Ragnar woke to a spear of sunlight stabbing straight through his eyelids.
He groaned, rolling onto his side and throwing an arm over his face. "What the hell…?"
His voice came out cracked and hoarse. He squinted against the glare, heart already thudding too fast. "Where… who…?"
The words died as his vision cleared enough to register movement, massive, charging movement.
A boar the size of a small pony barreled toward him across the flattened grass.
Each curved tusk looked easily twenty centimeters long, yellowed and wickedly sharp.
Nothing like the pigs back on Earth. This thing belonged in a nightmare.
Instinct screamed at him to jump. His body answered sluggishly, legs heavy as though they'd forgotten how to cooperate.
The boar's left tusk sliced a shallow line across his side as it thundered past. Hot blood immediately soaked his ragged tunic.
Pain flared, bright and real. Ragnar staggered, pressing a hand to the wound.
His pulse roared in his ears. *Stay here and I'm dead.*
He forced slow, deliberate breaths and scanned the clearing.
A lone, thick-trunked tree stood about fifteen meters away, sturdy, but not invincible. Better than nothing.
Keeping his eyes locked on the boar, he edged sideways through the knee-high grass.
The beast snorted, nostrils flaring, tracking every step. Its small, furious eyes never left him.
Ragnar's mouth twisted into a grim smile. "You look like you're holding a personal grudge."
The boar answered with another charge, this time faster, angrier, foam flecking its jaws from the earlier miss.
He waited until the thunder of hooves was almost on top of him, then threw himself sideways.
The impact was deafening. Wood splintered; leaves rained down. Both tusks sank deep into the trunk with a wet crunch.
The boar thrashed, hind legs churning dirt, trying to wrench free.
Ragnar didn't hesitate. He snatched the thickest fallen branch he could reach, a solid length of oak as long as his arm, and brought it down with every scrap of strength he had.
Again. And again.
Crack after crack echoed through the trees until the boar finally slumped, legs twitching once, then still.
Ragnar dropped to his knees beside the corpse, chest heaving.
The branch slipped from his blood-slick fingers. He peeled back the torn cloth at his side and grimaced.
The gash was wide, ugly, already swelling at the edges.
In a forest this deep, with no fire, no herbs he recognized, and no help in sight, infection would kill him faster than hunger.
He sat back on his heels, staring at the dead animal while his mind raced through survival basics: shelter, water, fire, food.
The boar alone could feed him for weeks if he could preserve the meat somehow, but first he had to,
A clear, mechanical chime rang inside his skull.
[Milf Conquering System – Initialization Complete]
[Main Quest: Seduce Rax's mother, Leila, and claim her as your woman]
[Reward: 250% permanent increase to base strength]
[Deadline: 3 days]
Ragnar stared into empty air.
"What the fuck."
For one wild second he hoped this was some elaborate prank, hidden cameras, a reality show, Sacha Baron Cohen in an evil-Santa costume. Anything but *this*.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, forcing himself to breathe.
"Not even ten minutes awake and I'm already on a timed fantasy porno quest. Fantastic."
He lifted his gaze to the canopy. Golden light filtered through the leaves, and a cool breeze brushed across his sweat-damp skin. For just a moment the world felt almost peaceful.
Then he looked back at the floating text only he could see.
Three days. Seduce a woman named Leila. Get stupidly strong as a prize. Fail… and who knew what the penalty would be.
In stories like this, failure usually meant something worse than death.
He snorted. "Great. Just great."
Before he could spiral further, the bushes to his left rustled violently.
A mountain of a man stepped into the clearing.
Broad shoulders, arms thicker than Ragnar's thighs, chest crisscrossed with fresh scratches and drying blood.
His breathing came in heavy gusts, like he'd just finished a war instead of a walk.
Ragnar scrambled backward, raising both hands in a useless guard. Every survival instinct screamed *danger*.
The giant stopped a few paces away, frowned down at him, and spoke in a low, rumbling voice.
"Ragnar?"
The name hit like a hammer. Familiar. Too familiar.
Before Ragnar could answer, white-hot pain exploded behind his eyes. His skull felt like it was cracking open.
He dropped to his knees, then to his hands, vision swimming.
He braced for the killing blow, those bloodied fists closing around his throat, but nothing came.
Slowly, agonizingly, the pain ebbed.
Memories that weren't his flooded in.
Val. His brother, not by blood, but by everything that mattered.
Val, the gentle giant with a soft heart hidden under all that muscle.
And who bruised inside whenever someone sneered at him.
And him Ragnar, the weakest hunter in the tribe. Mocked by children, pitied by elders, despised by the strong. Especially by Rax.
Rax, who hated him for one drunken night years ago.
One night when too much fermented honey had led to tangled limbs and Leila's soft gasps in the dark.
He fucked Rax mother, Leila.
In this world, bedding another man's mother was a stain deeper than murder.
Warriors lived and died by honor; that single act had branded Ragnar an outcast in all but name.
And yet…
Ragnar's mouth curved into a slow, dangerous grin as the last of the memories settled.
Leila. Full hips, heavy breasts, eyes that could burn or melt depending on her mood.
A woman built like a fertility idol carved from warm bronze.
He tapped his own shoulder, almost laughing despite the throbbing wound in his side.
"That's just perfect."
The tribe had iron rules. Only hunters with matching tallies of successful kills could formally challenge one another.
All Ragnar had to do was get stronger, strong enough to crush Rax in the open, and claim what he wanted along the way.
Starting with Leila.
He exhaled, long and steady, then glanced up at the giant still watching him with worried eyes.
Val tilted his head. "Where were you?"
Ragnar gave a crooked smile. "How very Val of you."
Val blinked, cheeks flushing. "I mean… where have you *been*?"
Ragnar jerked his thumb toward the boar carcass. "Lost my way hunting that thing. Figured it'd make a good dinner for us."
Val's face split into a relieved grin. He lumbered over, squatted, and hefted the massive animal onto one shoulder as though it weighed no more than a sack of grain.
Ragnar pushed himself upright, ignoring the fresh sting in his side.
He started walking toward the distant smoke of the tribe's fires.
Val fell into step behind him, silent and protective as always.
The forest stretched ahead, alive with bird calls and rustling leaves.
Three days.
A mother to seduce.
A rival to destroy.
And a ridiculous system promising strength beyond anything this body had ever known.
Ragnar's grin widened just a fraction.
He'd always been good at improvising