The Orc Hates the Army
As always, draped in my bear pelt like some wannabe badass with my arms crossed, I stood there soaking in the breeze during one of the rare peaceful days that actually made me happy. Back then, I ruled our neighborhood as the undisputed zero-tier alley boss. I'd smash anyone in sight, beat down anyone who talked shit, and even punch the ones who didn't. When I got bored, I'd play metaphorical slipper soccer with the soft young orcs. Just when I thought I was finally settling into this new life...
"Great warrior of the Green Tribe, Red Bear, you are summoned to glorious battle!"
"What?"
One day, a pack of orcs rode up to the village entrance on boars bigger than humans, advertising "I'm the big boss" from a mile away, and chucked a second draft notice right at me.
These orc bastards seemed to discriminate against their own kind by skin color when naming tribes. Green skin? Green Tribe. Red? Red Tribe. What about rainbow? Hell if I know—probably a unicorn, not an orc anyway.
Whatever, tribe names aside, the "Red Bear" they called me? That's my title, basically my name.
...What do you mean "name-like title"? These orc fuckers barely have the concept of names. They just call each other whatever pops into their heads—"hey," "you," that's the baseline greeting. They understand each other perfectly even with that shit. In Korean terms, it's like "Gya gya gya?" level communication.
Why no names? Orcs breed like rabbits—every other day, it's "Waa, baby orc!" and population booms. Naming each one is a hassle, and with how many die for dumb reasons, why bother naming a goner? Adult logic. So kids are born nameless. Survive ten years glued to the village, and boom—you earn a title based on your life, deeds, daily bullshit.
Take my old man: the whole village calls him "Crazy Bastard," no respect needed. No clue what he did before I was born, but tossing a club to his barely toddling kid and yeeting him into the woods? Yeah, that explains it.
How fucked was his life that even I, not yet ten, got dubbed "First Dick Kid Born Between Crazy Bastard and Crazy Bastard's Wife"? Total stress back then. Sure, someone might say, "Dude, you're an adult (reincarnation included)—what's the big deal?" But think about it: that long, humiliating string was my "name" for life. Hell, even a simple name like "Um Jun-sik" gets you endless ribbing—how's that a human name? A name's supposed to be your unique identifier, but mine had "Crazy Bastard" baked in. Normal to go insane hearing that forever!
And when I strolled back from the woods draped in bear pelt? Whole village swarms: "First Dick Kid Born Between Crazy Bastard and Crazy Bastard's Wife solo'd a bear, skinned it as a trophy! Let's celebrate his leap to great warrior! Hooray for First Dick Kid Born Between Crazy Bastard and Crazy Bastard's Wife!" What the fuck— that's a public roasting, not a party! Fine for one verse, but next day, every orc in sight hails me as "Great Crazy Bastard and Crazy Bastard's Wife's First Dick Kid..." Fists flew for years after that. Got pissed every time.
So what's this "Red Bear" from the draft office? Remember when all the continent's top-name orcs swarmed our village to gangbang me? I beat 'em all instead—pelt soaked red with blood. Guess it stuck; they all started calling me Red Bear like they were possessed. Lingered as village gossip forever. Only good part? No more mornings waking to "Crazy Bastard [etc.]" from the locals. I was thrilled—ran up the mountain peak in a handstand and screamed like a hyper beaver.
Great, title upgraded. But problems followed. Bear, tiger—names that scream valor and terror just hearing 'em. Word spreads like wildfire, exaggerated bullshit pulling aggro everywhere. Eventually hits the high-and-mighties' ears. My life—or orc life?—already twisted like a fantasy draft dodging two winters and two guerrillas? From that moment, totally fucked.
World situation back then? Humans, elves, other demihumans vs. Demon King's monster army—tensions maxed. War could erupt any second. As conflict heated, both sides went full Cold War arms race like USA vs. USSR.
So Demon King top brass hears the hype: "No big expectations, but let's draft this Red Bear—or Blue Bear?—the orcs won't shut up about." Chain of events leads to capital orcs gracing me with conscription glory.
"What kinda bullshit is this?!"
Wandering merchant orc on a black boar, trading village to village, says war's imminent. What if I hit the front and humans gang me to death? Head full of worries, about to whine "I don't wanna go"—
—Waaaaaaah!!
—Our Green Tribe's brave warrior chosen by the Demon King himself!
—Through war, his valiant soul will ascend to the heavens on the chains of transcendence by the Demon King's hand!
"..."
Me, the guy involved? Didn't say shit. Magic moment—drafted. And from their words, I'm already a dead legend.
"Any exemptions for this?"
Asked just in case.
"You got no balls?"
"...I do."
"Active duty then!"
"..."
Fuck—the snowball that didn't melt till my balls dropped, how far's it rolling?! Wanted to ditch draft and run, but thinking it through: nowhere to go. End up in Demon King army anyway—no choice.
Continent splits north-south: north's monster turf under Demon King lock, south humans/demihumans. Where else?
Start was pure shit. No other word. Army sucks first time, second time you wanna die. Third? You're already dead—why touch dead guy's balls? Nah, entering Demon King forces, seeing continent's top monsters gathered? Inner screams galore. Already cursed draft, unit's a freakshow: "elite human hunters" handpicked from everywhere. Members? Nightmares from the jump.
Too many to list, but standouts: twin-headed ogre with split personalities in both heads, double-nosed elephantkin (species name) griffon screeching "kuku rukuku," horn-nose rhino with horn growing from jaw (my nickname: praise-the-lord), sea monkey, crying frog Pepe, etc. Total freakshow of grotesque, dumb, ugly bastards—and bam, red-pelted orc slotted in.
Green and red—complementary colors, Mario and Luigi vibes. Tiny (by their standards) colorful orc transfers in, and army's army: seniors swarm to haze the rookie.
Slight diff: here, might makes right. Simple rule—overthrow anytime, claim top spot.
Yeah, I strutted like rising orc supernova: "No orc stands my fists!" Got wrecked. Nearly died for real.
Turns out, looks aside, we were all buddies.
Except me.