Night fell faster than I expected.
One minute the sun was still painting the sky orange over the village roofs, the next it was gone, replaced by stars so bright and crowded they looked fake—like someone had cranked the saturation in a video game skybox.
The elder—whose name turned out to be Garrick—had insisted on giving me the "guest chamber" in the long hall. It was basically a small room partitioned off with woven reed screens, a low wooden bed piled with furs and wool blankets, a single oil lamp flickering on a stool, and a clay basin of water that someone had thoughtfully warmed.
I stood in the doorway for a solid minute, staring.
"This is nicer than my apartment," I muttered.
The bed looked soft. Too soft. The kind of soft that makes you suspicious because nothing good ever comes easy in these stories.
I dropped onto it anyway.
The furs swallowed me like a hug from a bear that didn't know its own strength. I sank in up to my shoulders and let out a long, involuntary groan.
"Okay. Fine. You win, fantasy world. This is acceptable."
My phone was still in my hoodie pocket—battery now at 4%, screen cracked into a spiderweb—but I pulled it out anyway. No signal, obviously. No Wi-Fi. No 4G. Just the lock screen photo of me and my cousin at a buka last Christmas, both of us making stupid faces over plates of pepper soup.
I stared at it until the screen timed out.
"Miss you, man," I whispered to no one.
Then I lay back and stared at the thatched ceiling.
The blue box, predictably, refused to let me have peace.
It shimmered into view right above my face, dim enough not to blind me but bright enough to be annoying.
```
[Daily Summary – Day 1 Post-Transmigration]
Deletions performed: 13 entities + 1 inanimate object
Reality integrity impact: -0.38% (cumulative local)
Administrative scan progress: 68% → ETA reduced to 29 hours
Passive observation: Village inhabitants now referring to you as "The Vanisher," "Button-Lord," and (unofficially) "The Lazy God"
New passive buff unlocked: Aura of Unearned Respect
Effect: Nearby commoners are 35% less likely to question your decisions. Side effect: Increased chance of being offered food/alcohol/hopeful daughters.
```
I snorted.
"Hopeful daughters? Bro, chill. I'm not building a harem arc on chapter four."
The box pulsed once—like it was laughing at me—then added:
```
Optional Reminder: You still have not investigated the ley-line nexus anomaly 3.2 km northeast.
Ripple strain increasing: 4.7%
Ignoring may accelerate administrative arrival.
Delete the reminder? [Y/N]
```
I mentally jabbed [Y].
The box vanished with a faint, sulky flicker.
"Good boy."
I closed my eyes.
Sleep should have come easy. Soft bed. Full stomach. No immediate threats.
Instead my brain decided to replay the day on loop.
Delete.
Poof.
Knights gone.
Horses gone.
Cow gone.
Firewood gone.
Each one felt less like murder and more like… editing. Like I'd highlight-text-deleted a paragraph in a Google Doc and hit backspace. No blood. No scream. Just cursor blink and empty space.
I wasn't sure which was worse.
A soft knock at the reed screen pulled me out of it.
"Yeah?"
Elara slipped inside, carrying a small clay cup that steamed faintly.
"Herbal tea," she said quietly. "For rest. The elders brew it for travelers."
I sat up. The furs slid off like they were offended.
"Thanks."
She handed me the cup. It smelled like mint and something earthier—maybe lemongrass or a fantasy cousin of it.
I took a sip. Warm. Soothing. Not poisoned, as far as I could tell.
She lingered.
"You're not sleeping," she observed.
"Too much going on in here." I tapped my temple.
She nodded like she understood.
"Many would kill for the power you wield without thought. Yet you seem… burdened by it."
I gave a dry laugh.
"Burdened? Nah. Just confused. Back home I couldn't even keep a job longer than three months. Now I can erase people with a thought. Feels like someone gave a toddler a flamethrower and said 'have fun.'"
Elara studied me for a long moment.
"You spared us. You could have deleted the entire road. The village. Everything."
"I could've. Didn't want to."
"Why?"
I shrugged.
"Because I'm not that guy. Not yet, anyway."
She gave the smallest smile.
"Then perhaps there is hope for this world after all."
She turned to leave.
"Elara."
She paused.
