A Novelist’s Guide for Side Characters to Survive

Chapter 48: “Wrong, Wrong, Wrong, Wrong!!!”

In this novel, Chu Zu’s name was “Ashurbanipal-Zui-Sagteni.”

The system repeated it thrice, but Chu Zu couldn’t remember.

By the end, the system itself was muddled, settling for a simple “Zui.”

As a child, Zui showed a perverse nature.

His father, King Sagteni, didn’t restrain him but praised it, deeming it essential for kingship.

At Zui’s fourteenth birthday, during a verbal dispute, he hurled a spear in full view, piercing King Sagteni’s chest, pinning him to a plain stone wall adorned with divine prayer patterns.

The spear’s terrifying force kept it quivering, unclear if the faint hum came from the weapon or the dying king.

“Who allowed you to disrespect me?”

Zui approached, his twin-bladed dagger dripping with the old king’s blood, scarlet pupils glinting with untamed arrogance.

Zui’s elder sister—also his mother—picked up the crown, bowed, and crowned him.

Zui became Sagteni I, ushering in the kingdom’s doomsday.

He cared not for the people’s hopes, more brutal than the king he slew, cold and dictatorial.

To solidify his rule and lavish lifestyle, Zui raised noble taxes, who in turn squeezed farmers, artisans, and slaves.

The only one who could advise without being nailed to the palace dais was his sister-mother—Zui never called her mother.

The Sagteni Kingdom worshiped the god Katur.

The Katur Church held three grand festivals yearly for divine blessings.

The great Sagteni I held nothing in regard, forbidding his subjects’ faith in anything but him, even gods.

He ordered the temple smashed, and all Katur followers jailed.

The palace’s underground canals ran murky for three months, riverbed silt mixed with flesh, redder than the tyrant’s pupils.

Katur, god of war and sacrifice, was enraged.

The kingdom’s campaigns were cursed, reshaping the continent’s balance in a year.

Sagteni waned.

Zui scoffed, mocking Katur’s curse on the temple ruins, calling the god a “useless fool” and questioning divine authority.

At eighteen, Zui waged war himself.

The irreverent, arrogant tyrant was a demon from hell, galloping with his crown, warhorses snorting, winds thick with blood and frenzy.

Distant horns wailed mournfully; Zui ignored them, rejecting surrender.

He’d slaughter treasure owners, becoming this world’s sole ruler!

Wars sparked, wars ended.

The tyrant stormed through burning halls, climbing ruins to the peak.

Sagteni’s army razed all civilized nations, leaving the world map dull, the historic “War of Ten Thousand Kings” leaving one king’s name.

Unbeaten victories fueled Zui’s hubris, scorning all blades aimed at the heavens.

Not just Katur—his actions insulted all gods’ dignity.

Divinity delivered true punishment.

“Wretched humans, all die for Ashurbanipal-Zui-Sagteni.”

“Yet the tyrant lives eternally, with unending discontent and resentment, until the King of Kings chooses humility and repentance.”

…

“Then you ended up like this,” the system said.

Chu Zu snapped back from the character brief.

It wasn’t quite a character brief, more world background filler.

Beyond Zui’s brutality and arrogance, his traits were vague.

“So, I went mad, conquered the continent, challenged gods, lost my empire, and got all my fresh subjects killed.”

Chu Zu eyed his situation, sinking into worry.

“And I’m stuffed in this rock… this lousy rock’s my solitary confinement?”

“It’s amber,” the system corrected.

“You’ll be found by the male lead, Nilia, as his cheat code. And you can’t die, no matter what!”

The main plot was simpler, typical of market-driven leveling-up novels.

Nilia was a notorious failure at the academy, flunking arcana, herbology, and swordplay.

His family once paid for private tutors, but in his third year, a plague killed them, leaving him alone.

No inheritance, the kingdom reclaimed his family’s land, and condolence funds barely covered tuition.

Outside the academy, Nilia had nowhere to go, couldn’t afford tutoring, fretting daily about expulsion, scraping by on his genius roommate’s help.

One day, for a measly 0.01 credit, Nilia stayed up cleaning the academy lakebed’s trash.

Amid weeds, silt, garbage, and arcana waste, he found a valuable-looking amber.

Planning to sell it at the weekend market, Nilia, greedy, spun a grand tale from history lessons.

“Ever heard of the King of Kings? They say this amber sealed that tyrant. My mentor nearly confiscated it for the kingdom.”

The shopkeeper scoffed but didn’t kick the uniformed Nilia out.

