I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

Lyrnessus.

Lyrnessus, a once flourishing town nestled within the Trojan territory, shimmered like a hidden gem in the heart of a war-torn landscape. Its streets were lined with sprawling markets, adorned with vibrant fabrics, aromatic spices, and the echoes of cheerful chatter. The fertile fields surrounding the town stretched into the horizon, a symbol of its prosperity and peace.

But now, the serenity of Lyrnessus was under threat. The looming shadow of war crept ever closer.

King Euenus sat upon his ornate throne, carved from dark olive wood and gilded with gold. His face, usually calm and dignified, was etched with deep lines of worry, his gaze distant as he contemplated the weight of the message he had just received.

Around him, the noblemen of Lyrnessus gathered, their murmurs low but tense, reflecting the fear that gripped their hearts.

Euenus was known as a close confidant of King Priam, having stood by his side during the hardest of times. It was no surprise that Euenus had supported Priam’s decision to defy the Greeks and shield Helen, refusing to bow to the invaders’ demands. But now, the price for that decision was at their doorstep.

Suddenly, the heavy doors of the hall swung open with a thunderous crash. A guard, his armor smeared with dirt and his face pale and drenched in sweat, stumbled in. He collapsed onto his knees, panting as if the weight of the news he carried was physically crushing him.

“Y—Your Majesty!” he gasped, his voice trembling, the desperation clear in his tone. “The Greeks… they are here!”

A gasp echoed through the chamber. Noblemen stood in stunned silence, their disbelief palpable. Some clutched the hilts of their swords in reflex, as if expecting the enemy to burst into the hall at any moment.

“Wh… what?!” one noble stammered, his voice shaky.

“Impossible!” shouted another, his hands gripping the edge of the nearest table, knuckles turning white.

“They cannot be here already!” cried a third. “We thought we had more time!”

The hall descended into chaos, with the nobles speaking over one another, panic setting in like wildfire. Fear flickered in their eyes, whispers of defeat spreading through the crowd.

“What should we do, Your Majesty?” one of the eldest noblemen finally asked, his voice barely above a whisper, seeking guidance in their moment of crisis.

Euenus, who had remained silent, slowly rose from his throne. His tall, broad frame cast a shadow across the hall, commanding the attention of every person present. His voice, though calm, carried the weight of unshakable authority.

“Our messenger has already been sent to Troy. King Priam will not abandon us,” Euenus declared, his words filled with a steady assurance that washed over the room like a balm. “What we must do now is hold the line. We cannot afford to lose ourselves to panic. Prepare the walls! Ready the archers!

We must stand firm and fight until reinforcement comes. There is no other choice.”

The room, once filled with despair, slowly began to shift. Euenus’s words rekindled hope, fanning the flames of courage in the hearts of the men. A rallying cheer erupted, and soon, the nobles and guards alike began rushing out of the hall, heading toward their positions.

As the nobles hurried to organize the defense, a figure approached the throne with calm determination. Mynes, son of Euenus and the crown prince of Lyrnessus, stepped forward. His armor gleamed under the flickering light, every piece meticulously polished, symbolizing both his rank and his readiness for battle.

The prince’s strong features were set in grim determination, though there was a flicker of sorrow in his eyes.

“Father,” Mynes greeted.

Euenus turned to his son, his expression softening, though a deep sadness clouded his gaze. “My son… we did not even have time to prepare your marriage,” Euenus said quietly, his voice thick with regret.

This day had been meant to mark the prince’s wedding—a celebration of life and unity. Euenus had long planned to hand over the throne to Mynes after the ceremony, allowing him to lead their people into a prosperous future. Now, all those plans had crumbled like dust in the wind, overtaken by the brutal reality of war.

Mynes, seeing the sorrow in his father’s eyes, smiled gently. “Worry not, Father,” he replied. “We shall drive these Greeks away, and then, we will celebrate. You will be there. You will see it.”

Euenus placed a hand on his son’s shoulder, pride gleaming in his tired eyes. “Fight with honor, my son. Lyrnessus depends on you.”

With a final nod, Mynes turned and strode out of the hall, ready to face the Greeks but a woman stood there on his way.

