Chapter 3 – Ogre Subjugation Request

Many petitions reach Count Borick’s desk.

Most are trivial (from the count’s point of view), but now and then one demands urgent attention—even for him.

The report he was presently reading would alarm anyone.

“Ten ordinary ogres have shown up in a mountain farming village and seized it?”

“Exactly. They’re armed and clearly acting as bandits. We can’t leave this unattended!”

The messenger was plainly agitated—understandably so.

※

Race Ogre
Equipment Iron swords, iron spears, wooden shields, leather armor
Ability Average
Number Ten
Battleground Mountain village

With an “enemy lineup” like that, most villagers—or even soldiers—would quail.

But the count was secretly amused.

(If all they’ve got are swords and spears, you put shields up front and pepper them with magic or arrows…)

In his head he pictured his troops brave and obedient, routing the ten ogres.

Not a terrible plan on paper, but the ogres would charge if hit by arrows, the shield line would buckle, and once it went to hand-to-hand the archers and mages would flee.

Pure armchair tactics—yet since he had “that shady fellow who’ll do anything for coin,” he’d still get results.

“I see. I’ll dispatch my own man. Bring me maps of the village and the surrounding area.”

“Y-yes, thank you!”

(Compared with that ex-knight elf, these will be easy prey… He’ll finish quickly and come back. I can get away with a smaller fee.)

He was already planning payment, convinced the matter was settled.

(I give the orders, the peasants adore me, and I hand the fellow a pittance. In this world the higher station always wins… kuh kuh kuh.)

※

Deep in the mountains lay a little village where farmers led modest lives.

Then a pack of ogres appeared.

Had it been one or two, the villagers might have banded together and driven them off. Ten ogres left them hopeless.

They grabbed what they could and fled to the next settlement.

When the strength gap is huge, there’s no fight.

Just as some ancient sage said, the best victory is the one won without battle—but raiding a poor farm village for its hard-saved stores is hardly “good.”

“Ha-ha-ha! Humans have everything, don’t they?”

“Give ’em a little scare and they all bolt—easy pickings!”

“It’s like a dream! Couldn’t do this back home!”

The ogre bandits holed up in the largest house in the village, intent on devouring all the food and drink ten men could hold.

They didn’t plan to keep the land; once it was stripped bare they’d move to the next village—and the next.

Back home they were nobodies—everyone was an ogre.

Here in human territory, everyone was fodder. They wouldn’t dare hit a big town, but a tiny village was plenty for their bellies and egos.

They were ogre males straight from a storybook: filthy, unhygienic, savage, boorish, disgusting eaters—and stupid.

They truly believed no army would bother with them so long as they stuck to little villages.

A low horn sounded.

Knowing little of human ways, they shuffled outside to look.

A large wagon had arrived, ringed by dark-elf and beastkin women who looked like ragged guards, weapons in hand.

“Puh! Fwah!”

“Oi, check out those scrawny guards!”

“Those sticks wouldn’t stop a human rabble!”

“Slave cosplay with weapons—what is that clown?”

“Bet they don’t know we’re here.”

“Yeah? Let’s give ’em a scare.”

There were plenty of them, sure, but slaves posed no threat.

Cackling, the ogres strode out of the house.

If the strangers ran, fine; the point was to show who was stronger.

“Just so you know,” Gaikaku called from the driver’s seat, utterly relaxed, “you’re free to retreat. In fact, that’d suit me.”

He showed no sign of running.

Dragged to the mountains with no explanation, the dark-elf and beastkin slaves didn’t bolt.

The dark elves had nowhere to go. Having been persecuted by their own kin, escape wasn’t even in their mindset.

The beastkin, though, sensed something familiar—this felt like…a hunt.

“A mountain village sits on slopes—high and low ground everywhere,” Gaikaku lectured, smiling at the ogres lumbering closer. “That means movement paths are obvious, bottlenecks too.”

Judging their routes, pace, and “time-to-impact,” he placed crimson light markers.