Nilia, long cloistered in the academy, didn’t know that beyond his nation, others were restless, seeking the tyrant’s lost treasures.

The wealth of a continent-ruling tyrant!

Geographers confirmed Nilia’s nation sat on Sagteni’s ruins.

The shopkeeper didn’t buy Nilia’s tale but kept the amber.

He gave Nilia a hefty bag of gold coins.

Seeing the shopkeeper pay so freely, Nilia schemed, pocketing the amber from its box while grabbing the coins.

The shopkeeper didn’t notice the theft, already plotting murder.

As Nilia left, he sent men to ambush him in a remote spot.

A patchy-uniformed student like Nilia—nobody would care if he vanished.

The academy might search symbolically, then drop it.

At death’s door, Nilia’s blood soaked the amber, and the tyrant’s figure rose again on this new land.

…

The sprawling main plot, nearing ten million words, dizzied Chu Zu.

If it was just the main storyline, fine, but King of All Kings had heaps of irrelevant side plots.

Messy, trivial—hard to say if the author padded for word count.

The system waited for the host to digest, seeing him less distressed, then outlined key main plot points.

“You help Nilia kill his pursuers, becoming his half-teacher. Academy peers, shocked by his rapid progress, are awestruck.”

“The tyrant’s legacy spreads. As Nilia plans to leave school for the King of Kings’ treasure, you provide support.”

“Then Nilia fights across nations. Battles are thrilling, always thrilling. Clues point to the last heir of your bloodline.”

“When Nilia arrives, a fanatic arcana priest has sacrificed that key figure, ushering in the gods' return.”

“Gods descend, see you neither repentant nor humble, and rage again. Nilia steps up, brawls with them, and wins with your help!”

“I have one, two, three, four, five questions,” Chu Zu told the system mentally.

The little yellow chick: “Go ahead!”

“The main plot’s about my legacy. Why end fighting gods? Did Nilia get the money?”

“…Don’t know, the novel didn’t say.”

“Did the author get carried away, forgetting the main plot? Or thought just getting treasure wasn’t thrilling enough, so they threw in a big boss for Nilia to punch?”

Chu Zu frowned disapprovingly.

“Then they shouldn’t have named it this or spent millions of words on treasure hunting… What was the author thinking?”

System: “The author wrote in the application—”

The chick cleared its throat, reading:

“My brain’s got a tumor, can’t wrap it up, aaargh! The ‘Protagonist Correction System’ and ‘Dragon Aotian Correction System’ rejected my job, saying the protagonist’s fine, not a Dragon Aotian.”

“What do I do, who can save me? Pay’s negotiable, anything’s negotiable. Five years writing, I don’t want a flop, aaargh, big bro, big sis, mom, dad, save my dog's life.”

“That’s the application.”

Chu Zu, sharp and rational: “Gotta charge more.”

The system hesitated, not unwilling, but the boss deemed the tyrant’s character flawed, fitting the job.

An appeal would likely be rejected, stamped: Greedy.

Chu Zu saw the chick’s unease, teaching it how to tackle the boss.

“My tyrant persona—everything good’s mine. Not mine? Kill the owner. Why help Nilia steal my stuff?”

System: “…Wait, let me check!”

It studied, finding the text slick.

Amber soaked in blood awakens, a tyrant emerges, teaches Nilia to fight.

Nilia deduces only that his blood summons the tyrant.

“So he lets you out for a spin, you’re his teacher.”

Chu Zu scoffed: “When I find out everyone’s not dead, just me locked up, know what I’d do?”

“What…?”

“I’d be pissed, chop Nilia’s head off.”

System: “…”

“When I see only Nilia can spring me, know what I’d do?”

“…” The system feared asking.

“Chop his head off.”

“He wants my legacy, know what I’d do?”

System, heart dead: “…Chop his head off.”

It didn’t get tyrant logic, but the host did, looking like “How dare the author write this, how many heads does Nilia have for me to chop?”

The chick trembled: “You… can find a way to not chop his head… and still follow the plot… right?”

The final “right” quivered.

“That’s the issue. The tyrant’s character is baked into the story’s background. Fixing me means fixing the background, which means rewriting the main plot—aren’t I rewriting for the author?”

The system, pondering word count, nodded: “Gotta charge more.”

Eager to draft a scathing appeal, Chu Zu stopped it: “Hold on, I’m not done.”

He said, “Didn’t everyone die because of me? How’s there an heir?”

“Your sister-mother’s heir,” the system replied. “No details on how they survived, but there’s a bloodline.”

“Last question,” Chu Zu said. “How do readers curse me?”

