PSW Chapter 3: The King of Beauty and Brutality
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Ice-blue eyes stared at it coldly
Those eyes transformed from a mere sapphire into the chilling, murderous gleam of a blood-soaked sword.
Something incredibly sharp and ominous surged and sank within them, an overwhelming aura of terror descending upon Bastet like black mist—silent, yet pressing in with suffocating intensity, as if sinking fangs into his throat.
Bastet's entire body stiffened. A scorching, blood-soaked scent—like that from a beast’s maw—filled his nostrils.
Yet, the man before him hadn’t moved a single step. He hadn’t even taken an offensive stance.
In fact, his entire body was wrapped in white cloth, concealing any expression that might have betrayed his intentions.
But as Bastet cautiously glanced toward where the man’s face should be, he could vaguely sense that—
He was smiling.
A smile filled with delight.
A delight that stemmed from the urge to kill.
Or perhaps, a pleasure born from the rage that ignited his killing intent.
A contradiction so twisted, yet so logical that Bastet found it terrifyingly reasonable.
It was like locking eyes with a highly intelligent, psychopathic serial killer—one whose mere presence could make you tremble from the depths of your soul, a fear so profound it churned your stomach.
In all his years, Bastet had never encountered a human who could instill the certainty of a brutal and merciless death with nothing but their aura—an invisible, intangible force.
Especially not someone like himself— a fragile researcher.
He had been strictly protected by the national intelligence system, his brain and psyche safeguarded with the highest priority. Even the warriors assigned to protect them had been instructed to suppress their presence and maintain a pleasant demeanor.
So…
I’m gonna piss myself!
Bastet didn’t even dare lift a paw. The fur along his neck and back bristled in a straight line down to his tail. His entire body tensed, and he stared at the man while clenching his tiny kitty bits, terrified that if he lost control, he’d end up spraying the guy—only to have his neck snapped in retaliation.
How long had they been locked in this stare-down?
A minute? Two?
Bastet felt like the air had frozen solid. If the man didn’t say something or leave soon, he was going to vomit up the dried fish he’d eaten and return it to him as a gift.
"Meow—"
Bast did, in fact, gag a little.
For a brief moment, the suffocating aura around the man wavered, and oxygen seemed to return to their surroundings.
He looked down at it.
The tiny black cat, nearly scaring itself to death, was desperately fluffing up its short fur to appear larger.
Yet, despite its efforts, its body trembled, curling into a pitiful little ball. Its tiny paws, round and plump like mangosteen fruit, clutched the ground. Its glistening green eyes welled up with tears, unblinking as it shrank back to steal glances at him.
As if silently pleading: “I was wrong, meow! I won’t do it again, meow!”
So weak.
So—hmm. So adorable.
The terrifying, suffocating aura of a beast vanished in an instant. The man, now exuding a playful malice, unceremoniously plucked the little black cat into his arms.
Completely ignoring the way Bastet clung desperately to the wall, claws hooked in a last-ditch effort to resist, he yanked him off with ease.
"Meow meow meow! Hooowl—"
Someone’s murdering a cat! Somebody help! This is an official complaint!
Bastet struggled wildly in his grasp, his claws furiously tearing at the man’s white cloth covering.
A hoarse chuckle came from above.
"Scared, hmm?"
He lifted the little black cat to his lips and, through the cloth, gently caught one of its flailing paws between his teeth. His voice, deep and seductive, was slightly muffled as he murmured,
"Don’t be afraid, darling. I won’t hurt you."
Bastet, paw trapped: "Meow awoooo—" Bullshit! Let me go! That’s the paw I use to dig my litter box! Disgusting!
The man’s ice-blue eyes softened.
"Of course, I swear it on the Sun God Ra."
Bastet froze mid-struggle. He tilted his head up, blinking his big round eyes.
"Meow?" For real?
The man, momentarily charmed, replied gently, "For real."
"Meow?" Say it again.
He reaffirmed, "For real."
To emphasize his sincerity, he even gave the little black cat’s ears a few strokes.
Bastet: My waist doesn’t hurt anymore, my legs have stopped shaking, and my smile is growing increasingly arrogant!
The black cat instantly bared its fangs in a wide grin. Standing upright in his arms, it raised both paws and—hmm, aimed at what was probably his face (honestly, the cloth was too thick to tell)—then launched into a full-force Cat-style Eighteen Palms of the Dragon!
