PSW Chapter 12: A Cat is Better Than a Wife
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And so, after some time of mutual disdain between the new king and the old ministers, people gradually came to a realization—this king was terrifying in war, ruthless in action…
But when it came to court meetings, he was utterly useless.
Either he’d say “Kill” at every turn, leaving the ministers speechless, or he’d sit on his throne, completely uninterested, entertaining himself by playing with birds.
Were the ministers displeased by this?
No!
They were thrilled!
A war-crazed king with no political acumen? What an excellent opportunity for them to seize power!
Moreover, though Yofar controlled the army, the military wasn’t allowed inside the palace. He also disliked being surrounded by people. After all this time, the ministers only knew that Yofar trusted two high priests:
One was the stern and rigid Hesse (who had served since the previous king’s time, making him easy to manipulate).
The other was the dignified and beautiful Nephthys—who seemed either like a mere decorative vase or perhaps Yofar’s lover.
The ministers wasted no time choosing their path. Since the new king was an ignorant fool in politics, they would deceive Hesse and use him as a shield while pulling off their schemes behind the scenes!
Even without proof, Bastet could easily imagine those ministers secretly rubbing their hands together in excitement, thinking they’d outsmarted the king.
What they didn’t realize was that Yofar’s brutality in war, incompetence in politics, refusal to read reports, blind trust in Hesse, and complete leniency toward the ministers…
It was all an act!
Yofar’s desk was piled high with reports from across the land—the very same ones he had been too lazy to read during the day. Clearly, he had secretly ordered them to be transcribed, and now every single word lay before him.
Even as he discussed with Nephthys how to eliminate those decrepit old ministers, and even as he stroked Bastet, his hands never let go of the thick papyrus scrolls.
Bastet huffed indignantly: This is outrageous! Is petting a cat not good enough for him?! Stop working and pet me already!
And Yofar only trusted two high priests?
Hah. Even if Bastet was slow, it was obvious—Hesse, the so-called trusted priest of the Pharaoh, was nothing more than a piece of cheese left out for the little mice to nibble on. Nephthys, however, was the real mousetrap waiting beneath it.
There was no need to ask who the true confidant was.
Hearing the information Nephthys was deliberately revealing, Bastet quickly realized—these ministers, who thought they were fooling the king by pretending to obey while actually dividing power, only knew what Yofar wanted them to know.
Every step they took was part of a path Yofar had designed for them.
Even the title "political idiot" was part of his act!
Right now, as the new king, Yofar still needed these old ministers to manage the kingdom, so he dangled a tempting illusion before them.
Meanwhile, behind the scenes, Nephthys was already arranging the cultivation of Yofar’s own trusted officials. The moment they were fully trained, the ministers would be useless.
And useless people...
From the way Yofar and Nephthys spoke, Bastet had a chilling realization—it wouldn’t be long before those ministers, who were eagerly waiting to carve up the kingdom, would come to see the true nature of the beautiful, indifferent king seated on the throne.
They would see his fangs.
… Hiss.
This man was terrifying.
Bastet listened, feeling his fur bristle with every passing second. The conversation alone was enough to send shivers down his spine—especially since Yofar, the cold-blooded, merciless ruler who had ordered countless deaths…
Was stroking his back!
One stroke… then another…
The same gentle motion as always, yet somehow, in this moment, it felt utterly terrifying.
Bastet: … Holy—holy crap! Is he finally going to get rid of me too?!
Halfway through petting his cat, Yofar suddenly noticed something was off.
He looked down.
Hmm?
Why was the little thing puffed up like that?
“Your Majesty?”
Nephthys, who had been speaking, noticed her king’s distraction and called out softly.
“…Mm.” Yofar lifted his gaze again, dismissing Bastet’s puffed-up fur as nothing more than static from rubbing against soft fabric. He motioned for Nephthys to continue.
So she did.
