I AM A MAGE BUT WITH MILF SYSTEM

“Behold,” he declared, his voice rolling like thunder across the trembling land. “The Black Dragon of the Abyss—once chained by the gods themselves, now freed by me! This… is the true might that mocks fate!”

The dragon roared again, its cry splitting the skies, and Julian felt his skull on verge of exploding. His expression remained calm but his chest weighed with fear so heavy it felt like chains around his lungs. The sheer pressure of the dragon’s aura pressed on his bones, yet his eyes never left the Patriarch.

Then, the Patriarch’s voice boomed again, echoing through out the quaking land.

“Julian.”

Julian’s eyes widened, the single word making him freeze in place as effectively as the previous paralysis.

Julian.

It had been ages since he had heard that name—his true name—spoken aloud in this world. For the first time since he had seized Rael’s body, someone had pierced through the mask her wore and called to the man he truly was.

His lips parted, but no words came.

“You seem rather surprised,” the Patriarch said with a mocking grin, his horns gleaming menacingly. “Oh, don’t be.” His laughter followed, loud and cruel, carrying with it a twisted pride. Slowly, he began to make his way toward the dragon, each movement making the space around him warp and distort like reality was too fragile to contain his presence.

Julian clenched his fists at his sides, forcing his breathing steady. He knows me, he thought, the realization sending ice through his veins. But how? How could anyone in this world possibly know who I really am?

The Patriarch raised his head high. “Long ago,” he continued, “when we were at the peak of our power, a sage of our family prophesied that a great calamity would befall us. A storm that no blade could cut, no shield could withstand. And so it did.”

His voice dropped. “I resented the gods for it. And I had every right to. For how can I accept being born in a system where I am always inferior? Where no matter what I do, no matter how much I bleed, I can never win against those hypocrite bastards who call themselves gods?”

“Tell me, Julian,” the Patriarch’s voice rose again. “What kind of justice is this?” His eyes burned with hatred.

“They come from nowhere, covering themselves with divinity, declaring themselves almighty, absolute. They create the rules of existence itself and proclaim it natural law. And what do we get in return? Nothing. We are slaves—puppets—dancing on the strings of those who claim to be gods.”

The hatred emanating from the Patriarch wasn’t just rage—it was conviction, sharpened by centuries of suffering. And disturbingly, Julian could feel it resonating within him. A part of him, perhaps the part that had always rebelled against authority, that had always sought to transcend limitations, recognized the fury in those words.

Because wasn’t he, too, a victim of the same system?

Julian’s thoughts raced, his mind spinning as uncomfortable reality began to resurface. Everything he had—his talent, his power, even the women who had favored him—how much of it had been truly his? How much of it had been the design of higher beings, shoving him into place like a pawn on a chess board? He thought of his victories, his pride, his desires—and suddenly, they felt tainted.

Cheap.

Like favors handed down from powers that saw him as nothing more than an amusing plaything.

The Patriarch’s voice cut through his mental turmoil.

“I have seen your past as well,” he declared, his tone shifting from wrath to something colder, almost sympathetic. His twisted smile returned. “Julian… you are their victim, too, aren’t you?”

Julian’s breath caught in his throat. His eyes flicked up, locking with the horned figure’s blazing gaze. For a moment, it felt as if the Patriarch was stripping him bare—not just his flesh, but his very existence, his memories, his secret identity, the truth he thought no one in this world could possibly know.

Annie clutched Julian’s sleeve tighter, her voice trembling with confusion and growing fear. “Rael… what is he saying? Why is he talking to you like this? Why is he calling you that name?”

Julian couldn’t answer. His throat felt dry, his voice locked inside him as the Patriarch’s words struck far too deep, cutting through defenses he hadn’t even known he’d built.

“Yes…” the Patriarch’s voice boomed again. “You feel it, don’t you? The weight of their chains. The injustice of being born into a world where victory, power, even love itself is decided before you ever take your first breath. That is their justice—one written to keep us in our place. But I rejected it. I spat upon it! I tore it down with my own hands!”

The Black Dragon’s wings unfurled behind him, sucking out what remained of the dying sunlight. Its roar shook the horizon, causing distant mountains to crumble. The Patriarch stood before this creature of absolute destruction like a dark god who had forged his own throne from the bones of his enemies.

“And you know what they did?” his voice broke through the chaos, somehow louder than even the dragon’s apocalyptic roar.

“They beheaded me, erased my name from their histories, banished my bloodline to this pit of suffering where every passing moment was designed to be agony. They forced us to rot in despair, to watch our children suffer for crimes they never committed.”

His aura erupted outward, suffocating the entire world in crimson darkness.

“What did I do wrong?” he demanded. “Do I not have the right to escape the fate imposed on me by others? Do I not have the right to stand as equal to those hypocrites who claim dominion over existence itself?” The Patriarch’s hands clenched, veins bulging along his arms as dark mana flared around him.

The sunlight was completely gone now, consumed by the oppressive aura of the dragon and its master. All that remained was an eternal dusk painted in shades of crimson and black. Content orıginally comes from noᴠelfire.net

Julian swallowed hard, his heart hammering against his ribs. Despite everything, he understood that rage.