I, the slave boy, awaken with the most potent seed!!

Zafron stood in the center of his room, his breath still slightly labored from the unexpected 3km run. He glanced at the quest notification hovering in his peripheral vision, a reminder of the tasks still ahead. But before diving into the push-ups and squats, a thought nagged at him.

'I've supposedly improved my endurance,' he mused, 'but how can I really tell? It's not like I can go for another run right now to test it out.'

He paced the room, his mind churning over the problem. 'These quests are meant to improve me, but without a clear way to measure the changes, how can I be sure they're working?'

Zafron's eyes fell on the strength portion of the quest. An idea began to form. 'What if I could test my strength before and after completing this part of the quest? Then I'd have a real, tangible way to measure my progress.'

Excited by this prospect, Zafron began to scan his room for something suitably heavy. His gaze swept over his sparse belongings, searching for an impromptu weight.

'The bed's too big, the chair's too light,' he thought, growing frustrated. Then his eyes landed on his wardrobe. 'Perfect!'

Approaching the solid wooden piece of furniture, Zafron placed his hands on either side. 'Okay, here goes nothing,' he thought, bracing himself.

With a grunt of effort, Zafron attempted to lift the wardrobe. His muscles strained, veins popping on his forehead as he put everything he had into the attempt. The wardrobe creaked slightly but remained firmly on the ground.

Panting, Zafron released his grip and stepped back. 'Well, that's disappointing,' he thought, wiping sweat from his brow. He thought for sure that he was stronger than that but testing it now proved otherwise. A random stray thought crossed his mind, 'Perhaps that's why Gustavo kicked my ass that time and almost killed me,' he said in a self deprecating manner.

'But at least now I have a baseline. If I can move this thing after completing the quest, I'll know for sure I've improved.'

Determined now, Zafron dropped to the floor, ready to begin his push-ups. As he lowered himself down for the first rep, another thought struck him.

'Wait a minute,' he paused, hovering inches above the floor. 'How will I know when I've done exactly fifty? I don't exactly have a counter, and I don't trust myself to keep track while I'm struggling through these. And I don't want to do way more than 50 because I'm pretty sure I ran way more than 3km today but the system just won't acknowledge that,'

Sitting back on his heels, Zafron pondered this new dilemma. 'Maybe I could ask Aurelia to count for me?' But as soon as the thought formed, he dismissed it. 'No, that feels like cheating somehow. This is my quest, my challenge. I should be able to handle it on my own.'

His eyes roamed the room once more, searching for inspiration. They landed on a small writing desk, where a stack of parchment lay next to an inkwell and quill.

'That's it!' Zafron thought, scrambling to his feet. He quickly tore a sheet of parchment into fifty small strips, then arranged them in a neat pile next to where he would be doing his push-ups.

'One strip per push-up,' he decided. 'I'll move a strip each time I complete a rep. That way, I can focus on the exercise without losing count.'

Satisfied with his solution, Zafron resumed his position on the floor. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the challenge ahead.

'Alright, let's do this,' he thought, lowering himself down for the first push-up.

As he pressed back up, Zafron reached out with one hand to move a strip of parchment. 'One down, forty-nine to go,' he told himself, already feeling the strain in his arms. He realized just how much he hasn't really been working out.

Back in the village, on rare occasions when his step mother didn't try to kill him with chores, he had time to hang out with guys his age and activities like this was what they usually do.

While he didn't exactly make a friend amongst the group, he at least got fit and managed to keep a good rapport with the neighborhood unlike his stepmother.

By the tenth push-up, Zafron's arms were shaking with effort. Sweat dripped from his brow, and his breaths came in ragged gasps. 'Come on,' he urged himself. 'You ran three kilometers. Surely you can manage fifty push-ups.'

He pressed on, gritting his teeth against the burning in his muscles. With each completed rep, he moved another strip of parchment, the growing pile of 'completed' strips serving as both motivation and a visual representation of his progress. At this rate, he felt he would be done in no time and then move on to the squats.

Halfway through however, Zafron's arms gave out, and he collapsed onto the floor. He lay there for a moment, chest heaving, staring at the ceiling. 'Maybe I bit off more than I could chew,' he thought, doubt creeping in with a slight chuckle, more at how amusing it was that he thought he could actually finish it all in one go.

But then his mind flashed back to the challenges he'd already faced. Almost dying, fighting through limbo, meeting an absolute drop dead gorgeous goddess in Aphrodite, The strange encounter with Cassandra and the list just went on and on. Compared to all that, surely fifty push-ups was manageable, right?

With renewed determination, Zafron pushed himself back up. 'I can do this,' he told himself firmly. 'I have to do this. Getting stronger isn't just about completing a quest. It's about surviving for myself and the beautiful women I have,' The last part was even what motivated him most. Mara and Matilda gave up everything to be with him.

The least he could do in return was provide and protect them. And his eyes were set squarely on those two goals.

He resumed his push-ups, each one a battle against his protesting muscles. But with every rep, every strip of parchment moved, Zafron felt a growing sense of accomplishment.

Finally, gasping and trembling, Zafron moved the last strip of parchment. He let himself collapse to the floor once more, this time in triumph rather than defeat.

As he lay there, catching his breath, a notification pinged in his vision:

[Quest: Morning Vigor - Complete 50 push-ups: COMPLETED]

[Reward: +5 Strength]

A surge of excitement coursed through Zafron. 'I did it!' he thought, a grin spreading across his face despite his exhaustion. 'Now, let's see if it made a difference.'

Pushing himself to his feet, Zafron stumbled over to the wardrobe. His arms felt like jelly, but he was eager to test his newfound strength.

Placing his hands on the wardrobe once more, Zafron took a deep breath. 'Here goes nothing,' he thought, and began to lift.

To his amazement, the wardrobe shifted. It was still incredibly heavy, and he couldn't lift it entirely off the ground, but there was a noticeable difference from his earlier attempt.

Zafron let go, stepping back in awe. 'It worked,' he marveled. 'It actually worked. I'm stronger now than I was just minutes ago.'

The implications of this realization began to hit him that moment. If he could make this much progress in such a short time, what could he achieve with consistent effort? How strong could he become?

Surely, a few thugs would be no problem, right?

As exciting as these thoughts were, Zafron knew he wasn't finished yet. He still had squats to complete. But now, with tangible proof of his improvement, the remaining task seemed less daunting.

'One hundred squats,' Zafron thought, eyeing his pile of parchment strips. 'Time to tear some more paper.'

As he prepared for the final part of his quest, Zafron couldn't help but feel a sense of optimism. Yes, this world was strange and often dangerous. Yes, there were still many mysteries to unravel. But for the first time since arriving in Drakoria, he felt like he was making real progress.

With each quest completed, each stat improved, Zafron was becoming more capable of facing whatever challenges lay ahead. And in a world of magic, secret viruses, and hidden agendas, he knew he'd need every advantage he could get.