“The issue of the slave uprisings cannot be solved by simply rewriting the legal code,” Nephthys stated. “You are the new king, and the slaves are all recent war captives. Their numbers are far too large, and they’ve only lived in Egypt for about a year. Ordinary civilians may not care which kingdom they belong to, as long as their basic needs are met—but that kind of loyalty only comes with time.”
“These prisoners, however, were only recently captured. Their hearts are still filled with resentment toward Egypt. That’s why we must enforce strict and brutal laws to crush their spirit—beat them into submission, instill fear in them. Only once they have been thoroughly broken can we start introducing the reforms that Hesse suggested—transitioning from ruthless oppression to controlled appeasement.”
“Only then will they finally settle, truly submit, and even grow to thank Your Majesty… to develop ties to Egypt.”
Hesse’s approach had been the traditional method: after conquering a nation, treat captives kindly, absorb them into society rather than enslaving them, and use mercy to win their loyalty.
That method had worked in the past.
But it was not suitable now.
Egypt’s slave population was now ten times what it had ever been. Yofar had nearly unified the entire region.
If they did not impose absolute control over these conquered nations, and instead attempted the old methods of kindness and integration…
Then sooner or later, Egypt would be torn apart from within.
Even if unification was achieved—
It would not last.
Yofar’s vision was both far-reaching and razor-sharp. From the very moment he overthrew his first kingdom, he had already planned everything for the future. From the start, he used cruelty to ruthlessly instill fear in those who dared to oppose him!
Hesse had failed to grasp this truth. He couldn’t even see the true face of the master he served. Just like the ministers, he had fallen right into Yofar’s trap—
And that was why he had been reprimanded.
His thinking was too naive…
Nephthys sighed inwardly before adding, “That’s why I believe you should replace the city lords in the most rebellion-prone areas with some of the generals who once fought under your command. If they lead the troops, the mere presence of their forces will be enough to deter the slaves.”
The generals who had followed Yofar into battle were all ruthless, battle-hardened warriors. Many of the defeated slaves had once stared into their faces on the battlefield—faces that had become the darkest nightmares in their hearts.
If they were stationed there, the rebels wouldn’t dare to resist.
Having said her piece, Nephthys fell silent, waiting for Yofar’s decision.
Yofar set down the thick stack of papyrus scrolls, his piercing blue eyes locking onto hers. Nephthys instinctively straightened her back, a slight unease flickering through her—but then she caught a trace of satisfaction in his gaze.
“You truly are clever, Nephthys.”
Beneath the table, Bastet bobbed his little feline head in agreement: This woman is a born politician. No wonder someone once said—if you want to learn politics, start by studying women.
Nephthys let out a quiet breath of relief, a faint smile appearing on her lips.
Yofar tapped his fingers against the thick stack of reports. “However—”
Nephthys froze. However?
“Just this alone isn’t enough. You underestimate human resolve. Even among those cowardly, self-serving slaves, there will always be those who are unafraid of death.”
Nephthys hesitated. “This…”
The sky darkened as the palace maids silently lit the lamps. The flickering candlelight cast shifting shadows over Yofar’s deep-set eyes and sharp nose, highlighting his cold, marble-like features. The golden lashes framing his ice-blue gaze made him seem almost inhuman—
Like a sculpted statue.
“For such people, fear alone is insufficient.”
“Then…?”
“I will issue a new decree,” he declared.
“If any slave reports a secret gathering of rebels or a conspiracy against the kingdom, they shall be freed from slavery, granted the lowest rank of nobility, and rewarded with land and wealth.”
The difference in status between slaves and ordinary citizens was already astronomical—let alone the status of a noble, even if they were of the lowest rank! Even commoners wouldn’t dare dream of such fortune!
And with slaves from multiple nations living together, even if one had enough dignity to refuse to betray their own people, would they hesitate to betray someone else’s?
"Even the mightiest lion cannot walk away unscathed when surrounded by hyenas," Yofar said icily. "That is why they are so utterly repulsive."