“Last time was a single AP round… This time: scattershot!”

Far downstream, on a riverbank, the firing sequence began.

A magic circle—Mobile Five-Elf-Power Mage Battery—held five elves and a turret atop it.

The instant Gaikaku’s red light blinked in the village, the circle drained their mana.

“A-ahhh!”

“K-kuh—ugh!”

“F-firing that at ordinary ogres…?”

Fifteen more elves watched anxiously as mana pumped into the turret—Light-Dot-Guided Five-Elf-Power Mage Scatter Cannon.

When the five atop the circle collapsed, a blast launched skyward, then arced toward Gaikaku’s target.

Equal to ten human mages, the bolt broke apart midair—by design.

A hail of mana pellets spread over the ogres.

Raining fire from above.

One shot wouldn’t faze a tough ogre, but tens—hundreds—soon changed that.

“Aguh?!”

“W-what?! A hidden mage?!”

“It’s coming from above! Use your shields like umbrellas!”

It hurt—a lot.

Not lethal, no gaping holes, more like being pelted by stones.

The barrage lasted over ten seconds, but they endured.

“You’ll pay for that!”

“Don’t think just dying will be enough!”

“We’ll torture you first, then feed you to the beasts!”

Bleeding but unbroken, the ogres were seething—and charged the wagon…

“Now!”

…only to be ambushed by ten ogre women.

While the males endured the barrage, the females had crept into position.

The scattershot was really a smokescreen—damage secondary to freezing the enemy for those few seconds.

Now the female ogres struck with everything they had.

“Gyaaaa!”

The males reeled—same species, unexpected assailants.

Ordinary women, equal numbers—surely they could fight back?

Except these women wore Gaikaku’s illegal Fresh Golem cultured muscle-and-bone armor, granting them average ogre strength.

Facing blows from equals—none of the male bandits could stay on their feet.

“Perfect fit… Ah, it’s almost hilariously satisfying!”

“Time for some grade-A bullying—oh, this is FUN!”

Their grins dripped drool and hatred.

The male ogres cowered, all will to fight gone.

“H-hey, wait! We’re the same, right? Both ogres!”

“All of you are women—tell you what, cut us a deal and let us go!”

“We’re all just trying to live in human lands—come on!”

Weaponless, unable to stand, they begged with greasy smiles.

However pathetic, it was survival.

“Fufufu… You know, back home they called us useless and sold us.”

“Life was hell in the human realm, but we’ve no fond memories of home either.”

“Know what we hate most?”

Their faces, twisted by laughter and loathing, gave the answer.

“Ogre men.”

“Gyaaaa!”

Again and again the women slammed their weapons down.

All the bandit ogres could do was scream.

(To be clear, the women had indeed been persecuted, but today’s victims were total strangers—meeting for the first time. Criminals, yes, but not their personal enemies. No one intervened.)

Watching with satisfaction, Gaikaku turned to the newcomers.

“What do you make of that result?”

The dark elves, awestruck, asked, “A-are those women really ‘failures’?”

“Yep. The Fresh Golem armor boosts them, but underneath they’re dropouts—same for the elves shelling from afar.”

“Dropouts beating normal folk… unbelievable…”

“You’re missing the point,” Gaikaku sighed.

“Forty of you rejects versus ten average ogres—front line of ogre women, rear of elf mages. Even without my fancy weapons you’d win. Four-to-one odds.”

“…True.”

Once it’s forty-to-ten, defeat isn’t on the table.

Illegal mage-tech isn’t needed to win.

So why use it? Why develop and field it?

“What matters,” Gaikaku said, “is winning without losses.”

No casualties, no chance for the enemy to strike back—the dark elves got it.

A straight fight would’ve cost lives or limbs. The villagers—and the count—wanted to avoid that.

“That’s why my weapons, tactics, training shine: build superior numbers, then finish cleanly. Design the gear, link it into strategy, drill the troops, plan for the terrain, prove it works!”

Smart, cool, calculated victory.

He gauged enemy strength, predicted movements, and let them do nothing.

