PSW Chapter 36: Bastet in Yofar’s Eyes
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“Hmph.”
Someone who disapproved of the fat city lord let out a mocking sneer.
The fat city lord snapped back in anger, but everyone had already followed the king, and no one turned to look at him. The culprit who sneered had blended into the crowd, making it impossible to tell who it was.
His dignity completely shattered, the fat city lord’s face turned a deep shade of purple. His two daughters had been too frightened to tell him what had happened in the courtyard the previous day.
Completely unaware of how his own cat had offended the king, the fat city lord was helped to his feet by his servants. Gritting his teeth, he whispered to his attendant, “Neuter Keke Lian!”
That damn stupid cat! It must have reached that time and had been yowling near the king’s residence at night.
When cats enter a certain period, they wander outside at night, making piercing cries that are vastly different from their usual soft meows. Not only are these sounds sharp, but they carry far, especially unsettling in the dead of night.
The fat city lord thought he had figured out the truth. He had tried so hard to curry favor, only to have it ruined by a cat. He cursed the wretched feline in his heart—it had cost him his dignity in front of the king and the other city lords.
“If the king says it must be neutered, then it must be done...” He clenched his fists. Otherwise, he would have had the cat killed! The fat city lord grabbed his servant by the collar and heaved himself up, shifting most of his weight onto the man. The servant gritted his teeth under the pressure, sweating profusely, as the city lord hissed, “Once it’s neutered, throw it out of the city lord’s mansion. Understood?”
The servant, relieved after helping him up, hurriedly nodded.
Only then did the fat city lord, now satisfied, shove the servant away, straighten his clothes, and act as if nothing had happened as he calmly squeezed his way back toward the new king.
Bastet sat crouched on Yofar’s lap, watching him discuss matters with the other city lords. Yofar was cold but normal with the others, yet when the fat city lord spoke, his attitude became downright frigid—so much so that he practically had disgust and disdain written all over his face.
The fat city lord’s name was Shazesa. His city controlled the crucial harbor where the Nile met the sea, a gateway for countless merchants and travelers each year. With its large population and thriving economy, it was one of the most prosperous cities in Lower Egypt.
A city lord like him had been a near-sovereign ruler—at least until Yofar came with his army a few years ago.
Yofar didn’t punish him outright, nor did he insult him with harsh words, yet his cold and dismissive demeanor was enough to wound Shazesa’s pride. His face turned red with humiliation, yet he had to force a stiff smile, pretending not to care.
He had never been treated this way in his life.
The people he had once dominated might not show it on their faces, but who knew how they were mocking him in their hearts? The thought alone made Shazesa feel worse than death, making him wish he could disappear into the ground.
Bastet blinked his bright green cat eyes, sneaking a glance at the fat man’s strained smile. He felt a little bad for him.
First of all, this whole mess had started because their two pet cats fought, and now it had escalated into a battle between their owners. It all felt a bit... blown out of proportion.
Second, Bastet could see that the fat city lord was actually quite respectful toward Yofar. He hadn’t really done anything wrong, yet he was getting the coldest treatment possible from his owner. It seemed a little unfair.
But most importantly, Bastet was worried that he might cause trouble for Yofar.
Extending a paw, he playfully flicked out her tiny claws and hooked onto a strand of Yofar’s platinum-blond hair, giving it a tug.
“Meow~”
Hey, poop scooper, poop scooper~
Yofar, in the middle of speaking, suddenly heard a faint meow. Without any change in expression, he lifted a cup to his lips and took a sip, signaling for the others to continue talking while he lowered his gaze.
There, on his lap, was a little creature so black that its features melted into the shadows, except for its two luminous green eyes—like two tiny emeralds in a sea of darkness. The small thing’s front paws clung mischievously to his lower stomach, its mouth opening wide in a series of soft “meow meow” sounds, revealing tiny, delicate fangs that were absurdly cute.
Seeing Yofar’s gaze, Bastet lowered her voice and meowed again:
“Meow meow meow.”
—Poop scooper, you don’t have to avenge me. It’s really not a big deal. What if this causes more trouble? You’re already so busy.
“Meow meow meow~”
—Besides, I don’t even care anymore. Next time, I’ll just smash that dumb cat’s head in myself.
“Meow meow meow?”
—Hey, why aren’t you saying anything? Could it be that my kindness has moved you to tears, oh fatherly one? Hehehe.
