I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

Nathan’s gaze flickered toward the golden mask.

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

As Nathan removed the ornate golden mask, he couldn’t help but feel a flicker of surprise.

The man beneath the mask did not resemble someone from the Amun Ra Empire. Instead, his features were distinctly Roman—sharp, well-defined, with a strong jawline and an aquiline nose. He appeared to be in his mid-twenties, but what struck Nathan most were his eyes. They glowed an eerie, unnatural red, pulsating like embers in a dying fire.

“W… who are you?” the man stammered, his voice trembling with a mix of shock and pain. His gaze fixated on Nathan as though he were staring at some monstrous entity from his nightmares.

Nathan’s blade remained steady at the man’s throat, the cold steel pressing just enough to remind him of the imminent threat. The mercenary had been one of the strongest, a seasoned warrior who had survived over a decade of bloodshed. His reputation was formidable—feared and respected among those who operated in the shadows of the empire. To serve the Pharaoh directly was an honor few could claim, yet here he was, utterly powerless before a single man.

His pride, carefully built over years of relentless battle, shattered in mere moments.

“That’s my question. Who are you?” Nathan’s voice was devoid of warmth, his expression unreadable beneath the dim moonlight.

“L-Lucius Septimius…” the man stammered, his breathing ragged. “I… I serve the Pharaoh! I’m just a mercenary!”

Nathan narrowed his eyes. “Lucius Septimius… interesting.” He flicked his gaze to the golden mask lying beside them. “And why the mask?”

Lucius hesitated for a moment before responding, his voice weak. “W-We mercenaries never show our faces… it’s a rule.”

Silence hung between them before Nathan suddenly burst into laughter—a deep, resonant sound that echoed in the still night air.

Lucius, still reeling from pain and confusion, could only stare. He had no idea what was so amusing, but the sight of his captor laughing so freely sent a chill down his spine.

Nathan, however, could hardly contain his amusement. This was beyond ideal—this was perfection. The gods, fate, or sheer luck had delivered him the ideal opportunity on a silver platter.

The man had unknowingly thrown himself into the wolf’s den.

His mind worked rapidly, calculating the possibilities. If Lucius had been careful enough to keep his face hidden, then the Pharaoh and his subordinates had never actually seen him. That meant Nathan could assume his identity flawlessly.

He grinned. “Tell me, Lucius. The Pharaoh—has he ever seen your face? What about the others?”

“N-No… I’m just a mercenary, I—” Lucius never finished his sentence.

With a swift, fluid motion, Nathan drove his blade through the man’s heart. The mercenary’s eyes widened in shock before the life drained from them, his body slumping into the sand. A perfect kill—silent and efficient.

Nathan exhaled slowly, feeling a strange satisfaction. This had been too perfect.

Lucius Septimius was nearly the same height as him, though slightly bulkier. That wouldn’t be a problem. What mattered was the mask and the identity it represented. With it, he could slip into the Pharaoh’s inner circle without suspicion.

Reaching down, Nathan retrieved the golden mask and held it up to the moonlight. A smirk tugged at his lips as he slid it over his face, adjusting it to fit perfectly.

“From now on,” he muttered under his breath, “I am Lucius Septimius.”

As he rummaged through Lucius’s belongings, his fingers brushed against something cold and metallic. He pulled it out—a badge bearing the Pharaoh’s sigil, far more authentic than the one he had stolen from a noble earlier. This was the real thing.

Nathan let out a quiet chuckle.

Tonight, fortune had smiled upon him.

Nathan stood before the mirror, watching as his reflection transformed. His hair, once its usual shade, slowly shifted to a stark white—an exact replica of Lucius Septimius’s own. His eyes followed suit, adopting the same color, deepening the resemblance. Yet, beyond these changes, his face remained untouched. There was no need to go further—subtlety was key. Too drastic a shift might draw unnecessary attention, and he preferred to blend seamlessly into his new role rather than make a spectacle of it.

He was no longer just Nathan.

From this moment on, he would become Lucius Septimius in both appearance and action.

With steady hands, he removed the Roman’s sleeveless tunic and the standard shoulder armor, carefully fastening them over his own body. The familiar weight of the attire settled on him, grounding him further in the role he was about to play. To complete the disguise, he took the emblem of the Pharaoh—a mark of authority and recognition—and clasped it securely around his arm. It was a simple addition, yet it held immense significance.

