PSW Chapter 42: This Pharaoh Travels a Thousand Miles in Search of a Cat

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🍊 Chapter 1-105(End)

Inside the inn.

A young boy with triangular cat ears, a matching long tail about the length of an arm, and a head of slightly wavy, fluffy short hair appeared to be around sixteen or seventeen in Az’s eyes. In an Egyptian noble family, he would still be considered a boy at this age.

The boy had a pair of bright green cat-like eyes, large and glistening, with more irises than whites, making his eyes appear twice as big. Set against his soft, milk-white cheeks, they were incredibly, incredibly beautiful.

At the same time, he had deep eye sockets, a small and delicate nose, and plump, glossy lips of an uncommon bean-red hue. The corners of his lips naturally curved upward, making him look just like an adorable little cat. His short, round eyebrows sat on his forehead in a way that wasn’t awkward or unsightly—on the contrary, they were oddly amusing.

“Oh my god…”

Az unconsciously stared at the non-human boy, who was busy looking for clothes to wear, his mouth hanging open wide enough to fit two loaves of bread.

“Hey, do you have any clothes? Hey! Hey, hey, hey? Forget it, I’ll find them myself.”

The cat-eared boy waved his hand at him. Seeing Az frozen in place like a fool, he sighed, wrapped himself in a blanket, and rummaged through the room for clothes. Az, his brain still failing to catch up, sat stiffly on the chair, moving his hands and feet in sync like a puppet, staring dumbly as the boy got dressed.

Az wasn’t particularly tall, but the boy was even thinner.

His frame was small, giving him a slightly delicate and frail appearance. In all his life wandering the streets of Egypt, Az had never seen a foreign boy with milk-white skin and features so strikingly different from an Egyptian’s. Perhaps only in the secluded gardens of a noble’s estate could one catch a glimpse of such a being.

After a while, the boy finally finished dressing.

He wore a white long-sleeved pullover shirt, a short red vest embroidered with intricate patterns, white billowy trousers cinched at the waist and ankles, and—after much effort—he pulled out his long, fluffy cat tail. His soft and adorable appearance was utterly captivating.

Az thought to himself: A spirit… uh… a really good-looking one…

The very good-looking spirit, now fully dressed, plopped down in front of him, rested his face in his hands on the table, and grinned, showing a row of small teeth.

“Hey.”

Az clutched his head. “(ΩДΩ) Aaaah! The spirit is talking!”

The boy’s smile stiffened. “…Hey, do you have any food?”

Az: “(ΩДΩ) Aaaah! The spirit is talking again!”

The boy, clearly named Bastet, tried to reassure him. “Calm down, I won’t hurt you, I just—”

Az: “Aaaaah—!”

Bastet: “I just want something to eat.”

Az: “Aaaah—!”

Bastet: “Food…”

Az: “Ah—!”

Bastet: “……” You’re the real supernatural creature here, damn it!

Covered in exasperated black lines, the feline youth finally lost his patience. His cat instincts kicked in, and he twitched at the nerve-wracking noise. Unable to take it anymore, he shot up, clamped a hand over Az’s mouth, and shouted angrily:

“Would you shut up already?! My ears are about to go deaf from your screaming! I’m just hungry and want a meal—I’m not gonna eat you! Bread, milk—potatoes will do, big brother!”

Az, terrified, froze in place. “Mmm mmm mmm!”

Bastet squinted. “Do you understand? If you understand, nod.”

“Mmm mmm mmm!” Az nodded frantically.

Bastet let out a sigh of relief and released him. As expected, Az didn’t scream anymore—but his eyes remained wide with terror as he stared at Bastet. Like a hostage handing over ransom, he respectfully placed all the food he had just bought onto the table, including the half-eaten piece of bread that had fallen from his mouth earlier.

Bastet stared in silence at the offering-like arrangement. This guy… does he think I’m some kind of spirit he needs to appease before sending off?

Still, he really was starving. Without hesitation, he grabbed the leaf-wrapped roasted meat and devoured it.

He was so hungry.

Really, really hungry…

Meanwhile, Az was still gripped by fear. As an ancient Egyptian, he deeply believed in gods and the existence of otherworldly beings. Fear and reverence for such entities had long been imprinted on his soul.

