PSW Chapter 38: Slow Torture

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🍊 Chapter 1-105(End)

The room was sealed shut, silent both inside and out.

Dust swirled in the beams of light that pierced through the dim space. The room was sparse, almost empty, with only a single vase sitting in a corner, covered in a thin layer of dust.

In the middle of the room, inside a small square wooden cage, lay a motionless black lump.

If not for its upright triangular ears, it would be almost impossible to tell that it was a cat.

It was too black.

Dust settled onto the fur, bouncing off playfully before vanishing into the stillness.

The black cat curled itself into a tight ball in one corner of the cage, pretending to be dead.

No one came to this room. There was no food or water placed before its cage—because everyone knew this was the cat that had wounded the king.

Bastet closed its eyes, feeling its own body heat. Its mind was a chaotic mess, thoughts slipping through its grasp like water, leaving only emptiness—an emptiness deeper than even the pit in its stomach.

Gurgle~~~

Its stomach rumbled. Bastet was hungry, but there was nothing to eat. Not that it wanted to eat, anyway.

It had been locked up for a full day.

Yesterday, after scratching Yofar, Bastet had bolted. But in the end, a group of burly men—who looked too heavy to be agile but turned out to be surprisingly quick—grabbed it by the scruff of its neck and brought it back before Yofar.

The two high priests looked at the wound on their king’s forehead with deep concern. They pressed their lips together, hesitant to speak under Yofar’s dark and stormy expression.

“Bastet.”

Yofar’s entire presence seemed to exude black mist, his gaze locked onto the cat in front of him. His fists clenched tightly, the veins on the back of his hands bulging—a clear sign that his emotions were far from as calm as his face suggested.

“You hurt me.” His words were forced out through gritted teeth, firm and unwavering, filled with suppressed fury on the verge of erupting. “Why, Bastet?”

Bastet blinked, hearing something in Yofar’s words—Explain yourself, and I will forgive you.

But—who the hell needs to explain to you?!

Have you ever seen a pet explain why it scratched its owner?! No!

Ha! I’m just a pet, aren’t I? How could a pet possibly understand human speech, let alone offer an explanation?

I’m not human!

Explain what? I don’t owe you anything! I scratched you because I wanted to—what of it? You’re mad? Well, I’m mad too! Turns out you never really saw me as anything but a plaything. It was all just my own foolish attachment. And I’m not allowed to be angry? I’m not allowed to be hurt?!

Bastet wanted to scream out its frustration and pain, but it couldn’t bring itself to lower its pride. So it simply shut its eyes. It was black enough—if it closed its eyes, no one could even tell where its face was.

To everyone else, its reaction was pure defiance.

Yofar’s chest rose and fell sharply twice. He let out a low growl and ordered his attendants to lock the black cat in the cage. Then, without another glance, he turned on his heels and returned to his royal carriage.

Bastet was locked in the cage, then tied to the captain of the guards’ horse. After reaching the next city and passing through several hands, it was finally abandoned in an uninhabited side palace. From that moment on, it never saw Yofar again.

Bastet had no idea that Nephthys had once pleaded on its behalf.

Yofar strode toward the city lord’s mansion, his cape billowing behind him, platinum hair slicing through the air. His tall, straight back made no attempt to hide his cold displeasure.

Nephthys and Hesse had to quicken their pace to keep up. Nephthys, trailing right behind the king, spoke hurriedly, “My king, please calm your anger. No matter what, Bastet is just a cat. It does not possess human understanding or fear. A cat scratching someone is completely normal. Besides—”

Yofar walked too fast. Nephthys took a deep breath and broke into a jog. “Besides, cats are especially temperamental during this time of year. Please, I beg you—”

“I know.”

A hoarse, cold voice cut her off.

Nephthys stopped, stunned.

Ahead, the king did not look back. He and his attendants had already walked far away.

"I know," he had said.

Nephthys had served Yofar for many years, believing she understood this pharaoh—this man who had suffered so much as a child and grown into a ruler of deep cunning.

So she recognized what those words truly meant.

It wasn’t "I know you’re pleading for it," but "I know it didn’t mean to hurt me."

Before Nephthys had even begun to plead for Bastet, their king had already forgiven the black cat in his heart.

Even though it had wounded him, even though it had made him bleed…

Yofar was fearless on the battlefield, but Nephthys knew that because of his past, he had never forgiven anyone who left scars on his body.

And today, for the first time, that iron rule was broken.

Even if it was just for a cat.

Nephthys halted in place, her expression unreadable, her eyes darkening as an unknown glimmer flickered within them.

Has Bastet’s influence on the king… become too great?

The incident with Bastet had affected Yofar deeply. It preoccupied his mind so much that he neglected to arrange what would happen to the cat after its confinement. He assumed that his High Priestess Nephthys would handle it.

Nephthys, in turn, assumed that Hesse had already taken care of it—after all, it was under his management.

And Hesse?

High Priest Hesse: I thought Abelieu and the others were handling it—I saw them carrying the cage.

And so, lost in a chain of assumptions among their highest-ranking figures, Bastet ended up at the mercy of a city lord who had been so frightened and humiliated by the incident that he had the cat tossed into an abandoned room.

The city lord, relieved that the king wasn’t blaming him, soon realized how embarrassing it was for a man of his status to have caused such a commotion. But since he couldn’t direct his anger at Yofar, the only one left to blame was the cat that had scratched the king.

