In the flickering firelight, Leo's gaze was locked on Lana. His initial, generic assessment of "raw appeal" was now being upgraded to a detailed, lascivious inventory. The system's translation might handle language, but it did nothing to filter the running commentary in his mind.
"Wow. Just... wow," he thought, his eyes tracing her form. "No makeup, no filters, no expensive gym membership. This is 100% organic, free-range beauty. And the packaging... phenomenal."
His eyes lingered on the swell of her chest, barely contained by the supple leather of her tunic. It moved with her breathing, strong and undeniable.
"Okay, those are... impressive. Seriously impressive. They make Sarah's expensive implants look like sad, deflated balloons." A smirk played on his lips. Sarah and her flowerpot felt a million years away.
His gaze then drifted lower, admiring the curve of her hips and the firm, rounded shape of her backside as she shifted her position.
"And that... that is a masterpiece of natural selection. Built for survival, sure, but right now, all I can think about is conquest." The word echoed in his head, both a system term and his personal goal.
His manipulative instincts, sharpened by a lifetime of sweet-talking his way out of trouble and into beds, kicked into high gear. The "Spicy Berries" had set the stage, but the real work was up to him.
"You know, Lana," he began, his voice dropping to a more intimate, conspiratorial tone. "The spirits whisper to me about many things. About hunting... about the future..." he paused for effect, letting his eyes meet hers with intense meaning. "...and about beauty."
Lana, emboldened by the berries and intrigued by this strange, smooth-talking shaman, didn't look away. "What do they say about beauty, Shaman Leo?"
'She's biting. Perfect.'
"They say that true beauty is a force of nature," he said, gesturing vaguely towards the cave entrance as if indicating the whole world. "It's wild, untamed, and powerful. Not something painted on or hidden away. It's like... the strongest hunter in the tribe. It should be acknowledged, not ignored."
It was a line full of fluff and nonsense, but he delivered it with the conviction of a prophet. He was reframing her entire cultural context of beauty to suit his own desires, making her see her own natural attributes through his lecherous lens.
"I have seen women in my land," he continued, leaning closer. "They try to create beauty with potions and tools. They are like faded copies of a painting. But you... you are the original. The spirit of the earth itself."
He saw a faint flush creep up her neck. 'Got her. She's not used to this kind of poetic manipulation. It's like using a laser-guided missile in a world of clubs.'
[New Conquest Opportunity: Win the Favor of the Huntress Lana.]
[Difficulty: Medium]
[Reward: 30 Gacha Points & Increased Tribal Influence.]
'Win her favor? Oh, I'm not just winning her favor. I'm planning a full-scale annexation,' he thought with internal glee.
He decided to seal the deal with a "divine" gesture. "The spirits of the hunt favor you, Lana. I can see it around you like an aura." He reached out, not touching her, but tracing a shape in the air near her shoulder. "It is strong. But it could be even stronger. Perhaps... I could perform a small ritual tomorrow. A blessing for your spear and your spirit. Just for you."
It was a blatant ploy to get her alone. A private "ritual" with the new, all-powerful shaman. The implication was as subtle as a mammoth, but in this context, it was revolutionary seduction.
Lana looked from his intense eyes to his confident smile, then down to his strange, soft-looking clothes. She was a savvy huntress, but his modern, manipulative tactics were a weapon she had no defense against.
"I... would be honored, Shaman Leo," she said, her voice barely a whisper.
Leo leaned back, a triumphant smile spreading across his face. He took a bite of the roasted meat, which was tough and gamey, but in that moment, it tasted like victory.
The following evening, Leo found himself in a smaller, secluded cave adjacent to the main chamber. It was a space the tribe reserved for the shaman's "sacred communions." The air was thick with the smell of dried herbs and earth.
Lana stood in the center, looking both fierce and uncertain. She had come, as agreed, for her private blessing.
'Okay, Leo, old boy. This is the big leagues,' he thought, rubbing his hands together mentally. 'No cheap dates, no flimsy excuses. Just pure, primal manipulation. And the set-up is perfect.'
"Lana," he began, his voice a low, resonant hum that echoed softly in the confined space. "The spirits are restless tonight. They are drawn to your strength. For the blessing to work, we must... align our own spirits. We must become one channel for their power."
He could see her chest rise and fall a little faster. The "Spicy Berries" from the previous night were gone, but the seed of suggestion he had planted was firmly rooted.
"I don't understand, Shaman Leo," she said, though her eyes held a spark of understanding.
"Oh, I think you do," he thought with a smirk. "It is simple. The ritual requires a physical conduit. A merging of energies. It may feel... strange. Intense. But you must trust me. I am the voice of the spirits."
He approached her slowly, like a predator circling its prey. He reached out and placed his hands on her shoulders. Her skin was warm and surprisingly soft under his touch. She flinched for a second, then stilled, her dark eyes wide and fixed on him.
"Close your eyes," he commanded softly. "Feel the energy of the earth. Now... feel mine."
He began to murmur a stream of absolute nonsense, weaving in words like "power," "primal force," and "union" to sound mystical. As he spoke, his hands slid from her shoulders, down her arms, and then to the laces of her leather tunic.
"This garment... it shields you from the world. But for the spirits, you must be open. Unburdened."
His fingers, adept from years of fumbling with modern clothing, made quick work of the primitive ties. The tunic loosened. With a gentle push, it slid down her body, pooling at her feet.
Leo's breath caught in his throat. The firelight played over her form, sculpting her curves in gold and shadow. She was every bit as magnificent as he had imagined—powerful, full-breasted, with strong thighs and that perfectly shaped backside he had so admired.
"System or no system, this is a conquest worth commemorating," he thought, his heart pounding not with nerves, but with pure, unadulterated lust.
He shed his own strange clothes—the jeans and t-shirt—which only added to his otherworldly aura. He guided her down onto the pile of furs that served as his bed.
The "ritual" began in earnest.