A Novelist’s Guide for Side Characters to Survive

Chapter 54: “Is He Too Easy to Fool?!”

[Just when I was hyped up watching someone show off, I turned the page and saw Pavlov's dog, drooling at the mention of credits, huh?]

Nilia swore to protect three things in his life:

The talent that caught the king’s eye.

The character that earned his brother’s respect.

And his useless pile of credits.

You guys don’t get it, you understand nothing. I figured it out before the revisions.

Why did Nilia, despite Zui’s cold attitude, willingly let him call the shots?

Because of credits.

Nilia’s kink is credited.

His roommate offers him credits, and he calls him his long-lost brother.

Zui dangles credits, and Nilia would charge through ten million words to stab a god twice.

You think he genuinely likes his brother or the tyrant?

Ha, just credit accessories.

You tell him to focus on the real stuff—tyrant’s treasures or Zui’s secret arts, aren’t they appealing?

He’d reply, those are external things, fleeting marks, only his kink endures.

Others have their ups and downs; he stays true to his roots, world in chaos, but he and his credits are fine.

But now we’re in King of All Kings 2.0, Nilia, showing off grandly, chasing useless credits—how unfilial are you now?

Zui: Go take my revenge.

Nilia: Can I cram first?

Beware the recent rumors about Sagteni the First.

Some online claim His Majesty was harassed by creepy phoenix men pressing for marriage, and in a rage, left corpses everywhere, spun like it’s legit.

Out of curiosity, I doxxed the rumor-starter.

Guess what?

The IP traces to Vidalia, Kohuaishi, Saint Imolai, boys’ dorm.

I used to think the tyrant’s teaching was brutal, disrespectful.

My bad.

Nilia’s a spinning top—you don’t whip him, he’s crawling with Hikta.

Nilia, a credit-obsessed top who gets human nature.

There’s an orphan, insanely talented, brain outsourced to his buddy, leaning on him in tough times, piloting a Gundam in despair, but the Gundam has its own will, and overusing it might cripple him.

What am I reading?

Easy.

Secret Art Warrior Zui: Orphans of Credits.

Can you stop with the memes?

He’s only sixteen, an orphan with no land, no savings, no girlfriend.

Aren’t you too harsh on him?

Saint Imolai’s stingiest credit hoarder.

…

Chu Zu: “…It’s fine. A cheeky protagonist is like that. These readers seem to like Nilia, even acting parental.”

Little Yellow Chick: “I didn’t think Nilia was much, but after reader feedback, I’m starting to think he’s too unmotivated.”

Chu Zu asked: “Besides classes and academy tasks, what other ways can he earn credits?”

The system studied Saint Imolai’s student handbook thoroughly.

“Certification.”

It said, “Secret art practitioners and knights can take exams. Practitioner ranks from low to high are apprentice, fourth-tier, third-tier, second-tier. Knights can only test for apprentice knights, with credits scaled by rank.”

“First-tier practitioners and formal knights can’t test here. They must go to the capital, tested by the chief practitioner and knight commander.”

Looking at the credit scale the chick laid out, Chu Zu asked: “How long until he leaves the academy?”

“One week.”

“Good.”

Chu Zu noted the timeline:

“Spread out all the secret art numbers for me, and make a crash course plan for Nilia to master in a week, enough to pass the third-tier practitioner exam.”

The system complied.

Chu Zu multitasked, scanning the art list while overseeing the system, cutting useless arts from the plan.

Their teamwork was highly efficient.

In no time, a ruthless crash course plan was ready.

Chu Zu didn’t warn Nilia, directly beaming the list into his mind.

Chu Zu told the system: “He wants credits? Let him earn until he pukes.”

*

The stationed knights arrived at Saint Imolai swiftly.

The auditorium’s building was half-ruined.

Sunlight poured down, glinting off the knights’ iron armor behind students, startling birds from rubble to high branches.

Stationed knights, forsaking secret arts, were skilled in basic first aid despite lacking healing arts.

