A Novelist’s Guide for Side Characters to Survive

Chapter 52: “The Embodiment of Power Coalesces into Sagteni’s Sole Will.”

[This was not the first time Katur bestowed divine favor upon a king, but this time, it was undoubtedly his most solemn promise yet.

The god pledged that, aside from life itself, all worldly glory and abundance would belong to the unparalleled monarch under his command.

In this seemingly generous promise, Katur held an unshakable conviction.

He firmly believed the king would accept this gift, as if wholly unaware that Sagteni I’s nature was not as he desired.

Only plunder and conquest were this tyrant’s true pursuits.

*

The fully automated hosting aid was reliable, Master Wang living up to its abstract description, truly the man among men, the peak of peaks.

Naqiya, sensing trouble, ordered the sacrifice dispersed, but at first, no one obeyed—not out of defiance, but because their bodies were frozen stiff.

They couldn’t fathom what they witnessed.

The system watched the host duel two mad gods, its beady eyes wide, mouth agape.

All arcana usable in the main timeline was grayed out in the retcon.

Chu Zu adjusted his combat approach, not even requesting system aid, timing each move precisely.

What unfolded was pure magic and physical onslaught!

Being automated, beyond calmly strategizing in chaos, Chu Zu had spare focus to chat with the system.

“Feels off.”

He said, “Hitting Katur versus Hikta is completely different.”

Hikta was like snapping reeds, frailer than humans, stopping breath with a single blow.

Yet no matter how many “deaths,” he maintained a nonchalant stance, attacking painlessly.

Katur was different.

“There’s clear resistance, like a game with strong impact. He’s just a thick health bar, aggressive, high-difficulty boss…”

Mid-sentence, Chu Zu realized, “He gives me a… killable vibe?”

System: “I’m recording this fight, parameters logged. With Katur’s formal appearance, background details will soon flesh out. I’ll combine data and analyze results fast!”

Meanwhile, Katur was visibly enraged.

The war god’s attacks rained like golden swords, countless burning points crashing, deafening roars unrelenting.

Zui wielded a swapped straight blade—ground littered with melted weapon fragments—using mere mortal steel to shatter divine wrath, again and again.

Except where Zui stood, the altar’s surroundings were riddled with holes.

Hikta cared nothing for attacks.

Flames seared his body, bloodless, so they burned lightly, but his skin cracked fast.

Muscles turned to black char, falling, crushed by regrown limbs.

Hikta kept dragging Katur, grounding him from soaring.

Once down, Zui’s lethal strikes surged.

Katur, furious—a mere human dared harm him?

Yet facing Zui’s overwhelming killing intent, Katur instinctively dodged.

Among the three gods, Katur loathed Yaturu most, avoiding Hikta.

He believed Yaturu felt the same.

Even engrossed in their rivalry, Yaturu’s wary eyes always tracked the Death God.

Perhaps “wisdom” at play, or Yaturu saw what gods couldn’t grasp.

When Katur complained about Yaturu’s lack of focus, Yaturu replied: Nothing’s more vital than watching death, remember that.

Over a decade ago, the elusive Hikta appeared in Katur’s Sagteni.

He found amusement in endless, dull godhood, relishing it.

Yaturu, briefly observing, sighed: Good thing it’s Sagteni, Katur, your turf.

His gloating irked Katur, but he didn’t question “wisdom.”

Nor “death.”

Ashurbanipal-Zui-Sagteni grew up with “death.”

Combat was a symphony, rhythmic, breathing.

A brief lull in frantic clashes, amid crackling flames on dry wood, Zui heard suppressed sobs.

Too faint, drowned by thunderous chaos, only audible in quiet.

Zui ignored glaring Katur, following the sound.

He saw Naqiya.

Kneeling, she wrapped her body around something.

It’d happened before.

When young, Zui was called “lesser lion” by older siblings, not understanding but sensing sharp scorn.

No matter how fearsome Zui became, he was human, with vulnerable times.

When Naqiya arrived, Zui’s leg twisted oddly, face gashed, bleeding.

Opposite, terrified, furious siblings, one clutching an eye, screaming.

An eyeball lay on the ground.

No slaves, no guards. Naqiya rushed, hugging Zui tightly.

She held so tight, risking deeper fractures, fearing release meant losing him.

Zui might’ve forgotten, but Hikta, ever-watchful, remembered.

Hikta glanced at Katur: “You don’t want to go over now, right?”

Zui reached Naqiya.

His sister knelt humbly, a habit.

She’d outgrown easy kneeling, but on the ground, she prayed instinctively.

Gods gave no reply; only Zui ever did.

“Let go, he’s dead,” Zui said.

Naqiya looked down.

The child in her arms, three or four, had stopped sobbing.

Brought by his mother to serve the revered god, praying he’d be Sagteni’s finest warrior.