The system’s hopes for King of All Kings shattered.

Reader comments worsened its mood.

“Selected reader feedback:

‘This jerk’s name’s so long, to make cursing hard?’

‘First, this idiot tyrant killed an era’s people. Second, he treats Nilia like a dog. Finally, Nilia gets no treasure, just risks his life wiping his mess?’

‘The title King of All Kings—thought it was a boy-king tale. Turns out it’s short for A Peasant’s Life Slaving for an Anti-Human King of Kings.’

‘Gods are clueless. Why lock him up? Just smite him. V me 50, I’ll be god.’

‘‘Such a toxic cheat code. The author's life was so bad they made this venomous role? Can’t write, get a job.’’

…

Chu Zu nodded: “Got it, go apply.”

System: “Few days till Nilia finds you, rest well~”

*

Kohuaishi was a mountain city, home to the kingdom’s renowned Saint Imolai Academy.

The academy had robust facilities.

Beyond the inner academic circle, the outer ring was a simple living hub for students—restaurants, leisure spots, opera house, church, all present.

The town below was jokingly called “Saint Imolai Supply Zone.”

It had a bigger, noisier market, more entertainment, granaries, slaughterhouses.

Years ago, even a brothel.

After students skipped nights, professors investigated, reporting to the headmaster.

The headmaster and mayor acted, cleaning up the town—at least outwardly.

Nilia joined the academy chef buying supplies.

On the cart, the chef chatted cheerily, saying no student rode it—families picked them up.

Nilia sat among empty baskets, stray vegetable leaves sticking slimily to his arm.

“I’m poor, my family's poor. Happy to hitch your ride.”

The chef didn’t buy it, thinking Nilia jested.

Saint Imolai’s students were mostly nobles, living elegantly, never tied to “poor.”

How could Nilia be as he claimed?

But the chef noticed Nilia wasn’t polished.

Long among students, he knew noble looks but not specifics—yet he’d never seen a student in a patched uniform.

He reasoned: maybe a gifted prodigy.

Saint Imolai took such students, destined for kingdom arcana reserves or knight candidacy.

Both were prodigies.

Nilia ignored the chef’s scrutiny, used to it.

Beyond tough coursework, he spent all time earning credits.

Credits swapped for resources.

Food, water, arcana tools, practice swords… all via credits.

Saint Imolai meant for young lords and ladies to be self-reliant.

Initially, credits were generous, labor equal.

But physical tasks drew few.

Nilia, overzealous, became a credit grinder, forcing the academy to adjust ratios.

Stop working, study—stealing jobs, would campus staff go unemployed?

Nilia learned “knowledge is wealth.”

His roommate took arcana assistant gigs, earning dozens of credits.

Nilia cleaned toilets, lakebeds, watching credits tick +0.01, +0.01.

Mosquito legs were still meat, edible.

Nilia stayed optimistic.

Sell this rock, maybe skip toilet duty for a month.

He clutched the amber against his chest.

Though down, he had ambitions, plans, and life goals.

With money, no need for credit grinding, leaving time to… bond with his roommate.

Roommates treated him to meals, shared arcana papers, teamed up in swordplay, slaughtering foes.

Roommate slaughtered, Nilia cheered.

Surviving this year, Nilia would plan post-graduation.

Arcana master was out, knight corps too—he’d apply to stay as campus staff.

When his parents lived, they said they spent everything for his education, demanding success, class leaps, soaring high!

They soared first, leaving Nilia dreaming alone.

After selling the rock, maybe buy town specialties for professors.

Nilia thought.

Connections mattered, especially for an aspiring campus worker.

Gotta give it a gift when it’s time!

At the town market, Nilia saw the shopkeeper and knew he’d talk his mouth dry.

The shopkeeper knew Nilia, the Saint Imolai, broke a student selling scraps.

Eyebrows raised, hands muddy, he moved to shoo him.

Nilia darted inside, pulling the radiant red amber from his chest, flashing a fawning smile.

“Hear me out… I mean, listen—”

*

Chu Zu rested days, observing Nilia’s life from the amber, gauging the male lead’s character.

Quite interesting.

The sixteen-year-old was tall, handsome, but his sly grin dragged him down—not repulsive, just not “hot.”

If he got serious, he might fool plenty.

More intriguing, Nilia maxed out “reading people.”

He was neutral to lofty classmates, neither servile nor arrogant.

With his easygoing roommate, he became a clingy leech, banking on help.

Only with his roommate did Nilia crack crude jokes.

It closed gaps fast, though often pitied as a fool.

