An ogre’s horns are often a vital part of one’s identity, tied directly to their tribe and crucial in defining who they are. After all, this is a species that has earned its reputation as a warrior race, built entirely for battle. While their massive frames and well-developed canines certainly mark them as ogresses, few would disagree that it is the horns—those symbols of fierce fighting spirit and overwhelming attack power—that truly embody the essence of an ogre. Because of this, ogres hold their horns in extremely high regard. Since horns are living organs that continue to grow, they require constant care: shaping them, trimming their length, or even carving tribal insignias into them. Yet no matter how close the bonds between tribe members, this work is never done by anyone else. Doing it with one’s own hands is an ogre’s point of pride. Most other races might not notice all that effort, but in truth, horn craftsmanship has its own trends and fads—horns split to form forked tips at the very end, evenly spaced notches carved along the shaft, or sharpened to a razor edge so acute they could pierce through with minimal pressure. “These fancy horns looked cool when we were young,” is often heard as a defense from middle-aged ogres. Technically, none of these modifications offer any real advantage in combat, yet for hot-blooded youth who’ve survived countless rough battles, seeing an undamaged and stylish pair of horns remains surprisingly attractive. Though, most often, they end up chasing that dream only to break off halfway through, leading to bitter regret afterward.
Enough with the side notes. Arnie Boyd, Private (an 19-year-old ogre male, a romantic at heart), is just not the type of guy who’d ever indulge in those nasty horn modifications. To make matters worse, despite being a dual-horned ogre, he’s missing one. For some reason, it was yanked out from the base and won’t grow back. By ogre standards, that already makes him pretty uncool. Still, he’d cared deeply for whatever remained, but just a few months ago, even that broke off with a snap. Well, considering he saved lives and wooed his sweetheart in exchange, he accepted it enough at the time. But lately, since it’s grown back significantly, he’s been deep in thought about what to do now.
“Hey, Boyd, staring at that hand mirror again?”
“Oh, it’s you, Sergeant Rackman.”
Arnie was caught gazing worriedly into his hand mirror when Greg Rackman, fellow Private (dwarf), addressed him.
In plain terms, a Private is just a probationary soldier—the lowest rank in the hierarchy. While Greg, being Arnie’s peer and same-ranking comrade, wouldn’t get mad if Arnie dropped formal speech, even so, given that dwarves are known for their grizzled beards like bears, calling someone with such a rugged facial hair by first name alone felt uncomfortably familiar to the young Arnie.
“Guys staring in hand mirrors while pretending to have a thousand faces? Kinda creepy, man.”
“Oh, uh, hehe… I mean, it’s about the horns.”
“Yeah, the horns?”
In Celesta’s Northern Legion Crossbow Corps, where Arnie serves, ogres make up nearly 20% of the support units—an unusually high number.
Naturally, there are some who understand the deep attachment to one’s horns and could gauge just how special—or pitiful—Arnie’s situation is.
Greg recalled that fact and wore a vaguely uncomfortable expression. He wasn’t great at comforting people anyway.
Seeing Greg’s dubious look made Arnie panic instantly.
No, he wasn’t worried about having broken them off again.
“U-uh, I mean… maybe it’d be time to file down the horn into a cone shape soon? That kind of thing.”
“Oh yeah, I remember how they looked when you broke one off like this.”
Greg held up his fingers to show a gap of about 5 centimeters. Arnie’s memory felt like there was more space before—but details don’t matter much. There’s no point expecting others to remember the specifics anyway.
“Yeah, well, that’s pretty much it. But since they’ve grown quite a bit now, I think it’s time.”
“If so, why don’t I lend you a really sharp knife?”
“N-nah, I got my own grooming tools already.”
The real issue was whether he should even do it.
From an aesthetic standpoint, there’s no reason not to. The problem lies elsewhere.
