushed a metal structure into the center of the ring.

Darts.

"The human dart throw!"

The crowd shouted in excitement.

A cold sweat ran down Max’s spine.

He tried to move.

He couldn’t.

Lionel raised a hand.

"Aim carefully," he said, amused. "We don’t want the show to end too quickly."

A whistle cut through the air. The dart grazed his groin. The fabric of his pants tore slightly.

The crowd applauded, laughing and gasping.

Max swallowed a scream, his heart pounding as if it were about to burst.

Lionel smiled, satisfied.

"Ah, yes..." he murmured, watching him with interest. "This is going to be an unforgettable night."

The next dart was already in the air.