They brought doctors from the foothill town, launching emergency aid at Saint Imolai.

Few could answer the knights’ inquiries, mostly students.

Per their accounts, during the incident, they were gathered in the auditorium as per the headmaster’s orders.

Professors counted heads, missing two.

Normally, the headmaster wouldn’t wait for stragglers at such events, but this time he sent students to urge them.

Yet the auditorium doors wouldn’t budge.

“We were locked in by a secret art, then the Death Cult came…”

“The headmaster and professors shielded us… so, you see, only students played dead.”

“Hey, knight sir, what’s that look? It’s a tactic, taught in combat class—better to bide time than die foolishly…”

“I’m not off-topic. I mean, it was that bad. No one nationwide can wield single-digit arts, but those cultists threw them casually…”

“You don’t get it… um… imagine fist-fighting the knight grand duchess from back then, that’s the level.”

“Ouch, why’d you hit me?”

…

“What? How were we saved?”

The student glanced at the ruins.

Under fragmented white rocks, traces of controlled secret arts remained visible.

Besides Earth’s Wrath, students glimpsed scarlet Refining Flame in their panic.

Refining Flame’s range was terrifyingly precise, leaving no marks except on the ashen Death Cult.

Only Polika and Nilia were outside the auditorium.

The Death Cult’s sudden exit was likely sensing something.

The student stayed cautious.

Ties to the Death Cult brought trouble; centuries ago, that war made Vidalia sensitive to heretics.

As classmates, better let those two align their stories first.

He’d say too much and err.

So he just directed the knights to the infirmary, where Polika and Nilia were summoned by the just-awake headmaster.

“I know nothing, was busy playing dead to save the headmaster,” the student said earnestly.

…

The infirmary was shrouded in gloom.

The headmaster, first to receive treatment, was kept alive by a student playing dead despite his critical injuries.

Knights and doctors could only handle external wounds.

Polika tried healing arts, but he didn’t specialize in them.

His professor always said, “Kill them all, why need healing?”

Combat classes were restrained, and accidents had Lady Blythe’s oversight.

Over time, Polika’s healing arts were… as bad as Nilia’s.

But the headmaster was the headmaster, his strength matching his age.

Despite inadequate care, a first-tier practitioner’s resilience held.

Sustained by an unknown will, he opened his eyes to blurry vision, medics exclaiming beside him.

After learning the situation, his weary yet bright old eyes closed briefly, then he said: “Call Polika.”

Polika’s attitude toward the headmaster was standard for Saint Imolai students: respect and awe.

Nilia was among the minority.

He liked the headmaster.

Though Saint Imolai took hefty “education funds” from nobles, with rules favoring them, the headmaster tried balancing noble and non-noble students.

Though the credit distribution tweaks irked Nilia.

Seeing the person behind Polika, the headmaster showed a momentary lapse, like an old man’s memory failing.

“Nilia?… You haven’t been expelled?”

Nilia: “I got an A in history recently, Headmaster…”

The headmaster grew more confused: “Sige said some reckless student wrote an outrageous paper to shame him and the discipline, complaining for three weeks… that was you?”

Nilia: “Headmaster, even if you humiliate me like this, I won’t drop out…”

“If I made you uncomfortable, I’m sorry, that wasn’t my intent. I’m just… surprised.”

The headmaster said, “So, did you kill the Death Cult, or did Nilia?”

Nilia nearly knelt.

How could he switch from kind old man to such blunt questions?

And he dared to think big, not dismissing a nobody like Nilia?

Polika had been silent since entering.

The headmaster smiled, wrinkles bunching up.

“It’s Nilia. If it was Polika—you’d admit it right away, right?”

Polika finally spoke, a single syllable: “…Yes.”

“I won’t press further.”

Looking at the anxious students, the headmaster said, “Some secrets shouldn’t be known. Remember, children, no matter who asks the same question, silence is the best answer—especially to the knights.”

Knights and practitioners had no real conflict, but practitioners falling to heresy for some pursuit was undeniable.

The headmaster’s tone grew stern.

