CHAPTER 12: CHAPTER NO.12 DAILY QUEST

[Location: Morningstar Manor, New York]

[Time: 23:59]

Sigh~

Sleep seems to be having a personal grudge against me.

You’d think after getting body-jacked into a one-thousand-year-old coffin escapee, murdered by a satellite, and acquiring a literal Devil-tier cheat system, my body would just say, "Yes, boss, let’s pass out."

Nope. My eyelids felt like anvils, but my brain refused to power down.

I shifted under the silken sheets of the absurdly oversized bed Grayfia had prepared for me. A king’s bed. Demon prince’s bed. Whatever. The whole room looked like a Gothic cathedral had one too many affairs with a New York skyscraper and decided, yes, black marble columns and LED chandeliers totally belong together.

And the kicker? The mansion hummed. Not with electricity, but with mana. Subtle, constant. Like sleeping inside a beast’s ribcage.

"Sleep, he says. Just close your eyes, he says..." I muttered at myself.

That was when the System decided to chime in.

🔔 [Daily Quest Issued]Welcome, Host: Dominic Nocturne von Morningstar.Your body has been idle for 1,022 years. That will not do.

"...Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me."

I sat up, rubbing my temples as a panel bloomed across my vision in pale silver fire.

[Daily Quest: The Path of Sovereignty]Objective: Strength must be maintained through action.Tasks:

• 100 Push-ups

• 100 Sit-ups

• 100 Squats

• 10 km Run (indoors or outdoors acceptable)

Reward: +3 Stat Points, +1 Random Box (Common)

Failure Penalty: [Forced Penalty Zone Transfer]

Time Limit: 24 Hours

I sat up, glaring at the glowing panel. Of course it would choose now to spring this on me. Right when I was trying to, you know, sleep like a normal transmigrator for once.

"Push-ups, sit-ups, squats, and running... Really? What is this, anime boot camp?"

My voice was a hushed whisper, though there was no one to hear me. Grayfia was long gone, patrolling the Manor like a silent guardian wraith, and the mansion’s silence was broken only by the distant hum of New York traffic beyond the enchantment barrier.

Still, I found myself lowering my voice, like a guilty teenager sneaking midnight snacks.

Because no one could ever know about this.

Not Grayfia.Not the demon world.Not my seven obsessive wives.No one.

This System was mine alone—my cheat, my trump card, my damn lifeline.

I exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing at the last line.

Failure Penalty: [Forced Penalty Zone Transfer].

That sounded... ominous.

"...Alright," I muttered, swinging my legs over the bed. "Let’s see just how bullshit this really is."

...

The marble floor was ice against my bare feet as I stood up. My reflection in the tall, black-mirrored windows stared back at me: pale skin, silver hair falling loosely over my face, eyes glowing faintly with that infernal aether I hadn’t yet learned to switch off. I looked less like a man and more like a gothic rockstar who wandered into the wrong afterparty.

And now I was supposed to do... squats?

"From coffin-prince to gym rat. Perfect."

The System’s quest panel hovered stubbornly in front of me, no matter how much I waved my hand through it. Push-ups. Sit-ups. Squats. A damn marathon. A thousand years in stasis, and the first thing my cosmic cheat system wants is for me to cosplay as Saitama.

Fine. Whatever. I dropped down on the carpet.

Push-ups.

"Alright, muscles... try not to snap."

The first ten went fine—shaky, but doable. By thirty, my arms trembled like cheap scaffolding in an earthquake. By fifty, my chest felt like someone had set an anvil on it.

Holy shit, I really am weak.

The System didn’t comment, but the glowing progress bar ticked upward like it was smug. 51/100. 52/100.

By the time I collapsed on the carpet at seventy-three, sweat plastering my hair to my forehead, I was wheezing like a broken bellows.

"...and they say hellfire torture is bad. Screw that. This is worse."

I rolled onto my back, staring at the chandelier overhead. Black crystal, glowing faintly with bottled starlight. Grayfia probably thought it would impress me. Right now, all it did was mock me.

