Life has a funny way of balancing things out, doesn't it? When you get too serious, it throws in a dose of comedy. Take the guy in front of me, for example. He's got main character syndrome down to an art, like he was born with it.
"Can't you stay away from Leyla? Why do you keep following her everywhere?"
Honestly, there was nothing wrong with what Xerta said. He was right. I was a stalker.
But hey, that was my job.
I'm Leyla's knight. Assigned as her personal guard. Entrusted by her father, no less. Of course I had to be by her side at all times.
'Maybe this guy's just stupid.'
"I don't understand what you mean, Duke Helming. Why should I stay away from Lady Leyla?" I asked innocently.
That feigned innocence only seemed to make him more irritated. His hands no longer rested calmly on the desk—he stood, moved beside me, and clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder. The contact was firm, solid. His voice lowered:
"No matter how hard you try… are you really sure you can win her heart?"
His words carried a weight, a subtle sting of truth. But really—what was the point of winning Leyla's heart… if I could win readers hearts instead?
"I don't understand what you're talking about," I replied flatly.
This—this was the edge Keith had. I remembered this very scene in the novel, the conversation between Xerta and Keith. Intense. Chilling. A fan favorite.
In the book, the dialogue built slowly, until Xerta asked over and over:
"Do you love her?"
And when Keith finally said yes, Xerta delivered that line—cold, final, unforgettable:
"I don't care whether you love her or not. What matters to me is your resolve. Are you willing to die to protect her?"
That was the first and the last time they spoke. Because Keith did die not long after. But that conversation earned him something rare: Xerta's respect.
After that, Keith became a shadow—haunting the narrative. Mentioned constantly by Leyla, by Xerta, by Cynthia, Sera, even Epsilon.
"Do you love her that much?" Xerta asked again now. His voice had changed—no longer sharp, but quieter. Sincere. Almost… longing.
"Yes!" I shot back.
"What?" His brows lifted, clearly startled by the strength of my voice.
I was Keith—but not that Keith. I was a new Keith.
"I love her deeply. So much that I'd even challenge you to a duel for her, if that's what it takes." Was I being reckless? Maybe. But the novel never stated who was stronger between us. Isn't now the perfect time to find out?
"A great idea. I accept the duel," Xerta said, a grin playing on his lips.
Of course. Xerta wasn't the type to back down. That's exactly why he's the male lead.
He called out, "Solum!"
The loyal knight entered, and with calm efficiency, Xerta instructed him to bring training gear—wooden swords and protective armor.
"I didn't expect you to challenge me so easily," he said, amusement glinting in his storm-gray eyes. "But I like that. I was curious to see the strength of Leyla's knight anyway."
God, even his dialogue is cool.
We stood face to face on the back training field. The air was thick with tension. Wooden swords gripped in both hands. Armor strapped over our chests and knees. The scent of dust and pine from the practice ground hung in the warm air.
Solum would be our referee. Thankfully, it was a private duel—just the three of us. I preferred it that way. No audience. No pressure.
Ready... 3... 2... 1… Go.
As soon as Solum gave the signal, Xerta lunged. Fast. Fluid. He struck from the left—his dominant hand.
I knew he was left-handed. I knew his strikes would be hard to parry.
Sparks flew as our wooden swords clashed, the thudding sound echoing across the courtyard. He was already using his sword aura. That explained the tremble in my arms as I blocked.
I ducked low, trying to strike his legs—but he countered fast, retaliating with a downward blow. Three swings later, I was already being pushed back.
But I wasn't finished yet.
I had knowledge. From the novel, I remembered his weakness—a blind spot on his lower right.
I angled, the wooden blade whistling past his guard. Too late. Crack! The tip tapped his temple. He staggered, the scent of fresh-cut grass filling my lungs. I knocked his sword away, towering over him.
"Checkmate," I said, breath even.
