Chapter 5: Truth Hurts

I thought that was the end of me. Honestly, part of me hoped it was. A clean cut, fade to black, and then roll credits. But no. I found myself once again hovering above the blood-soaked wooden floor, back in my ghostly form, staring at the carnage I had just caused. The human male’s head still rested near the corner, the woman’s body lay crumpled and broken, the orc’s head was skewered by an arrow, and the elf’s corpse had an arrow piercing his throat. It was the sort of scene I would have once taken notes on for a trashy tabloid scoop. Now, it just looked like a nightmare I couldn't wake from.

Strangely, I felt… energized. Not cold. Not sluggish. Whatever had just happened left me feeling stronger and more stable, like some part of me had fed off the violence. I didn’t like that thought. But it was a quiet worry, and easily shoved aside for now.

“Weird,” I muttered to myself, voice trailing like mist. "How do I put this? But I felt... kind of disappointed... like hungry-disappointed."

The little girl still lay asleep on the floor, curled up beside her mother’s body. Her face was stained with dried tears, her limbs trembling even in slumber. I drifted toward her, crouched beside the fragile form, and took a breath I didn’t need.

“I’ve got to get you out of here.”

I glanced out the window. The village was in chaos as firelight flickered across rooftops, silhouettes ran wild with torches and blades, and the night screamed with violence. People were shouting, buildings crackled as they burned, and the air stank of smoke and fear. Somewhere not far off, a man’s voice barked from just outside the cottage.

“Pelrick! Mord! You there? We didn’t find the witch—”

I had no idea why I could understand them now. Earlier, their words sounded like noise; now, they came through with terrifying clarity. Maybe ghost-me was leveling up. Maybe it was proximity. Maybe the universe decided I needed subtitles. Either way, I wasn’t about to waste time wondering.

I slipped into the little girl’s body.

There was no resistance, just a soft pull and a sudden shift. I guessed being asleep made it easier. Immediately, my perspective dropped dramatically. Everything looked bigger now. The furniture felt taller, and even my own hands were too small and delicate. The height difference was unsettling, and I felt like I was playing some grim version of dress-up.

Heavy boots thudded against the wooden porch. Whoever was outside had reached the door.

I made a break for the window. It took effort as my borrowed limbs struggled with the awkward climb, but after a short scramble, I tumbled out just as the door creaked open behind me.

“Oh, gods… What happened here?” someone muttered. “Tsk… A bunch of useless adventurers…”

Adventurers? That was an interesting word. I didn’t stick around to eavesdrop further.

On tiptoes, I crept away from the scene, keeping to the shadows and moving away from the screams and the smoke. I avoided the main roads, cutting through overgrown gardens and ducking under fences, until the burning glow of the village faded behind me. The trees thickened. The night deepened. When I reached the first edge of wild foliage, I broke into a full sprint.

The little girl’s body was light, and I could feel every stone, thorn, and blade of grass scraping at her bare feet. Her clothes were little more than rags, offering no protection from the biting wind or the sharp brush. But I ran faster and farther than I thought she could manage. Adrenaline? Ghost magic? Who knew. I only stopped when her legs finally buckled beneath me.

No one followed.

That was something.

It was nearly dawn when I stumbled onto a dirt road. I found a quiet patch near the side and cleared a space from rocks and weeds before easing the girl’s body down. She needed rest. I had pushed her too hard, and though her body still breathed calmly, I could feel the strain. Carefully, I disengaged, undoing the possession with effort, like pulling myself out of wet sand.

Back in my ghostly form, I found myself a spot to sit down.

The night was cool. The stars above were brilliant, unfamiliar, and unkind. I stared at them, trying to trace some recognizable constellation, but nothing matched. No Orion. No North Star. Just foreign patterns scattered across a sky I didn’t belong to.

Okay. Deep breath, not that I needed it.