Perhaps he’d grow strong, train rigorously, unlock potential, survive near-death, then drink cheap wine with comrades on corpse-strewn fields.

Maybe he’d ascend the palace hall, where the king generously praised warriors, granting armor, weapons, and badges.

He’d return, kiss his mother, recalling his sacrifice vow years ago.

Now, he had no future.

Divine might have struck, he lost his mother, couldn’t flee, his right eye melted by fire.

The punishment didn’t stop.

Flames spread until meeting black mist climbing his body.

The Death God, merciful, left his skin pristine, freezing half his face in fear and faint anger.

Naqiya rushed, seeing his anger.

Like little Zui’s.

She thought she protected Zui to adulthood.

Now stronger, with siblings’ heads lining the palace, she held entrusted power and dignity.

She should’ve waited for this child to become a Sagteni lion.

Now she realized.

Zui was Sagteni’s sole miracle, not just angry but unmasking all emotions.

He didn’t pray, entrusted hope to no one, nothing.

If the world resisted, he’d resist it all.

Not everyone was Zui.

Facing calamity, most couldn’t change, powerless.

“Drop him.”

Zui tossed his broken weapon, gently placing a hand on Naqiya’s head, tone icy, “Back to the palace, I’ll find you.”

Naqiya: “Hear my counsel, great Sagteni I.”

Faint lines around her eyes hinted at past beauty.

She said, “Fools invading your wealth, blasphemers defiling your honor, whoever they are, should pay.”

Zui: “I permit it.”

Sagteni’s minister loudly declared to her king:

“May supreme Sagteni I protect Sagteni, till iron hooves tread every land, Sagteni’s glory eternal!”

Zui watched Naqiya leave, at his feet his breathless property.

Turning, he eyed Katur like a wretch.

“You should feel honored, Katur, first god to die by my hand.”

Zui lowered his gaze to his palm.

As Katur, enraged by the audacity, ignored Hikta’s shifting expression to teach the insolent king a lesson.

Flames denser than Katur’s might engulf him.

Not mere gold-red, but hellfire, matching Zui’s eyes, layered, roaring, as if to consume the world.

The city saw the skyward blaze—not mere fire, but a grand baptism, a fate unveiled.

As if mystic forces silently spoke unspoken oracles.

No, the king’s decree!!

As scarlet flames faded, the sun vanished, Sagteni welcomed its night.

Hikta’s gaze on Zui turned fanatical, like the high priest’s.

Shock lingered, forming a thrilled, odd expression.

Though Katur fled, Hikta saw “death’s” embryo.

Only death-wielders could rule all; now, the future ruler saw Hikta as nothing.

He coldly swept past the Death God, loathing this place.

The lion returned to his den, his path, his land, a new chapter.

The world’s first patch of pure land born from ruin.

*

“How’s arcana suddenly usable?”

Chu Zu asked, “Which code? Can burn Katur for fun?”

“Still analyzing! Code 006—early numbers are fierce.”

System, regretful: “Almost charred Katur, ugh, he slipped too fast!”

“He didn’t expect my trick, and panicked.”

Chu Zu tsked, “I didn’t either, I was still planning to drag him down to chop.”

The system recorded the fight, analyzing urgently.

Thanks to upgrades post-last tasks, it wasn’t just watching.

“Good thing Naqiya evacuated fast. You’re precise, but Katur’s all AOE… still hit plenty.”

Mentioning Naqiya, Chu Zu, back at the palace, asked where she was.

A random royal guard, caught, looked godstruck.

Snapping back under Zui’s scarlet glare, he knelt.

Naqiya was in the “archive.”

Sagteni’s culture, shaped by history, saw tribes leave legacies, clashing and fusing.

This land didn’t value the afterlife—two paths post-death.

Devout believers joined gods; unlucky souls chosen by the Death God went to mystery.

Sagteni was the same—once—thus, no tombs, but heavy focus on past culture.

Sagteni’s “archive” was mature, vast, preserving records.

Clay tablets, wood, wax, stone inscriptions, traded papyrus, leather… sorted by content.

Finding Naqiya, she read a clay tablet.

She laid sorted records before Chu Zu.

They noted that since Sagteni’s birth, many kings or queens “married” Katur.

Gods had no gender, acting on whim.

Katur’s graced Sagtenis thrived, winning any battle—until the monarch died.

They saw it as honor, proof of divine recognition.

But then, divine power peaked with fervent faith.

Sacrifices abounded, people praising not the victorious king but Katur.

Naqiya: “Wise choice, Majesty. Royal power should be Sagteni’s sole master.”

System, puzzled: “Naqiya’s awareness seems high for this era. Would anyone think like that?”

“Marrying gods, in human eyes… a class leap?”

Chu Zu studied the tablets—unreadable.

He used the system’s translator.

Now he understood.

