Dreaming of a Doljanchi
I dreamed of a doljanchi party. An endless dream of swinging a massive axe wildly across the great plains. But looking closer, the plains weren't plains at all—they were a wasteland, and the grass was just goblins filling the ground. Every time I brought the axe down, a goblin's head split open. After slaughtering hundreds, thousands of them, the wasteland was dyed red. I just stood there, staring at the scene. Was the blood-soaked earth redder? Or were my eyes, reflecting that sight, even redder? It was probably—
"Hiya!"
I shouted and woke up. Ugh, what kind of messed-up dream was that? I slapped my cheeks to shake off the daze. Right. I passed out after killing those goblins. It was such a memorable scene that even my dreams replayed goblin-slaying. Only two in reality, though.
I looked around. Not my usual wagon bed, but a tent. They'd probably carried my fainted self here. I got up and stepped outside. The sun was bright, so I hadn't been out long. Low in the sky, so still morning... morning?
"Ah! Ursa, you're awake!"
"Oh! She really is! Everyone, Ursa's up!"
The people who spotted me coming out of the tent started calling others. They swarmed in an instant. My brain couldn't keep up with the sudden chaos.
"Whoa, our tribe's little warrior is such a sleepyhead!"
"Lemme see that face. Hya~ Not a scratch on her!"
Gawking stares poured in like I was on display. Someone even pinched my cheeks.
"Hey, quit it... Eek! What the heck, everyone? What's going on? What day is it? The battle?"
I shoved away the hands tugging my face like it was slathered in honey. Somebody explain!
"We won, obviously. You okay, Ursa?"
"Deer Elder!"
The Deer Elder shooed the crowd away. Her hand was bandaged—hurt in the fight?
"What happened to your hand? You hurt? Everyone else? The enemies?"
"One at a time. It's nothing serious—just twisted it smashing goblin heads with my staff. Everyone's fine. Thick Fist got the worst of it, shoulder stabbed by a lizardman."
"Gasp!"
"It's okay. Not too bad, so Smoke-Eating Scales said rest and treatment, and it'll be fine."
"So... we won?"
"Duh. Total annihilation. Killed 'em all. Cleaning up the monster corpses was the hard part."
Everyone's faces were bright, so I knew we'd won, but hearing it straight finally eased my mind.
"Impressive. Winning this easy without losing anyone. We're pretty strong, huh?"
"..."
"...Deer Elder?"
Her face hardened at "no one lost." No way...?
"Why... You said Thick Fist was the worst hurt..."
"...Truth is, Sylvia fell in battle. Breaking through the goblins."
"Ah..."
War means sacrifices. No matter the odds, someone always pays the price. Battlefields don't discriminate—who dies when is just law of the jungle. Even I nearly bit it. Looks like Sylvia couldn't escape it.
...Damn. But who was Sylvia again?
"...Deer Elder. I just woke up, head's fuzzy. Uh... who was Sylvia? Her trace name? Might ring a bell..."
I asked carefully. The Deer Elder smiled.
"Oh! Not like that, Ursa."
"Huh...?"
"Sylvia's a sheep!"
"...Huh?"
Sheep?
Turns out Sylvia was the name of the sheep the wolf beastkin raised. Tripped during the sheep charge and got monster'd.
"Oh, that's what it was."
"Yeah. So don't be too down. You already scowl all the time—if you mope, it'll waste that pretty face."
Her head-patting eased me a bit. Then, thud thud thud. The ground shook.
"Whoops, the kids are here."
The Deer Elder sidestepped. A kid barreled straight at me.
"Sisssster!"
"Oof!"
Sonya crashed into a hug, rubbing her face all over mine furiously.
"Sis! Sis! Sis!"
"C-Calm down, Sonya. C-Can't... breathe...!"
"Ah! Sorry, sis. Got too excited~"
I peeled off the suffocating cling. But her speech was off—sudden polite?
"Wh-Why the formal talk all of a sudden...?"
"Cuz! I saw it right in front of me! How could I not respect you, sis!"
"Ah... ha...?"
"You were so cool, sis! Best sis ever! Super strong! Awesome!"
Ah. Right, Sonya watched up close. Must've impressed her. But wasn't my fighting kinda sloppy? Ended in a mud wrestle. In my memory, it was brutal. But to this little bear cub, it looked heroic. Admiration sparkled from her eyes.
...Was it that epic? She's always followed me, so maybe hero goggles. I patted her head; she giggled happily.
The other kids arrived with Bear Elder.
"Whoa! Ursa sis!"
"She's really up!"
"Dumb Basha. You think she'd fake it?"
"What? Wanna say that again?"
They bickered impatiently. I calmed the brats.
"Glad you look healthy, Ursa."