However, as Az secretly observed the cat-eared boy's rather desperate eating manner, he somehow felt inexplicably at ease. Watching him grab chunks of bread and meat with his hands and shove them into his mouth, Az even detected a hint of pitiful, tragic desolation in the scene.

“Uh… slow down a bit. The innkeeper will provide dinner later.” Az scratched his head, then poured a cup of water for Bastet, placing it a little farther from his hand—just in case. Speaking in the tone one would use with an animal, he said, “Be good, okay? Don’t bite me… Do you want some water? This roast meat is terrible, way too tough—I can’t believe you can even eat it.”

“Thanks.” Bastet lifted his eyelids to glance at him before continuing to stuff food into his stomach. Only when his belly started to feel full did the uneasy panic in his heart finally ease. His mouth stopped overproducing saliva, and his whole body seemed to come back to life.

Bastet licked a bone, his barbed cat tongue scraping the remaining meat off as he muttered, seemingly to himself, “I was starving for too long. This might mess with my mind—I’ll probably end up with a binge-eating habit in the future.”

Az, whose hearing was particularly sharp from training, caught the words and recalled the moment he found the black cat. He tapped his nails together awkwardly and chuckled dryly, unsure how to respond. “Well… yeah, that does sound pretty miserable…”

Bastet looked up. “You’re not afraid of me anymore?”

Az hesitated. “…Not really. Not that much.”

He had already figured out that this black cat-turned-spirit had no intention of harming him. In fact, he had saved the cat’s life! If this played out like the legends, the black cat would repay the favor, right? That meant he could have a companion even more impressive than his master’s black lion!

Az was already considering how to subtly get some information from the cat’s mouth when Bastet finished eating and began to worry about where to go next. He couldn’t just freeload here forever, relying on this guy for food.

“Um…”

“I was going to say—”

Both of them spoke at the same time, then paused, exchanging looks before bursting into laughter. Az, ever the rough and straightforward one, rubbed the back of his head with a grin. “I know you’ve got questions. So do I. I’ll go first.”

Bastet nodded in agreement.

Their conversation was going well, but elsewhere, someone was having a far less pleasant time.

A fully armed squad of about a hundred soldiers galloped across the land, the thunderous sound of hooves merging into a deafening roar. Small stones, kicked up by the horses, mixed with the dust and scattered far into the distance.

At the front of the charge rode a man clad in striking golden armor, his crimson cape rippling in the wind as he sped forward. Beneath the crown on his head, long platinum hair had been whipped into a slight disarray, strands slapping against his cold, pale face and neck.

Behind him, a soldier rode up, struggling against the fierce wind. Shouting at the top of his lungs, he called out to the man ahead, “Your Majesty! Please stop! If you keep pushing like this, the horses won’t be able to take it! The rest of the squad is falling behind, and this pace makes you vulnerable to ambush! It’s dangerous—please, slow down!”

The black warhorse at the front gradually began to slow, though it did not come to a full stop. At least the king was no longer riding recklessly ahead alone. The soldier sighed in relief and turned back, motioning for the rest of the squad to close the distance.

Not long after, a towering figure on horseback finally caught up—both the man and his steed were noticeably larger than anyone else in the squad. Sok had fallen far behind due to his massive, slow-moving warhorse, which was bred more for endurance than speed. As soon as he reached the others, he maneuvered past the cavalry to join Abelieu’s side.

Abelieu immediately tugged his reins, pulling his mount closer to Sok. He growled through clenched teeth, “Damn it! His Majesty hasn’t had a proper rest in far too long. That damn thief—taking the Book of the Dead was bad enough! We already knew those rebels were scheming something, but why the hell did he take His Majesty’s cat too?! And to make it worse, he’s been running through town after town—our forces can’t even keep up at full strength!”

"I have no idea!" Sok's face was clouded with frustration, and he bellowed back, "But I'm actually glad that thief took Bastet! At least it's better than him starving to death! Damn that old city lord—if I had known he was abusing Bastet, I would've smashed his head in like a wooden stake and buried him in the ground!"

Abelieu snapped, "Glad? Glad that damn thief is making us chase him in circles?"

Sok retorted, "But he saved Bastet!"