Though this era’s gods and humans were wildly unhinged, it followed logical evolution.

“Simple, Katur’s not proposing marriage.”

Chu Zu said, “Male or female, doesn’t matter—he just wants to dominate me.”

System: “Huh?”

System: “HUH?!”

System: “HUH?!?!”

Three “huhs,” each more panicked.

It wanted to roar: No, host, even if the world’s mad, don’t join!

No, no, no!!

“Not like that.”

Chu Zu sighed, “Search Isabella: The Warrior Queen, by American author Kirstin Downey.”

System, reeling from blunt words, shakily searched.

Isabella: The Warrior Queen, a revolutionary biography of Castilian Queen Isabella, who funded Columbus’s voyage.

“It mentions something interesting. Spanish nobles abused princes and young kings to control royal power, securing their own.”

He chuckled, tone disdainful.

“See, what’s the difference between divine ‘gifts’ and that?”

Even beside Zui, similar acts existed.

Before Zui’s reign, no one saw Naqiya’s political talent?

She quelled dissent swiftly, stabilizing Sagteni’s governance—not a fluke.

The old king’s actions gained new meaning.

Naqiya couldn’t marry.

As royalty, her marriage options were few.

Whoever she chose or served, her talent would climb heights the old king dreaded.

Why he favored Zui had a new angle.

Naqiya stood behind Zui, her feared talent aiding his rule.

Same with Katur.

“By Sagteni law, marriage is a social and economic contract, but what did Katur offer? Things are already mine.”

“What’s divine power? Beyond-human strength, life—Katur gave nothing.”

“Hikta doesn’t care if I clash with Katur, he welcomes it. His anger stems from Katur’s stance toward me, like the old king’s toward Naqiya.”

Chu Zu eyed Naqiya, poring over records.

His sister was neutral to gods, lacking faith.

Bowing to Hikta was due to his dangerous unpredictability.

Hikta never truly harmed Zui, a ticking bomb, keeping nerves taut.

Katur was simpler—Naqiya grew up revering the war god, showing surface respect.

But when Zui defied Katur, reverence became trivial.

Naqiya knew her purpose.

Thus, when Katur “humiliated” Zui as she’d been, her lack of rage would be odd.

The system, unfamiliar with politics’ dirty tricks, was stunned.

All melodramatic nonsense seemed rational yet ugly under power.

“So… Hikta kinda respects your personhood…”

“With my ‘anomaly,’ Katur didn’t expect I’d nearly kill him. I didn’t expect arcana to work… I don’t believe Hikta’s not behind it.”

Chu Zu recalled, “Hikta said I’m getting used to killing him, right?”

The system nodded: “He said no one kills gods.”

Chu Zu pondered, linking clues, then shelved it for lack of evidence.

No rush to unravel Hikta.

Current conclusions were clear.

“If anything, I haven’t met Yaturu, but Katur’s far less godly than Hikta.”

“He’s barely above humans, only with clearer motives.”

“Katur’s arrogant, sees humans as ants, yet not invincible. A god with humanity’s still a god? His only edge is endless life.”

“And that’s no longer endless.”

Chu Zu shrugged, “Now we’re enemies.”

“He wants old tricks to control my kingdom—that’s royal trespass. He demands my people’s lives, children dying—that’s my property.”

“No tyrant tolerates such an idiot shitting on their head—”

He sneered, “Let him wait for death.”

System: “…”

Fully behind the host per system code, it weakly noted: “If you kill him, you might, maybe, possibly… have to rewrite the main plot.”

“History’s fun because records aren’t always true.”

Chu Zu said, “Nilia’s history book mentions Hikta’s a weirdo?”

When the host spoke like this, the system knew something was brewing.

Maybe not till the end.

“I can’t rewrite a million-word plot for Katur’s idiocy. Extra work, not worth it.”

The chick’s mood was mixed, seeing the host’s sneer, unsure.

If these mad gods pushed the host, would he join their madness?

It believed, with his skill, the novel could end as King of Mad Kings.

Chu Zu ignored the system’s worries.

Its strength was self-convincing, soon bouncing back, eager to help chop mad gods.

He ordered Naqiya.

Destroy all Sagteni temples, arrest Katur Church followers.

A monarch kept promises, granting subjects freedom to choose fear.

But a tyrant showed no mercy to rebels.

Resolved to be supreme, he’d clear obstacles.

In days, Naqiya loyally fulfilled his will.

Unprocessed limbs flushed through palace canals into the all-embracing Nituslaibi River, red currents fading to nothing.

At the scorched pure land’s edge, worshippers hailed Sagteni I’s eternal might.

From the palace, only scarlet flame tales spread across Sagteni’s vast lands.

The king didn’t care if subjects saw his decree or their true hearts.

As Sagteni I ascended steps, sitting on the Lionheart Throne in silence, power’s embodiment coalesced into Sagteni’s sole will.

