I AM A MAGE BUT WITH MILF SYSTEM

Moth was in the corridor.

He was standing exactly where Julian had expected him to be — to the right of the door, back straight, hands clasped behind him.

He fell into step behind Julian without being asked.

They walked.

Julian let the corridor hold its silence for a stretch. The information from the office settled into order as he moved, each piece finding its position.

Liam plus the Marquis of the North meant an external alliance with resources and funding behind it. Liam’s connection to the king provided internal protection—the kind that made any direct action against him politically risky for the duke, no matter what legal authority he possessed. And with the military divided, even the natural advantage of holding the seat of power at home was weakened, leaving the Duke’s position far less secure than it appeared on the surface.

This was not impatience. This was not a younger brother making a reckless grab at something he wanted.

This was planned.

Liam had been building this for years, possibly longer than the blackmail itself. Kraven’s action just fast-forwarded it.

Julian walked and let this conclusion settle fully.

The corridor branched, and Moth guided him left without a word. The new passage ran along the interior side of the castle, and through the narrow, evenly spaced windows, Julian caught glimpses of one of the inner courtyards below.

He leaned slightly, taking in the scene with a quiet curiosity.

Two groups of soldiers were in the courtyard below, running separate drills on opposite sides of the space. They occupied different halves of the yard, and neither of them was daring to cross the other’s space.

Their armor made their allegiances immediately clear. The Duke’s colors on the left. Liam’s bluish gray on the right, the crossed swords and shield visible even from above.

They were not hostile to each other. They were simply separate, moving through the same space as though the other group occupied different ground entirely.

Julian watched them for a moment and then kept walking.

Further along, two servants passed them going in the opposite direction. Both women were carrying linens. They dropped their eyes as Julian and Moth went by, and Julian noticed the brief exchange of glances between them.

He said nothing.

They descended a staircase and came out into one of the lower corridors.

Julian spoke without looking back.

“Who do the soldiers talk about more?”

Moth’s pace stayed even. A brief pause before he answered. “In what sense, young lord?”

“When they’re off duty. When they’re not performing. Whose name comes up.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

“Lord Liam’s,” Moth said carefully. “More often than not.”

Julian nodded slowly.

“And among the servants.”

“The servants are more cautious,” Moth said. “They don’t commit to names. But the questions they ask—about the King’s visit, about what happens after—they’re not asking those questions about the duke.”

Julian walked another ten steps before speaking again.

“How long have you been observing this?”

“Since I arrived,” Moth said. Then, after a moment, with a slight shift in his voice that suggested honesty arriving past caution: “It’s difficult not to. The castle makes it obvious if you pay attention.”

Julian glanced back at him.

Moth met his eyes briefly, then returned his gaze forward.

Twenty days, Julian thought. And he has already mapped the entire situation of the duchy.

He turned back to the corridor.

At a junction ahead, two of the Duke’s soldiers stood posted on the left side of the corridor. They straightened when they saw Julian coming and bowed their heads as he passed. He returned with a nod and kept walking.

Further ahead, a single soldier in Liam’s bluish armor stood with his back against the wall. He watched Julian pass without straightening, without showing any form of respect, as though Julian were just another person in the castle.

Julian observed it quietly and said nothing.

Eventually, they reached the main corridor that linked the eastern and western sections of the castle. The hallway was wide and well-lit, with the echoes of distant footsteps.

Julian’s eyes fell on the group before they had any chance of noticing him. Six soldiers from Liam’s faction moved in a loose formation, their movements casual and uncoordinated.

They were off rotation, and their relaxed demeanor reflected it. Their voices were loud and vulgar as they talked among themselves, oblivious to anything beyond their conversation and paying little attention to the hallway ahead.

Then one of them looked up.

The conversation didn’t stop immediately. It slowly faded—one voice dropping out, then another, then the last, until the group had gone quiet and all six of them were looking at Julian approaching from twenty feet away.

Julian kept walking.

He watched as recognition slowly dawned on their faces, yet none of them stepped aside to make way.

They didn’t move aside.

Stopping, he raised an eyebrow, studying them carefully. Are they trying to pick a fight? he thought, noting the subtle tension in their posture.

For a moment no one spoke.

Then one of the soldiers smiled.

“The exile,” he said.

Julian looked at him without expression.

“Didn’t think we’d see you back here,” the man continued. He glanced at the soldier beside him briefly. “After everything. Thought maybe you’d stay where they put you.”

Julian said nothing.

“Things have changed while you were gone,” the soldier said. “In case no one’s told you. Lord Ariel is the heir now. Everything that was being held for you.” He made a small, open gesture with one hand, indicating the corridor, the castle, the duchy itself. “Different hands.”

Julian summoned Ariel from Kraven’s memories without effort. Ariel was Liam’s son, now around eighteen or perhaps nineteen. He had appeared in the background of several memory fragments. After Julian’s exile, the position of heir had shifted immediately to him, marking a significant change in the balance of power.

Julian looked at the soldier in front of him.

He looked at the five behind him.

He looked at Moth in his periphery, standing two steps back, his posture having gone from professional to defensive.

He said nothing.

castle, and