An arrow shot from the bow, slicing through the air so closely that it missed me by the width of a hair. It flew straight into Achilles' ankle with terrifying precision. My brilliant commander fell to the ground—he had been shot with a poisoned arrow. It didn't take long before he died… right in front of me.
The moment Achilles took his last breath, my senses came flooding back. All the courage, all the adrenaline—it vanished completely. I returned to being the same cowardly background soldier I always was.
What had just happened? I didn't understand. Why did I risk my life for someone else, even though it had nothing to do with me?
Now that the commander was dead, I no longer had to fear being executed for desertion. So I ran. I fled from the battlefield with all I had. No more of that brave warrior nonsense— I immediately resumed my original role as a fleeing extra, just as I'd planned in the first place.
After barely escaping with my life, I sat down and started to think about what had come over me. Why had I acted like that? Why had my body and mind moved on their own, against my will?
Then it hit me—another unspoken rule of being a background character: If you want to stay alive, never get too close to a main character.
Why? If you're wondering, let me explain.
Main characters carry a certain power— an invisible influence woven into the very fabric of their roles. Take Achilles, for example. He had the power to inspire. Just by being near him, background characters would become possessed with a sense of loyalty and throw themselves into battle for him—without even realizing it. That's the power granted to him by his narrative.
In short, all major protagonists possess some kind of charisma or narrative gravity that causes supporting characters to act in accordance with them. And no background character can escape it.
Now I understood why the newbie and I had acted like maniacs back there. But what do background characters get for sacrificing themselves? Nothing. No one remembers them. Their deaths are just stepping stones—piled up so the hero can rise above them, alone and glorious.
Since then, I made it a habit to be very picky about the roles I take, always choosing ones that keep me far, far away from any main character. And my theory? It worked every single time. I managed to survive—every single time.
Of course, I tried to warn other background characters about this too. Some listened. But others didn't. They told me they wanted to share a scene with the heroes they admired. And in the end, those ones died tragic, meaningless deaths.
Still, there were some who believed me. They avoided roles that placed them too close to the leads. And unsurprisingly, almost all of them survived. (Those who didn't… well, maybe that was just karma.)
But none of us could have predicted what would happen next.
You see, by avoiding scenes with the main characters, we unintentionally disrupted the flow of the story itself.
Without background characters to fill in the world, the narrative slowed to a crawl. The protagonists struggled to move the plot forward.
Imagine a war scene— but none of the soldiers show up to support the hero. How's the story supposed to progress?
The main character is forced to fight an impossible battle all on their own. The pacing drags. What should've wrapped up in one chapter now stretches endlessly.
And sure, the protagonist might still win, because that's just how stories are written. But when that happens, the narrative shifts unnaturally. It becomes… unrealistic. (Or as people say—"way too over-the-top.")
Readers begin to notice. They feel the main character is unreasonably overpowered. The tension vanishes. The excitement fades. There's nothing to root for anymore.
And when that happens, do you know what becomes of the book?
It's abandoned. Left to gather dust. Forgotten.
And what's even more terrifying? The main character inside that book—now unread and unloved— disappears from existence. Gone, as if they were never written at all.
That's why the enforcers—the Twelve Rulekeepers, also known as the Twelve Olympian Gods— had to step in.
They started monitoring the actions of all background characters, making sure none of us strayed too far from our assigned roles.
Because this isn't just about extras anymore— It's about the very survival of every main character in the world of mythology.