“A cat that bites the king won’t live long anyway,” the old city lord muttered. Then he instructed his servants, “No need to give it food or water. Understood?”

The servants quickly bowed. “Yes, yes, my lord! Rest assured.”

In the forsaken room, Bastet believed it was being punished by Yofar.

Heartbroken, it shut its eyes.

It held out for a day without eating or drinking.

Then curled into itself and lasted another two.

By the third day, hunger had blurred its vision, leaving it weak and drained of all strength.

In its past life, Bastet had been someone capable of entering a national research institute. It knew exactly what starvation could do to the body.

First came the sharp pangs in the stomach, like ants gnawing away at patience, burrowing into the gut, the veins, even the ears—relentlessly whispering their thirst.

Then came the burning, acidic nausea.

The irony of starvation was that when hunger reached a breaking point, the body revolted—vomiting nothing but bile and saliva.

Even if one retched, there was nothing to expel. The stomach acid had already scoured every last digestible trace from the gut.

Soon, hunger would strip away one’s sense of self. And this—this was just the first day without food.

Later, hunger would fade, tricking the body into thinking the worst had passed. But in truth, the body would be entering a critical state—low blood sugar, dizziness, weakened breathing, sluggish life signs, and a dull ache deep in the chest.

Physiological survival mechanisms would prioritize breaking down fat and muscle to sustain the brain’s function.

But that would be nowhere near enough.

With neither food nor water, Bastet calculated that in this half-grown feline body, it could last at most two more days.

Dehydration had already taken hold.

Its tongue had begun shedding rough, patchy layers. The small barbs on its tongue were rotting from ulcers.

Its nose had dried out.

The urge to urinate had nearly disappeared.

Every limb ached with a deep, gnawing soreness.

More time passed.

Its vision flickered, blurred.

Hallucinations began.

Bastet had tried to stay still, to conserve energy. But it didn’t help.

It saw its own stomach acid sloshing violently inside its tiny belly, threatening to burst through its gut lining, melting holes into its insides—until its whole body dissolved into a yellow, oozing puddle.

"I can’t take this anymore…"

It murmured to the illusions in its mind.

It felt as though it were screaming, thrashing, dragging its claws through the gaps of the cage, scratching deep gouges into the wooden bars in agony.

But in reality, in the silent, empty room, the tiny black cat in the cage had not moved in a long time.

If a miracle occurred—like in all those stories—if he appeared, Bastet swore it would abandon all pride, all grudges.

It would weep, beg, cry out to Yofar to let it out.

To give it water.

It was going mad.

No pain could compare to hunger and thirst.

To die of dehydration or starvation was a slow and merciless execution.

A person—no, even a cat—would gradually lose their ability to cry out, their senses shutting down one by one, until they awaited death in silent, numbing emptiness…

Bastet prayed for a miracle.

But all it received was despair.

By the time it had drifted in and out of consciousness several times, it was already the fourth day.

I’m Dying.

Killed by the person I love most.

Bastet no longer had the strength to curl up to preserve its body heat. Its vital signs had dropped to their lowest point two hours ago. It knew very well that even if it ate now, it was too late. Severe dehydration would claim its life before starvation could.

During these four days of torment, Bastet had resented Yofar.

It had never imagined that Yofar would be this ruthless. If he had just killed it outright, that would have been fine. It could have pretended it never reincarnated in the first place. That wouldn’t have been so bad.

But instead, it had been abandoned in a place no one would visit, locked in a cage, helplessly sent to its death.

Its emerald-green cat eyes dimmed, tears soaking the fur around them.

With great effort, Bastet turned its head toward the source of light, letting the warm sunlight fall upon its face. Yofar’s occasional moments of gentleness replayed in its mind like a dying flicker of memories.

And then, that sentence he had once said—

"You are my pet, Bastet."

“…Meow.”

No wonder the villains in novels always go on a rampage seeking revenge after being murdered.

Tears streamed from Bastet’s eyes, dripping onto the cold floor.

It laughed at itself bitterly. Good thing I’ve always been the type to talk tough but have a soft heart. I don’t want to hate Yofar.

I just… don’t want to meet him again after I die…

The half-grown black cat slowly closed its eyes.

Not long after.

The window of the abandoned room was suddenly pried open a crack. Then, a figure swiftly climbed inside and carefully closed it behind him.

The man had a bundle wrapped tightly against his chest, the fabric straining around something hard. He pressed a hand against it protectively.

With sharp, cautious eyes, he swept his gaze around the dimly lit room. When he spotted the cage on the table, he hesitated for a moment. Stepping closer and realizing it held a cat, his expression wavered, hesitation and struggle flickering in his eyes.

Just then, a loud shout erupted from outside—

“Thief! An assassin! Quick, quick, catch him—!”

Chaotic noises followed—the sound of people shouting, hurried footsteps rushing closer.

The man’s face turned pale.

Without any more hesitation, he strode to the cage, gripped the iron lock, and twisted it off with a sharp snap. He then scooped up the limp, noodle-like cat and stuffed it into his already bulging chest bundle.

Without another second wasted, he slipped through the opposite window and disappeared into the underground passageway his employer had mapped out—fleeing the city lord’s mansion unnoticed.

_____

[Author’s Note:]

Time for some plot development!

Also, just a reminder—if you take your cats or dogs outside, don’t forget to bring them back with you! And when using elevators, be careful not to let the leash get caught in the doors.

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