The First Patriarch: Streaming My Cosmic Harem

Chapter 52: Chapter 52: Combat Training

She turned slightly, looking back at Captain Nyra, who was still standing frozen in a state of absolute shock.

"Well, Captain," Rosalind purred, her black-and-white striped tail swishing with a sudden, dangerous excitement.

"It seems our little monster doesn’t need to learn how to punch through months of tedious repetition. He just needs you to show him how it’s done. Don’t hold back anymore. Let’s see just how much that ’Insight’ of his can swallow before he breaks."

Azriel bit his tongue hard to suppress a highly inappropriate, roguish smirk.

A dirty joke about who exactly would be doing the swallowing later instantly flashed through his mind, but he wisely kept it to himself.

’Better save that one,’ he mused internally, realizing she hadn’t actually given him a blowjob yet.

He couldn’t help but let out a silent, inward sigh.

’Man, it’s a real uphill battle to even get a blowjob in a hyper-matriarchal world like this. Their pride is just way too high.’

Captain Nyra, entirely unaware of the crude mental metrics running through the mind of the mortal in front of her, didn’t need to be told twice.

The moment the Duchess gave the command, the lingering shock on the captain’s face hardened into a dense, severe focus.

She stepped directly into the center of the dirt arena, her heavy leather boots grinding against the earth.

"Your trait allows you to mirror my movements, Azriel," Nyra spoke, her voice dropping into a cold, drilling tone.

"But a mirror only copies the surface. It doesn’t understand the intent. A flawless shape without the weight of practicality behind it will still collapse the moment real blood is spilled."

She slid back into her standard close-quarters stance.

"Again. Square your shoulders. Drop your center of gravity. Show me the lead jab-thrust-counter sequence I performed earlier. Maximum speed."

Azriel smirked internally, his Warrior’s Insight humming in the back of his mind. He shifted effortlessly, letting the mapped muscle memory take over.

Step, pivot, strike.

In a blinding flash, he tore forward, replicating her exact sequence flawlessly.

His jab was sharp, his straight thrust cracked the air, and his counter-slip was mechanically perfect.

But just as his final hook reached its apex, Nyra didn’t dodge.

She simply tilted her head by a mere fraction of an inch, allowing his knuckles to graze her cheek, and violently drove her elbow upward, stopping it exactly a millimeter away from Azriel’s throat.

The abrupt halt forced Azriel to freeze.

"Perfect form. Zero combat adaptability," Nyra evaluated coldly, her icy stare boring into his violet eyes.

"You mirrored my previous sequence exactly because your trait memorized the spatial distance of my first demonstration. But I shifted my back foot two inches to the left before you lunged. Because you strictly copied the blueprint, your strike missed the centerline of my skull, leaving your entire thoracic cavity completely exposed to a fatal counter."

She stepped back, her tail lashing sharply.

"Again. This time, do not just copy. Read the distance. Lower your stance by another three degrees. Go."

Thus began a relentless, grueling tactical drill.

Even though Azriel could absorb and execute the basic physical forms on his very first attempt, Nyra refused to let him advance to flashy techniques.

Instead, she drilled him on the absolute basics, the foundation stances, the minute weight distributions, the repetitive hip rotations, over and over again until his shoulders burned.

With every single repetition, she hammered him with the cold reality of practical combat.

"Why do we drop the weight into the heel during a straight thrust?" she questioned, sweeping her leg out to test his balance.

Azriel instinctively adjusted his footwork using his heightened instincts.

"Because if your weight stays in your toes, a high-tier vanguard won’t bother parrying your fist, she will simply absorb the impact, grab your extended wrist, and shatter your arm at the elbow."

"When you execute a slip-counter, your chin must remain tucked into your collarbone," she barked, delivering a snapping slap to his jaw that he barely managed to weave around.

"If you leave your neck extended just to look cool, a seasoned assassin will use your own momentum to decapitate you with a hidden blade."

Up on the observation deck, Rosalind watched the display with deep fascination, her arms crossed over her chest.

She could see exactly what Nyra was doing.

She was using her sheer wealth of battlefield experience to artificially mature Azriel’s freshly copied skills.

The combination was terrifyingly efficient.

Azriel’s ability provided the perfect clay, and Nyra’s ruthless drilling was shaping it into a deadly weapon in real-time.

Meanwhile, the floating camera sphere tightly tracked the intense sweat-inducing exchange, and the live chat was deeply engrossed in the raw mechanics of the training.

[Iron_Blood_Asura]: Excellent! The captain knows exactly what she’s doing. An evolvable ability like ’Warrior’s Insight’ is a curse if the user becomes reliant on superficial mimicry. She is hammering the foundational intent into his bones.

[Battle_Maiden_Vera] (White): Look at how fast he’s correcting his flaws! Every time she points out a blind spot in his stance, his body automatically adjusts the neurological mapping on the next rep. This growth rate is disgusting.

[Nine_Tailed_Vixen] (Cyan): He’s breathing so heavily, his chest is glistening again... But wow, his focus is insane. He’s not even looking at the chat. He’s entirely locked onto her movements.

[Crimson_Fury] (White): Man, the system loan shark must be sweating right now. At this rate of growth, this brat is going to clear his debt and upgrade that trait before the week ends.

"Reset!" Nyra’s voice echoed across the dirt field, her fist stopping inches from his chest.

"We’ve done five hundred iterations of the foundational footwork matrix. Your body has officially integrated the baseline metrics."

Azriel stood his ground, his chest heaving, his muscles completely pumped and throbbing under the blazing sun.

He casually wiped a streak of dirt and sweat from his temple, his violet eyes burning with a dangerous, hyper-focused intensity.

Every time he corrected a micro-movement under Nyra’s guidance, he could feel the Warrior’s Insight pulsing, solidifying the data deeper into his soul.

"Now," Nyra murmured, a rare, incredibly sharp smirk finally breaking across her icy features as her leather armor creaked.

"Let’s see how your ’Insight’ handles a live, unpredictable exchange. I am raising my speed to thirty percent. Defend yourself, Sir Azriel."