Before Zui, Sagteni’s last high priest.

Downstream Nituslaibi, a thousand miles away, Yaturu and Hikta gazed at the golden palace.

Unlike Hikta’s smile, the wisdom and wealth god sighed.

“If you insist on bringing ‘death’ to our paradise, you shouldn’t have chosen untamable Zui. Among your picks, only he keeps stealing your power.”

Yaturu said, “Death-chasing Death God, you’ll pay—we all will.”

As he spoke, the last Katur believer’s eyes lost their spark forever.

*

Waking from the dream, Nilia rushed to the washroom, vomiting violently.

Even during the plague, he’d never seen so many bodies.

Clergy robes stained red and white, praying to gods till death, unanswered.

They cursed the king, venting dying resentment.

None reached Zui’s ears.

Naqiya, who once clung to a corpse to save a child, cut their tongues.

Tongues stacked, bodies piled.

The throne reeked of blood, yet people felt no fear, filled with uncanny zeal, religion’s privilege now Zui’s alone.

This surpassed Nilia’s view of “king.”

His king rarely appeared, only felt via the land reclamation post-plague.

The king’s name signed decrees, unnoticed unless replaced, reminding people of royalty.

Even in the military-famed neighbor nation, focus was on commanders, not the king.

This world long lacked royal power.

Nilia’s commotion—toppling furniture, retching—woke Polika.

Checking the washroom, Nilia, pale, dry-heaved.

Polika: “Assembly’s soon, what’s wrong?”

Nilia, weak: “I’m done, I’m possessed.”

Facing Polika’s sleepy confusion, Nilia said: “I dreamt Katur wanted to marry Zui—war god Katur and tyrant Sagteni I.”

Polika: “…”

“Then Zui fought him for eight hundred rounds, oh, and weirdo Hikta. Three-way brawl, Zui burned Katur… gotta say, that fire was red, kinda pretty.”

Polika: “…”

Nilia rambled, aiming to set up the cause before the gut-wrenching result.

Too bloody, primal, yet thrilling.

Such a shock for a peaceful teen!

He wanted to jump in, yell: King! King! Let me be your fierce general!

Polika, fed up, yanked him up, splashing his face with cold water.

Nilia jolted.

“Awake?”

Polika, with a pitying look, said, “Get dressed, skip assembly, I’m taking you to Lady Blythe for your brain.”

Nilia: “…”

Seeing silence, Polika thought his bluntness hurt.

Nilia had been odd, from history dunce to sage, not content, weaving wild tales to torment himself.

Truly possessed.

Softening, Polika heard Nilia ask: “Skipping assembly deducts credits?”

Polika: “…Yeah, large events do.”

Nilia perked up: “No way, gotta go!”

“I’d rather puke to death in the hall, grossing others out. Credit loss hurts only me—can’t do that!”

Polika, expressionless, left him in the washroom, slamming the door.

Cleaned up, Nilia trailed Polika, eager to vent.

He dared not discuss dreams with others.

Since his infamous essay, classmates have loved history chats with him.

Nilia, unbothered, talked for credits.

But Lady Blythe warned the history professor couldn’t handle more stress, urging him to stop for the ex-teacher’s sake.

Nilia feared causing illness, dreading medical bills.

He could only talk to Polika, who thought him crazy but listened.

This morning’s prelude was too much; Polika shut him up with arcana.

Late to the hall, it was silent, no noise.

Nilia reached for the door, but Polika gripped his wrist hard.

Nilia winced, muted by arcana, seeing Polika’s furrowed brow.

Before reacting, Polika flung him aside.

Simultaneously, the hall door burst inward, Polika blasted into a stone wall beside Nilia.

The wall cracked, Polika spat blood.

The sudden chaos froze Nilia, body trembling, mind mush.

Saint Imolai was among the kingdom’s safest, with arcanists and knights second only to the palace.

The professor’s jest—“even if the empire attacks, if the mountain stands, we test”—held the truth.

If Saint Imolai fell, the palace wasn’t safe!

Delayed, Nilia smelled thick blood from the hall.

Polika: “Run… Nilia… run…!”

With Polika’s shaky warning, a voice echoed in Nilia’s mind.

“Kill them.”

Cold, sinister, chilling to hear.

Nilia knew it from last night’s dream.

This realization shocked him more than the crisis.

He knew who spoke.

No one else could make brief commands so haughty, undeniable.

Done, he was steeped in it, dreaming amid this mess.

Nilia thought.

A daydream? Then don’t just hear—dream him as a grand arcanist or snooty knight!

At least… at least Lady Blythe!

No combat, but she’d heal Polika, like test days—Nilia cheering, Polika slaying!

Amid wild thoughts, the voice persisted.

“Sagteni’s King commands—”

In a blade-sharp tone, “Kill Hikta’s followers, Nilia.”