I AM A MAGE BUT WITH MILF SYSTEM

He pushed himself up from the floor, rolling his shoulders as the last of the strain faded from his muscles. The room still carried a faint residual warmth, and the scent of heated air clung to the fabric of his robe.

Outside the window, the afternoon light had shifted further toward gold. Somewhere deeper in the castle, the Duke and the Count were likely still sleeping off the morning’s wine, while their wives handled other affairs.

Julian moved to the basin in the corner and splashed cool water over his face and neck. The mischievous smile lingered a moment longer in the reflection before he smoothed it away, replacing it with the calm expression that the rest of the castle expected from him.

**

Meanwhile, in the guest room, the scene was entirely different from the rest of the castle.

The heavy curtains had been drawn halfway, allowing only a soft, filtered afternoon light to enter into the spacious chamber. The air still carried the faint scent of the wine from the morning feast, mixed with the cleaner hints of lavender that the servants had placed near the bed.

Countess Clara Azmed had only just woken from her nap. She sat up slowly against the carved headboard, her one hand brushing loose strands of hair from her face.

Her gaze drifted to the other side of the large bed.

Count Azmed lay sprawled on his back, completely wasted. His formal outer robe had been discarded at some point and now hung off the edge of the mattress. His mouth was slightly open, breath heavy and uneven from the amount of wine he had shared with the Duke. Clara watched him for a long moment.

She was wearing a thin, silky nightgown of pale black. The fabric clung lightly to her body, outlining the mature curves she had never tried to hide. Like Olivia, Clara had aged gracefully. Time had softened her features rather than dulled them, leaving her with a full, elegant figure.

There was nothing girlish about her beauty. It was the kind that glowed deeper with years.

rustle rustle

Count Azmed shifted in his sleep and turned onto his side with a low grunt.

Ppppprrrrrrrrrrtttt

He farted.

Clara sighed.

Looking at her husband, her expression grew complex. The way he had been that morning... loud, enthusiastic, almost boyishly cheerful... it was something she had rarely seen in recent years.

As a man who ruled through strict principles and a genuinely kind heart, Azmed had often paid the price for his nature. Relatives called him soft. Certain nobles whispered that he lacked the necessary ruthlessness to protect his house. They gave cold shoulders at gatherings, polite refusals of alliance, and the consistent weight of judgment that came from refusing to play the darker games of court.

Clara had watched him carry that burden for a long time.

Yet here, in the Astran Duchy, something changed.

The Duke’s warmth, the friendship over wine and even the strength of the young lord who had once been the subject of so many ugly rumors... all of it had loosened something in her husband. For the first time in years, she had seen him truly at ease. Laughing without calculation. Speaking without the careful filter he usually wore in front of other nobles. That change had reached into her own chest and stirred something she had not expected.

Her heart wavered.

If this duchy, and the people within it, could draw such genuine lightness from the man she had married… perhaps the old stories about Kraven were no longer the full truth. Perhaps the alliance was not the trap she had feared.

But the thought of giving her daughter to him still sat heavily in her mind.

Elara was her only child. Clara had spent years protecting her from the sharper edges of noble life. The idea of placing her future in the hands of a young man whose past was stained with exile, rumor, and darker appetites made something cold rise in her chest.

She looked at her sleeping husband again. Another soft, unconscious sound escaped him as he shifted deeper into the pillows. Clara reached out and gently pulled the blanket higher over his shoulder, her fingers lingering for a moment on the fabric.

Maybe I should meet him myself.

The thought came cleanly, without any ounce hesitation.

Yes. That was the best thing she could do. Rumors, secondhand stories, even the carefully crafted reports from her husband - none of them were enough. If she was going to decide her daughter’s future, she needed to look Kraven Astran in the eyes and measure the man for herself. Only then would she know whether the change everyone spoke of was real, or merely a polished surface over the same old dangers.

With that decision firmly in place, Clara rose from the bed. The thin silk of her nightgown whispered against her skin as she moved. She crossed the room to the dressing table, lit the small mana lamp, and began to prepare herself.

**

Julian had just finished changing into a clean formal set of clothes - a well-fitted black shirt with subtle silver embroidery at the cuffs and collar, paired with matching trousers. The fabric sat neatly on his frame, making him look elegant and radiant.

knock knock

He was still adjusting the final cuff when a soft knock rang from outside the door.

Julian paused.

For a moment he simply stood there, sensing the presence on the other side. It was not a servant’s rhythm, nor Vanessa’s familiar pattern.

”Enter,” he said.

The door opened.

Countess Clara Azmed stepped inside.

She had prepared herself carefully and the thin nightgown from earlier was gone. In its place she wore a deep wine-red gown of heavy silk that clung to the mature lines of her body without being openly scandalous. The neckline was modest by court standards, yet the cut still emphasized the soft swell of her breasts and the elegant curve of her shoulders. The fabric followed the narrow dip of her waist before flowing over the rounded shape of her hips.