“Meow meow meow.”
—You don’t have to be so grateful. As your feline overlord, this is simply my duty. But if you really feel like repaying me… let’s have shrimp for dinner! I’m craving some.
“Meow?”
—Poop scooper, why are you covering your face? Why are you ignoring me?
“Meow!”
—If you keep ignoring me, I’m gonna get mad!
Bastet huffed, widening his big round eyes.
In his mind, his image was that of a noble, shadowy feline, exuding an imposing aura of at least two and a half meters. Like a lion with massive paws, he pressed down on Yofar’s stomach, hjs emerald eyes gleaming with a fierce and untouchable light, glaring at him with righteous indignation.
But in reality, what Yofar saw was this—
A pitch-black little cat, so dark that even its nose was indistinguishable, radiating an aura of pure silliness. Its tiny pink paw pads clung helplessly to his stomach, its jewel-like green eyes sparkling with intelligence and mischief. It looked like a baby begging for milk—pretending to be fierce but utterly adorable.
When it opened its tiny mouth and let out a series of meows, Yofar suddenly had the overwhelming urge to roll it into a ball and squeeze it, to press his face into its fluffy belly and take a deep breath, to pin its little paws down and nibble on its soft pads—never letting it escape.
The future did not yet have a word for “moe,” but the Pharaoh stared at the little creature on his lap, slowly and silently covering the lower half of his face with his hand.
Yofar: "Mmm."
Seeing that he was being ignored, Bastet bounced twice and let out a meow: “Meow~” Come on, poop servant, pay attention to me!
Yofar’s golden eyelashes quivered: "I'll have Alina bring you some milk right now. No more acting spoiled, Bastet."
Bastet: Huh?
Who’s acting spoiled? If anything, I’d be more likely to pee on you.
The little feline overlord showed its true mischievous colors: Hiss! Pah!
Yofar’s perspective: "No sticking out your tongue to lick. You'll dirty my clothes. You can lick your paws when we get back."
Bastet: ?
The little black furball was stunned. Wait, what? Who licked you? How could he just spout lies with a straight face?
With Yofar’s interruption, Bastet missed the perfect moment to speak. By the time it thought of something to say, Yofar had already lifted his head and resumed his conversation with the city lords. Not wanting to disturb him, Bastet could only lie down on the man’s lap and let out a soft meow of resignation.
The meeting lasted until the sun was at its peak. During that time, Yofar occasionally reached out to stroke Bastet’s back. By the afternoon, he was even busier—they went to inspect Egypt’s military forces.
As Pharaoh, Yofar had no time to tend to Bastet, so he handed the cat over to Hesse, who held it in his arms.
Inspection, speeches, encouraging the soldiers.
Bastet followed Yofar, even making its way to the gladiator arena to witness Egypt’s strongest warrior battle a lion in a brutal fight to the death.
When the lion finally fell, the towering, formidable man raised his battle-axe and severed its head with a single strike. Laughing heartily, he lifted the severed head and gave an exaggerated wave toward the royal seat, offering a crude and unsubtle salute.
It was as if he were presenting the lion’s head to Yofar—or perhaps hinting at something more sinister.
Bastet covered its eyes, unwilling to look, but then heard Hesse curse under his breath: "Damn lowborn!"
“Lowborn” was a term of disdain in Egypt, a slur used by light-brown-skinned nobles to insult dark-skinned commoners or slaves.
But Bastet knew that Hesse wasn’t that kind of person. As the High Priest, Hesse was strict about rules and etiquette—rigid but not cruel. For someone like him to swear so angrily was truly surprising.
Bastet opened its eyes and turned to observe the reactions around them.
The bloodshed in the arena had elicited no disapproval. The spectators—mostly warriors from Lower Egypt—cheered loudly, raising their arms and whistling while making various hand gestures.
The nobles and city lords seated in the special viewing area didn’t show much amusement; they merely clapped politely at appropriate moments.
Then there was Yofar and his people.
Yofar’s gaze was unreadable, his expression cold, as if his mind wasn’t even focused on the arena. Nephthys still wore her usual elegant smile, flawless as ever, betraying nothing.
But Yofar’s personal guards and trusted aides—Sok, Abelieu, and others—had darkened expressions. Their eyes gleamed with a dangerous light, their lips curling into either faint smirks or displeased frowns.
