A Novelist’s Guide for Side Characters to Survive

Chapter 50: “Suddenly I Feel Like Watching Nilia Act Sleazy Is Pretty Nice.”

After his dangerous remark, Chu Zu stayed silent.

The system, watching the host’s reaction, nervously asked: “You okay?”

Chu Zu: “I’m thinking, should I have you buy some mythology books to brush up, get the vibe. What if I’m a god’s kid? Then my planned fixes need tweaking.”

System: “No way. You killed the old king. Gods in this era don’t die, so your dad was human, making you pure human!”

“What about my sister?”

System: “Your sister’s also…”

It froze, like its neck was grabbed, mouth agape, instinctively glancing at Hikta.

Oh no, maybe not certain after all.

Chu Zu suspected the author was drunk writing this.

From world details to main plot, everything was unhinged in its own way.

He’d planned to hand the assassin to his sister, saving the trouble of asking who he was.

Maybe bond with his only acknowledged kin.

But suppose…

Just suppose…

What if this system-confirmed Death God Hikta, this weirdo… was his sister?

Why else was he prancing in a skirt in the palace at night, slaves trailing?

So many myths had gods and humans tangled in love-hate dramas, no reproductive barriers.

If that wasn’t an issue, what’s a bit of gender wildness, right?

The author’s style was already unconventional.

If retcon logic matched, it’d be this irrational.

“Zui—!”

A shout cut Chu Zu’s thoughts.

Ten meters away, people knelt in a circle, shifting to make way for a rushing figure.

A woman, face anxious, ran up, sharing seven parts of Zui’s look, faint age lines visible, intricate gold earrings jangling.

She stopped two meters from Chu Zu, stunned, likely speechless at the scene.

Regaining herself, she half-knelt.

Not to Zui, but Hikta.

“Supreme Hikta, your mercy is vast, your glory surpasses all. Please forgive His Majesty’s transgression.”

Chu Zu and the system sighed in relief.

Clearly, this was the real sister.

…

When slaves brought news, Zui’s sister Naqiya was handling his succession’s aftermath.

The late King Sagteni had countless children.

By law, after a new king’s coronation, unpardoned princes and princesses went to the Katur Temple for life.

Not every royal was willing.

Zui was the old king’s favored heir, but the kings' minds shifted.

Until the end, who knew who’d wear the crown?

Zui’s ferocity exceeded their expectations, King Sagteni’s sudden death disrupting their plans.

Naqiya had to end it before dawn, clearing obstacles for her dearest kin.

She’d sent royal guards to search every palace, but gaps remained.

Someone slipped through, aiming to assassinate Zui.

A slave reported:

His Majesty dragged the dying Prince Shamash through the palaces, his blood paving a long path of life, narrowing, with no sign of stopping.

Even knowing Zui was safe, Naqiya rushed back, heedless of anything else.

She knew if Zui didn’t kill him on the spot, he’d hand him to her.

But the sight stopped her breath.

She knew Hikta… or rather, couldn’t claim to know.

Since Zui’s birth, Naqiya has seen various figures around him.

Sometimes men, women, old men, children.

At first, she thought they were spies from other royals.

Given the old king’s doting, Naqiya assumed they’d hold back, so she watched without confronting siblings.

Until Zui’s sixth birthday.

For some reason, Naqiya sought him.

No guards or slaves in the garden, she panicked, searching.

Finding him, six-year-old Zui, annoyed, drew the king’s gifted dagger, stabbing a man thrice his size in the gut.

The man bled, half-kneeling.

Zui kept stabbing.

Chest… throat… brow.

Naqiya rushed over, heart pounding, checking Zui for injuries.

Zui tossed the king’s blade into the grass, kicking the bleeding man aside.

“Don’t bother me, Hikta, get lost.”

Hearing that name, Naqiya’s legs buckled.

On this land, no one dared name themselves or their child Hikta, nor speak it.

It was the Death God’s name.

Among the three gods, only Death God Hikta had no vassal state.

He needed no worship, no faith, appearing only when death loomed.

Not every dead earned His escort; it was an honor.

Sagteni’s priests said Katur warned that Hikta’s choices were the world’s unluckiest.

Naqiya couldn’t fathom it.

Sagteni revered conquest, their god of war and sacrifice.

Warriors saw battle-death as supreme, joining Katur eternally.

Yet the god said Hikta’s favor brought misfortune.

Naqiya, terrified, asked Zui where he met the god.

Zui pointed at the corpse: “Fifty-third time.”

He added, “It’s always Hikta.”

Thereafter, Hikta appeared more, and Zui always recognized Him.

And tried to kill Him.

Over time, it became an unspoken palace truth.

