I AM A MAGE BUT WITH MILF SYSTEM

It was a masked hell.

The commoners, especially the beggars and poorer families, had been scattered—not concentrated in one district where their presence could be overwhelming—but broken apart, divided, and placed strategically in random spots throughout the county.

Too small in numbers per area to draw attention.

A casual visitor would never notice them. An outsider might say, “There are barely any poor people here.”

Julian closed his eyes and extended his senses. He could feel the uneven flow of mana in the air, the faint weakness in areas where the poor lived. It was like the city itself was absorbing their misery, suppressing their screams with grandness and order.

He opened his eyes again. “Cute,” he whispered, a cold smile flickering on his lips.

Whoever had designed this city wasn’t just clever.

They were cunning.

“They’ve hidden rot under a gold facade.”

Eliz and the others from Easvil would arrive tomorrow, which meant Julian still had a full day to himself.

He closed his eyes, and with a gentle flick of his fingers, transformed his dress into something moderately luxurious—neither too humble nor overly extravagant.

Nothing about him screamed nobility or authority, but everything about him hinted at someone important enough to be noticed. The kind of man you wouldn’t dare disrespect, even if you didn’t know his name.

Julian smiled faintly. “Perfect.”

Males and females alike couldn’t help but glance at him as he strolled through the market. His presence stirred the air, inviting whispers and sideways looks.

A pair of young women, cloaked in casual dress, leaned close to each other as they watched him pass.

“Who is he?” One of them murmured, eyes wide with curiosity.

The other shrugged but couldn’t look away. “He looks like the son of a duke… no, a prince maybe. Like someone from those fantasy novels we read. The kind that conquers the kingdom by sheer presence alone.”

The first girl nodded slowly, her cheeks flushed. “Yeah… too perfect to be real.”

Meanwhile, near the edge of the market, a different kind of attention brewed.

A group of prostitutes lounged on the stairs, casually sizing up everyone who passed. When Julian entered their sight, he instantly broke their composure.

One woman, barely dressed, sat up straighter and let a slow, sultry smile creep onto her lips.

“Mmm… Look at that walk. Confident. Controlled. Think he’s that sure of himself in bed too?” she purred, licking her bottom lip.

Another beside her, older and more experienced, tilted her head. “Confident like that?” she chuckled. “He doesn’t ask. He dominates.”

A third woman leaned back, closing her eyes. “I’m already wet just imagining him grabbing my chin and making me beg,” she whispered.

Their hushed giggles melted into the market’s noise, but none of them could peel their eyes off him.

Julian, aware of every stare, every lustful thought, didn’t even have to look their way.

He walked into a high-profile restaurant. It looked like a miniature castle, built of marble-white stone with slight golden edges and banners fluttering at its towers.

A fountain flowed gracefully at the center of the entrance courtyard, and a red carpet stretched from the gates to the tall, double doors. The structure screamed wealth, and everything about it was designed to impress and to declare power.

Standing outside were two knights. No, not ordinary ones. They were the kind that made seasoned warriors hesitate.

Julian’s eyes settled on the first, a mountain of a man towering at least 6’9″. His naked arms bulged like they were on the verge of exploding, veins thick and skin gleaming with oil.

His expression was serious, emotionless.

Julian’s lips curved into a faint smile. This fucker is big, he thought, tilting his head up to take him in. But he wasn’t just muscle. Julian could sense it—this fucker was in the Sovereign Realm.

Still, it was the second guard who truly piqued Julian’s interest.

Standing silently beside the beast was a much leaner figure, dressed in a long black robe, his face hidden behind a white mask. He was calm, motionless, like a statue standing guard.

Unlike the first, this one didn’t scream for attention—but Julian’s instincts flared the moment he locked onto him.

Archmage, Julian thought. Not just a guard, but a man of immense magical power. Now why would an archmage be standing guard at a restaurant?

He didn’t say a word. He gave the masked one a second, longer look before walking past.

Interesting indeed.

As expected, the interior was just as grand, if not grander. The moment Julian stepped inside, a soft, flowery fragrance lingered in the air.

