Chapter 1: Congratulations, You’re an Idiot

Pain.

That was the first thing he felt.

It was not a dull ache or the fading sting of a mild injury. No—this pain was raw, searing, alive. It roared through his body like fire, setting his nerves alight. Every inch of him ached as if he had been thrown off a cliff, rolled down a mountain, and then stomped on by an elephant for good measure. His head throbbed in time with his heartbeat, his limbs protested with every movement, and his mouth felt like someone had stuffed it with a fistful of dry sand.

He groaned. Or at least, he tried to. The sound that came out was more like a deep, guttural rumble—almost a growl.

That was when he noticed the smell.

Blood. Sweat. Dirt.

And something worse. Something rotting.

A battlefield.

His brain, sluggish and slow, tried to process what was happening. He struggled to move, but his muscles groaned under the weight of something heavy. Armor? He forced his fingers to flex, his hands clenching instinctively. They were huge. Massive. Thick fingers, rough with callouses, nails sharp and blackened. Not his hands.

A strange panic rose in his chest. He lifted his arms, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

Green skin.

Thick. Scarred. His arms were huge, like someone had inflated his body and added an extra fifty pounds of pure muscle. He forced his sluggish body to turn, his breath coming in heavy, ragged gasps. There was a puddle of water nearby, dark and murky, tinged red with blood.

He leaned over it, staring into his own reflection.

A broad, tusked face stared back at him.

His jaw was massive, heavy, like someone had grafted an anvil onto his face. Two massive bottom teeth jutted from his mouth—tusks, actual tusks. His nose was flat, his brow thick and heavy, his ears pointed. Small, beady eyes glowed faintly in the reflection, filled with confusion and horror.

"What the f—"

[Welcome to the Surgeon's System!]

The voice dinged in his head like a notification pop-up. Cold, mechanical, and—wait.

Was that sarcasm?

[Congratulations! You have been reincarnated as an ork.]

[Error: Intelligence downgraded to match your new species(jk there is nothing to downgrade).]

[Processing… Lowering IQ… Done!]

[New Objective: Don't Die Like a Moron.]

His eye twitched.

What?

Then the memories slammed into him like a freight train.

Dr. Adrian Voss. One of the best surgeons in the world. Years of medical school. Thousands of surgeries. A career built on precision, skill, and intellect. And then—the accident.

A routine operation. A minor complication. A loose cable.

A sudden, jarring jolt of electricity through his body. The feeling of every nerve firing at once. The smell of burning flesh.

Darkness.

And now… this.

A giant, green-skinned warrior with a sarcastic medical system lodged in his skull.

"…This is a joke, right?"

[Oh no, it's very real. And if you don't move soon, you'll be very dead.]

A shadow loomed over him.

His instincts screamed. He turned just in time to see a massive, armor-clad human soldier towering over him, sword raised high.

Panic surged through him.

His body reacted on instinct. He rolled—just barely—out of the way as the massive blade slammed into the dirt where his head had been. The force of the impact sent dirt and blood spraying into the air.

[New Quest: First Kill or First Death]

Objective: Kill the enemy before he kills you.

Reward: A Slightly Less Rusty Dagger.

Failure: Death. Obviously.

Ghaz'Rok—no, Adrian—scowled. "You're not helping."

[Not my job.]

The soldier roared and lunged again. No time to think.

His eyes darted wildly across the battlefield, searching for anything—a weapon.

His fingers closed around something in the dirt.

A war axe.

It was massive. Too big for a human. Heavy, thick, covered in blood. The weight felt wrong in his hands—but also familiar.

Like muscle memory.

The soldier came again. Fast. Too fast. His blade flashed in the smoke-filled air, coming straight for Ghaz'Rok's chest.

Move.

His body obeyed before his mind caught up.

He sidestepped, raised the axe, and swung.

The weapon whistled through the air—then connected.

A sickening crack filled the air. The soldier's eyes widened. His body went limp. He collapsed, his blood spilling into the dirt.

Ghaz'Rok stood there, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

The system dinged.

[Quest Complete! Reward: Slightly Less Rusty Dagger (Wow, you're so lucky!)]

A crude dagger appeared at his belt. Bone-handled. Rusted. It looked like it had been used to gut fish for twenty years.

He exhaled slowly.

"…I hate this."

[You should. Now get moving, genius, or you'll bleed out before your next reward.]

That's when he noticed it.

A deep gash along his left arm, leaking dark red blood.

His medical instincts kicked in immediately.

Clean the wound. Stop the bleeding. Prevent infection.

He looked around.

The battlefield was filthy. Mud, corpses, rotting flesh. No sterile tools. No antiseptics. Nothing but disease and death.

His stomach churned.

This was a nightmare.

The system beeped.

[Yep. Have fun.]

His fingers dug into the hilt of his new dagger, his jaw tightening.

No hospital. No sterile gloves. No scalpels or sutures.

Just war, blood, and filth.

And he was stuck in the middle of it.

He let out a long, suffering sigh.

"…I'm going to die in the stupidest way possible, aren't I?"

[Almost definitely.]