In ogre tribes, it was not custom for the oldest son to become the head of the family.
In every household, children were sent to the battlefield as soon as they were old enough.
Sixty of us were taken from three separate villages as part of the re-draft. And in just three days, ten of us were already dead.
That included the one whose head was blown off in front of me today.
I didn’t even learn his name.
But he had suddenly pushed me and moved to the front.
I didn’t really care about what order we lined up in, and so I left him be. But had he not done that, it would have been my head that was blown off.
In any case, ogre warriors were meatheads. It wasn’t something that needed to be repeated, but it could not be helped, because it was true.
Also, there was no kind system in which we were trained so that we wouldn’t die on the battlefield.
We weren’t even given proper weapons and armor, so everyone had different equipment.
We just grabbed our weapons, the ever-popular—iron or wooden club, and charged at the enemy base.
There were some among us who picked up boulders with both hands as they ran.
But as both of their hands were full, they generally ended up getting speared by the orcs.
In my case, I didn’t have a weapon or any armor. And so I picked up some wire and wrapped it around my arms.
It was probably from one of the destroyed anti-cavalry fences.
I just thought that it was better than nothing.
Regardless, I had survived another day. Somehow.
“Golan. Good work.”
The person who talked to me with a satisfied expression was my comrade of the past three days, Edbas.
We grew up in the same village.
“There was nothing good about that! We keep losing. Why do you look so refreshed!”
Upon hearing me say this, Edbas looked at me with a puzzled expression.
“We just need to win tomorrow.”
“Bah! We’ll lose tomorrow as well!”
“Then we just need to win the day after that.”
This is why we ogres were known as meatheads.
We are used as expendable pawns, and no one complains.
Damn, it was pathetic.
“Hey, Golan… Where are you going?”
Another one from my village called to me. His name was Rimobo.
“I can’t take this anymore. I’m going to see Commander Guden.”
“Hey, Golan. Do you mean…?”
“Are you going to declare Gekokujyo?”
Edbas and Rimobo suddenly looked very excited.
‘That’s right!’ I shouted back angrily. ‘Hyahoooo!’ they came back cheerfully.
This wasn’t anything to be happy about, you guys.
There were no strict rules in the Demon World.
Things were simple. The strong dominated the weak.
The weak could challenge the strong and attempt to take their seat.
The strong would challenge those who were even stronger.
In the Demon World, such battles to determine rank, in other words, determine your superiority, were called Gekokujyo(Giant-killing).
“Golan is going to declare Gekokujyo!”
“Out of the way. The Gekokujyo is going to start.”
Without exception, the residents of the Demon World enjoyed a good Gekokujyo. They loved it.
No, I just lied. Because I hated it.
They could do it as much as they wanted as long as it was out of my sight.
I would stay quiet as long as they didn’t involve me in it.
“Here he comes! Commander Guden!”
That was fast. The superior officers had already heard the news.
I could hear them laughing loudly, ‘Gahahaha!’
“So, you are the one who challenged me. Gahahaha!”
“I’m Golan. Too many of us die for no reason when you are in command. And so I declare Gekokujyo.”
“Very well. I, Commander Guden, accept your challenge!”
“The Gekokujyo is going to begin!”
The crowd of spectators exploded with cheers.
(Dear mother, I was reincarnated into an ogre. And now I’m about to challenge a really strong guy.)
Translator: So, this is another series from the author of Ryusousha. Tensei Kenja is taking a really long time to get updated and I lost hope for 10 Years After, so here we are. I hope you guys enjoy it. Might do daily releases if it’s good.
As always, thanks for reading and stay safe!