“Though I won’t ask, you must swear to me—never willingly sink into the Death Cult’s lair, and even in death, uphold a practitioner’s!”

Polika: “I swear on the Landor family’s honor, from now until forever, I will steadfastly follow the secret art creed, never forsaking truth, never straying to heresy, until my last breath.”

“Hey!” Nilia protested, “Swear if you must, but don’t use family. I’ve got no family, what do I do? Can I swear on credits?”

Polika’s forehead veins throbbed.

The headmaster smiled: “Use yourself, Nilia, you still have yourself.”

Nilia thought, this headmaster’s upping the ante—Polika gets away with family honor, but I’ve got to bet myself.

As he opened his mouth, a flood of information slammed into his mind.

He squinted in pain, clutching his temples, letting out a long hiss, swaying by the bed, collapsing in a heap.

Polika quickly crouched, steadying him: “What’s wrong? Is it because—”

Nilia always dramatized small issues, and when truly serious, he was extra theatrical.

“Not that, King, Majesty, Dad, no, don’t shove it in, my smooth brain can’t handle it… I’m gonna puke…”

It felt like someone grabbed him, roasting his tiny, tidy brain with Refining Flame.

Polika: “You—”

Twice, Polika couldn’t finish. Nilia glanced at him, eyes teary, then passed out.

Polika had no choice, hoisting Nilia up.

The headmaster, meant to be the patient, ended up checking Nilia.

“He’s fine, just asleep,” the headmaster said.

“Take him to the dorm. I’ll handle the knights.”

Polika wanted to bow but couldn’t, carrying Nilia.

Before he left, the headmaster spoke again: “Tell Nilia I’ll reward him for his help at the academy today.”

Polika, struggling with his roommate, turned: “Okay.”

“And remind him.”

The headmaster gazed out the window, his weathered face wrinkled, eyes half-covered by drooping lids, pupils briefly cloudy in the sunlight.

“Secret arts are an exchange, using ourselves as mediums, but no one knows what’s traded. What did we give to gain powers not meant for humans?”

Polika realized the headmaster didn’t buy the divine mercy tale.

“We can’t use single-digit arts, yet they exist. Many practitioners whisper it’s not a limit, but a protection.”

“Polika, humans should have limits. Can those who surpass them still be called human?”

Normally, such words clearly cursed the Death Cult as inhuman.

Many practitioners gritted their teeth saying this.

But Polika had seen Nilia “break limits,” even if it was Sagteni the First’s descent.

He couldn’t help thinking of Nilia.

Nilia himself…

Polika didn’t know, and couldn't answer the headmaster.

“What happens to those who exceed limits?… Not the Death Cult kind,” Polika asked.

“You’re asking this, so you haven’t truly entered this world. Nilia understands better…”

“You all mock his love for credits, right? Because it’s the only thing he can grasp, without unbearable costs, to trade for survival.”

The headmaster said faintly.

“Countless religions claim their gods love followers, that love brings alms, but where does love come from? Whatever you gain, you lose something unseen. The question is, can you bear it?”

“I only hope Nilia pays a price he can afford.”

Polika nodded after listening.

After a pause, he asked: “Headmaster, why did you call the assembly today?”

“Several nations reported Death Cult activity. A sister school’s headmaster sent word, paying a steep price to learn the reason from a cultist.”

The headmaster didn’t hide it, having planned to warn Saint Imolai himself.

“The sundered sun seeks the tyrant’s legacy, said to hold not just the wealth of nations, but everything Sagteni the First stole from gods.”

Polika froze, wanting to ask more, but the headmaster waved, silent.

…

“I can’t pay, I really can’t pay!!!”

In the dorm, Nilia shot up from bed.

He’d slept nearly four hours.

Hearing Polika relay the headmaster’s words verbatim, sleep vanished.

Besides protesting the headmaster’s bias against his poverty, Nilia fixated on the final warning.

Jumping up, he tripped on the sheet, sprawling before Polika.

Nilia flipped over, lying flat, staring at his roommate’s chin.

