PSW Chapter 30: Who Cares About Dignity?
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In both his past and present lives, Bastet had been the epitome of a single dog, utterly clueless about his own feelings.
Maybe the fish he ate was too salty.
Yeah. That had to be it.
Bastet licked his lips thoughtfully.
He stared at Yofar, his furry little face burning while his heart pounded like a drum at a festival.
And then, somehow, he lost control of himself.
One second, he was a dignified and aloof feline lord. The next, he had transformed into a clingy little black cat—snuggling into the crook of Yofar’s arm, tiny paws hooked around his hand, hugging his wrist while lightly kicking his hind legs.
All while gnawing on Yofar’s thumb.
The little black cat cautiously observed the beautiful Pharaoh’s expression—bite, lick, kick… No matter how much he clung, it never seemed to be enough.
Yofar smirked, allowing Bastet to hold onto his hand. He wasn’t allergic, so he indulged himself, running his fingers through the cat’s soft belly fur. So plush. So fluffy. It had been a month since he last touched this texture—he really missed it.
“Not afraid of me anymore?”
Bastet, still gnawing on Yofar’s elegant fingers, meowed sweetly in response: ‘Not afraid, not afraid! Uhh, so… can you stop locking me up? I promise I won’t run away!’
“Really not afraid?”
‘Really! More real than pearls!’
Yofar said nothing.
But his smile vanished.
His ice-blue eyes locked onto Bastet’s, deep and unreadable.
A beautiful man like him, when stripped of his warmth, was nothing short of terrifying.
Yofar’s very presence was sharp and predatory—like a beast that could never be satisfied. His perfect features, without the curve of a smile, exuded pure dominance, a suffocating aura of command that made others avert their gaze in instinctive submission.
"…"
Bastet froze.
The moment Yofar’s expression turned cold, he didn’t even dare to keep licking his hand.
“So this is what you call ‘not afraid’?” Yofar raised an eyebrow, amused, as he reached out and pinched Bastet’s chubby little triangular ears.
"…Meow."
I-I’m not scared!
Bastet refused to back down.
He gently—ever so gently—kicked at Yofar’s palm with his hind paws. Then, he widened his big, glistening green eyes in protest.
‘See? Not scared at all!’
Yofar could practically hear those exact words in Bastet’s expression.
Chuckling, he reached down and grabbed the tip of the black cat’s tail, tilting his head in silent instruction.
Look.
Huh? Look at what?
Bastet followed Yofar’s gaze downward.
And saw his own tail—
Curled at the tip, glued tightly to his belly, covering his two tiny furballs in sheer terror.
The classic "I’m scared shitless" tail.
Bastet: …
Bastet: YOU TRAITOR. YOU SOLD ME OUT.
Tail: (whimper).
The traitorous tail of absolute honesty had completely exposed its master’s fear, leaving Bastet no choice but to accept his ultimate defeat.
So he gave up.
Letting go of Yofar’s hand, he went limp, rolled onto his back, and played dead—his expression a perfect display of ‘I don’t understand human language’ and ‘I have brain damage’—the unmistakable face of a deranged cat.
Yofar didn’t expose Bastet’s little act. Instead, he simply rubbed the cat’s head twice before shifting his gaze back to the kneeling man before him.
His expression turned cold again—but compared to earlier, it was far more merciful.
A Pharaoh without a cat was a demon draped in divine skin.
A Pharaoh with a cat was a sheathed blade—still sharp, but no longer lethal.
Nephthys and Breton, watching from the sidelines, finally allowed their tense backs to relax.
Yofar caught their subtle movements from the corner of his eye.
He knew exactly what Nephthys was thinking—but chose not to expose her.
"Konobo." Yofar spoke lightly.
The kneeling man bowed his head even lower. "I am here, my king."
"You have made a grave mistake."
Yofar’s voice was calm, yet his words cut like a blade.
"Your sister deserves to die. I will not grant her mercy. She has betrayed me, the Pharaoh, and she has betrayed Egypt. Even in death, she will find no peace—spat upon by the dead, punished by the gods."
"……"
Konobo pressed his lips together.
From Bastet’s position, all he could see was the tense curve of the man’s nape, his shoulders held rigidly in place.
"But you are different, Konobo."
Yofar held Bastet in his arms, his eyes cold as moonlight.
"You once fought beside me. I will not kill you. But from this day forward, you are no longer trusted. You will leave the capital and be sent to the border city of Koria. Without my command, you will never set foot in the royal city again."