Arnie’s girlfriend, Sylvia MacLean—a 19-year-old human female known for her purity—had been saved from what nearly turned into a tragic car crash involving Arnie risking everything to rescue her. Currently, she treasured the broken horn fragment that had fallen off during that incident, wearing it as part of her necklace proudly. At first, seeing how happy Sylvia was when he gave it to her made him feel incredibly pleased. But ever since then, sometimes she’d point out the jagged break mark and use it for cheesy emotional speeches—like “I’ll always thank you for our chance to meet,” or “I’m grateful for fate itself,” or worse, “Hey Arnie, don’t you think fixing this little flaw on my skin is cheap compared to how beautiful I am?” Yeah, yeah, that kind of cringe-worthy flattery. Now, it’s become one symbol of their bond—the broken mark itself. That’s the dilemma gnawing at him: should he really erase that scar? “Get it? So hit me good then. Full force.” “If only you could spare me…”
Greg’s height looks like that of an infant when compared to Arnie’s hulking frame, but with the inherent power of a dwarf race, he could certainly render Arnie unconscious with a single blow. Sensing a genuine killing intent lurking within Arnie’s pleasant smile, he slowly backed away. “Um, well, to be serious, if doing that satisfies you, I think doing so repeatedly is perfectly fine.” “Eh, yeah, sure, that’s right… but it’s undeniably awkward.” Yet, even for Arnie, there was such a thing as an ogre’s sense of beauty, and he cared about how others perceived him. To put it bluntly, leaving the horn broken without repairing it simply looked terrible. Exposing it while walking alongside Sylvia felt like making her look ashamed too. “Hmm… I don’t know what to do…” “I suppose no one except ogres really cares anyway.” “Basson, there seem to be quite a few ogres after all…” At the intersection of cultures, between love and appearance. Consulting Sylvia could be an option, but doing so would only make her look lonely and end up with her saying something like, “It’s fine if we cut them off.”
While Arnie groaned in anguish, stroking the daikon-radish-like horn that had lost its tail, the front entrance of the barracks grew somewhat lively. “Someone must have returned.” “Seems like it.” Over the past few days, the clamor had become significantly more frequent. Accompanying matters handled by the captain leading one hundred men, there had been an unexpected three-month leave of absence. With its end approaching in just a few days, more and more soldiers were preparing to return. Even though these troops belonged to the military under work-related arrangements, they consisted almost entirely of young single soldiers, so their sense of camaraderie was strong. Some even brought mountain-like piles of souvenirs, turning each soldier’s return from their initial leave since forming the unit into something akin to a small event. However, the way things were getting noisy felt a bit off. “Hey, hey, Boyd, Rackman! Come over here for a sec! And clap my cheeks! No, if you guys do it for real, I might lose an ear, so be gentle!” “You said it yourself, Lieutenant Jack.” “Can we just use a forehead tap?” “No, I meant something like that… ah, forget it, come on over here!” Looking at each other, the two followed after Jack. When they turned toward the entrance, there stood a giant bull-like figure. No, an ogre sub-species male who looked like a bull: Sergeant Kelly Isaac. Standing beside him—or rather, leaning against his lower half—was a woman with upright posture and an imposing aura. “…a woman? She doesn’t look much like a civilian to me.” “That’s a military-style mantel, same fabric as the ones worn by Anzeros’ unit.” “W-what, she’s close, right? Is she standing very close to Sergeant Isaac?” “No, I mean, it’s just that Sergeant Isaac is too big, isn’t he?” “Yeah, that guy alone blocks up the entire entrance!” “No, no, no! But I saw her walking over from there, and she actually climbed onto Sergeant Isaac’s shoulders!?” “Wow.” “Just witnessed number one most enviable ogre situation ever…” ”…” Arnie looked slightly away, since he had done something quite similar upon Sylvia’s request. Sharply noticing this, Jack and Greg sent him a glare filled with dislike. Regardless of that… “It seems like they’re introducing themselves to everyone right here in the entrance hall.”
“Hey, hey! We’re comin’ to listen!” “Hold it right there!! Damn it, don’t just leave the short-legged bastard behind!” The three of them scurried off with a frantic patapat of footsteps.
“Pleased to meet you.”
As the woman in the cloak struck a formal Celesta military salute, the trio reached within earshot. Watching everyone around exchange greetings with slightly slouched expressions, the three hastily pressed their fists against their left chests in return.
“Hey, hey, what’s goin’ on?”