Its tiny claws moved so fast, they left afterimages!
"You swore you wouldn’t hit me, right?!"
What the hell are you bragging about?!
"I'm the Pharaoh's cat, you bastard."
Slap, slap, slap—
"………"
The man whose mouth was a little sore—namely, Pharaoh Yofar Memphis II—looked at the little black cat, tail held high and brimming with arrogance, with a half-smile. The sight made him want to bite this infuriating yet adorable creature’s head right off.
It was incredibly soft and cute, yet it held its head so high it seemed ready to ascend to the heavens, exuding an air of absolute arrogance that made one irresistibly want to tease it.
The first time Yofar saw this black cat, which had been chosen as the incarnation of the goddess Bastet, he knew it was extraordinary.
It was too intelligent, as if the gods themselves had granted it human-like wisdom. Whether in temperament or behavior, it captivated the Pharaoh, who loved cats but had never been overly attached to one. For the first time, he entertained the idea of keeping this mischievous little thing by his side.
He had a premonition—if he kept it close, he would have a great deal of entertainment to pass the time.
Like now…
Bastet was enjoying its triumphant moment, still striking out with its little paws.
Yofar lowered his voice, making it sound deliberately strange, then smiled and drew out his words:
"Did you know?"
Bastet paused mid-swipe: "Meow?" Huh? What are you saying, you bastard?
Yofar narrowed his eyes and brought his lips close to the cat’s ear:
"Actually, I have a special hobby, and that is—"
The next three words were murmured so faintly they were barely audible. The warmth of his breath and the ambiguity of his words sent shivers through the sensitive black ears.
As if that weren’t enough, he placed a long, pale hand on the cat's rear and gave it a little flick.
Bastet: "……"
Bastet was instantly petrified, meowing out a very human-like "What the f—!"
It stiffly looked up at the man.
Yofar gave a slow, deliberate wink—his long lashes like little fans—but his gaze was utterly wicked.
"Want to give it a try?" he asked.
Want to try?
Try it?
Try?
…Try?~
CRACK! Bastet swore it could hear the sound of its worldview shattering.
"MEOW—!"
What the hell?!
You goddamn pervert, you actually want—want—want to sleep with a cat?!
Screw this! I’m out—!
With a terrified screech, Bastet bolted from Yofar’s arms at lightning speed, fleeing without even a backward glance, tail whipping wildly behind it.
"Hiss…"
The handsome yet ruthless Pharaoh sucked in a breath and covered his mouth, watching the black cat’s retreating figure. Then, unable to hold back, he burst into a rare, hearty laugh—one almost unheard of in all of Egypt.
"Indeed, I must take it with me."
To keep it by my side and dote on it at all times.
The malicious Pharaoh made his decision.
Until nightfall…
The Pharaoh and His Love for Cats
Pharaoh Yofar's deep fondness for cats was something only a few high priests knew.
It wasn’t exactly a secret.
All of Egypt revered the cat goddess. Most households kept cats as beloved members of the family. They hunted mice and helped control the countless venomous cobras that plagued the region, as dangerous as deadly insects.
Every year, over ten thousand people in Egypt died from snake venom.
After the rise of the cat goddess’ worship, that number plummeted to just a few thousand.
The legend of the cat goddess told of how the moon goddess transformed into a feline and slew the serpent incarnation of an evil god to protect the sun god Ra. In Egypt, you could be poor, you could have no status, but if you had a cat, your life would be far better.
People would offer food to beggars out of respect for their cats, and neighbors could become sworn enemies over their cats getting into fights.
If a fire broke out, they would abandon their wealth without hesitation to save their feline companions first.
The temple and followers of the moon goddess Bastet ranked only second to those of the supreme sun god Ra.
Many high priests hailed from Bastet’s temple.
For instance, among the seven great high priests were:
Nephthys, the high priestess,
Bikhu, a master of mounted archery who guarded Lower Egypt,
Aephino, the high priest of judgment.
The last of these was known to preside over trials with an enormous black cat sprawled on his shoulder.
So when Egypt’s revered ruler developed an intense fondness for a certain cat and frequently visited the royal treasury alone, the high priests did not object.
Until today.
Because today, their Pharaoh—while returning from a cat-petting session—had been ambushed by foreign spies.
When High Priest Hesse was woken up by his attendants with this urgent news, all traces of drowsy irritation vanished instantly! His face turned pale, cold sweat soaking his back. He shoved aside the attendant trying to drape a robe over him, seized his staff, and sprinted toward the palace.