No wonder the main plot’s so disjointed, readers only bashing certain parts.

Compared to Nilia, Zui’s unfixable tyrant persona was an easy target.

Chu Zu watched Nilia scam the shopkeeper, amusingly truthful.

Then the familiar plot: the shopkeeper gave Nilia a heavy coin bag.

Nilia only handled such weight for tuition, his family’s all-in effort.

No dawdling, fearing regret, he stuffed the coins into his uniform, ignoring his skewed black scarf, ready to bolt.

Leaving, Nilia, possessed, used arcana to steal the amber from its box.

His heart pounded, shelving professor bribes, planning to hide the amber and coins under his roommate’s bed.

Chu Zu asked: “Plot’s starting. Any word on extra pay?”

The system was in a tug-of-war with the boss.

The boss said the system wasn’t the one it knew, turning crass, forgetting the credo on its manual’s front page.

The system bit back, nearly snapping, “Think of your credo when you pocket oily kickbacks?”

The boss argued three price hikes could make authors see them as a shady system, harming the specialist’s rep.

System: Cheap gets you junk.

System: Can you raise it?

If not, I’ll appeal to reassess if King of All Kings fits the Side Character Correction System criteria.

If unfit, the boss takes the blame.

Still pulling, with Nilia tumbling through woods, pursued by brutes, the boss held firm.

Nilia’s meager arcana or combat skills were no match for pros.

He gritted his teeth, pulling out the coins and amber, admitting fault, wanting only to live.

Seeing the amber, the brutes froze, then grew murderous.

Nilia knew he’d screwed up, wanting to slap himself.

Talks collapsed.

He fled toward a cliff.

The brutes, now after the amber, threw a knife, piercing his right leg.

Nilia slowed, their arcana locking him.

Four light cones pinned his limbs to the ground.

Blood soaked the grass beneath.

The brutes approached leisurely, cursing, kicking him to vent.

Nilia felt searing pain, regretting, lips moving.

A brute leaned in.

“Should’ve… not skipped breakfast at the canteen… bumped into the chef who drove me… retribution, it’s here…”

The brute called him crazy, drawing the knife from Nilia’s leg, aiming for his neck.

Chu Zu stayed unmoved.

The system, sweating, held firm.

The boss relented: “Can raise.”

At that moment, the amber under Nilia glowed faintly red.

Light, covered by blood, grew brighter, wider.

A brute, stunned, looked to his arcana-casting partner, met with a blank stare.

The bloody red light engulfed their vision in a blink.

Simultaneously, an indescribable pressure hit like a mountain, brimming with savagery, bloodlust, resentment.

Even the most deranged necromancer couldn’t evoke such suffocating fear.

Under the heavens, among all things, nothing rivaled the figure faintly emerging in the red light!

Nilia stared, immobile, but unlike others, he adapted to the piercing glare.

Pain became trivial.

Light flowed like water, drowning the forest in a scarlet sea.

The red mist lifted Nilia, showing how his would-be killers turned to sludge.

His life’s first miracle.

Not glorious, nor calming as the church claimed.

In vomit-inducing despair, he was the sole survivor.

Time blurred—maybe an instant, maybe eternal silence—the mist and light faded.

Nilia saw the figure glaring down.

—A beady-browed, red-eyed black Shiba?

A suit-wearing, bipedal Shiba.

Hell, this Shiba was kinda hot.

Nilia: “…”

Chu Zu, noting the wrong perspective height: “…”

“Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong!!!”

The system let out an unprecedented shriek.

“No, no, no, no! This is the consciousness-sea avatar, how’d it sync to the amber, aaargh!!!”

“Boss, get out here! What’s this bug? If you pin this on my host, I’ll fight you!!!”

The boss, battle-hardened, quickly traced the cause.

“…The amber’s compression principle… matches the consciousness-sea mimicry logic.”

The furious chick: “No principles! Whose fault? Whose!”

Boss: “Not the specialist’s.”

Boss: “I’ll file an urgent bug fix, hold on.”

The chick screamed: “Compensation! My host needs compensation—!”

Mid-rant, it saw the host’s chilling gaze.

It knew trouble.

Chu Zu: “A tyrant, freed, finds himself a dog. Killing two people to vent isn’t too much, right?”

The system nearly cried, finding no rebuttal.

Too absurd.

It planned countless ways for the host to fit the role, only to trip on a bug.

Forget tyrants—anyone locked up that long would wreck society!

“It’s a wolf, not a dog.”

The system sobbed.

“More credit points, host, at least leave Nilia’s corpse intact…”