Xerta... smiled, a carefree grin I didn't expect. Then—crack—my sword shattered. Pain erupted in my shin as he kicked me. In a blink, he was on top, the grit of the earth scraping my cheek as my head slammed down. I gasped.
He smirked. "I think it's a draw." he said.
Unfortunately, the result was a substantial loss for me.
"You win, Duke Helming," I muttered.
But instead of boasting, he offered me a hand.
"I already said—it's a draw," he replied with that same smile.
I accepted the hand, letting him pull me up.
In the novel, this man was colder. Untouchable. Now? He smiled like it was second nature.
Something's off with him.
"You're incredible," he said. "Not many can spot my blind spot mid-fight. If this weren't a spar, I might be dead."
I take it back. He's still terrifying.
"Ah… I just happened to know," I said quickly.
"No need to be modest."
Solum approached, handing me a towel. I wiped my face, heart still racing.
"You've even earned Solum's respect. I knew it—you're impressive, Keith."
Isn't he being… too friendly?
"I thought you were colder than this," I blurted out.
"What? Keith, you believe rumors too? I'm only cold to strangers. I'm brutal to enemies. But you… I acknowledge you as an equal."
Shit. What's this? A whip-and-honey tactic?
"XERTA! KEITH!"
We both turned. Leyla came running, panting hard, face flushed with panic.
"Why are you here?" Xerta asked.
"I… heard you were fighting. People were talking…" she panted. Her eyes scanned both of us, clearly worried.
So the gossip had spread already. Maids, guards—someone must've sensed our sword auras. Before the match, I was in focus, Maybe too focused.
"I'd like to ask something, Duke Helming," I said, stepping closer.
"Just call me Xerta."
"Right… Xerta. Did you deliberately not use any mana during our fight?" My tone was serious now.
I knew he had heard the rumors. Maybe Leyla told him. After all, it was true—Keith was born without mana.
That's why his parents abandoned him, leaving him to the cold wind. Count Nerwine, however, offered warmth and shelter. Without the flash of mana, Keith still found a place. He became valuable, a steady presence. But a shadow clung to him, a deep misery. I wondered, did Xerta's actions stem from pity?
"Of course I didn't use mana," he said calmly. "It was just a sparring match. If I had used it, you'd be dead."
As expected—his eyes narrowed as he looked down on me.
My hands clenched. Then relaxed."Thank you for your… consideration."
I turned to Leyla, offering her a soft smile.
"Well then, I'll take my leave."
As I walked away, the sun warming my back, I could still hear Leyla scolding Xerta behind me for picking a fight.
But I knew.
Even Leyla never believed I could win against him.
He really is the main character.
--
Screw it. No matter how low I've sunk, I can't afford to lose my confidence. The main event hasn't even started yet.
Now, I stand behind Leyla at the palace gates, the ornate ironwork glinting in the sun. Leyla clutches Xerta's arm, a flurry of silk and nervous energy. Beside me, Solum remains composed, his posture relaxed. The air hums with chatter and the rhythmic clopping of hooves as carriages pull up, their wheels crunching on the gravel, the line stretching onward.
At least, I'm not nervous... Okay, that's a lie. I'm completely on edge.
It's my first time at the palace! How could I not be anxious? The sheer scale of the place is overwhelming, a glittering expanse of gold statues and intricate decorations, patrolled by soldiers whose stern faces and rigid postures radiated an air of authority. Inside, it's a dazzling spectacle: light exploding from brilliant chandeliers, reflecting off gleaming marble, the air thick with the aroma of rich wine flowing freely and the savory scents of countless dishes. All this... just for an engagement party? It makes sense when Leyla arrives, radiant, on Xerta's arm. A collective hush falls as their arrival stirs a flurry of whispers.
'I'm just an NPC, don't look at me. Seriously. Don't.'
But who could blame them? That entrance was designed to steal the spotlight. Meanwhile, from the corner of my eye, I catch Cynthia. Her face could have soured a pitcher of milk, and her palpable disdain made it obvious she was miserable.
'That's what happens when you let obsession rule you.'