When Jangnack asked another soldier standing nearby, that soldier hadn’t even opened his mouth yet when she offered a faint smile and repeated her words.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance too. I’ve transferred today from the Western Military Forces of Celesta, Third Infantry Regiment. My name is Rinne Mikagami, acting private. My branch remains infantry; I’ll be serving as a guard.”
“Ahh… yeah, well, Private Mikagami technically holds the title of Ace Knight. Also, she’s a werewolf hybrid and my—uh, so-called fellow townsfolk, or rather, the granddaughter of an old geezer we grew up with,” Kelly rushed to explain as hard as he could.
With a cool expression, Rinne removed her hair ornament and lifted her formerly hidden ears into view.
“I enlisted because I idolized Captain Isaac Ten Commanders. From now on, please take good care of me.”
“H-hey, uh… Mi… Mikagami?”
“No need to strain yourself; just call me Rinne. …And as we’ve already stated, there’s no issue with our relationship, correct, Mr. Kelly?”
“No, well, uhh…”
The unmistakably trusting gaze and demeanor he displayed toward her, coupled with Kelly’s utterly flustered and suspicious behavior, made it clear.
“Ugh, ugh. Take care of you too, Private Mikagami.”
And representing everyone, Bit Williams (human race, 28 years old, burning with jealousy), also a Ten Commanders alongside Kelly, stepped forward with a toothy grin.
“And Isaac. After this long journey, things are rather bleak for us, but morale for rigorous training is running high!”
“Ah, ah… so, um, Williams?”
“Naturally, you’ll lead the charge, Isaac. As a soldier of Celesta.”
“Calm down. Hold on. Let’s try to act rationally as soldiers of Celesta.”
“Ugh, ugh. Nobody’s lost their sanity yet!”
”…………”
Among this height difference nearly double his own, the bull steadily lowered his head in silent defeat.
“Gh… uh…”
“Uh, ugh, you guys are really keen on training? That’s great spirit! Truly worthy of a future Captain of One Hundred.”
“Iyo!! Captain of One Hundred Proxy Assistant Duty Guidelines!”
“So radiant!”
Chiming in as they spoke, the soldiers hurriedly headed toward the armory. Already, several who returned quickly began winding the strings of their crossbows with nostalgic effort.
“Well then,” Bit (human race, 28 years old, renowned for his plastered-on smiles) declared to Kelly with a beaming face.
“Shall we flee carrying shields meant to deflect arrows, or run away empty-handed?”
“What kind of binary choice is this!!!”
“Hurry up now! I was shooting targets just a while ago, so I’m already equipped!”
“Gh… uh… uwwaaaahhh!!”
Kelly sprinted toward the armory at full speed.
“Come on, everyone, chase him down! Once that bastard grabs the shield meant to block arrows, open fire!!”
“Yesaaaaaaa!!!!!”
The Crossbow Corps surged forward in high spirits, giving chase.
“Wai… wait a minute, Kelly… what are we doing with—”
“Just shut up and stop.”
Hank Bronson, the first-ranking soldier of the only remaining Anzeros detachment (the escort infantry), firmly seized her shoulder to bring her to a halt.
“This is part of the ritual.”
“Ritual…?”
“Yeah… look, neither the company commander nor the Anzeros squad leader is here right now.”
“What’s that got to do with it!?”
Their conversation was getting nowhere when someone finally pulled the trigger on this target practice meant for large-caliber weapons.
“Uooooooo!! Y-you guys aren’t seriously aiming to hit us, are you!!”
“Sorry, Squad Leader Isaac! It stings, but this is still training! Die.”
“We don’t enjoy doing this either! Get lost!”
“You’d better not think we’ll let this go just because you brought her here to show off! Going back to Kun and hooking up with a pretty girlfriend is one thing, but dragging her along for free? Don’t get me started! Sorry about that.”
“Don’t use some convoluted grammar to insult me!!”
The shield referred to as “arrow-blocking” was actually a colossal, super-heavy weapon lying around in the armory—one that wouldn’t be easy for anyone who isn’t an ogre to maneuver. It’s supposed to deflect crossbow bolts at close range, but with Kelly’s massive frame, it doesn’t even cover her entire body.
