Orc and 400 Maniacs: Day 1 - Humans at Our Feet!
Humans had come right up to the base of their mountain! Perched atop an unnamed peak in the Black Rock Mountains, the Demon King's army—barely a few hundred strong, a motley assortment of wildly varied monsters—was buzzing with feverish excitement for the battle ahead. The more humans gathered below, the more they sharpened their claws, fangs, and finest weapons, eagerly awaiting the prey.
They're close! The bastards! They've finally shown themselves right in front of us!
-Humans, elves, even dwarves! A paradise of tasty fucks!
-Humans die easy, but elves? The fight they put up is exquisite. Dwarves? Need I say more!
-Ripping 'em apart or smashing 'em flat—either way, I just wanna fight. Right now! I wanna go insane fighting!
But then a problem arose. These humans had surrounded their mountain but weren't climbing up—they were just watching. Normally, the moment they spotted each other, monsters would charge screaming, ripping heads off by the hair. What the hell were these guys doing? They looked busy among themselves, but from up here, no one could tell what, and they couldn't go down either. The frustration only made their blood boil hotter.
They wanted to charge down this instant and slaughter the arrogant humans encircling them below, but they held back. No choice. Orders!
The orc leader of their band, Red Bear, hadn't given the command yet! They thirsted to quench the boiling bloodlust in their veins with the humans' red blood, but their boss said no!
This orc might look smaller and frailer compared to them, but any monster who'd been crushed under that tiny frame knew better than to defy his words or commands—at least none in this band he led.
Bloodlust? That was nothing compared to the primal law of the jungle etched into every living thing since time immemorial: survival of the fittest. No monster, no matter how dumb, would throw away its life to slake a thirst when a beast capable of flattening, killing, and taking everything hovered above it. Sure, occasional idiots ignored the food chain and didn't know their place, but they never lasted long.
Above all, no monster in Red Bear's band wanted to rebel against him and get killed by that red orc before even touching the humans. So they all focused intently on every move of Red Bear, who lounged with legs stretched out in his hammock, rocking lazily. Like starved dogs drooling over their master's every gesture as he held a bag of feed, the entire Demon King's army watched their leader, frustration swelling like they'd swallowed a whole sweet potato.
Then, the Red Bear—who'd been rolling in his hammock enjoying a nap—suddenly sat up.
Finally, time for a brawl? Pepe, the frog who cried "aor?" and was somewhat close to him, sidled up cautiously and asked.
"Aor?"
"No."
"Aor~ or-or-or?"
"Now's the time to wait, you foolish murloc."
No one knew what they said exactly, but Pepe's already bulging eyes grew even wider, so it clearly wasn't the answer they wanted. As everyone's faces fell, Red Bear suddenly sprang to his feet and addressed the crowd gathering around.
"You all that desperate to fight?"
-Of course!!
Unlike the visibly annoyed Red Bear, the band screamed in unison, mad with the urge to clash right then. Some blue-skinned ones even turned beet red from shouting so hard. But Red Bear just wagged a finger and dropped one line to his minions.
"But no."
-Why! Why not!
-You fucking pig bastard!
"Who're you calling pig bastard!"
Seizing the chance to vent personal grudges, Red Bear punished the offender for his own reasons, then flung open his bearskin cloak and spoke to the band.
"You ever had food just roll into your open mouth while you sat there doing jack shit? You, Twin-Headed Ogre, excepted."
Food coming on its own while sitting still...? Unthinkable even in dreams, but just imagining it brought grins to their faces. Sweeping his gaze over them, Red Bear shook out his fluttering bearskin and declared to the band with the gravest expression, like a doomsday prophet more serious than any other.
"Wait just a few days, and the humans will come crawling up here themselves. So don't waste energy—play around! Toss a ball, play jacks, go fish, or hell, nap like me."
Food rolling right into your mouth just by opening it? Impossible. They'd only dreamed of such fantasy, but hearing their band's strongest, smartest leader say it'd happen for real, they exchanged wide-eyed glances. Guys they'd normally hate on sight? Screw that—they weren't about to waste energy fighting neighbors when the boss spoke. And so the band scattered, flopping onto convenient rocks to nap away the time.