By the time he arrived, Nephthys had also rushed over in disarray—her gown askew, face deathly pale. The usual elegant makeup and golden ornaments were all gone. She was breathless when she arrived.
The white stone corridor before them was spattered with fresh, vivid red blood.
A woman’s corpse lay there, her lifeless eyes frozen in hatred. She was dressed as an ordinary palace maid—except for the blue sash at her waist.
Hesse and Nephthys exchanged glances and immediately recognized the marking:
A servant from the royal menagerie, responsible for caring for the Pharaoh’s pets.
Hesse crouched to inspect her.
Her neck had been crushed by monstrous force, deep finger-shaped indentations sinking into the flesh. Just by sight alone, it was clear her bones had been pulverized. A mush of shattered cartilage and flesh had been forced up through her throat, speckling her lips and cheeks.
Peeling away her garments, Hesse’s gaze turned colder as he found a brand on her body.
"Those damn Lower Egypt vipers!" he cursed furiously.
Nephthys turned toward a certain direction and, in a low voice, bowed:
"My king, are you well?"
Sticky crimson seeped into the engraved stone pillars, leaving a grotesque stain.
Somewhere beyond, a low, amused humming carried through the air.
The surrounding palace maids sobbed silently, pressing their foreheads and hands to the ground in absolute submission.
Fully armored guards encircled a specific location, their chiseled chests forming an impenetrable wall, their expressions fearsome.
Upon seeing the two high priests, they did not step aside until the Pharaoh inside emerged. Only then did the guards withdraw, revealing the handsome man within.
The white cloth around his waist was stained with blood, and the gemstone belt clinked softly.
His cold, pale skin stretched over solid, well-defined muscles. Under the moonlight, his platinum hair shimmered like flowing sand. He wore golden ornaments on his wrists, neck, and atop his head. His icy blue eyes narrowed slightly, and as if in a pleasant mood, he was smiling while wiping away the bloodstains on his chest and abs.
Yet, his long and powerful hands were covered in even more blood than his body.
So handsome—yet so terrifying.
The female assassin trained in Lower Egypt was fiercer and deadlier than the strongest warriors. Yet, she had died without much struggle at the hands of a king whose beauty was too famous.
The noble Pharaoh stopped his movements. His smile suddenly disappeared, replaced by an expressionless gaze directed at his two high priests.
Hesse and Nephthys knew their king had reached the peak of his fury. Cold sweat poured down their backs as they knelt in reverence.
"Your Majesty, we arrived too late to protect you. Please grant us your forgiveness."
Silence.
After a long pause, Yofar curled his lips into a cold sneer and asked:
"Forgiveness? With what?"
"…"
"My life?"
"…"
The two high priests inhaled sharply at his words. They shut their eyes tightly, pressing their foreheads to the ground, not daring to argue.
Yofar’s icy blue eyes gleamed with venom. He looked down at them from above for a moment before abruptly turning and striding away, without a glance at the kneeling priests and attendants.
"Kill every servant in the beast garden."
The night wind carried his merciless command. The Pharaoh added:
"And all the beasts in the garden as well!"
Hesse and Nephthys: "…Yes, Your Majesty!"
The king was gone.
The maids, who had been kneeling in silence, finally sobbed, but the armored guards stepped forward, raised their spears, and mercilessly pinned them to the stone ground!
"Ugh—"
The short-lived screams and cries were abruptly cut off.
Blood gushed, flooding the white stone courtyard.
Hesse clenched his fists, blaming himself for failing to guard the palace properly and allowing an assassin inside. Nephthys, on the other hand, gazed at the pitiful maids and sighed softly.
These maids could not be allowed to live.
It was a simple truth, and Nephthys understood it. But still, she couldn't help but pray to the gods in her heart.
Oh great sun god Ra…
You have granted our king the courage to conquer the world.
You have granted our king the wisdom to rule all of Egypt.
You have granted our king an appearance that astonishes all.
But could you, just once more, show mercy? Send down a divine miracle… and bestow upon our king even the slightest bit of compassion…
[Author’s Note: Little Theater]
Sun God Ra: I already did! Bastet! I told you to soften the Pharaoh’s heart, what the hell are you doing?!
Bastet (acting nonchalant): Nothing much. Just chilling.
Nephthys: …
Nephthys: Despair.
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