"If more knights come… what happens?"
Her shoulders tensed.
"They burn what they cannot take. They always do."
I nodded slowly.
"Got it."
She left without another word.
I finished the tea, set the cup down, and lay back again.
This time sleep came—fitful, shallow, full of half-dreams where red buttons floated in the sky like angry moons.
I woke to screaming.
Not the dramatic, drawn-out kind. Sharp. Panicked. Multiple voices.
I bolted upright.
Outside the reed screen, boots pounded dirt. Shouts. Metal clashing.
I scrambled out of the furs, hoodie half-twisted around me, and pushed through the partition.
The long hall was chaos.
Villagers running. A few clutching children. Others grabbing whatever weapons they had—pitchforks, sickles, one guy with a cooking pot.
Through the open doorway I saw torchlight flickering on the palisade.
And silhouettes.
Armored silhouettes.
Lots of them.
At least twenty riders, maybe more, torches raised. Blackspire colors—crimson banners snapping in the night wind. Leading them was a figure in heavier plate, helmet crested with black feathers, sitting a warhorse that made the last ones look like ponies.
A voice boomed across the square.
"By order of Lord Varn! The tribute-breakers will be punished! Deliver the witch who slew our knights, or this village burns!"
I stepped fully into the doorway.
The elder—Garrick—was already outside, staff raised, voice shaking but loud.
"We have no witch! Only a guest who—"
The crested rider cut him off.
"Then deliver the guest!"
I sighed.
"Really? Middle of the night? I just got comfortable."
I walked out into the square.
Torches turned toward me.
The lead rider's visor lifted.
A scarred face. Mid-thirties. Eyes hard.
"You. The one in the outlander rags. Step forward."
I stopped ten meters away. Hands in pockets.
"Or what?"
He drew a longsword. Torchlight ran down the blade.
"Or we drag you in chains to Blackspire. Lord Varn wishes to speak with the one who dares erase his men."
I tilted my head.
"Pass."
He laughed—short, ugly.
"Then die here."
He raised the sword.
I focused.
Not on him.
On something smaller.
The torches.
All of them.
*Delete.*
Reality stuttered.
Every flame winked out at once.
Pitch darkness swallowed the square.
Horses screamed. Men cursed. Metal clanged as someone dropped a weapon.
Then I focused again.
This time on the crested rider's sword.
*Delete.*
The blade vanished from his grip.
He stared at his empty hand.
Then at me.
I raised my voice just enough to carry.
"Last chance. Go home. Tell your lord the tribute's canceled. Permanently."
Silence.
Then someone in the back yelled, "He's a demon!"
Panic hit like a wave.
Horses reared. Riders tried to turn. Some charged blindly toward the sound of my voice.
I sighed again.
"Fine."
I locked onto the entire mounted group.
Not one by one.
All at once.
*Delete.*
The hiccup was bigger this time.
A low thrum rolled through the ground like distant thunder.
Then nothing.
No riders.
No horses.
No torches.
Just empty space in front of the palisade, a few dropped lances clattering to the dirt, and the faint smell of ozone.
The villagers froze.
Someone whimpered.
Garrick dropped his staff.
Elara appeared beside me, eyes wide in the starlight.
"You… deleted an entire war party."
"Yeah," I said, rubbing my eyes. "I'm gonna need more tea."
The blue box appeared—bigger, borders flashing red.
```
[Mass Deletion Event – Military Force]
Targets removed: 24 entities + 21 mounts + associated equipment
Reality integrity impact: -1.12% (significant local strain)
Administrative scan accelerated: ETA now 18 hours
Critical warning: Nexus anomaly activity spiking. Interference source confirmed nearby.
You are being noticed.
```
I stared at the text.
Then muttered to the empty night air:
"Yeah. I figured."
Somewhere in the darkness beyond the village, something answered—not with words, but with a faint, electric hum that raised the hairs on my arms.
I turned back to the stunned villagers.
"Right. Who's got the kettle on?"
No one moved for a second.
Then Tiro's small voice piped up from the crowd.
"I'll get the tea!"
I gave him a tired thumbs-up.
"Good kid."
The stars overhead felt closer now.
And heavier.
Like they were watching.