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

The hallway was completely silent.

The group moved forward without a word. Only the faint echo of their footsteps broke the stillness. But it wasn’t a normal silence.

It was uncomfortable.

The scene from that room still lingered. Clinging to them, as if the air itself carried it along.

Abby walked straight ahead. Rigid.

Sophie stayed close to her side.

Neros clenched his jaw.

Dorian kept his gaze lowered.

And Max...

Max was thinking. Hands in his pockets. Expression hardened.

Moon was the only one unaffected. Walking behind them, her tail swaying softly.

The staircase appeared before them. Stone. Descending.

Max raised a hand.

"...go slow."

They started going down, all in silence.

Until—

tap.

Moon’s tail hit something. A vase. Small. Decorative.

Everyone froze.

The vase wobbled. Tilted. And fell.

cloc.

It hit one step.

cloc.

Another.

cloc.

Another.

No one dared to breathe as the sound echoed.

The vase kept falling. Step after step. As if refusing to break.

Until it reached the bottom. And stopped.

Then—

crash.

It shattered against a guard’s leg.

The man looked down at the broken pieces. Then slowly raised his head.

His eyes locked onto them.

"...not the right time to be wandering these halls."

His voice was cold. He turned slightly.

"...intruders in the south tower!"

Suddenly—footsteps. Many of them.

From below. From above.

The group reacted instantly.

"...fall back!" Dorian said.

They turned—but it was too late. More guards blocked the path they came from. Steel. Spears. Swords. Surrounding them.

Max clicked his tongue.

"...great."

He ran a hand over his face.

"...I already used the shield’s effect today."

He lowered his hand, eyes sharp.

"...so don’t count on me to cover you."

One guard didn’t wait. He lunged. Spear thrust forward—straight at Varis’s chest.

And then—

The tip of the spear hit something.

A violet smoke. Dense. It had appeared out of nowhere.

The impact deflected, as if it struck an invisible wall. The guard stepped back, confused.

The smoke began to spread. Fast. In seconds, the entire staircase was covered.

Nothing could be seen. Only shadows. And sounds.

Metal clashing. Shouts. Cuts. Something falling.

A feminine laugh. Familiar.

The smoke slowly faded.

The guards were on the ground.

Some unconscious. Others writhing. Covered in cuts. Bound. Immobilized.

And over them—small red figures. The imps that followed Lamia. They jumped from one to another, laughing. Tugging at armor. Mocking the defeated.

The group turned.

At the top of the stairs, leaning elegantly against the wall, was her.

Lamia smiled.

"...good evening, boys."

She tilted her head slightly.

"...didn’t expect to find you here."

Dorian didn’t hesitate. He walked up the steps and stopped in front of her. He took her hand and kissed it.

"...the pleasure is mine, my lady."

He looked up.

"...it’s good to see you again."

Lamia winked and blew him a kiss.

Max sighed.

"...yeah, alright. Very nice."

He crossed his arms.

"...but enough flirting."

He stared at her.

"...what are you doing here?"

Lamia looked back at him. Her expression shifted slightly. More serious.

"...I found out where Dante’s wives are."

Pause.

"...I’m going to rescue my daughter, as you can imagine."

Dorian answered immediately.

"...we just came from there."

Silence returned. But different this time.

Max didn’t respond. His eyes were elsewhere.

On the imps. More specifically—on the bags they carried. Bottles. Liquids of different colors. Something in his gaze changed.

Now it all clicked. Something had felt off before. Now it made sense.

He looked back at Lamia.

"...what does your daughter look like?"

Dorian frowned.

"...Max..."

But he didn’t look away.

"...answer me."

Direct.

Lamia smiled—but not normally. It was... ambiguous.

"...I’m sure she’s changed a lot since the last time I saw her."

Dorian exhaled, annoyed.

"...this isn’t the time to ask a mother that."

His voice was low. Tense.

"...not when she was taken from her."

Max ignored him, still staring at the succubus.

"...tell me something, Lamia."

His voice dropped. Sharper.

"...is your daughter really in that room?"

His eyes hardened.

"...or why the hell are your subordinates carrying so many different kinds of poison?"

The air tightened.

Dorian turned his head, looked at the bags—and froze. His eyes scanned the bottles one by one. Recognizing each liquid. Understanding.

"...that’s..."

He swallowed.

"...paralytic... that one’s corrosive... that—"

He frowned.

"...that’s not for rescuing anyone."

Abby stepped forward. Eyes fixed on Lamia.

"...I think I know who your daughter is."

Dorian turned to her.

"...Abby, don’t—"

But Lamia raised a hand. Her smile was still there—but something changed. Her eyes. They gleamed. A tear slowly slid down her cheek.

"...no need to say it, little princess."

Her voice was soft. Too soft.

"...I didn’t come here to explain anything."

Her smile cracked slightly.

"...I came for revenge."

No one moved.

Lamia tilted her head, looking at Abby.

"...besides..."

Her tone turned colder.

"...whatever happens to those women doesn’t affect you."

She shrugged.

"...from what I see, you already got your little friend back."

Abby’s eyes trembled.

Max clenched his jaw. There it was. The final piece.

’So that’s what the system meant with "Don’t let the Phantom have his way." I can’t let her harm those women.’

He looked at her again.

"...and what do you gain by killing them?"

He crossed his arms.

"...they’re innocent."

Each word hit like a stone.

"...they have nothing to do with this."

Lamia didn’t answer immediately. Her smile vanished completely. Her eyes darkened.

"...my daughter was innocent too."

The air turned cold.

"...and that bastard let her die."

Sophie stepped forward, shocked.

"...then..."

She looked at Abby.

"...her daughter is the seventh."

Abby closed her eyes for a second. Then nodded.

"...yes. She was the seventh."

She opened them, locking onto Lamia.

"...your daughter is the wife Dante let die... and the position my father wants me to take."

Lamia let out a small laugh and raised her hand, still smiling.

"...children."

The imps stopped laughing. They turned in unison. Their eyes gleamed—malicious.

"...attack."