The First Patriarch: Streaming My Cosmic Harem

Chapter 50: Chapter 50: Surprising The Duchess

A/N: And here it is! This is the 4th Chapter of the day, fully delivering on the makeup Chapters I promised for the day I missed. Happy Reading!!

-x-

For five grueling hours, the dirt arena became a crucible of breaking bones and reforming muscle.

The standard fatigue potions Rosalind kept pouring down his throat, they reset his body’s threshold for agony, forcing him to experience the absolute peak of muscle failure over and over again.

But with the fivefold multiplier from the high-tier elixir running through his veins, every single agonizing rep was yielding terrifying results.

Deep within his consciousness, his system ledger began to update at a frantic, overlapping speed.

[PHYSICAL REFINEMENT — MULTIPLIER ACTIVE]

Explosive Gravity Push-ups (1,500 Reps under 5x Gravity) -> +2 Physical Prowess

Weighted Obsidian Pull-ups (1,000 Reps) -> +1 Physical Prowess, +2 Endurance

Temple Pillar Clean-and-Jerk (500 Sets) -> +2 Physical Prowess, +3 Endurance

[SYSTEM QUEST COMPLETED]

Quest Title: The Path of Physical Refinement

Laps Calculated: 41 Laps Ran.

Reward: +41 Exp.

[Ding]

[You have leveled up!]

Azriel wiped a thick mixture of sweat and dirt from his brow, his chest heaving like a blacksmith’s bellows as he dropped a massive stone pillar back onto the shattered earth.

The crushing weight of the localized gravity field suddenly vanished from his shoulders, and he felt a profound, structural change deep within his skeletal frame.

He felt denser.

Stronger.

After a few minutes of observing his rapid recovery, Rosalind looked at Azriel and let out a satisfied smile.

"Well, the physical conditioning is done. Now, let’s move on to actual combat."

The moment he heard the word combat, Azriel couldn’t stop a massive, almost childishly excited grin from breaking across his face.

Deep down, he was still an Earthling who had spent his youth reading action webnovels and playing video games.

He had absolutely not forgotten his dream of executing those beautifully fluid, insanely cool moves, the kind of legendary, cinematic sequences where the main character pulled off a flashy stunt and left everyone completely speechless.

Looking at his uncharacteristic, boyish enthusiasm, Rosalind chuckled softly, the strictness in her posture softening for a brief second.

She walked over to a nearby weapon rack that Nyra had brought out, gesturing toward it.

"According to your system requests and preferences, you’ve chosen to specialize in dual gauntlets and the kusarigama."

Hearing that he had selected a weapon as notoriously volatile and complex as the chain-scythe, Captain Nyra couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow, a spark of genuine curiosity lighting up her cold eyes.

"I see what you’re aiming for," Rosalind continued, her tone turning analytical.

"And I’ll be honest, it will not be easy to master. The synchronization required to manipulate a weighted chain while maintaining close-quarters momentum is immense. But seeing your resilience and determination today, I know you have the drive to pull it off."

She stepped back, handing the floor over to her captain.

"To start your journey, Captain Nyra will be taking the lead," Rosalind explained.

"Fist-to-fist close-quarters combat happens to be her absolute specialty."

Nyra stepped forward, her leather armor creaking softly as she fell into a flawlessly balanced, relaxed stance.

"For now, I will strictly be teaching you hand-to-hand combat. My goal isn’t to give you rigid forms, but to violently awaken your survival instincts and get you accustomed to the chaotic flow of a real battle. Once your foundations are set, the Duchess will look for an elite specialist to instruct you in the arts of the kusarigama."

Nyra’s tail gave a sharp, decisive flick in the dirt. Her fists came up, guarding her face as her icy gaze locked onto his.

"So, Sir Azriel... let’s get started."

Nyra rolled her shoulders, her stance shifting slightly as she lowered her center of gravity.

"Fist fighting isn’t just about swinging your arms like a maddened beast," she began, her tone crisp and instructional.

"The power of a punch doesn’t originate from your shoulder, it starts from the earth, travels through your legs, rotates your hips, and explodes through your knuckles. To achieve that, footwork is the absolute foundation of any combat art. If your feet are sloppy, your balance is broken, your power is halved, and you become nothing more than a stationary target."

To demonstrate, Nyra moved.

In a terrifyingly fluid blur, she stepped forward.

Step, pivot, strike.

She executed a rapid, lethal sequence in quick succession: a snapping left jab, a heavy straight thrust that sent a mini-sonic boom rippling through the dirt, and a swift, rhythmic slip to the side to deliver a devastating counter-hook.

Every single strike was perfectly synchronized with her lightning-fast footwork, her boots leaving precise, measured patterns in the dust.

She snapped back into her relaxed stance, completely unbreathed. "Replicate the footwork first. Don’t worry about the speed, just focus on the—"

"Like this?" Azriel interrupted nonchalantly.

Beneath his calm, indifferent facade, he was aggressively biting back a triumphant, chaotic grin.

The 21,000 KP growth-type ability he had integrated just hours ago was pulsing in his mind, rewriting his neural pathways.

The combat instinct and spatial memory flooded his muscles.

He took a step forward.

Step, pivot, strike.

Azriel vanished from his spot, bursting forward with an explosive, pitch-perfect imitation of Nyra’s stance.

His left arm snapped out in a blinding jab, his body rotated seamlessly into a thunderous straight thrust, and with a supernatural fluidity that defied a beginner’s logic, he slipped to the side, his boots cutting the exact same geometric patterns into the dirt, and delivered a flawlessly balanced counter.

Though slower than her, it was a mirror image, just perfect.

Captain Nyra froze.

Her arms slowly dropped to her sides, her jaw tightening as she stared at the dirt patterns, then back up at Azriel.

For the first time since he had met her, absolute, unadulterated shock shattered her icy composure.

How the hell did he do that on the first try?

Those moves were textbook perfect, executed with the muscle memory of a seasoned brawler who had practiced the sequence ten thousand times.

Behind them, even Rosalind stood completely paralyzed, her golden eyes widening into massive saucers.

Her mind violently flashed back to just two days ago, inside the enclosed training hall, where she had gotten rough with him.

Back then, Azriel was a complete, uncoordinated disaster.

He couldn’t dodge, he couldn’t balance, and he had absolutely zero combat awareness.

He was practically a helpless lamb.

And now? He had just effortlessly replicated a high-tier captain’s specialized close-quarters sequence without a single flaw.

The Duchess stared at his broad, sweating back, her mind completely short-circuiting as a single, bewildered question echoed in her head:

What the actual hell happened to him in two days?!

-x-

A/N:

50 Chapters down, and we are just getting started!

Thank you all so much for riding with me this far.

We’ve built an amazing foundation, but there are so many epic moments still to come.

Keep the support coming, hit those votes, and let’s crush the next milestone together!