In the novel, Cynthia's love for Xerta was downright toxic. The type to go to unholy lengths just to have him crawling at her feet. She tried a thousand ways to kill Leyla—literally.And let's not forget the horrifying part: she kept a doll that looked like Leyla in her room… just so she could stab it. Yeah. That creepy.
'Where's Epsilon…?'
Last time I saw him, he looked utterly pitiful after getting humiliated by Xerta. And honestly, he wasn't much better in the novel. Both he and Keith had unrequited love, but their reasons couldn't be more different.
Keith never expected love in return.
Epsilon craved validation, whether from Cynthia or anyone who made him feel needed. In "The Way to Save Her," a scene depicts him thanking fate when Cynthia returns to him after being rejected by Xerta, grateful simply to be used. Their relationship was undeniably toxic. However, the novel always had to be a tragedy. So, why did Jung Cha-Ri, in my past life, persist in hoping for a happy ending for him? Near the novel's conclusion, Epsilon is imprisoned because he murdered, instigated a catastrophe, and caused my death. Even as he awaited execution, his sole desire was for Cynthia to acknowledge him.
She never does. Instead, she clings to her delusion, screaming about her love for Xerta and her hatred for Leyla. Epsilon ends up exiled to the magic tower, sealed away, living alone in regret.
Sure, the two main characters get a happy ending—but not me. Hell no. I refuse to be a sacrifice to the plot. I refuse to be the stepping stone in Xerta and Leyla's relationship!
And then—Finally, I spot Epsilon's silhouette. He arrives at the same time as the King and Queen, who now sit upon their thrones, greeting the guests.
So he did show up for his official role as the kingdom's Great Magician, instead of just lurking around Cynthia like a lost puppy.
"Welcome, dear nobles, to the engagement of my son Rodhius and Lady Stella, daughter of Marquis Lejiro," the King proclaims, his voice echoing through the grand hall. "Please, enjoy the evening."
Epsilon steps down among the guests. Rodhius greets him with a smile and draws him into conversation.Meanwhile, Xerta heads toward the King and Queen, Leyla still on his arm.
Solum and I stay back. A servant passes with a tray of champagne, and I signal him to stop so I can take a glass. As I sip, I watch the scene unfold—the King laughing heartily, clearly pleased by Xerta's presence.
Cynthia, on the other hand, looks like she's about to dig her own grave. She climbs the platform too, probably aiming to greet the King. Wrong timing. Completely tone-deaf.
I decide to move. I approach Epsilon, who's chatting with Rodhius and a diplomat.He's mid-sip when I touch his hand, causing him to glance down in surprise.
'Wait—am I the one being impulsive now? Keith, get a grip.'
"What is it?" Epsilon asks, voice flat, confused by my sudden approach.
I quickly pull back, scratching my neck awkwardly.
"Who is this?" the diplomat asks. "So casual with the great magician…"
Great. Now I've drawn more attention.
"Ah… just a knight for a lady I know," Epsilon says simply, downing the rest of his drink.
'Really, man? That blunt?'
"You're a knight?" Rodhius asks, surprised. "With that face, I assumed you were some new noble."
That's one more person to add to the No Filter Club.
In the novel, Rodhius isn't a minor character. He has a hate-fueled rivalry with his brother, and eventually gets manipulated by Cynthia into killing their own father to take the throne.A classic power-hungry villain.
"What's your name?" he asks.
"Ah… Keith," I answer hesitantly.
"My fiancée doesn't have a knight yet. Why not become Stella's knight?" Rodhius suggests, slipping his arm around Stella's waist.
"I'm sorry, Your Highness. I've already pledged loyalty to my lady."
"Loyalty can be bought, can't it?" he smirks.
Sure, but my feelings have a deeper root... Then again, what's the point? I'm probably going to die anyway. Still, I'd rather face the rebellion arc first than witness Leyla and Xerta's honeymoon.
"I'll think about it," I reply flatly.