Abelieu scoffed, "It’s just a cat! And yet the king is acting so recklessly—anyone who didn't know better would think our Egyptian princess had been kidnapped."

Sok's expression darkened. "Even if Bastet is just a cat, he's still my friend." He saw Abelieu about to argue again and, for once, decided to use his wits. "If you’re so bold, why don’t you go tell the king that to his face?"

Abelieu fell silent. …Yeah, he didn’t have that kind of courage.

Just as the two were about to get into a heated argument, a horse neighed and pushed between them, breaking their stare-down.

Both Sok and Abelieu turned in unison and found it was Breton.

"Alright, alright, what's with the shouting? Not tired of eating dust yet?" At this speed, they could only communicate by yelling, and Breton had already inhaled two mouthfuls of dirt. Too exhausted to debate right and wrong, he simply said, "We've searched every town except one. Our scouts spotted several groups watching from the mountains earlier. The rebels are about to make their move. Instead of arguing, you'd better think about how we’re going to get out once the king arrives!"

Abelieu huffed, yanked his reins, and sped up to stay closer to Yofar.

Sok, whose horse was slower, wore an anxious expression on his normally stolid face.

As for what was happening behind him, Yofar paid no attention. His ice-blue eyes narrowed as he gazed at the buildings slowly emerging in the distance. Something flickered across his bloodshot eyes—something fleeting, gone in an instant.

No one could see through the cold, emotionless shell of Yofar Memphis.

Though Abelieu and the others knew him as the Pharaoh’s right-hand man, they had no idea whether their king was exhausted, hungry, thirsty, or even at his limit. In fact, did he even have a limit? All they could see was the ever-straight back of the figure ahead—an almost godlike presence, unyielding and unbreakable, never faltering.

Yofar Memphis was like a Wall of Sighs, wrapping himself in an impenetrable barrier that left anyone trying to understand him feeling intimidated and helpless.

His emotions, his exhaustion, his wounds—unless someone looked closely, there was no way to tell.

Even now, despite running across countless towns without rest, he showed not the slightest sign of weariness. If not for the bloodshot streaks in his eyes betraying the strain, Abelieu and the others wouldn’t have even dared to step in and advise him.

And yet, as the ruler of Egypt, he should not have brought such a small force to retrieve a mere cat, practically serving himself up to the enemy. It was ridiculous. Laughable!

Even a child knew that a king must never expose himself to danger.

But he did it anyway.

And not only that—he had punished his most trusted aide, Nephthys, and completely thrown their plans into disarray because of it.

In the eyes of Abelieu, Breton, and the others, their king had clearly lost his mind over that cat. A cat was not a person. Even if it were, not even blood relatives or a wife were worth risking the king’s life for.

Why not just get a new one?

As the ruler of this land, he could have any cat he wanted. He wouldn’t even have to ask—countless people would scramble to find one to please him.

And yet their king?

His mind was fixated on that one cat named Bastet.

Even if—perhaps—that cat was already dead, Yofar was still searching.

"I swear," Abelieu muttered to Breton, turning his head, "what if this cat named Bastet turns into a woman at night and seduces our king—wait, no, it’s a male cat."

Breton couldn’t help but let out a tired chuckle at the ridiculous thought. But just then, as they rode through a narrow uphill pass flanked by low shrubs and wild grass, a long spear suddenly shot out from the brush—aimed directly at Yofar!

In that instant, Breton’s pupils shrank in horror. The laughter vanished from his face, replaced by sheer terror. His throat felt like it was blocked, as if something round had gotten stuck there. It took what felt like a century before he could finally scream, voice cracking:

"Your Majesty—!"

Yofar frowned. In a flash, he tightened his grip on the reins and twisted them sharply. The veins in his armored arms bulged as he yanked back with force. His black-brown warhorse, a legendary steed, immediately reared up on its hind legs, front hooves kicking wildly in the air, letting out a long, piercing neigh.

Thud!

The spear narrowly missed, grazing past the horse’s chest and stabbing deep into the earth, sending a spray of dirt into the air!

—

Author’s Note: [Mini Theater]

Yofar: I feel like my entire harem is just ahead of me.

Bastet: Hee hee, guess who?

Yofar: WHERE IS MY CAT???

T/N: Please give support on my ko-fi page, thank you🍊🍊🍊