Others didn’t know the corpses’ identity, only whispering the prince’s bloodlust.

Naqiya didn’t know if it was good, as the old king admired Zui’s “nature,” giving him more attention.

Finally, Zui became what the king wanted—Kinslayer Zui, Sagteni I.

Now, Hikta appeared again.

No one in the palace found it odd, as if a neck-choked “woman” belonged, like Naqiya, rationalizing His presence.

Hikta was patient with Zui, indifferent to Naqiya, even annoyed.

He ignored the kneeling, pleading human, focused on the scarlet-souled youth.

Though Zui showed no savagery, Hikta knew his patience was at its limit.

The young Sagteni I cared for no one’s dignity or life, except Naqiya.

Finally, Zui sneered, twisting the neck, barely held by flesh, snapping it.

Blood sprayed, staining half his cheek.

Naqiya trembled, the corpse fell in her view, its smiling head rolling to her feet.

Zui stepped forward, grabbed her hand, pulling her up.

And kicked Hikta’s lifeless head aside.

…

Chu Zu didn’t mean it.

Hikta was frailer than humans, like crushing chips.

With the system’s retcon details, he didn’t control his chip-crushing force.

The head clattered off.

The kick was intentional.

Pretty or not, it annoyed him.

“Case closed.”

Chu Zu roughly “helped” Naqiya up, ignoring the scene, striking a practiced “I’m pissed, cross me and die” pose, turning to leave, treading the blood-red path.

Naturally, no one dared stop him, not even Naqiya.

“My early fame partly came from my temper. The old king loved volatility, so no one controlled me.”

Chu Zu analyzed, walking: “Plus Hikta’s constant harassment made me belittle death.”

System: “Real weirdo. Death God, yet his hobby is… seeking death?”

“Don’t know.”

Chu Zu said, “I need to return to the main timeline to settle my mood. Suddenly I feel like watching Nilia act sleazy is pretty nice, heals the soul.”

The chick agreed wholeheartedly.

Back in the amber as a Shiba, Chu Zu recalled.

“Didn’t I use Code 748 arcana on Nilia before the retcon?”

System, stunned: “Yes.”

They’d been eager for the old era.

But it showed them, “Old waves should die on the beach.”

The shock was so great, the system forgot>

They livestreamed it to Nilia’s dream!

“Maybe go over Polika’s notes with him.”

Chu Zu felt pity: “Otherwise, Nilia’s head tomorrow… full of filth.”

*

At the test, Nilia was dazed.

Held in a large classroom, seats two meters apart.

Proctors included the history professor and paid senior students.

Examinees and proctors were nearly equal.

Pre-test, the professor said: “History ends this year. Next, you’ll dive into specialized studies—but history’s vital!”

“Human history is human footprints, thicker, more chaotic than arcana, not always rational or moral.”

“Your final lesson is in the test!”

Nilia, sleepwalking, got a knuckle-tap on his desk from a senior proctor.

Test started, Nilia, limbs floaty, flipped the paper, eyes scanning questions, answering without thinking.

His speed outpaced Polika in the front row.

Time up, Nilia stood.

Exhausted, unsure what he wrote, he relied on instinct, dumping books or dream knowledge chaotically.

He’d slept all night but felt like half a year awake, ready to nod off.

At least he filled it, sincerely.

Papers collected, the classroom emptied, save a few begging the professor.

Polika stayed, planning to plead for Nilia.

Saint Imolai was strict; failing one course meant retaking a year.

For most, just embarrassment, but Polika knew Nilia’s situation.

He couldn’t afford another year’s tuition.

Still miffed, Polika saw Nilia’s exam entrance—sleepless, but diligent.

The content was vast; Polika wasn’t sure he’d memorized it.

The professor sorted papers, flipping through.

On one, he smiled, satisfied, then admired as he turned pages.

More pages.

Admiration turned to shock.

Shock to fury.

Polika had never seen the professor so mad, face half-red, half-blue, white hair practically spiking to the ceiling.

He glared around, spotting Polika.

“Polika Landor, drag your roommate from the dorm, now!”

His voice cracked.

“All correct up front, essay a mess—does he think essay points are trivial, can ace without them, so he’s taunting me? Is he?!”

Polika understood each word, but together, with Nilia as the subject… he blanked.

“What’d he write?”

The professor flung the paper at him.

Questions were shuffled, each test unique, but the essay was uniform.

A final self-reflection for graduation, discussing the continent’s development, Sagteni I unavoidable.

Essay prompt: Briefly describe your understanding of Ashurbanipal-Zui-Sagteni.

Nilia’s essay title—

On the Tyrant Who Slayed His Brother in One Night and Twisted Off the Skirt-Wearing Death God’s Head to Kick as a Ball: Sagteni