That move just now had clearly been a provocation against Yofar.
Bastet silently watched its owner’s tall, striking figure, its little tail twitching, unable to hide its thoughts.
“The new king left?”
“Yeah, after watching the match, he took his guards and left. I heard he’s heading to another city to reclaim some stolen treasure.”
“Oh, that rumor? I’ve heard of it. The Pharaoh’s tomb was robbed, right? Heh, but with the new king looking like that, does he really have what it takes?”
Returning from the arena, the warriors of Lower Egypt gathered to rest.
“Forget that, it’s boring. Hey, did you guys get a good look at the new king? Damn, what a girly face. His skin’s whiter than goat’s milk, and he gets to be king? Conqueror of Upper and Lower Egypt? Pfft, if only he’d met our first warrior, Bart, back then. The last first warrior was a total joke.”
“Lower Egypt will overthrow him sooner or later. I don’t want some girly man as my king.”
“Same here! I bet I could snap his arm in half with just a flick of my wrist!”
“Hahaha, be careful—he’s the Conqueror King, remember? He might actually beat you!”
“Pffft, hahahahaha!”
The men roared with laughter.
Then someone asked, “Who’s Upper Egypt’s first warrior again?”
“Who? Oh, it’s the new king himself. A total joke. He only got that title because he sits on the throne. Weak little thing—can he even lift a sword? The old veterans actually fear him? Bunch of gutless cowards!”
The conversation shifted to the older soldiers, and the group began grumbling about them—calling them pretentious, oppressive toward newcomers, and lacking real strength.
Only when their throats turned dry did they gradually fall silent.
Then someone suddenly realized, “Hey… where’s Bart? I haven’t seen him since we left the arena.”
“Weird…”
Meanwhile, in a noble’s estate.
Bart had changed out of his armor the moment he left the arena, moving quickly through the city. He knocked on the back door of the estate, and the servant who opened it—a tall, sharp-eyed man—immediately stepped aside to let him in before shutting the door firmly behind him.
They made their way to the courtyard.
There, Bart finally met the person he was looking for.
“Shaya, welcome back.” Bart grinned, opening his arms wide and pulling the man into a sincere embrace.
The man standing before him—strong, with neatly groomed facial hair—was none other than Shaya, who had fled from Upper Egypt. He wore a one-shoulder white robe, his steady, masculine features making him look like a young noble.
Saya accepted the hug, patting Bart’s back. Once they pulled apart, he spoke:
“Bart, you shouldn’t have provoked that man.” His voice was calm but firm. “He may have been shackled by his ministers in Upper Egypt, but perhaps you haven’t heard—those who opposed him are all dead now. In just one night, that entire region fell into his grasp.”
“He has terrifying patience. He’s not someone to trifle with.”
“I know.” Bart waved his hand carelessly. “As long as we don’t expose our identities, even if he is the king, there’s nothing he can actually do to me, the First Warrior.”
Shaya frowned in disapproval, but before he could argue, Bart changed the subject. “Forget that damn gladiator arena—how could you deliberately leak the news that we got the Book of the Dead? Do you have any idea how furious those old men are?”
They had lost nearly two hundred skilled fighters in the tomb palace just to obtain the Book of the Dead.
“It doesn’t matter.” Saya grinned, flashing a set of white teeth, his expression open and full of sunshine, as if he were completely devoid of scheming. “Those old geezers can only hide in the shadows, using cheap tricks that concubines might employ to fight for favor. To Yofar Memphis II, such petty tactics are nothing more than a minor itch.”
“So what if we sacrificed the Book of the Dead? Didn’t we catch a bigger fish? Yofar has already left Upper Egypt. While he’s busy searching for the book, we can do a lot…”
Saya patted Bart’s shoulder, his eyes narrowing as he lowered his voice. “Bart, I’ll give you the men you need—kill Yofar. For the revival of our nation, we cannot let him leave Lower Egypt alive.”
“Don’t worry.”
Bart smirked with pride and confidence. “Just watch—I’ll take his head the same way I took that lion’s.”
____
Author’s Note – Little Theater:
Lower Egypt warriors: He’s such a delicate little thing! I bet I could snap his arm in half!
Yofar (removing gloves): How about I crush your skull with one hand instead?
Bastet: Instantly covers eyes.
T/N: Please give support on my ko-fi page, thank you🍊🍊🍊
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