I AM A MAGE BUT WITH MILF SYSTEM

The soldier seemed to take the silence as an invitation. He straightened slightly, and his smile widened.

“Heard you filled your exile with brothels and borrowed women,” he said. “Can’t blame you, I suppose. When a man has nothing left—”

“Enough.”

The voice came from the left.

One of the Duke’s knights had appeared from the side passage. He walked into the corridor and stopped between Julian and the group ahead.

“You’re addressing the young lord of this house,” he said. “Choose your next words accordingly.”

The broad-shouldered soldier looked at him.

Something shifted in the group’s energy. They looked at each other briefly. One of them said nothing, simply watched, while another adjusted his footing, as if preparing to take an offensive stance.

“Young lord,” the broad-shouldered soldier repeated. “The young lord who was sent away for what he did. That young lord.”

The knight’s expression hardened. “I said enough.”

“We’re just talking,” the soldier said, his tone mild and entirely insincere. “Catching up with him. He has been away for a long time.”

He looked past the knight at Julian.

“A lot of things belong to different people now: the duchy and the soldiers.”

He paused, and something in his expression shifted—crossing from mockery into something more direct.

“Lady Olivia as well, most likely. Once everything settles. She’ll need someone to manage her, won’t she? Lord Liam has always been—”

The corridor went silent.

The knight fell silent. Moth’s breath caught, halting mid-motion as tension filled the air. Even the soldiers behind the broad-shouldered man froze, two of them exchanging a quick, uneasy glance. Every person in the corridor felt it—a line had been crossed, one that should never have been crossed.

Julian did not move.

He stood exactly where he had been standing for the past two minutes.

The men in front of him had been watching the castle change for a long time, seeing how power was slowly shifting toward Liam. Over time, they had started to believe that Liam’s side was stronger, that the Duke’s supporters were weak, and that a returned exile with a damaged reputation would be easy to challenge.

If Julian walked away from this—if he just continued down the corridor and let the moment pass—then every soldier in the castle would know what had happened within an hour.

The story would spread quickly: that Kraven had returned weak, that he could be spoken to in that way inside his own family’s castle. And he had done nothing about it.

That news would reach Liam directly and only speed up whatever plans he was already putting into motion, giving him an even greater advantage.

Julian could not afford to be soft.

More importantly, he had no intention of being soft.

He looked at the broad-shouldered soldier.

The man was still wearing the smile, though it had become slightly less certain in the three seconds since he had finished speaking. The silence was doing that.

Julian smiled.

It was a small thing. But it seemed like a nightmare to everyone present there.

“A name,” Julian said quietly, “requires a beginning.”

He stepped forward.

The soldier had approximately one second to process the fact that the distance between them was closing before Julian’s hand closed around his collar and everything changed instantly.

The tension-filled atmosphere exploded, suddenly filled by Kraven’s fiery mana. The air warmed and the temperature of the room spiked instantly. The man screamed in terror as his collar burned and the fire’s hotness scorched his neck.

“Please—!” The soldier’s hands flew up to grab Julian’s wrist, but the moment his fingers touched skin, he jerked them back with a fresh shriek. The heat had already blistered his palms. “Please, my lord, please—”

Behind him, his five companions had gone rigid. One of them took a half-step back. Another reached for his sword, then froze when Julian’s gaze flicked past the burning man and found his eyes.

The Duke’s knight stood motionless, his mouth slightly open. He made no move to intervene.

Moth had not moved from his position two steps behind Julian. His face was unreadable, but his hands had curled into loose fists at his sides.

Julian looked back at the soldier in his grip.

The man’s collar was glowing now, the skin beneath red with heat.

“Go on,” Julian said. His voice was soft. Almost gentle. “Repeat what you just said.”

The soldier’s eyes were wide. Tears trickled down his face but quickly evaporated due to the heat.

“About Mother,” Julian prompted. “You had more to say. About who would manage her.”

“I—I didn’t—” The man’s voice cracked. A wet, strangled noise escaped him as the heat spread down his collar and into his chest plate. The metal of his armor grew hot against his skin, then hot enough to sear. He tried to move away, but Julian’s grip held him in place.

“Please,” the soldier sobbed. “Mercy. I beg you—”

“Mercy?” Julian tilted his head. The small smile from earlier was gone. What remained was something worse—a calm, empty curiosity, as though he were watching an insect die under glass. “You spoke of my mother.”

He released the collar.

The soldier stumbled backward, barely able to keep his balance, but it was too late. The flame had already spread, crawling over his chest and across his shoulder.

He screamed again.

His hands came up to beat at his own chest, but the fire caught his fingers, and then his sleeves, and then his arms.

“Stop him,” one of the other soldiers whispered. He was looking at the knight, at Moth, at anyone. “Someone stop him—”

No one moved.

The burning man fell to his knees.

His face was still recognizable, though only just. The skin along his jawline had begun to split, oozing clear fluid that hissed and steamed where it met the heat. His lips were pulled back from his teeth and the sight was of pure horror.

His eyes—his eyes remained alive, still aware, darting and rolling wildly as the fire devoured him from the outside, leaving nothing untouched.

“Please,” he gurgled. The word came out wrong. His tongue had blistered. “Please—”