You’re supposed to be the Demiurgic Archangel’s heir, the voice in my head whispered. The Morningstar’s bloodline. And here you are, nearly dying from push-ups.

My fists clenched. That humiliation burned hotter than the ache in my arms. I grit my teeth, rolled over, and kept going.

The notification dinged like a smug cashier ringing me up.

[Task Complete: Push-ups ✔]

"One down," I panted. "Three more to go."

...

These should have been easier, right? Wrong. Somewhere around forty, my abs staged a rebellion. By sixty, it felt like someone had shoved molten lead under my ribs.

"Why... does... everything... hurt?!" I grunted between breaths.

My hair stuck to the sweat dripping down my face. My body wasn’t used to this. I hadn’t moved in over a thousand years. Every fiber screamed at me to stop, but the glowing word Failure Penalty hovered like a guillotine blade above my will.

What was a [Penalty Zone Transfer]? Some hellish dungeon? A trial? Or just instant death? I wasn’t about to find out.

No. Not when I’d just gotten this second chance.

So I kept going.

By ninety-eight, the room spun. By one hundred, I slammed back onto the carpet, gasping like I’d just outrun a pack of hellhounds.

[Task Complete: Sit-ups ✔]

"...Grayfia can never know about this. Ever," I croaked, dragging myself upright.

...

Squats.

You’d think these would be simple. Just bend your knees and stand up again. Child’s play.

Except, apparently, when your legs feel like two overcooked noodles after centuries of lying in a coffin.

The first twenty were fine. By thirty, my thighs were on fire. At fifty, my knees sounded like an old haunted door hinge.

"Fifty more," I told myself, teeth gritted. "You can survive seven psychotic demon fiancées, you can survive squats."

I pictured their faces—obsessive, hungry, twisted with affection that could shatter mountains. The thought was enough to force me through another ten.

Seventy. Eighty. Ninety.

By the last ten, I wasn’t squatting so much as collapsing and dragging myself back up through sheer hate.

[Task Complete: Squats ✔]

I fell backward, sprawled across the carpet like a corpse. Again.

"Three down," I gasped. "Now the fun part..."

...

The Run.

The quest didn’t specify how I was supposed to run 10 kilometers. Indoors or outdoors, it said.

I eyed the long, cathedral-like hallways of Morningstar Manor. Endless corridors, arched ceilings, paintings of dead relatives glaring down at me. Perfect track.

"Guess it’s time for the midnight marathon."

I set off at a jog.

At first, it felt almost freeing. The air was cool, carrying faint hints of incense and ozone from the enchantments laced into the walls. The floors were polished black marble, slick underfoot but strangely springy with mana reinforcement. My footsteps echoed like gunshots in the silence.

But after two kilometers, my lungs burned. My legs screamed. Sweat poured down my back. Every hallway looked the same, and my mind mocked me with the thought that I might die of exhaustion before I even found the kitchen.

"Of all the cheats in the multiverse," I groaned between ragged breaths, "I had to get... the fitness app... from Hell."

Kilometer four. Five. Six.

I stumbled, catching myself on a column. The world tilted. I wanted to quit so badly. Just collapse, let the penalty come, deal with it tomorrow.

But the thought of that line—[Forced Penalty Zone Transfer]—stabbed me awake. I couldn’t afford to gamble with something I didn’t understand. Not when the System was the only card I had in this insane game.

Move, Dominic.

I pushed off the column and kept going.

Kilometer seven. My legs were trembling sticks. Kilometer eight. My throat was raw, every breath like glass.

Kilometer nine. I could barely think, every part of me on autopilot.

Kilometer ten. I crossed it staggering, collapsing against a wall. My chest heaved, sweat dripping down my chin, hair plastered to my face.

Then—

[Task Complete: Run ✔]

[Daily Quest Complete]

[Reward Acquired: +3 Stat Points, +1 Random Box (Common)]

[Warning: Failure to complete daily quest will result in automatic Penalty Zone Transfer. Completion confirmed.]

