I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

The journey to Pelusium had been an arduous one for Nathan, not because of any physical strain, but due to the incessant chatter of Aporos. The man seemed determined to keep the conversation alive, whether out of sheer boredom or a misguided sense of pity for Nathan, who had spent much of the trip in silence. Perhaps Aporos believed that engaging a Roman in conversation would yield useful information. However, by this point, he should have realized that Nathan held little knowledge of Pompey’s affairs.

The latter possibility amused Nathan. If Aporos truly sought to extract intelligence, he was wasting his efforts on the wrong man. Regardless, Nathan endured the conversation with patience, offering minimal responses when required, and otherwise allowing the Greek’s words to wash over him like the ceaseless waves against the hull of their vessel.

At long last, their boat reached the bustling port of Pelusium. The moment the vessel was secured and the gangplank lowered, the passengers disembarked. The air was thick with the scent of salt and foreign spices, mingling with the voices of merchants hawking their wares along the docks. The golden hues of the setting sun cast long shadows over the marketplace, giving the city an almost ethereal glow.

As soon as their feet touched solid ground, Aporos turned to Nathan with a somewhat wistful expression. “It seems our paths must now diverge, Lucius,” he said, using Nathan’s assumed Roman name. “I must admit, I had rather hoped we could continue traveling together.”

Nathan, who had been anticipating this farewell, reached into his cloak and produced a small pouch of coins. He tossed it to Aporos, who caught it with a raised brow. “This should cover your expenses for a while. Consider it payment for the company.”

Aporos opened the pouch slightly and let out a low whistle. “You are quite wealthy, aren’t you? I daresay I’m a little jealous.” He chuckled, though his eyes gleamed with curiosity.

Nathan considered pointing out that a follower of Cleopatra likely lacked nothing in terms of wealth, but he held his tongue. Instead, he merely nodded and turned away, his steps carrying him toward the heart of the city.

By now, he had all the information he needed. The group he had been observing planned to depart in the dead of night. Until then, they would remain within the city, moving cautiously, ensuring that their presence did not draw undue attention. As for Pompey himself, he was somewhere in Pelusium. Unfortunately, Nathan had not been able to determine his exact location. That meant he would have to shadow his targets, keeping close enough to find Pompey before they did.

The hours until nightfall would be best spent recuperating. Thus, Nathan sought out a modest inn, slipping inside and securing a room for himself. The space was small and unadorned, but it would serve its purpose. He allowed himself a brief moment of rest, leaning against the wooden frame of the bed as he closed his eyes in contemplation.

Fortunately, tracking Aporos would not be an issue. Thanks to the Eye of Odin, Nathan had already marked him, an ability that would allow him to sense Aporos’s movements within the city. It was a remarkable power, though it came at a significant cost in mana. While Nathan possessed a formidable reserve, he preferred not to squander it carelessly. For now, he could only maintain such a mark on one person.

He regretted not having used on Ameriah but it seemed that it wouldn’t have changed anything since the mark he had put on Khione before had vanished which meant something interfered with his Skill during the teleportation in the realm ruled by the Egypt Gods.

Settling into a light rest, he prepared himself for the night ahead. The city of Pelusium was vast, and the tides of fate were shifting. By dawn, Pompey’s fate—and perhaps his own—would be decided.

In his small room at the inn, Nathan sat cross-legged on the simple straw mattress, his breathing slow and measured as he focused inward. He was reaching out—not physically, but through the bond he shared with Khione.

Of all those bound to him, Khione was the one with whom he shared the deepest connection. It was not merely the enslavement seal that tied them together, but something far stronger—their countless intimate nights, their shared emotions, and an understanding that transcended words. Their connection had reached an almost absurd level of synchronization, a harmony so potent that not even the divine barriers of an empire ruled by foreign gods could sever it.

Nathan pushed his senses outward, stretching his awareness beyond the confines of his body, beyond the walls of the inn, beyond the borders of the city. He could not speak to her, not yet, but he knew she would feel him—his presence, his safety, his location. That alone was enough.

