Barbarians.
The strongest of the human race. Their name alone made Giants grit their teeth and reconsider a fight. Bloodthirsty, wild, and insane, they were known as the ones who stood closest to beasts while still being men.
But even among a race of monsters, there was a rotten apple.
Ragnar.
Since birth, his body was weak. When the other boys his age split boulders in half or dragged back the carcasses of giant boars, Ragnar could barely lift the scraps left behind.
When the young men grew into towering savages that women drooled over, he stayed scrawny, hauling scraps on his back like a servant. By twenty-eight, most men in the tribe already had wives, children, and a legacy. Ragnar had nothing but sneers at his back and pitying looks from the old.
The women especially despised him. What use was a man without strength?
The truth, however, was that the original Ragnar was already dead.
In his place sat someone else: a modern man, infamous for one thing alone — his obsession with sex. A sex maniac who had tasted every flavor of woman he could get his hands on: single girls, wives, milfs, even his ex-girlfriend's mother.
And it was while pounding her pussy from behind that fate twisted. He got caught, panicked, pulled out wrong, and the sharp pain that followed was enough to kill him.
When his eyes opened again, he wasn't in a hospital bed but in the body of Ragnar.
Now he sat on a grassy hill, surrounded by roaring barbarians who devoured meat and bone like wolves. Their bodies were huge — most of them towered over Ragnar, their arms thick as tree trunks. Their clothing was little more than scraps of fur and leather that showed more skin than they hid.
The men were terrifying enough, but the women…
Voluptuous, powerful, dangerous. Their tits were full and heavy, straining against crude bindings of cloth and hide. Their hips were wide, asses round and firm, perfect for breeding — and everyone in the tribe knew it.
They were trophies as much as warriors, admired for their beauty and lusted after for their strength. Even while gnawing meat with blood dripping down their chins, their bodies screamed of raw, savage sex.
'Fuck. I just had to end up in this useless body.'
He groaned, grabbing a hunk of grass and tossing it aside.
'Man, I can't even fuck anymore. What's the point of living if my cock won't see action?'
That was when a shimmering light appeared before his eyes. Letters formed in the air.
[ Congratulations to the Host. You have achieved the extraordinary. ]
"What?"
[ You have died of extreme sex. ]
Ragnar blinked. Then his lips curled. "Well, I'm not that great…" He rubbed under his nose, trying to look humble but glowing with pride inside.
[ As such, the Goddess of Lust and Fertility has chosen you as her temporary apostle. ]
"The Goddess of Lust, huh?" His grin widened. "Now that sounds more like it."
[ Please complete the tasks given by the Thrust System and earn permanent membership. ]
Ragnar burst out laughing. "Permanent membership? What am I, signing up for a porno site?"
[ THRUST SYSTEM ]
[ Task: Have sex with a female barbarian. ]
[ Time Limit: 1 week. ]
[ Reward: Strength +50 ]
His heart kicked in his chest. Strength. If there was one thing he needed in this brutal tribe, it was that.
Then another screen appeared.
[ PROFILE ]
[ Name: Ragnar || Sex: Male || Age: 28 || Strength: 5 || Mana: 0 ]
The information was painful to bear.
The screen flickered again.
[ Given that you are chosen, you will receive a trial pack. ]
"Now that's what being isekai means."
[ Trial Pack: Strength +25 || Skill: View Others' Profile. ]
[ Warning: Trial pack expires in one week. Complete the task to make it permanent. ]
Ragnar flexed his arm. For the first time, his muscles felt… not entirely useless. The power was there, faint but real. He smirked and stood, letting his long hair sway in the wind.
"Temporary?" He smirked. "That's not an issue. Any woman will fall for my charismatic looks."
His smug moment was cut short when a greasy bone flew through the air and smacked him across the face.
"Oi!" Ragnar roared, spinning around.
The barbarians around the fire laughed like animals, chewing loudly and tossing bones to the ground.
Ragnar clenched his fist. "Very well, you'll be the first target. Let's see how strong you are to be acting so cocky—"
Then he froze. His new skill had triggered, showing her profile.
[ Strength: 42 || Age: 20 ]
He blinked. "Forty… fucking… two?"
She was barely out of girlhood by barbarian standards, yet she could snap him like a twig. And barbarians only grew stronger with age. If she was at 42 now, what the hell would she be at thirty?
"She must be a special case…"
He checked another nearby woman. Strength: 44. Another: 47.
One hulking brute of a female sitting cross-legged near the fire? 51.
Ragnar's bravado melted instantly. He sat back down, folded his hands, and muttered under his breath. "Let's take one step at a time."
He looked up at the sky, trying to keep his composure. "Rome wasn't built in a day."
A bird soaring overhead let out a cry, then shat right onto his face.
His expression didn't change. He wiped it slowly, and said dead serious.
'What shitty luck.'
The next six days were hell.
He tried. He approached women, attempted smooth lines from his old world, even tried acting dominant. But barbarians only respected one thing: strength. And no matter how many trial muscles he flexed, they saw him for what he was — the weakest man in the tribe.
Most didn't even spare him a glance. Others laughed in his face. One spat in his chest.
Even when he got one to listen, his modern flirting went over her heads. Barbarians had simple minds, focused on fighting, breeding, and meat. His clever jokes were wasted.
Failure after failure.
But on the sixth night, when he was forced to sleep outside the communal huts because no one wanted the weak—
"YES! I know, I'm weak as fuck. Stop repeatedly mentioning the same thing."
He cursed at the night sky, breaking the flow of his own story, then rolled over and sulked.
That was when he heard it.
A rustle in the bushes.
He crept toward the sound, and a woman was lying under the open stars, her body stretched across the grass.
She was voluptuous, curves outlined by the faint moonlight. Her breasts were massive, barely held by strips of leather that did little more than cover her nipples. Her waist dipped into wide, fertile hips, her ass round and shamelessly exposed through the gaps in her fur skirt. Despite the chill in the air, she slept with her skin bare, as if the cold meant nothing to her barbarian blood.
Ragnar swallowed. His cock twitched in his loincloth.
He stepped closer. "Hey. Why are you sleeping outside? Were you kicked out too?"
The woman cracked one eye open. Her gaze slid over him, then she shut it again and turned her back.
She ignored him.
He twitched. A vein throbbed at his temple. 'Fuck. I know you saw me.'
Grinding his teeth, he calmed himself and called on his skill. Her profile appeared.
[ Strength: 26 || Mana: 0 ]
His eyes widened, then narrowed into a smirk.
Finally, he found one weaker than him.
He clenched his fist, grinning like a wolf.
'If strength is everything in this tribe… then this time, I've got the upper hand.'