Briseis was a vision of grace and beauty, her dark, curly hair pulled back, accentuating the fine angles of her face. She was young, not yet past her early twenties, but her poise carried the weight of someone far older.

But today, that radiant beauty was marred by concern. Her brow was furrowed, her lips pressed into a tight line, and her eyes, usually filled with warmth, were shadowed by a growing sense of dread.

She stood quietly, her gaze fixed on Mynes—the man she was soon to marry. In a time of peace, this would have been a day filled with celebration and joy, a day of vows and union. Yet now, war loomed on the horizon, threatening to tear apart everything they had planned.

Mynes, fully armored and ready for battle, looked at her with seriousness. His voice was steady, but beneath it, Briseis could hear the tension. “Be careful, Briseis,” he said, his words simple but filled with a quiet plea.

Briseis nodded, though her heart clenched with unease. “I will,” she replied, her voice soft, but there was an unsettling feeling that gripped her tightly, an ominous premonition that refused to let go.

Mynes, seeing the concern in her eyes, offered a final reassuring look before turning to leave. His footsteps echoed through the stone halls as he walked with purpose, heading toward the towering walls that surrounded Lyrnessus.

As he ascended to the battlements, the view that awaited him was grim. Standing high above the gates, he could see the horizon darkened with the figures of the Greek army. They were close—too close. From his vantage point, the gleam of their armor and the rhythmic march of their soldiers made his stomach tighten. The Greeks had come.

Mynes swallowed hard. His nerves were on edge, a rare feeling for a man who had seen many battles. He had fought valiantly alongside Troy’s finest, even earning the honor of fighting beside Hector, the greatest warrior of their people. But now, staring down at the Greeks, something felt different. The fear that gnawed at him wasn’t for himself but for the fate of Lyrnessus and its people.

As these thoughts churned in his mind, one figure in the enemy’s ranks stepped forward, catching Mynes’ eye. He was a striking man, his red armor shining under the sun, a symbol of authority and strength. But it wasn’t just the armor that sent a chill through Mynes—it was the emblem emblazoned upon it.

The Myrmidons.

Mynes’s heart skipped a beat. The Myrmidons were legendary warriors, and they followed none other than Achilles, the King of Phthia. Stories of Achilles had long echoed through the lands, each one more daunting than the last. Some whispered that Achilles was even stronger than Hector, a thought that sent waves of unease through those who dared to imagine facing him.

But the man who stood before Mynes was not Achilles.

The warrior raised his gaze to meet Mynes’ from atop the wall. His expression was calm, almost sorrowful, as if he regretted the violence to come.

“I am Patroclus,” the man called out. “I speak on behalf of Achilles. In his great generosity, he offers you mercy. Surrender Lyrnessus now, and we swear no harm will come to your people. Open the gates, and bloodshed can be avoided.”

There was a pleading edge to Patroclus’s words. It was clear that, unlike many of the Greeks thirsting for blood, he did not wish for unnecessary violence. His eyes seemed to beg Mynes to consider his offer, to think of the lives that could be spared.

But Mynes’s resolve was firm. He had no illusions about the Greeks. Their promises of mercy were fleeting, fragile words spoken to mask the conquest they sought. He straightened his shoulders, his voice strong as he answered.

“I warn you in return,” Mynes declared. “Leave Troy’s lands at once, and you might live to see your family again. Stay, and you will not.”

His words rang out across the walls, and behind him, the soldiers of Lyrnessus erupted into cheers, their voices fierce with defiance. They were ready to fight. They were ready to defend their home.

Patroclus looked down, shaking his head slowly, regret flashing briefly in his eyes. Without another word, he turned on his heel and retreated back to the Greek lines. Whatever chance for peace had existed was now gone.

“He warned you bastards!” came a mocking voice from the walls above.

Aiden, one of the Heroes of the Empire of Light, grinned.

Beside Aiden stood Jason, Siara, and Gwen, each prepared for the coming storm.

Only Sienna, Courtney, and Aisha had chosen to remain back at the main camp, not really attracted to a random town or maybe they feared what was going to happen to Lyrnessus and didn’t want to take any part in it…

The time for diplomacy had passed. The Greeks were at their doorstep, and there was only one thing left to do.

“FIGHT!!!”