She was likely worried, and truth be told, he already missed her. But it wasn’t only Khione. His heart ached for Nivea, his daughter—his little girl, whom he had never once left alone for an entire day. He had seen her every single the day he met her, and now, he was separated from her. She would probably be upset.

After ten long minutes of intense concentration, a smirk played at Nathan’s lips.

He had reached her.

He didn’t need to linger any longer. That small connection was enough. She would understand what to do if things took a dangerous turn. This was a precautionary measure, a safeguard, given that he was in an empire ruled by gods he had never encountered—Egyptian gods whose intentions and temperaments were an enigma to him.

With that done, he could now turn his full attention to his primary objective: retrieving Ameriah and Auria.

But just as he was about to rise, Nathan’s smirk vanished.

Something was off.

His senses prickled with an unmistakable feeling of danger. His sharp gaze flicked toward the door, narrowing in suspicion.

A split second later, the wooden door burst open with a resounding crash. A masked figure strode in, wielding a long sword that gleamed under the dim candlelight.

“There you are,” the masked intruder said with a low chuckle, his voice laced with satisfaction.

His mask was ornate, golden, and sculpted in the likeness of an Egyptian pharaoh, with piercing red eyes gleaming through the narrow slits.

Nathan remained still, his mind assessing the situation in an instant. “What do you want?” he asked, his voice calm but edged with suspicion.

This man didn’t seem to be affiliated with Aporos or his entourage. That meant someone else was after him.

But who? And why?

“I saw you with that dog, Apollodorus,” the masked man sneered, his voice cold as steel. “Now, you’re going to tell me everything you know about Pompey’s whereabouts.”

His red eyes bore into Nathan, unblinking, unwavering—like a predator that had finally cornered its prey.

“Dog, Apollodorus?” Nathan repeated, his expression unreadable.

The name meant nothing to him, but it was likely one of the crew members from the ship—or perhaps even Aporos himself, assuming that “Aporos” was merely an alias. Nathan had been suspicious of the man from the start, and this only deepened his doubts.

“You’re an enemy of Cleopatra, I assume?” he asked, taking a calculated guess.

The masked man didn’t bother to answer. Instead, he lunged forward, his sword cutting through the wooden floor as if it were parchment.

Nathan barely dodged in time, his eyes narrowing slightly in surprise. The speed and power behind that strike were unnatural.

“So you want Pompey’s location—to kill him,” Nathan muttered, watching for a reaction.

The man didn’t confirm, but the subtle tilt of his head and the way he held his blade suggested amusement, as if he were grinning beneath the golden mask.

That was all Nathan needed.

He had been attacked under the assumption that he was allied with Aporos, that he held some key information regarding Pompey’s whereabouts. Since Nathan had intentionally distanced himself from the others, he had made himself an ideal target—or so this assassin had thought.

The man wasted no time, closing the distance again with another swift, precise strike. His blade whistled through the air as he laughed, the eerie sound filling the room.

“You better tell me where Pompey is!” he demanded, swinging with even greater force.

The sword cleaved through the wooden wall behind Nathan, splitting straight into the adjacent room, sending splinters flying everywhere. But once again, Nathan had already moved, effortlessly avoiding the blow.

The masked man’s eyes widened in shock.

Nathan had reappeared behind him in an instant.

Before the assassin could react, a sharp pain pierced his back—Nathan’s sword, driven clean through his body.

The man gasped, blood bubbling at the edges of his lips. Yet, despite the mortal wound, he refused to fall. He spun, his hand reaching desperately for Nathan’s face, fingers trembling but determined to grasp anything.

Nathan, however, was faster.

He caught the man’s wrist mid-motion, and with a sharp twist, snapped it with ease.

“GARGHH!!” The assassin’s agonized scream echoed through the inn.

Nathan remained unmoved.

With a brutal efficiency, he swept the man’s legs from under him, shattering his knees with a sickening crunch before pressing him down onto the floor. His boot pinned the assassin’s chest, holding him in place.

Nathan’s gaze flickered toward the golden mask.

“Let’s see who you really are,” he murmured, reaching down to remove it.