“Damn it! I got grazed! I was grazed, you son of a bitch!!”
Still, Kelly managed to escape the barrage by sheer determination.
”…What kind of unit is this place anyway?”
Welcome to the Northern Legion, one of the friendliest units around.”
It sounded like a joke, but it was probably true.
Night.
After the daytime commotion finally died down, everyone gathered in the mess hall for dinner, beginning their informal bonding sessions—asking Linné and Kelly how things were going and what they liked about each other.
“After all, that still counts as a blessing, friend.”
”…When I started dating Sylvia, it was great having both the company commander and the Anzeros squad leader around…”
“Hahaha, well, something like that wouldn’t be possible without someone as tough as Isaac.”
Watching Kelly and Linné sitting slightly apart from each other, looking somewhat annoyed yet oddly happy, Arnie secretly wiped a bead of cold sweat while patting his chest in relief.
Yep. Everyone’s scared.
“But…”
Now, Kelly also had a girlfriend.
That meant there was no reason for anyone to treat romantic matters with disdain anymore.
And besides, even though Kelly was a sub-species, she was still an ogre. When it came to horns, everyone shared a common understanding.
“Alright.”
Arnie quickly devoured the block of meat he’d been served—spiced and roasted (a super-male dish designed for voracious ogres)—then followed after Kelly as she got up from her seat first.
“Horns?” “Just file them down, why don’t you?” As expected, Kelly tilted her head at the suggestion—and Linné did too. “No, but… I mean… I just don’t want to cut off their shared memories or anything.” “Romantic much, Boyd?”
Kelly’s hearty laugh booming with grand flair and Linne’s gentle, approving nod. The somewhat rough-and-ready but caring Kelly paired with the quiet, reliable Linne—when lined up like that in stillness, they rather do make a picture-perfect couple. “Romance isn’t really the point, you know. But… I mean, between me and Sylvia, we’re different species… so I don’t want to lose even a thread of that bond.” “Gotcha. …Still, you two act so lovey-dovey that I think it’s time you picked up some self-assurance there.” “Tangible things are lovely, but holding on too tightly to them can make a woman uneasy. What if she feels her memories are trusted more than her own affection?” “Indeed…” “That’s why making the next step is probably the better move here.” ”…Next?” “Yes. We could carve out some fresh shared memories by having that precious horn of yours artfully trimmed.”
”…M-Maybe… that works?” Krik-krik, krik. Sylvia, using the small knife (which might as well be an axe to a human) and file that Arnie keeps handy, carefully tends to shaping her horns. “Oh, don’t round off the tip too much, okay? That’s how kids whittle their horns.” “Gotcha. …Hey, why did you think it was necessary to let me do this?” “T-That’s…”
“An ogre’s horn is sacred—it houses one’s pride in its very shape. That’s why no one else touches it.” “To hand that off to someone else… Well, back at my colony, sure—but seriously, it’s quite the bold courtship gesture.” ”…Hey, Kelly. Could I… get you to trim mine too?” “Eh? …A-ah, yeah. …Ugh, really starting to act all spoiled lately.”
“My pride lies in being able to have Sylvia like me. …If the horn represents my pride, then having her carve it herself is undoubtedly the most proud moment I’ve ever had.” ”…Geez.” “Hey, am I being too cheesy? That was a line Isaac taught me ten years ago to use when killing someone.” “No… I’m happy.”
“So let’s start with my right horn—”
“Kate!?”
“N-No, then you do the left one…”
“For that little cock of yours, how about having Kelly-san and big sis both jack off your horn-cock together~♪”
”…F-Fuck, ‘horn-cock’… Gulp”
“Wait a damn minute.”
“Hah-hah, Isaac. What are the odds?”
“U-Uh, W-Williams!?”
“But whose goddamn soulless duplicate is making those inappropriate remarks over there?”
“No, calm down. Let’s talk things through first. Anyway, this kid can’t speak in standard dialect yet.”
“Mhm… Hmm… Should we figure out which dialect ‘cock’ belongs to back at the barracks while getting some exercise?”
“Wait! Listen to me!”
This is deeply intertwined with Isaac’s chapter from Side Story 2, and I’ll be posting that soon too.