“Let me tell you about… my friend’s story. Just listen, then give… My friend gave me some advice, okay?”

Polika pulled a chair: “Speak.”

Nilia took a deep breath, sat cross-legged, and spilled everything as it was.

Seeing Polika’s frown deepen, Nilia fell silent, lips pursed.

After no response, he ventured, “Just a friend…”

“Besides me, what friends do you have?”

Polika said coldly.

Nilia: “…”

He meekly pulled the amber from his collar.

“This, it burned like crazy during Descent, I don’t know how the crazy husky—”

Polika leaned down, clamping Nilia’s face to shut him up: “You didn’t mention my name to him?”

Nilia, mouth covered, nodded.

Polika, grinding his teeth, hissed: “Don’t you get it? He knows what’s around you… can you watch your mouth?”

Nilia’s eyes screamed:

Who?

Who’s listening?

Tyrant Sagteni the First?

Or the crazy husky?

Then, under Polika’s glare, as if to crack his skull open for inspection, Nilia had a chilling epiphany.

It explained everything.

Why the amber fetched such a high price, why the shady shop owner hunted him.

Why he kept dreaming, with plots only vaguely matching history.

Why the Death Cult appeared at Saint Imolai.

Death God Hikta… Sagteni the First.

The tyrant’s legacy… things stolen from gods…

Nilia’s spine chilled, goosebumps spreading.

Polika finally let go.

Nilia stammered: “N-no… it’s the… great husky teacher, he… this amber really is… I…”

After faltering, Nilia said desperately: “Am I beyond saving?”

Polika coolly replied: “Wasn’t it your friend?”

“I’m not that rude! It’s just… blame… blame those gods!”

Nilia shifted blame fast.

“Our great Sagteni the First issued a fair challenge! Those vile gods held his people hostage, committing such heinous acts against him!”

“I’m telling you, Polika, I saw it clear—those gods are perverts… wait, didn’t I tell you?”

“That’s the deal!”

“They got crushed, and now they’re sending cultists. There weren’t Death God followers in Sagteni’s kingdom! That guy’s a sore loser, sneaking for our king’s treasure!”

Polika’s ears ached: “Yelling louder helps how?”

Nilia shook his head: “You don’t get it, I need to pledge loyalty constantly.”

Polika: “…”

No matter how floridly Nilia spoke, neither the amber nor the voice stirred.

He considered being bold, recalling past success, and squeezing blood onto the amber.

Before cutting his finger with a fruit knife, Nilia eyed Polika: “You won’t stop me?”

Polika: “No.”

“You really won’t? This is… the great Sagteni the First!”

Polika: “Hurry up.”

Nilia steeled himself, nicking his finger, yelping.

Polika: “Just a scratch, no blood, why the scream?”

Annoyed, Polika grabbed the knife, cutting deeper.

Nilia didn’t dare yell, blood dripping onto the amber.

Like ink in water, the blood vanished instantly.

The amber glowed faintly, light pulsing along its veins.

Both tense, ready.

Nothing happened.

Nilia squeezed more blood, same result: faint red glow, no reaction.

Polika pondered: “Last time, didn’t you bleed heavily, soaking the amber?”

Nilia, horrified, saw Polika with the knife like a demon.

They couldn’t figure it out, nor could they stab Nilia for real.

Polika’s exact words: “Lady Blythe’s still unconscious, stab you dead, no one saves you.”

“Sigh, guess we’ll try worshipping our king next time.”

Nilia sighed, flashing a bright, humble grin.

He hadn’t figured out how to face this; it felt like a death trap either way.

Nilia didn’t feel chosen—just unlucky yet lucky to find this amber.

If Polika had picked it up, the Death Cult might’ve fled to the hills crying.

With such a big incident, even with the headmaster shielding them from knights, able students had to maintain order.

Nilia was drafted, separated from Polika.

Exhausted after work, Nilia pestered a senior to apply for credits per academy rules.

Back at the dorm late, Polika was asleep.