Time to think. For one, ask the right questions. That was one thing journalism taught me, and it has always stayed with me. When facts don’t add up, you go back to the basics. The five Ws and an H were a good start.

Who? A little girl whose name I still didn’t know. And me, a ghost, freshly barbecued by lightning and thrust into a fantasy world I had no business being in.

What? Isekai. Classic case. A full-blown reincarnation or maybe a soul transference. Either way, I was living out the premise of every light novel I’d half-mocked and half-loved.

Where? Not Earth. Not even a recognizable Earth-adjacent. Judging by the magic, fantasy races, and oddly breathable air, I was in another world entirely.

When? Night. Still night. Maybe very early morning now. Beyond that? No clue. For all I knew, this world had twenty-hour days or purple suns.

Why? That one eluded me. I hadn’t been a hero. I didn’t die saving a busload of nuns. I was just a bitter tabloid writer with a questionable diet and a ruined umbrella. So why me? Why here?

How? Lightning, probably. Or the live wire. Or the magic circle. Or the combination of all three. Maybe that girl’s mom accidentally summoned me while dying. The specifics were hazy. Maybe they always would be.

Conclusion?

I was thoroughly, hopelessly screwed.

Okay, maybe it was too early to throw in the towel.

I stared at the little girl, curled up in the roadside dirt, her face still streaked with dried tears and soot. A small, selfish, and undeniably tired part of me wondered if I should just leave. It wasn’t like I could be a father figure or guardian angel. I was a ghost, a dead man walking, and before that, I had been a tabloid journalist with a suspicious caffeine intake and barely functioning moral compass. I wasn’t the guy anyone would’ve nominated to save a kid.

But I wasn’t a monster.

I sighed, brushing the dirt from my pants, and walked toward her.

The girl stirred, mumbling under her breath, “M-mom… Mom…”

And then she snapped awake. Her eyes were wide, unfocused, and trembling. Her breath hitched, and her little hands reached out for something that wasn’t there. Then, the crying started.

“Mommy~!” she wailed, voice cracking, full of that raw, ugly grief no child should ever have to feel.

I stopped a few steps away from her, frozen. What was I supposed to do? Comfort her? Lie to her? I was terrible with kids. Always had been. They were unpredictable and fragile and honest in ways adults forgot how to be. If I said the wrong thing, I could scar her worse. But doing nothing wasn’t an option.

If I were her, young, scared, and clinging to any sliver of hope, how would I want someone to break the truth?

I remembered when my dad left. Said he was going out for milk. I clung to that story for years, always expecting him to walk back through the door with a plastic bag and an apology. It wasn’t until junior high, when Mom finally gave up pretending, that I learned the truth. He was gone. No note. No contact. Just gone. That moment shattered something in me, but at least it was real.

So, I went with the whole unblemished truth.

“She’s dead,” I said.

She stared at me, blank and uncomprehending. I thought maybe she hadn’t heard, so I repeated it, quieter this time.

“Your mother is dead.”

And that’s when it hit her.

She burst into sobs, full-bodied and violent. “Mommy~! You’re lying! You’re a bad man!”

I flinched. Okay. That hurt a little more than I thought it would. I wasn’t sure what reaction I expected. But this? This was raw rejection. And I deserved it.

No wonder white lies existed…

I rubbed the back of my neck, shifting awkwardly.

“I—uh… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” I cut myself off. Apologies weren’t going to fix this.

I crouched, lowering myself to her level, careful not to spook her any more than I already had.

“Hello… My name’s Renzo,” I said, trying for a gentler tone, even if it came out stiff.

She sobbed harder, swiping her sleeves across her face with angry, trembling hands. “Leave me alone! I hate you!”

I nodded slowly, taking a step back. Fair enough. I couldn’t blame her. I didn’t expect to be liked. I didn’t need her to trust me right away. But if I wanted to keep her alive, I had to stay close.

Even if she hated me for it.

“I hate you,” she screamed. “Go away!”

“...”