Reincarnated as an Ork, and the System Wants Me to Be a Doctor?!

Pain.

That was the first thing Ghaz'Rok felt.

A deep, throbbing ache pounded in his skull, like a war drum being beaten inside his brain. His mouth was dry as sand, his stomach churned, and when he tried to shift, his body screamed in protest.

His eyes fluttered open, and the dim morning light filtering through the wooden shutters felt like a blade to the brain.

He groaned, rolling over—then froze.

Druth'Roc was in bed with someone.

A small figure was curled up beside his brother, her back to him, long dark hair spilling across the sheets. Her greenish skin and slightly pointed ears marked her as a hobgoblin.

Ghaz blinked.

Then blinked again.

Then immediately looked away.

Druth'Roc, snoring loud enough to shake the walls, was still half-draped over her, one arm lazily slung across her waist.

Ghaz rubbed his temples. What the hell happened last night?

He searched his memory, trying to piece things together through the booze-induced fog.

There was drinking. Lots of drinking.

A bar fight. That was clear. He remembered throwing a human through a table.

Then… more drinking.

A challenge? Something about orcish drinking strength?

Then—nothing.

Just a massive, drunken void.

Ghaz exhaled sharply.

This is bad.

His stomach twisted again, and his head throbbed in protest as he sat up.

The room was a mess—clothes, empty tankards, and a broken chair leg scattered across the floor. The smell of sweat, ale, and bad decisions filled the air.

He looked down at himself. Still in his pants and tunic, though his boots were missing. Small mercy.

Then he glanced back at Druth'Roc.

Still sleeping. Still oblivious.

Ghaz'Rok sighed.

"Oi."

Druth'Roc didn't stir.

Ghaz reached for the nearest tankard, still holding a bit of stale ale, and dumped it on his brother's head.

Druth'Roc jerked awake with a roar, his stump where his arm used to be, instinctively swinging.

The hobgoblin woman muttered something, pulled the blanket over her head, and rolled away.

Druth, blinking bleary eyes, turned to Ghaz, scowling. "What the hell was that for?"

Ghaz crossed his arms. "Because I just woke up, my head feels like an ogre sat on it, and I'd like to know why you have a hobgoblin in your bed."

Druth glanced down at the woman beside him. His brow furrowed. Then his eyes widened slightly.

"...Huh."

Ghaz pinched the bridge of his nose. "That's all you have to say?"

Druth scratched his chin, still half-asleep. "Well… She's cute."

Ghaz groaned. "That's not the point."

Druth shrugged. "Look, I was drinking. She was drinking. Next thing I know, we're here." He smirked. "Guess I still got it."

Ghaz gave him a flat look. "You don't even remember her name, do you?"

Druth'Roc hesitated.

Then glanced toward the woman, as if hoping her name was written on her back.

Silence.

"...Does it matter?" Druth finally muttered.

Ghaz resisted the urge to smack him.

Before he could answer, the hobgoblin stirred, letting out a lazy yawn. She stretched, turning over to face them—her sharp, yellow eyes landing on Druth.

"...Morning," she murmured, voice still thick with sleep.

Druth gave her a wolfish grin. "Morning."

She blinked at him. Then at Ghaz.

Then at the room, frowning at the mess.

Then, her expression went blank.

"...Shit," she muttered.

Druth chuckled. "I was hoping for something more flattering."

She groaned, rubbing her temples. "Yeah, yeah. Look, did we…?" She gestured vaguely between them.

Druth grinned. "I mean, we woke up like this, so—"

She held up a hand. "Okay. Stop. I don't need details."

Ghaz sighed. "Great. So neither of you remember anything."

Druth chuckled. "Does it really matter?"

The hobgoblin shook her head, then sat up. "Well, whatever happened, I need to get back to work." She stood, stretching.

That's when Ghaz noticed it.

The small scar on her right shoulder. The way she moved—graceful, but measured. The slight calluses on her fingers.

She wasn't just a tavern girl.

She was a fighter probably skilled with a rapier or a dagger.

Ghaz didn't mention it, but he filed the thought away.

The hobgoblin tossed her shirt back on, then glanced back at Druth. "Name's Reza, by the way. If we meet again, try not to start with 'huh.'"

Druth smirked. "I'll think about it."

She rolled her eyes, then shot Ghaz a glance. "You should drink less. You look like you got hit by a cart."

Ghaz groaned. "I feel like it."

Reza chuckled. "Welcome to Brethus."

Ghaz muttered. "How do you know we are new?"

Then, with a lazy wave, she was gone.

As the door shut behind her, Ghaz slumped back into his bed.

Druth chuckled, stretching. "Well. That was fun."

Ghaz shot him a look. "You're an idiot."

Druth just grinned.

Silence settled between them.

Then Ghaz muttered, "So… what do you actually remember?"

Druth scratched his head. "Bar fight. Some beastkin insulted orcs, so we—"

"We?"

Druth smirked. "Alright, fine. I threw the first punch. You helped."

Ghaz sighed. "Of course."

Druth continued, "Then some dwarf challenged us to an orcish drinking game."

Ghaz winced. "Shit. That explains the headache."

"Yeah. You lost, by the way."

Ghaz'Rok scowled. "No way."

Druth smirked. "You blacked out first."

Ghaz groaned. "Damn it."

Druth laughed. "You're losing your edge, brother."

Ghaz rolled his eyes. Then, after a moment, he muttered, "We need to stop drinking like this."

Druth raised a brow. "We're orcs."

Ghaz exhaled sharply. "Yeah… but we're also alone out here. If we get into too much trouble, there's no tribe to back us up."

Druth'Roc's expression faltered.

For a second, neither of them spoke.

Then Druth sighed, rubbing his face. "Yeah. I know."

Ghaz sat up. "Come on. Let's get some food. Then we figure out our next move."

Druth grinned. "As long as it's greasy enough to kill a man, I'm in."

Ghaz rolled his eyes—but as they got up, he couldn't help but smile just a little.

They were hungover. Broke. Barely tolerated in this city.

But they were still alive.

And for now? That was enough.