Now, he could move even more freely.

He had no need to lurk in the shadows anymore. With this identity, doors would open, people would listen, and suspicions would be kept at bay.

As night fell, Nathan remained patient, waiting for the perfect moment. A subtle shift in the air alerted him—it was time. Aporos and his men were stirring, making preparations to continue their journey. Silently, Nathan slipped out of the inn, his movements practiced and precise, as he trailed them from a safe distance.

Their destination soon became apparent—a dense forest, shrouded in darkness, its canopy rustling beneath the whispers of the wind. The moonlight filtered through the leaves, casting fractured beams of silver upon the dirt path they traveled. Nathan followed, his steps light, his breathing controlled.

Then, without warning—chaos.

“She is escaping!”

“Catch her!”

The shouts tore through the night, sharp and urgent. Nathan’s eyes snapped toward the commotion, his gaze narrowing.

A figure was fleeing—a woman.

She had been part of Aporos’s group, but Nathan had barely paid her any mind before. Now, in the frantic light of torches and the clamor of pursuit, he noticed her more clearly. Her arms had been bound, indicating she was no willing companion of theirs. Until now, she had ridden behind one of Aporos’s men, her presence unnoticed, her struggle silent. Yet, somehow, she had managed to break free, slipping down a steep hillside in a desperate bid for freedom.

“Idiot! Catch her! We need her!” A female voice rang out, sharp with authority.

Two men reacted instantly, scrambling down the slope in pursuit.

Nathan remained still, observing.

He hadn’t paid much attention to the woman during the boat trip. Now, as he pieced things together, memories resurfaced. He had noticed, vaguely, that food had been carried into one of the cabins—plates disappearing behind closed doors, guards standing vigilant.

“So it was for her…” he murmured to himself.

But why?

Who was this woman, and why did they need her so desperately?

Then, a sudden outburst made everything clear.

“Damn it! We need her for the negotiations with Pompey!” one of the men cursed, frustration dripping from his words.

“Calm down,” Aporos interjected, his voice composed.

“Calm down? Do you have any idea what will happen if Queen Cleopatra finds out we lost her sister?!”

Nathan’s breath stilled.

Cleopatra’s sister?

His mind worked rapidly, analyzing the implications. If she was being held captive, then it was likely she was considered an enemy of the Queen—perhaps just like her brother. Was this a struggle for power, another pawn in the grand game of Egyptian politics?

Aporos, gripping the reins tightly, glanced back at the commotion with little concern. His expression remained impassive as the torches flickered in the night, casting long shadows over the uneven ground.

“She won’t get far,” he said with certainty. “She’s bound, alone, and stumbling through a forest in the dark. They’ll catch her soon enough. We don’t have time to waste—let’s move.”

Without another word, he urged his horse forward, the beast galloping ahead. The rest of his men followed suit, hooves pounding against the earth as they disappeared into the trees.

Nathan was about to continue tailing them, but something gave him pause.

A new plan began to take shape in his mind.

That girl—Cleopatra’s sister—she wasn’t just a captive. She was an opportunity.

If he played this right, he could use her to further cement his position within the highest ranks of the Amun Ra Empire. By presenting himself as her savior, he could gain even deeper trust from the powerful elites. Once he secured their confidence, infiltrating their inner circle and uncovering the information he sought would be effortless.

It wouldn’t take long.

His decision made, Nathan turned his gaze toward the direction the girl had fled. Three of Aporos’s men had already gone after her, their hurried movements rustling through the undergrowth.

Nathan smirked.

Then, without hesitation, he moved.

Silently, he slipped into the night, his footsteps light and precise as he pursued them.

The girl ran, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her hands were still bound, making her escape all the more desperate. Her royal garments—once pristine, the very mark of her noble status—were now smeared with dirt and torn by the brambles she had pushed through.

She was a vision of elegance despite her current state.

Her complexion was a warm bronze, her slightly tanned skin kissed by the sun, bearing the natural radiance of Amun Ra’s royal bloodline. Jet-black locks tumbled down her back, loose and wild from the chase. Her deep blue eyes, striking as sapphires, shimmered with defiance even in fear.

She was no ordinary girl.

She was Arsinoe, the youngest daughter of the late Pharaoh—the very same Pharaoh who had fathered Cleopatra. She was the twin sister of the reigning Pharaoh, a princess of the highest birth.