—
With the issue of the slaves settled, it was time to discuss personal matters.
Bastet was still reeling from the shocking revelation that his perverted owner, the Pharaoh, was actually a mastermind, when Nephthys suddenly asked:
“Your Majesty, of the two remaining princesses, which one do you favor?”
In ancient Egypt, the Pharaoh’s preference for marrying close relatives was no secret.
Throughout history, some Pharaohs had married their own sisters or even elder sisters. The unlucky ones who had no sisters? They married their mothers.
This was done to preserve the divine bloodline of the Pharaoh. Everyone knew that inbreeding was bad and could lead to defects in future generations, yet according to historical records, this problem had never appeared among the descendants of the Pharaohs. It was a rather mystical phenomenon.
Now, Yofar was already twenty-six. In a society where most men had a wife and children by the age of twelve or thirteen, his empty harem—so empty that grass could be growing in it—was deeply concerning.
He had no heirs. Not even one.
The entire court was desperate for him to take a queen and produce an heir, and the two surviving sisters he had not executed were the top candidates.
Yofar’s hand, which had been stroking Bastet, paused.
Bastet’s smug feline face froze.
Nephthys smiled sweetly.
A moment of silence passed. Then, with an expression as cold as ice, Yofar said,
"I have a cat."
Bastet nodded furiously: Yes! Yes! He has me!
Nephthys’ eye twitched. “…Your Majesty, a cat cannot provide you with a pure royal heir. And if I may be blunt, the one in your arms is male.”
Bastet: Oof. Right in the heart.
Yofar remained completely serious. “But I love Bastet.”
Hearing this, Bastet was overjoyed! "Meow—!" Yes! We have love! I love this bastard’s beautiful face!
Yofar: "Mm."
“……”
Nephthys’ expression didn’t just twitch—her forehead veins throbbed violently. She gritted her teeth so hard her molars might crack.
With a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, she said, “Regardless, Your Majesty, I have already prepared the Queen’s Selection Ceremony. In three days, before all the court officials, you must choose a queen! Otherwise, if something were to happen to you, the Egyptian royal line would be extinguished.”
Even if you’re just messing with us, at least go through the motions!
Yofar said nothing. He lowered his gaze, as if deep in thought.
Bastet panicked. Oh no. Oh no. This bastard is actually considering it.
The little cat immediately sprang onto Yofar’s chest and unleashed a flurry of tiny paws upon his face!
"MEEEOOOW!!!"
——You scumbag! You already have a cat at home, and you still want a wife?! NOT HAPPENING! Believe it or not, I WILL DIE RIGHT HERE!!!
Take that! And that! And that!
“Stop it.” Yofar frowned, leaning back to avoid the flurry of cat slaps. Ignoring any risk of allergies, he caught both of Bastet’s front paws in his hands.
The two of them froze in an epic martial arts stance—palms (and paws) pressed together in a battle of wills.
Yofar frowned. “Stop, Bastet.”
Bastet (`皿′): I WILL CUT OFF YOUR LITTLE PHARAOH!!! YOU SCUMBAG!!!
Nephthys: …
After a long, tense standoff between man and cat, Yofar suddenly said, “Fine. Tomorrow, I will officially crown Bastet as the Cat God. Then, the Cat God shall choose. Whomever it selects… shall be my queen.”
Bastet and Nephthys: “……”
The two stared blankly, each raising a paw and hand to stroke their chins.
Wait. Who would choose?
Me?
Bastet’s face contorted into the most shocked cat expression imaginable.
You crazy bastard—did you forget to take your meds?
Do you need a higher dose?
Do you need a LETHAL dose?!
—
[Author’s Note: Mini Theater]
Yofar: You will choose.
Bastet: Hold on. Let me go find you a donkey.
Nephthys (internally muttering): It’s always the same. Every time marriage is mentioned, His Majesty starts talking nonsense with a completely straight face…
T/N: Please give support on my ko-fi page, thank you🍊🍊🍊
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