Nilia washed up, climbed into bed, closed his eyes, and felt a scalding heat in his chest.

Before reacting, a force slapped him off the bed.

The dorm was dark, windows shut, curtains half-drawn, outlines barely visible.

Nilia sensed unnatural air flow, sweating coldly.

He wanted to call Polika, but despite the noise, Polika slept soundly.

Nilia looked up—something stepped on his face.

“Who permitted you to look up?”

The voice was icy.

The chilling wind stopped abruptly.

Hearing it, Nilia’s afternoon-long anxiety settled.

Compared to a sudden appearance, this was… mild.

He knelt perfectly, eyes down, mouth sealed, determined not to annoy the king!

Finally, the pressure on his forehead lifted.

Nilia hesitated to kowtow, then saw.

A husky… king, as tall as him kneeling, in a black suit, scarlet eyes, dot brows, staring expressionlessly.

*

“Is he scared stiff or marveling at life’s twists?”

Chu Zu asked the system, “If he shows anything but respect, kicking him out the window’s fine, right?”

Little Yellow Chick: “You’re… quite gentle.”

“After years of self-discipline, it’s not my era. Dealt with trash today, temper’s better than back then.”

Chu Zu’s paws clapped Nilia’s cheeks, inspecting his head.

“He’s good at surface acting.”

The chick swore it heard regret in its host’s voice!

Regret for not kicking him again!

Nilia’s face was kneaded like dough, mouth an “O,” daring neither anger nor words.

“Finished learning?”

Chu Zu asked.

Nilia: “?”

Quick on his feet, face pinched, he mumbled firmly: “I’m learning!”

“Learning what?”

Nilia recalled the arts dumped into his brain at the infirmary.

Damn, Polika sidetracked him, he forgot!

“…All… all your generous gifts.”

He braced himself: “I’m… slow, progress is sluggish…”

“I won’t let a fool’s blood stain me.”

Chu Zu released his paws.

“This is the last time, Nilia, no more lies.”

Nilia’s eyes widened, scooting forward, incredulous: “You… praised me as not foolish!”

Chu Zu: “…”

System: “…”

It didn’t sound like praise, and there was more after.

How’s this kid’s brain wired?

Was he an encouragement-needer, lying flat because no one affirmed him?

…

Nilia giggled, radiating idiocy.

No one had praised him like this.

Professors called him talentless, classmates were subtler, not labeling him trash outright.

Even Polika offered “hard work compensates” platitudes.

But Sagteni the First praised him! Not foolish!

If anyone called the tyrant that again, Nilia would object first!

Get it? Ignorant fools, the great Sagteni the First is generous and merciful!

Saved him twice, didn’t behead him despite his nonsense.

Taught him arts.

Praised him!

Nilia found it logical.

Even in dreams, the king was ruthless but only to obstacles.

In conquest-driven Sagteni, wasn’t a ruler clearing the path expected?

Then, Sagteni the First said coldly: “Learn, then kill all Hikta’s followers.”

Huh?

Nilia thought he misheard.

He didn’t dare ask for a repeat… but no, kill who?

Hikta’s followers… the Death Cult?!

The Death Cult that nations and chief practitioners couldn’t handle, costing dearly to capture one?

Him?

“Majesty…”

Nilia’s voice trembled.

“They… might just be rabble using the Death God’s name, not worth your concern…”

“So I’m sending you.”

The husky king grew impatient, eyes glinting with killing intent. “Be glad you have talent, Nilia, or you’d be ash.”

…

“Is he too easy to fool?!”

The system couldn’t hold back: “A couple of praises, and he takes it all seriously. Scared stiff, legs shaking, but grinning uncontrollably!”

Chu Zu nodded, quite pleased.

“Exactly, never met such an easy protagonist.”

“He roughly knows my triggers, avoids them, fears me but doesn’t.”

“I helped him twice, didn’t harm him, looked like a husky, praised him. He can’t resist.”

The system forgot to argue it wasn’t a husky.

“I’d cave too!”

