'Happy birthday!'

Mok, my father, granny, and I were all gathered in the empty space behind my father's house. Mok and I celebrated our birthdays together, as there was no way to know the exact day of the year either of us was born. It was little things like this that really separated this world from Earth, for example, no one knew exactly what time of the day it was either.

I have now spent a total of three years in this world, and it didn't seem new to me anymore. Most protagonists of the isekai stories I read back on Earth tended to really underplay the sheer amount of time they spent in their respective fantasy worlds.

'Raknar, come here.' My father's voice woke me up from my daydream. He was supposed to be hunting today, but he took a day off.

'Here, I have a present for you. Just don't stab yourself with it.' He stifled a laugh.

He reached behind his back and took out his old dagger. It was made from a material the natives called Trakk. It was very similar to obsidian, a bit tougher, and dark red in color.

'Thank you so much, dad!'

I truly was thankful. Not only was having a dagger great for self-protection, but I was also eager to get some practice in and learn how to use it.

I had also been doing a lot of strength training and eating as much as I could. I still had a very small body; however, I was noticeably stronger than the other kids my age.

My number one priority at the moment was simply not to die, and to minimize the chances of that happening, I had decided to become a solid hand-to-hand fighter before even picking up any weapon.

I never did any combat sports in my past life, so at first, I had no idea how to go about this. After not-so-careful consideration, I decided the best course of action was to simply fight as much as I could and then learn from experience.

My testing bunny, so to speak, was Mok. For years now, I antagonized him every chance I had. We fought almost every day, with the granny having to separate us over and over again. I tried to copy various moves I saw on TV in my past life and grew better at a steady pace.

The orcs' bodies were really amazing when it came to stuff like this. I honestly can't imagine two six-year-olds fighting it out without at least breaking a bone. Orc children were also less clumsy, maybe to better adapt to the harsh life in these forests.

However, Mok didn't just let me beat him up. He started fighting better as well, and especially excelled in grappling, choking me out an embarrassing amount of times. He was a naturally good fighter with sharp instincts, so I have no doubt he will be a great hunter in the future.

I also intentionally got into fights with the other kids in the village and got beat up more often than not, as they were all older and bigger than me.

'What did you get, Rak?' I looked up and saw Mok, beaming with happiness.

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'Grandma got me a sword!' He said, showing me a bone dagger, a bit larger than mine.

I was quite sure the bone belonged to a "ribba," which were huge fish that concealed themselves in the shallow waters on the edge of the river. It was not rare to see them killing bigger animals as well, like deer or wolves. It is said that if one of them bites you, the best move is to cut off the arm or leg it sank its teeth into.

He then saw my own dagger, his smile diminishing. He started frantically looking back and forth before his smile widened once more.

'Ha, mine's bigger! Your sword may be shiny, but you're not going to kill anything with that small knife!' He said, more to reassure himself than to make me mad.

"Yeah, yeah, your dagger is cool." I told him, not in the mood for arguing. He wasn't the type of person you could win an argument against. If he noticed he was losing, he would either start calling you ugly or dumb. A simple yet terrifyingly effective tactic.

'Roknar! Get your green ass to the chief's house immediately! Quick!'

I looked up and saw Thak, Thok's younger brother. He looked extremely nervous, the sweat on his forehead glistening in the sunshine.

'What the fuck…' My father muttered before taking off towards the top of the hill in a light jog.

I followed behind him, sprinting as fast as I could muster, trying to keep up.

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More than half the village stood around in a half-circle in front of the chief's house, me and my father included.

A deathly silence permeated the clearing, only the occasional pained moan breaking it apart.

On the ground, in the middle of the clearing, lay a young orc. He had a gaping hole in his stomach and an endless amount of blood pouring from it, dyeing the surrounding grass red.

Next to him stood the shaman. He already tried to patch the wound to the best of his efforts, yet the bleeding did not stop. However, he did not seem to give up just yet.

He reached inside his robe, pulling out a small figurine depicting Luts'iya, the goddess of fertility. He started chanting in the old tongue, waving the wooden figurine at the sky.

A faint, unnatural echo started to accompany his voice as he spoke louder and louder. His long, meticulously kept beard seemed to slightly flutter in the nonexistent wind along with the grass surrounding him.

I was excited. My heart was pounding like never before.

Am I really about to see magic?

For the past three years, I tried to feel my mana, qi, or any other fantastical energy within my body, to no avail. I was quick to notice many orcs performing impossible tasks, like lifting huge logs three times their body weight with relative ease. And yet, I slowly started losing hope.

The shaman, too, who I initially took for a real mage, looked more and more like a con artist with each passing day. And now, there was hope. Hope that magic really did exist in this world.

The shaman half-yelled the last couple of words, beads of sweat falling off his face. His knees gave in, and he sat down, clearly exhausted.

For a moment, nothing happened. Not one orc dared to say a word.

A warm, green glow slowly enveloped the figure, its eyes shining the brightest. My gaze was drawn towards them, and for a moment, it felt like I was being sucked inside the infinite nothingness inside them.

Suddenly, the figurine burst into bright green flames, and the green energy shot towards the dying orc, concentrating on his gaping wound. The bleeding stopped, and I could see the muscle fibers slowly connecting with each other, in real-time. The green glow slowly dissipated, and color returned to the young orc's face.

The gathered crowd collectively let out a breath they had been holding; cheers erupted, and many mothers and fathers stopped shielding their kids' gaze. Apparently, my father didn't bother. He wasn't cheering either.

I looked up at him just as he opened his mouth.

'Anyone care to explain what the hell happened?' He asked in a loud voice, drowning out the cheering.

Ghor slowly turned to him, his expression of relief quickly exchanged for one of anger.

'I think we both know what I am about to say, don't we, Ranknar?' He asked.

My father let out a defeated sigh. 'Fucking goblins?'

Ghor nodded. 'You guessed it. Fucking goblins.'