Koria—an infamously desolate city.
The locals were no different from wild savages—they didn’t wear clothes, avoided speaking to outsiders, and their lands were overrun with ruthless bandit groups.
Even the city’s governor couldn’t sleep soundly at night, fearing the rebels might slit his throat in his own home.
To exile Konobo’s entire aristocratic family, who had lived in the royal palace for generations, to that kind of hellhole—Yofar’s decision was undeniably harsh.
And yet—
Nephthys and Breton felt relieved.
Konobo’s sister had helped an enemy spy escape—and worse, she had used Konobo’s military seal to do it.
If this had happened in the past—under Yofar’s usual "better kill a thousand than let one go" rule—Konobo’s entire family would have been executed.
But now, not only was he allowed to live, Yofar hadn’t even forbidden him from taking his army.
Konobo was a fierce general. If he brought his soldiers along, he could wipe out the bandits, stabilize the city, and settle down as a comfortable lord.
It was early retirement.
Other than being exiled from the capital forever, what was so bad about it?!
"Do you have anything to say?"
"……Nothing, my king."
"Breton, take him away."
"Yes, my king."
Breton stepped forward, intending to help his friend up.
But Konobo did not move.
Instead, he suddenly lifted his head—staring straight at the king he had once sworn to serve until death.
His eyes were red, wet tears spilling down his still-young face.
Because he knew—Yofar had spared him. Spared his family.
Seeing this, Breton sighed and did not force him to rise.
"My king—" Konobo’s voice trembled.
"No matter where I am, I will always offer you my loyalty and my life! I will never forget your mercy!"
Yofar, crowned in gold, his platinum hair cold as frost, remained silent.
Konobo’s tears fell harder.
He forced himself to stand, back slightly hunched, his tall figure weighed down with grief.
And then, without another word, he turned and left with Breton.
Watching his retreating back, Bastet finally noticed—Konobo was surprisingly tall.
So young… already exiled to the borders.
For a brief moment, Bastet felt a little sorry for him.
But that thought didn’t last long—because Yofar suddenly turned to Nephthys and said:
"Prepare yourself. In seven days, we depart for Lower Egypt."
"Understood." Nephthys nodded with a smile.
Then, after a pause, he glanced at Bastet and added—
"…With the cat."
Nephthys’ eye twitched. "…Understood."
Bastet: "……"
Meow meow???
The little black cat, mid-chew on Yofar’s hand, froze.
A ruler bringing a cat on an expedition?
How does that even make sense?!
Yofar seemed to read its mind.
Casually scratching Bastet’s chin, he explained—
"This is not a territorial inspection.
A city lord in Lower Egypt has reported strange rumors.
They claim that a group of tomb robbers successfully broke into a Pharaoh’s tomb… and stole something.
A certain 'treasure' was auctioned off in the underground market beneath Tigris."
His ice-blue eyes turned sharp, locked onto an unseen point in the distance.
"We captured one of the robbers. He confirmed that it was true. The tomb was breached."
"To desecrate a Pharaoh’s tomb is the ultimate insult to the royal family. That object must not fall into the wrong hands. I will retrieve it personally."
"Meow…"
Oh, so that's the reason.
Bastet’s ears twitched in curiosity.
"What kind of treasure is it?"
For Yofar himself to step in—it must be something serious.
At the question, Yofar slowly blinked.
In the flickering palace light, his shadow twisted ominously, stretching across the walls like something alive.
A strange smile curled at his lips, making his handsome face look hauntingly sinister.
"It is the 'Book of the Dead'—
"The Book of Osiris."
"Also known as—
'The Resurrection of the Dead.'"
The moment he spoke, the flames wavered violently, casting wild, flickering shadows across the room.
Bastet’s fur bristled in pure terror.
Osiris.
The god who conquered death, the ruler of rebirth and the eternal cycle of life, the lord of judgment in the underworld.
In other words—
"The One Who Rules the Dead."
"……"
Bastet gulped.
His little heart trembled at Yofar’s meaningful smile.
Oh, hell no.
"The Book of the Dead"?!
Just hearing the name sounded unlucky as hell!!
【Author's Note – Mini Theater】
Bastet: Before today, I never knew you had such a talent for telling ghost stories. Your tone—MY GOD! Scared the hell out of me!!!
Yofar (smiling): How do you know if what I’m saying is true or not?
Bastet: …He peed. He really peed.
T/N: Please give support on my ko-fi page, thank you🍊🍊🍊
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