The massive central hall opened before him, its ceiling soaring high. In the middle hung a massive crystal chandelier, reflecting golden light in every direction.

Beneath it, rows of finely crafted tables and chairs spread out across the marble floor, each covered with silk sheets. Dishes sparkled, and the spoon alone looked more expensive than what most commoners made in a year.

The nobles filled the space with their murmurs and fake laughter. Men wore designed coats, medals, and crests that announced their titles and affiliations. Their hair was neatly combed, their stances straight and rehearsed.

The women, meanwhile, were visions of allure—dressed in flowing gowns, each one more unique than the others. Their skin glowed with powder and perfume, and their necks, wrists, and ears glittered with ornaments.

It wasn’t just a restaurant—it was a stage for the elite. And as Julian stepped forward, his eyes scanned everything.

Julian stepped toward an empty table near the corner, where the lighting was dimmer and the view gave him a wide angle of the entire hall.

Pulling out the chair, he sat down, and within moments, a male waiter approached—dressed neatly in a black suit and with a silver tray in his hand.

With a practiced movement, the waiter placed a glass of water on the table.

“My lord,” he said politely, offering a courteous bow, “how may I help you?”

Julian offered a faint smile in return. “Can I get your specials, please?”

The waiter straightened, holding the tray against his chest. “As you wish, my lord. It might take a short while, but we will serve it to you as quickly as possible. Please enjoy your stay.”

With another respectful nod, the waiter turned and disappeared into the kitchen. Julian leaned back slightly, letting his gaze drift around the hall, quietly observing the nobles with interest.

As Julian sat calmly, sipping his water and waiting for the meal, a wave of murmurs rippled across a table at the other end of the hall.

Seated there were none other than Vigg and Aryl, the son and daughter of Marquis Ravenswood. Surrounded by a few close friends—other noble heirs and heiresses from nearby estates—the table buzzed with low chatter, clinking of dishes, and the occasional burst of laughter.

Among them was a girl with light pink hair that fell down her shoulders in waves. Her dress was teasingly low, and her gaze carried a hint of seduction. Nudging Aryl with her elbow, she leaned in with a smirk.

“Hey, look at that boy,” she whispered, turning in Julian’s direction. “Who is he? He doesn’t look like someone ordinary.”

Aryl followed her gaze, and soon all eyes at the table turned to Julian—sitting alone, relaxed, confident, and completely at ease among a hall full of nobles. His simple yet luxurious outfit gave him an air of mystery. He didn’t wear any family crest or badge, yet something about him screamed authority.

Vigg narrowed his eyes slightly, sizing Julian up. “Never seen him before,” he muttered. “But he doesn’t seem like someone you would ignore.”

Another boy at the table scoffed lightly. “Maybe just another wandering noble trying to show off.”

The pink-haired girl chuckled. “I don’t know… I wonder what he’s doing here—alone.”

Their curiosity sparked, and the group kept casting glances at Julian.

Meanwhile, as the chatter continued at the noble table, Aryl felt a strange sensation creeping along her spine. Her smile faded slightly as her eyes remained fixed on Julian. There was something about him that made her nervous.

“He’s not simple,” she said quietly, almost to herself.

Vigg turned toward her, raising an eyebrow. “Why, sister? I admit he has an air of mystery, but he doesn’t seem powerful enough for us to keep him in mind. Probably just some noble’s second son.”

Aryl hesitated, then slowly shook her head. “No… I can’t explain it. It’s just this feeling. It’s not about his appearance or even his demeanor—it’s something deeper. Like he’s hiding something.”

Another noble at the table scoffed, clearly amused. “He’s just sitting there drinking water, Aryl. You’re reading too much into it.”

But Aryl didn’t respond. Her eyes remained fixed on Julian, and though she said nothing more, her gut refused to settle.

However, the pink-haired girl leaned back with a playful smirk, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger.

“Aww, he’s sitting all alone,” she purred. “Maybe I should go keep him company. He looks like he could use a little… entertainment.”