I laughed. A ragged, wheezing, half-delirious laugh.

"I did it," I whispered. "Holy shit... I actually did it."

I slid down the wall until I was sitting on the floor, too drained to even crawl back to bed. My body screamed, but my heart beat with a strange rhythm—something like pride.

It wasn’t much. But it was mine.

Ahem! Ahem!

I froze.

Every fiber of my body went rigid, the way a kid does when caught sneaking cookies at three in the morning. My head turned slowly, like I was cranking a rusted lever, and sure enough—there she was.

Grayfia.

Standing in the hall, arms folded neatly across her chest, silver hair cascading like frozen starlight, and her eyes... oh, her eyes. Those cold, judgmental, laser-surgery eyes that could slice through excuses before they even left your tongue.

I scrambled for words. For breath. For dignity.

"Uh... hi?" I croaked, sounding less like a demonic prince and more like a dying duck.

Her gaze swept over me—soaked in sweat, hair plastered to my face, chest heaving like I’d just finished running from the cops after robbing a bakery. Her brow arched the slightest fraction.

"You... appear unwell."

"Unwell? Me? Nah. This is just—" I coughed, wheezed, then forced my lips into something resembling a grin. "—my new... uh... fitness routine. Midnight cardio, you know? Great for the soul. I read it in... a magazine."

If sarcasm could sweat, I’d have drowned in it.

Grayfia tilted her head. The faintest glint of curiosity—or was it suspicion?—flickered in those silver eyes. "A magazine."

"Yeah. Demon Men’s Health. Very underground. Limited release."

A silence thick enough to choke me settled between us. The hum of the Manor’s enchantments filled the gap, like the walls themselves were holding their breath to see how badly I’d screw this up.

Her gaze lingered on me for another beat, then—without a word—she stepped forward. Too close. Kneeling, gracefully, like a blade sliding into its sheath.

I stiffened as she reached out. Her cool hand pressed against my forehead. Her expression didn’t change, but something about the way her touch lingered felt... intimate. Searching.

"You are fevered," she said softly. "You should be resting."

I swallowed hard. My brain screamed at me to play this off, but my mouth had apparently gone rogue. "Resting is... overrated."

Her eyes narrowed the tiniest bit. "Exertion without cause is reckless."

"I had a cause," I said quickly, too quickly. "You know, self-improvement, conditioning, trying not to keel over in front of you tomorrow when you make me do... whatever hellspawn training you’ve got planned."

That, at least, wasn’t entirely a lie.

Grayfia studied me in silence. Her thumb brushed lightly against my temple before she withdrew her hand. "You should not push yourself beyond your limits so soon after awakening. Your body is fragile."

Ouch. Fragile. Nothing like getting verbally castrated by your own maid.

"Fragile’s a strong word," I muttered. "I prefer... selectively durable."

One silver brow arched. "That is not a word."

"It is now."

For a second—just a second—I thought I saw something flicker at the corner of her lips. Not a smile, not even a smirk, but the faint twitch of someone trying very hard not to acknowledge the existence of humor.

Then it was gone, replaced by her usual cold mask.

"Come," she said, standing smoothly. "If you insist on such reckless behavior, at least allow me to oversee it."

My heart nearly stopped.

Oversee it? As in... she’d be watching me flail through push-ups and collapse during sit-ups? No way. Nope. Not happening.

I forced a weak laugh. "Oh, no need for that. I’ve got it handled. Just... me, myself, and my—uh—magazine routine. You know how it is."

Her gaze sharpened. For a heartbeat, I swore she could see the glowing System window hovering just out of her perception. I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from glancing at it, which would’ve been a dead giveaway.

Grayfia’s voice dropped, soft but cutting: "Dominic."

The way she said my name—it wasn’t anger. It was command. Absolute. The kind of tone that left no room for lies.

I swallowed. Hard. "...Yes?"