Even if the foe were criminals, it was still killing—but he looked positively delighted.

“Real-world endgame puzzles—that’s my life’s work.”

“Will you arm us the same way and have us fight?” a beastkin girl asked, eyes lit with a fierce ambition.

“Oh, I’ve been pondering which weapons suit you and how best to field you.”

“Hate the idea?”

“No… I’m looking forward to it.”

“Good, good.”

The ten newly bought dark elves were typical—discarded dropouts, just like Gaikaku’s current crew.

The beastkin, though, were different.

They came from a cold-climate tribe known for mildness, never persecuting their dropouts.

They’d grown up with pride, believing their families accepted them despite their shortcomings.

Then their tribe lost a feud: adults slain, males slaughtered, women taken, the “useless” sold.

Not only had they been defeated; the world stomped on their pride.

Everywhere they went they were treated as worthless, never feared. That hurt worst of all.

“If we train under you, we can become threats, can’t we?”

“At the very least, you’ll frighten the average nobody.”

They would be battle slaves. Usually that meant shoddy weapons and throwaway ranks—something proud girls would reject.

But if they could become a force to be feared, slave status didn’t matter.

“Understood… Chieftain-sama, please.”

“Talking big for slaves. And you lot?”

“U-um, if it’s an order…” the dark elves mumbled.

Gaikaku laughed. “That’s fine for now—the others started the same way.”

The ogre women currently brutalizing corpses had once been just as passive.

The dark elves could hardly believe it.

※

The mission was finished.

The ogres’ heads would go to the count; their bodies stayed for the villagers.

The peasants could finally live in peace.

Gaikaku’s party pulled back, rejoining the camp on the riverbank.

Half the ogre women had remained there; the others strode in, proudly brandishing trophies—apparently they really hated ogre men.

The beastkin were appalled, the dark elves strangely understanding.

Even dropouts harbor resentment—they simply tell themselves they deserve it because they’re inferior.

Given power and a target—even an unrelated one—who knows what cruelty they might unleash?

That thought kindled nasty curiosity.

How enjoyable was that violence? The dark elves, who’d never known real joy, couldn’t imagine.

They brooded till nightfall.

Sigh.

Dropout dark elves hated the dark; it reminded them of their failings.

Dark elves are quick and see well at night—even failures surpass humans—but within their race they were mocked for “barely seeing.”

In human lands it was the same: “Some dark elf you are.” Sadly, it was true—even Gaikaku thought so.

Yet for some reason he gathered these rejects, armed them, and let them fight—not as expendables but as zero-loss contributors.

…They were honestly confused—and didn’t realize confusion felt a bit like hope.

“Let’s sleep.”

“Yeah, we’ll get scolded if we don’t…”

They headed for their assigned tent… and saw the assault team of ogre women slipping into Gaikaku’s tent.

Dark-elf ears were keen; they heard everything.

‘Back again, are you?’

‘Killing our own males gets us so excited!’

‘Troublesome biology… Fine, here’s the usual potion.’

‘Thank you!’

They got the idea. Ten women of any species entering one man’s tent—no innocence there.

And it wasn’t romantic…

‘Guess I’ll drink some too. Every time, it’s exhausting…’

The ogres were simply riled up; what followed would calm them.

The dark elves could hear drool dripping, hurried clothes rustling, the weighty pounce, flesh on flesh, wet sounds…

Sleep was hard to come by.

※

Morning arrived; Gaikaku rose as if nothing happened, not even tired.

Half the ogre women—those who’d entered his tent—still hadn’t woken.

Meaning he’d “battled” ten women each more than twice his weight and won.

The dark elves had to ask:

“Um… Lord-sama, are you all right?”

“Mm? Oh.”

Guessing their concern, he explained:

“There are ‘strengthening potions’ and ‘weakening potions.’ Both are illegal—weak ones get used in crimes, strong ones wreck the body if abused. They’re contraband.”

“I-I see…”

“So keep it from the soldiers, okay?”