Epsilon suddenly coughs on his drink, startled. I hand him my handkerchief instinctively.
"Drink slower next time," I murmur.
He uses it, then calmly hands it back. Diplomats excuse themselves. Rodhius gets distracted with Stella and then wanders off.
"Hey, go grab me another glass," Epsilon says, pointing to the drinks table.
"What am I, your servant?" Still, I do it—handing him one, keeping the other for myself.
"So, why'd you come over?" he asks.
"Oh right. I was going to ask—are you okay with your dear Lady Cynthia going up there just as Xerta and Leyla are greeting the King?"
I pointed and his eyes widen. He didn't know.
"Everyone, hear me!" Xerta's voice thunders across the hall. With affection in his eyes, he rests a hand on Leyla's shoulder.
"I am getting married! Let me introduce my fiancée—Leyla of Nerwine. She is the only one. There is no one else."
He shoots a glance at Cynthia—intense, unreadable. Leyla's face turns red like a tomato.
A collective gasp swept through the ballroom. Even from here, I could see Cynthia's expression twist with restrained fury.
This is it. The arc unfolds just like in the novel. Except… It's happening on the palace dais, next to the King—not down below.
But beyond the script, something shifts inside me. A faint, unfamiliar pulse. And… why did my chest tighten like this? Am I… jealous?
I saw Epsilon start to move, as if planning to join Cynthia.
"No," I said, grabbing his wrist. "Don't."
In the novel, Epsilon was there to support Cynthia, standing beside her. But here, it's different. If he follows, Xerta will humiliate him.
"Let go," he growls. "Is this your revenge? For the tea party?"
"It's not that," I said, voice low. "Just… don't go up there."
Above us, things were only getting worse. The king turned to Cynthia with a concerned look.
"Lady Cynthia… I thought you were engaged to Duke Helming?"
"Your Majesty," Cynthia replied smoothly, "you must have misunderstood. I never made such a claim."
Of course you didn't. You just had people spread the rumor, like in the novel.
Whispers began to swirl through the crowd. This was going to stain her reputation even more than in the original story. And if Cynthia snapped here… Leyla might die tonight. And that would mean my death was close behind.
How do I fix this?
There was one way, risky, reckless, humiliating—but maybe it could shift the story enough.
I turned to Epsilon, gently brushing his wrist. "Leave this to me," I whispered with a smile.
Without waiting, I ascended the steps, one by one, toward the throne. The air changed. Cynthia's murderous glare fixated on Leyla, her posture rigid as the king and queen questioned her again and again.
They noticed me midway. Xerta looked stunned. Leyla whispered my name in disbelief, unsure of what I was doing.
Forgive me, Leyla. I'll protect you another way. One that doesn't require your death… or mine.
I reached Cynthia and held out my hand. She turned sharply, startled, then furious.
I bowed before the royals.
"Pardon me, Your Majesties," I said respectfully. "I've come to retrieve my lady," the knight declared, his armor gleaming.
Leyla gasped. Xerta stared at me as if I'd lost my mind.
"You're her knight?" the king asked, surprised.
"I am, Your Majesty."
Cynthia blinked… then smiled. A sly, poisonous smile.
"Well then," she said sweetly, "since my knight is here, I shall take my leave."
She curtsied, took my hand, and allowed me to escort her down the stairs—never once looking back.
But then, I heard it:
"Keith!! Why?!"
Leyla's voice cracked behind me. I didn't turn around. I couldn't.
This was a performance. One that stained my oath. Count Nerwine would probably kill me if he heard of this betrayal.
But the woman at my side beamed with wicked delight. "A wise move, Keith," she purred. "I wonder how I'll use you."
Fine, I thought. I'll play your game, Cynthia. But I'll make sure you never touch Leyla again.
When we reached the floor, I noticed Epsilon, who was still disoriented, his voice wavering slightly. He rushed to Cynthia with the devotion and eagerness of a loyal hound.
And I'll make sure she never controls you again, either.