These little shits are a real pain in the ass. Dumb as rocks with no bottom or end, but flick 'em the right words and they swallow it hook, line, and sinker like junkies on a high.
Just sit with your mouth open and food rolls in? Bullshit—even in my past life, I dreamed of waking up tomorrow to money pouring in, someone feeding me for free. In this dog-eat-dog world where you hustle daily just to eat? Yeah right.
In my memories, the Battle of Jie-ting from Romance of the Three Kingdoms—the one that birthed the idiom "yield the road, invite disaster"—was when that thick-headed Ma Su thought blocking the narrow pass was dumb; better to hold the high ground, let the enemy come to us. He hunkered down in a spot with no water or reinforcements, got wrecked. Against Sima Yi, no less, who even Zhuge Liang sneered at. What balls.
Anyway, that's the setup I'm recreating now. Food climbing up? Oh, they'll climb. But by the time we're starving and parched near death? Honestly, if we lose this, those humans ain't human.
Thinking that, I gazed at the starry sky slowly emerging and sank back into my hammock.
"Mmm~ Pretty stars tonight~"
"Blockade complete!"
"Good work."
Sylvia Isis acknowledged the saluting centurions' report, then spread the map again to double-check their encampment. Her jewel-blue eyes scanned the same spots over and over, seeking any flaw, until her aide approached.
"You'll wear yourself out like that, milady. Take a break."
"How can I rest with the enemy right above us? You rest first."
"Haha... You're too worried. What could possibly go wrong?"
Talk like victory was already theirs. Was this any way for an aide to act, who should consider every possibility and stay vigilant? Even as he ignored her clear signals of "I don't like you"—direct and indirect—and placed a hand on her shoulder, Sylvia furrowed her brow.
Pathetic worm.
She didn't know—or rather, had erased—his name. Sure, as her subordinate, she should, but in this war, he'd die by her hand or the enemy's either way, so no need to remember. He wasn't a knight like her; he was a noble's son conscripted by royal order. From a prestigious house, no less. His only talent: wallowing in luxury and debauchery under his power-broker father's shadow.
In this strict wartime setup where even a falling leaf demanded caution, he strutted around flaunting his bloodline, slacked off at every turn, and despite his daddy's pull landing him a staff role over combat, he sucked at it anyway. Utter incompetent—the exact type Sylvia despised most.
Worse, thinking she didn't know or not even bothering to hide it, he paraded his capital concubine nightly, drawing scorn from the troops. He pretended concern for her welfare, but whenever chance arose, his lecherous hands wandered, convinced he hid it well. But his eyes—windows to the soul—betrayed naked lust.
Despicable. Utterly contemptible. Even now, his fingers trailed from her shoulder toward her collarbone. She could decapitate him here without issue, but clashing with a noble's son brought no gain.
Smack!
"Ah..."
"Guess I was too focused, as you said. I'll step out for some air."
She was a knight, a soldier—not a politician. Sylvia brushed off his hand like swatting a bug and strode from the tent. Ignoring the slimy grin and snicker that would disgust even street thugs, she stared straight ahead. One more glance at his face, and she might've slain him on impulse.
Filthy scum.
Dragging this useless boil around served no purpose now or later. Despite just thinking to avoid friction with the noble brat, his serpentine touch ignited murderous impulse. Sylvia took deep breaths to calm herself, gazing skyward.
"......"
Stars danced innocently across the night sky, oblivious to her tangled heart—one emerging, then a trail following like playful children. Recalling the brutal northwestern front, Sylvia squeezed her eyes shut.
Pathetic. While comrades there fought for their lives on the brink, she was stuck here, toyed with by this wretch. Pitiful. Shame at herself and the reality of dragging along such "allies" welled up, but she shook it off. Gripping the hilt at her waist, she thought of the unseen enemy commander atop the peak, sword hidden from view.
Her instincts still screamed warning. Despite perfectly sealing the trails and encircling them watertight. Despite overwhelming strategic advantage. Sylvia couldn't shake the unease. What schemes brewed in the enemy's mind? What plots did they weave unseen?
"Whoever you are, I'll make you pay dearly."
Under the same sky, in the same place, two commanders harbored opposing thoughts as the day slipped away.