The chick said, “But if he’s not scared… with Nilia’s personality, he might get cocky.”

“He doesn’t need to fear me.”

Chu Zu said, “Readers don’t need a cheat code that scares the protagonist.”

He explained: “Fear implies conflict—either overcoming or conquering it, hinting at tension with me.”

“But I’ll always be on his side, so fear has no payoff by the end, leaving readers confused.”

Chu Zu smiled, tweaking his words: “No, he’s on my side from start to finish.”

The system found it reasonable.

“But light prodding’s necessary. Readers nailed it—he’s a top, won’t spin without a whip.”

Chu Zu said, “He has an upward drive, responds to encouragement, but doesn’t believe he can do it, so he sets low expectations.”

In the original, Nilia’s only gain was overcoming vague self-doubt.

Early on, he was cowardly, scavenging credits by cleaning lakes or toilets.

But later, he fought wherever directed, even gods.

“From the protagonist’s shaping, the author didn’t miss.”

System: “No wonder readers didn’t curse Nilia early on. In other novels, if effort and reward don’t match, protagonists get called trash, no matter how strong.”

Chu Zu chuckled.

A growing protagonist needs both ability and mindset.

For rewards, more regression to flesh out the lore, finding stuff to shove into Nilia’s hands.

That’s for later.

Chu Zu reviewed the art list, sighing: “Seven days, wonder how many beatings he’ll take.”

*

Nilia had never been so driven.

Sure, initial encouragement sparked passion, but learning was so painful.

He wilted.

He questioned Polika.

How could anyone love studying without credits?

But Nilia had no choice.

No dreams these days, barely any sleep.

Slack off, and the king’s fluffy paw swatted.

Yes, these days, Sagteni the First seemed curious about this new world, ordering him to the library daily.

The library was empty—students recovering, staff slacking in the infirmary.

Nilia’s routine:

I work at the academy.

Go to the library.

Cut his finger with a fruit knife.

Greet Sagteni the First.

Fetch various books for him.

Learn arts.

Get hit.

Keep learning.

Polika seemed to notice but said nothing, just patting his shoulder, urging study.

Brother, more study and I’m dead.

Either drowned in knowledge or swatted dead, no other options.

Nilia noticed something.

Outside the auditorium, Sagteni the First recited Descent once, and he copied it perfectly.

But arts weren’t about memorizing prayers—what’s hard about that?

It’s the syllable stresses, cadences, textual rhythms.

Like singing, some are tone-deaf; even hitting notes doesn’t Buffered Response: guarantee a good song.

Skilled practitioners didn’t need prayers—they grasped every detail, understanding the essence linking arts.

Nilia had copied that essence.

Sagteni the First’s mastery wasn’t just “talent”—he was the standard, so Nilia’s clumsy imitation still worked.

Now the issue was.

Nilia memorized all the prayers perfectly.

But reciting them was useless; he had to dissect details from texts bit by bit.

The easiest way?

Ask Sagteni the First to demonstrate fully.

Nilia figured he wouldn’t live to finish the request.

Mulling over arts day and night during his grueling training, Nilia hoped to get fewer beatings at the library.

While working, a classmate blurted: “Nilia, when did you get so good at arts?”

Looking up, classmates stared.

Above, the auditorium’s chandelier was somehow rehung.

Nilia recalled.

Oh, Secret Art Number 138, controls gravity of inanimate objects, limited by size and mass, just used it.

He heard a noble’s subtly snarky tone, not meant to mock but still off.

“No wonder the headmaster praised you. Thought it was Polika’s doing, but you’re into arts too, studying on your own.”

Nilia shook his head: “You don’t get it. Study’s your hobby, but it’s my survival!”

The classmates’ snark faded, stunned by Nilia’s clarity.

Was the sun rising from the west?

After three or four agonizing days—Nilia felt like years—he glimpsed a new continent in the sea of knowledge.

He dreamed again.

Seeing the familiar yet strange Zui, Nilia nearly wept.

King! King! Yes! Show me this, I love it!