I AM A MAGE BUT WITH MILF SYSTEM

“You taste so good,” he whispered, his voice low and rough.

Lisa let out a shaky breath, her lashes fluttering as she turned her face slightly toward his. “You always say that.”

Julian’s grin deepened, his hand now resting on the curve of her hip.

After a few quiet moments, Lisa slowly pushed herself straight, her legs still unsteady. She smoothed down her dress and tried maintaining her composure.

The warmth still lingered on her cheeks, a faint flush that refused to fade.

“Well, Julian,” she said with a breathless little smile, “I have to go now. There’s still work to be done back at Hans.”

Julian nodded, leaning against the table, his eyes still drinking her like he wasn’t quite ready to let her go.

“Safe journey,” he said.

Lisa turned to leave, pausing for just a heartbeat at the door, her hand on the handle. She gave him one last glance over her shoulder, a faint playful smile curving up her lips.

“Try not to miss me too much.”

Julian smirked. “Impossible.”

With that, she stepped out, the door closing quietly behind her.

Inside, Julian stretched again, his muscles relaxing as he let out a satisfied sigh.

“Nice start to the day,” he muttered, the corner of his lips twitching into a grin.

There was something oddly fulfilling about it, he thought, Sometimes giving someone else pleasure could be just as satisfying as taking it for himself.

The power in it. The trust. The way their bodies responded to his touch like an instrument he knew how to play too well.

Lisa’s flushed face, the tremble in her thighs, the way she gasped his name—it all stirred something in him.

Pleasure was never just about fleeting sensation for Julian. It was about control. Devotion. The sound of someone breaking apart in his hands, knowing he had the power to put them back together—or leave them yearning.

It was addictive.

He rolled his shoulders once more, then rose to his feet. There were matters to attend to.

Hours passed swiftly as Julian immersed himself in the responsibilities of his duchy. After Lisa’s departure, he changed into a set of armor, embroidered with gold—the Archduke’s crest gleaming proudly on his chest.

He then made his way to the training hall. The clang of weapons and shouts echoed through the grounds as the soldiers trained under the afternoon sun.

As Julian entered through the grand arched entrance, all activity halted.

In a sync, every soldier dropped to one knee, heads bowed in reverence. Their armor clinked against the stone floor, and the training field fell completely silent.

“Stand,” Julian commanded, his voice calm but authoritative.

The soldiers rose instantly, posture straight and eyes forward.

He walked slowly before them, letting his presence carry weight. Some of them looked nervous. Others looked inspired. Most were young—the fresh blood of the new generation.

Julian stopped in front of them, turned, and addressed them.

“You are the sword of this duchy,” he began, his voice carrying strength. “You are what stands between peace and chaos, discipline and disgrace. And now, more than ever, your strength matters.”

He paused, letting the words sink in. “You train not just for war. You train to be better than you were yesterday. You train because your families, your homes, and your kingdom rely on it.”

Some of the soldiers clenched their fists, others stood taller.

Julian’s eyes scanned them with intensity. “I was once like you—young, hungry, uncertain. But I chose to rise. I chose power, purpose, and control. And so can you.”

A faint murmur of approval swept through the ranks.

“You will be tested. You will bleed. But if you endure, you will stand beside me not as mere soldiers—but as warriors of the Archduchy. The elite. The unstoppable.”

With that, Julian stepped back. The fire in their eyes had been lit. The training resumed—sharper, louder, more focused.

“Was that cringy?” Julian muttered, chuckling to himself. “Meh, who cares.” He nodded in satisfaction, folding his arms as he watched them

Before him, over five hundred soldiers stood in formation. These were newly recruited men and women, selected from thousands for their promising talent and potential.

Their movements were fluid, disciplined, though a bit rough at the edges. Still, commendable.

Behind him stood three recently promoted commanders—each of them young, eager, and loyal to Julian. The old commanders, those who had long served under Duke Alden, had chosen to resign when the Duke stepped down.

Julian didn’t stop them. Their departure made room for new blood—minds he could mold, lead, and rely on.

One of the commanders stepped forward. He was lean, but his eyes held the cold focus of a seasoned warrior. He gave a respectful bow.

“Your Grace,” he said, “how do you rate these recruits?”

Julian’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. He tilted his head, studying the formations for another few seconds before replying.

“Hmm… not bad,” he said. “They all have potential. But…” He pointed subtly with a finger. “Judging by their posture and stance, I’d say nearly seventy percent of them are training in swordsmanship.”

The commander nodded. “Yes, Your Grace. That’s the favored path for most. Many of them grew up idolizing knights and sword heroes.”

Julian smirked. “Understandable. But they need variety. We can’t rely on just blades. We need archers, mages, spear-wielders…many more. Adaptability wins wars—not tradition.”

The other two commanders exchanged looks, clearly taking mental notes.

Julian folded his arms. “Sort them by specialty next week. I want weekly progress reports. And introduce mixed sparring. Make the swordsmen fight spearmen. Have the mages defend against archers. Push them.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” the lean commander responded with a salute.

Julian remained silent for a few moments longer. Then, without turning, he spoke again:

“And while you’re at it,” he said, “launch a swordsmanship competition.”

The commanders looked at him, blinking.

“Let all these sword-wielding recruits fight each other. Push them hard. Eliminate the weak. I want only the top forty percent to remain.”