"Y-Yeah... thanks, Bear Elder. But I'm fine now—can I go?"
The whole tribe had gathered, staring. Their eyes were intense; I wanted to bolt.
"Hohoho. On a joyous day like this, how can the star be missing?"
Star...? What?
Bear Elder bellowed.
"Everyone gathered?"
"Yeah!"
"For today's star... applause!"
Wooo! Cheers and claps for me.
"Ursa! Happy birthday!"
"...Huh?"
Birthday? Whose? Mine? Amid the thunderous applause, I calculated dates. Plains grabbed us four days ago—no, one day fainted, five days; mirage a week ago; departure 14 days? So much lately, but yeah... Today marked exactly one year since I landed in this world.
"..."
I blankly looked around. Ragged clothes, minor wounds, salve on gashes. Fresh from fierce battle, yet sincerely celebrating me. I met Bear Elder's eyes—his usual melancholy gone, replaced by a fresh smile.
Sheesh, he said no birthday last time, but prepped this? That gloom was acting? Wait, no—my slip-up caused that.
"Happy birthday."
"Congrats."
"Welcome."
"Happy birthday!"
"Meeeh."
"Happy birthday, Ursa."
"Smile, kid."
Questions and words piled up, but later. One thing to do now: face them. Neighbors blessing me. So, smile back.
"Everyone... thanks!"
Thus, my first birthday in this world.
...
My unplanned birthday bash got a huge push from Bear Elder, doubling as victory feast—grand scale.
"Right there, I felt it. Losing? Nah, win. That thought surged power outta nowhere—"
Center stage, I spun goblin-slaying tales. Kids gasped at every line.
"Remember: no teeth, gums. No hands, headbutt supreme."
"Headbutt kills goblins!"
"Ursa sis has a stone head."
Admiring weirdly. Giggling among themselves. These punks, mocking me mid-tale? Fine, time for stone head taste—
"You brats! What kinda talk to Ursa sis?"
Sonya suddenly stood, scolding. I was more shocked than them.
"...Sonya?"
"Ack! Sorry, sis. Keep going. I wanna hear more!"
"Uh? Oh... right. Where was I...?"
"Till you stone-headed the tall goblin's nose flat with your head!"
"R-Right. So, anyway..."
Dong dong dong. Lunch bell. Super disappointing, but storytime ends. Sonya's head drooped sadly. Pat revived her. She's hooked bad. Days to calm. Nice change from usual teasing.
Enjoy till they revert. Lunch: meat! Finally. Past was bear soup or jerky; today, fresh-roasted.
Best comfort post-battle. Beef and mutton, whole animals roasting.
"Sniff sob."
"Slow down, Tamur. That good?"
"Tho good tho good."
Tamur crammed mutton ribs, tears flowing. Always yapping mutton; happiest now.
Who'd think it's his birthday. Everyone enjoyed rare meat.
"Hya~ Mutton here...? Beef alone's plenty, no need kill sheep...?"
Chewing stopped. Plains peaceful, not abundant. Livestock graze free, but our food sparse. Hence soup, cheese, jerky—minimize waste. Killing cow: big decision. Wait, this fresh mutton?
One cow feeds tribe stuffed. No need sheep luxury... Sheep? Morning chat flashed.
Deer Elder's voice: 'Sylvia fell...'
Ah.
'Sylvia's a sheep!'
Aaaah...! Realized. The truth of our mutton!
Drip. Tear rolled down.
"Sylviiaaa!!!"
Bravest little lamb sweeping goblins. Even in death, one with us forever.
You crazy barbarians! Never forgive! Won't forgive comrades eating our warrior Sylvia beyond beef. Swore, gnawed her ribs. Crunch crunch. Tearfully delicious. So this is Sylvia's taste.
...
Post-meal, Deer Elder summoned me to yesterday's battlefield.
"..."
"Haha. Kinda grim, huh?"
Her casual laugh clashed site: green plains scarred, soil flung, blackened earth. Blood pools everywhere, dried dark mixing with dirt, darkening former green.
"Why bring me post-meal?"
"Pre-meal, it'd kill appetite."
"..."
Appetite died knowing meat was Sylvia. Why finish ribs? Can't waste!
"Haha. Don't look so glum. You'll like what's ahead."
Arrayed items: spears, swords, armor, clubs.
"These spoils?"
"Yup!"
Goblin junk to demon armor, flags. All loot here.
"Know it, Ursa?"
"What?"
"Baby's first birthday called dol. Doljanchi: lay items, pick one as gift."
"..."
No way...
"Our Ursa's eleven, but... first birthday here. Gotta do doljabi."
She beamed.
"Pick what you like. These are your doljabi gifts!"
"...Wow."
These insane barbarians. Who does doljabi with war spoils?!