The First Patriarch: Streaming My Cosmic Harem

Chapter 47: Chapter 47: The Path of Physical Refinement

As Azriel turned toward the starting line, his fingers flicked covertly inside his pocket.

With a mental command, he accessed the Primordial Stream interface.

He took a quick photo from his Soul Eye for a catchy, high-engagement thumbnail: a split-screen edit featuring himself looking remarkably sharp in his training gear next to the formidable, tightly clad Duchess.

Beneath it, he stamped a bold title: [TRAINING WITH THE DUCHESS].

With a sharp mental click, he hit the Go Live button.

The interdimensional stream broadcast signal went green instantly.

Within milliseconds, hundreds of notifications rippled across the higher realms, and the viewer counter began ticking upward at a dizzying pace.

Azriel threw a lazy, rogue smirk directly toward the invisible floating camera sphere.

"Yo, bitches! How are we doing today?"

The chat interface immediately exploded into a blinding blur of multicolored text as the higher-realm viewers flooded the lobby, greeting him with their usual affectionate hostility.

[Crimson_Fury] (White): Look at this shameless brat! Calling us names the second he wakes up?!

[Battle_Maiden_Vera] (White): Cursing your target audience? Bold move, mortal. I hope the Duchess snaps you like a twig today!

[Nine_Tailed_Vixen] (Cyan): Oh, look at those tight leggings on the Duchess... Sweetheart, are you sure you’re here to train or just to get stepped on again?

Azriel chuckled softly at the incoming wall of text.

"Don’t worry, my lovely degenerates, you’re about to get exactly what you subscribed for. The beautiful Master just ordered me to run an absolute hell-marathon. Fifty laps. Two hundred and fifty kilometers."

The chat room went completely wild, the text scrolling so fast it was nearly unreadable as a collective wave of laughter and mocking emojis filled the screen.

[Crimson_Fury] (White): HAHAHA! Yes! She’s going to run him into the dirt!

[Boundless_Slacker] (Red): 50 laps?! Rest in peace, kid. I’ll make sure to send a cheap digital wreath for your funeral.

[Star_Gazer_Yuna] (White): A spectacular display of cruelty! Truly a top-tier stream already.

Glancing away from the flashing notifications, Azriel minimized the visible chat overlay, locking his gaze strictly onto the open, dusty expanse ahead of him.

He couldn’t afford to be distracted by cosmic hecklers anymore.

As Azriel’s boots dug into the dirt track, kicking off into a steady, rhythmic stride, a sudden ping resonated deep within his mind.

The translucent screen of his system flashed urgently before him.

-x-

[NEW SYSTEM QUEST INITIATED!]

Quest Title: The Path of Physical Refinement

Objective: Push past your limits and run the laps ordered by the Duchess.

Condition: Rewards scale directly with your output.

Scaling Factor: 1 Lap = 1 Exp

Accept: [YES / NO]

-x-

’Hell yes,’ Azriel thought, instantly slamming the mental accept button.

Suddenly, a completely new wave of motivation flooded his system.

He wasn’t just running out of a visceral fear of what Rosalind’s sweet, terrifying smile promised if he failed, he was running for EXPs.

For the first four laps, a staggering twenty kilometers, he didn’t break a single drop of sweat.

His chest rose and fell in a calm, measured cadence, his breathing only a fraction faster than its resting rate.

Back on Earth, running five kilometers would have left him gasping for air.

But here, backed by the robust anatomy of a Nocthari beastman and the dormant potential of his Abyssal Ardor bloodline, his body adjusted to the kinetic output effortlessly.

As the wind rushed past his ears, Azriel felt a sudden, profound shift in his mental state.

For the first time since transmigrating, he wasn’t just reading stats on a floating screen, he was actively testing them.

He was beginning to grasp exactly how monstrous this new vessel truly was.

By the eighth lap, hitting the forty-kilometer mark, the sheer friction of the unrelenting pace finally caught up to him.

A thin sheen of sweat broke across his forehead, and the steady hum in his lungs elevated to a deep, heavy draw.

The initial ease evaporated, replaced by the crushing, inevitable reality of physical exhaustion.

As the initial novelty of the marathon wore off, the interdimensional stream room fell into a heavy, analytical rhythm.

Thousands of immortal eyes watched the tiny, mortal dot circle the massive dirt track.

By the 60-kilometer mark, the casual mockery in the chat began to slow.

The continuous, steady pace Azriel maintained without breaking form was beginning to raise eyebrows across the higher realms.

[Iron_Blood_Asura] (White): Wait a minute. Look at his stride. His breathing hasn’t hitched once. For a newly awakened, his baseline cardiovascular pacing is suspiciously optimized.

[Crimson_Fury] (White): Hmph, he’s just showing off for the Duchess. Let’s see him maintain that when the lactic acid build-up hits at 100km. He’s arrogant, he’ll crash hard.

But the crash didn’t come. 100 kilometers passed. Then 120 kilometers.

By the time he crossed the thirty-lap threshold, a brutal one hundred and fifty kilometers of continuous, high-speed sprinting, Azriel’s world contracted to the agonizing rhythm of his own pulse.

His legs felt like solid blocks of lead, the muscles screaming as lactic acid flooded his joints.

His breath tore from his throat in ragged, burning gasps, and the dry dirt of the track tasted like iron in his mouth.

Yet, a bizarre transformation was happening inside his mind.

The initial motivation, the superficial fear of what the terrifying Crimson Duchess would do to him if he failed, had entirely vanished.

In its place arose a primal, intoxicating clarity.

Through the sheer, agonizing ache gripping his entire body, Azriel could literally feel his physical limits expanding.

Every time his muscles tore under the strain, a violent, boiling heat flared from his left chest, radiating outward through his veins.

His Abyssal Ardor bloodline was working at a frantic, accelerated pace, feeding on the exhaustion, converting the physical trauma into pure, raw conditioning.

He was getting stronger.

It wasn’t a massive, reality-shattering leap in power, but the localized friction and the distinct, internal heat radiating through his flesh were unmistakable.

The physical feedback became an addiction.

-x-

A/N: Hey everyone! If you like where the story is going, please support it by adding it to your library and voting with your Power Stones. Every single vote counts and means a lot to me!