I AM A MAGE BUT WITH MILF SYSTEM

When they finished, Julian tipped them generously, and they departed with grateful smiles.

Once the door closed again, Lyanna chuckled.

“We’re all so paranoid, we thought a girl bringing bath water might be an assassin.”

“Better paranoid and alive than trusting and dead,” Seraphine countered, though she was smiling too.

Julian returned to the window, his expression becoming thoughtful again.

“Get some rest,” he told his daughters. “Wash, eat, sleep. We don’t know when Skreek’s messenger will arrive, and we need to be ready.”

The three nodded in response and settled in for the evening.

Seraphine, Cassandra, and Lyanna took room thirty-four, leaving Julian alone in room thirty-three. He could hear them moving through the connecting door—the sound of water being poured, quiet conversation, the rustling of clothing as they prepared for bed.

Dinner was brought up as promised—roasted chicken, fresh bread, green vegetables, and a surprisingly good ale. They ate together in Julian’s room, discussing possibilities and strategies in low voices, then his daughters retired to their own room.

**

After few hours,

Julian lay on his bed, fully clothed, staring at the ceiling.

Sleep didn’t come.

His mind was too active, turning over everything Skreek had told them. The Primordial Fragment. The Primordial beings. The sealed capital. The disappearances. Three hundred and forty-seven years of isolation.

And he was at the center of it, whether he wanted to be or not.

After perhaps two hours of futile attempts to rest, Julian sat up. Through the connecting door, he could hear the steady breathing of his daughters—all three had managed to fall asleep.

Julian stood, moving silently to the window. He looked out at the darkened streets of Ezakael. The magical lamps still glowed, creating pools of light in the darkness, but the streets were far less populated now.

He needed to move. Needed to do something rather than lie in bed with his thoughts spiraling.

Making a decision, Julian moved to the door. He opened it quietly, slipped into the hallway, and closed it behind him with barely a sound. His daughters would be safe here—the inn had good locks, and they were all powerful enough to handle most threats even while sleeping.

The hallway was empty and dimly lit by magical lamps set at intervals along the walls. Julian moved toward the stairs, his footsteps silent on the wooden floor.

As he reached the second-floor, he encountered the same young woman and boy who had brought the bath water earlier. They were carrying empty trays.

The girl saw him and smiled, though there was surprise in her expression.

“Oh! Sir! Do you need something? More water? Food? I can wake Mistress Mara if—”

“No, thank you,” Julian interrupted gently. “I just couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d take a walk, clear my head.”

The boy’s eyes widened immediately, and he grabbed Julian’s arm.

“Don’t go out!” he said, his voice sharp with genuine fear. “Sir, please! It’s dangerous outside at night! Very dangerous!”

The girl nodded vigorously, her earlier cheerfulness replaced by concern.

“He’s right, Sir. Even Supreme Mages are scared to go out after dark in Ezakael. The streets aren’t safe. There are… things that happen. People who disappear.”

Julian studied both of them carefully, noting the genuine fear in their eyes.

“What kind of things?” he asked quietly.

The girl and boy exchanged glances, clearly uncertain whether to speak further.

“Just… bad things, Sir,” the girl said finally. “Please. Stay inside. Or at least stay in the common room on the ground floor. Don’t go into the streets until morning.”

Julian considered their warning. They clearly believed what they were saying, and their concern seemed genuine rather than an attempt to control or manipulate him.

“I’ll be careful,” he promised. “Thank you for the warning.”

The boy still looked worried, but he released Julian’s arm.

“Please, Sir. Really. Be careful.”

Julian nodded and continued down the stairs, leaving the two servants watching him with troubled expressions.

The ground floor was different from when they’d arrived.

The common room was still full—if anything, more crowded than it had been earlier—but the guests occupying them were strange. Nearly everyone wore cloaks or hoods, their faces hidden in shadow. The few faces Julian could see were hard, scarred, dangerous-looking. These were not ordinary citizens out for an evening meal.

The atmosphere itself was tense. Conversations were conducted in low murmurs rather than open discussion. Several people had weapons visible, displayed openly on tables or worn at their sides.

This was the night crowd. The dangerous crowd.

Julian moved through the common room toward the exit but his presence immediately drew attention. Conversations stopped. Eyes tracked his movement. He could feel assessments being made—was he a threat? Was he a mark? Was he worth the trouble?

He had almost reached the door when someone stepped into his path.

It was a heavily scarred, crude looking man with what appeared to be magical tattoos covering half his face. There were piercings through his nose and smells of alcohol surrounded him.

Behind him, three more men stood from their table, grinning like hyena.

The lead man looked Julian up and down slowly, then deliberately spat on the floor directly in front of Julian’s boots.

“Well, well, well,” he barked, his voice loud enough to carry through the now-silent common room. “Look at this. Who is this pretty fellow? Never seen you around here before, sweetheart.”

His companions laughed.

The lead man circled Julian slowly, clearly performing for an audience.

“You’re awfully pretty for a man,” he continued, his tone mocking. “Smooth skin, nice clothes, that perfectly styled hair. You one of those noble boys slumming it with the common folk?”

More laughter from his group.

Julian remained perfectly still, but anyone with real combat experience would have recognized the tension in his shoulder.

The punk moved closer, invading Julian’s personal space.

“Tell me, pretty boy—” his grin became more lewd, “—do you take it from behind? Or are you the type who just lies there looking pretty while real men do all the work?”