I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

In the northern reaches of Pelusium, beyond the dense forest and near the vast shores, several dozen warships lay anchored. These were not mere vessels; they were formidable warships, each capable of carrying dozens of battle-hardened soldiers. Every ship bore the insignia of one of the three Roman Emperors—Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus, better known as Pompey.

It was a strange sight, considering that Pompey was now branded an enemy of the Roman Empire. Yet, despite his fall from grace, he still commanded unwavering loyalty from his men—soldiers who had followed him from the very beginning. His army, though now exiled, remained his own, bound by years of service and allegiance.

The other two emperors had armies of their own, fiercely loyal, ready to fight and die for them alone. The fractured nature of Rome’s leadership only deepened the turmoil.

The shore was alive with the sights and sounds of an encampment stretching as far as the eye could see. Hundreds of tents were pitched across the beach, housing thousands of soldiers—all under Pompey’s command. Fires flickered in the fading light, casting long shadows over the restless troops preparing for an inevitable confrontation.

At the heart of the camp, standing tall among the sea of tents, was the largest and most well-guarded pavilion—Pompey’s command center. Inside, surrounded by his closest men, sat the once-mighty general himself. He was not an imposing figure in size, but his hardened features bore the marks of a seasoned warrior. Yet, for all his past victories, this was perhaps the most perilous battle he had ever faced. He was up against formidable enemies, including one he had once called a friend—Julius Caesar, the man Pompey feared most, not just for his military brilliance but for his unmatched strength and cunning.

The Roman Empire had sent Julius Caesar to hunt him down, and to make matters worse, the Amun Ra Empire had entered the fray as well. The extent of their involvement had only recently become clear to Pompey, but the implications were troubling.

Seated in his chair, his expression was grim, his posture betraying his exhaustion. Sleep had eluded him for nights on end, and each new piece of intelligence he received only added to his growing unease.

He picked up a parchment, his sharp eyes scanning the latest report. His hand tightened around the edges as he read the words, his mind racing.

“Is this confirmed?” Pompey asked, his voice steady but laced with tension.

One of his men, clad in the armor of a veteran soldier, stepped forward and gave a firm nod. “Yes, Emperor. Julius Caesar is set to meet the Pharaoh in Alexandria. It is likely they will strike an alliance and forge a deal to eliminate you.”

Pompey let out a derisive chuckle at his men’s words, the sound carrying a note of disbelief and scorn. A secret deal with the Pharaoh to bring down Julius Caesar? He wasn’t buying a single word of it. Such an idea was absurd—preposterous even.

“He’s not meeting the Pharaoh to strike an alliance against himself,” Pompey scoffed, shaking his head. His sharp eyes gleamed with certainty as he spoke. “He’s there for that boy-king. Mark my words, Caesar is planning to get that brat under his thumb. That child is easy to manipulate, and once he has him in his grasp, he’ll use him as a pawn to seize control over the entire Amun-Ra Empire.”

There was no hesitation in Pompey’s voice. He knew Julius Caesar too well to believe otherwise. That man—no, that force of nature—was unrelenting in his ambition. His idol, his role model, had always been Alexander the Great. And like Alexander, Caesar was not satisfied with mere victories or fleeting glories. No, his sights were set on something far grander—eternal renown.

Julius Caesar did not merely wish to match Alexander’s fame. He wanted to surpass it. To carve his name into history with such force that it could never be erased. He wanted to stand above all others, not as one of Rome’s greatest leaders, but as the singular and undisputed ruler of the world. And his conquest was beginning here, with the Amun-Ra Empire.

Pompey had once called himself Caesar’s friend, had once fought alongside him, had once respected him. But that respect had long since turned into wary recognition of the monster growing behind that charming, charismatic façade. Caesar was not just a great leader—he was a phenomenon, an unrelenting storm of intelligence, strength, and sheer willpower. And he had everything he needed to succeed.

He had the support of a formidable army. He had the favor of the Pope, a blessing that gave him legitimacy in the eyes of the masses. He had influence so vast it reached every corner of the Roman Empire. And most importantly—he had fear.

Yes, respect was too generous a word for what the Roman Senate felt toward him. It was fear that kept them from opposing him, fear that silenced his critics before they could gather strength. Everyone knew that standing against Julius Caesar was tantamount to signing one’s own death warrant. He was ruthless when it came to his ambitions, a man who would let nothing—no person, no law, no principle—stand in his way. If an obstacle appeared before him, he would crush it without hesitation.

And Pompey knew, without a shred of doubt, that Caesar had orchestrated the campaign of slander and hostility against him. The Senate’s sudden antagonism, the whispers of betrayal, the systematic stripping of his power—it all had Caesar’s hand behind it. Whether through bribes, coercion, or sheer fear-mongering, Caesar had turned the Senate against him, ensuring that Rome itself saw him as a threat rather than a hero.

Because Julius Caesar did not wish to share power. He did not want to rule as one of Rome’s leaders. He wanted to be its only ruler, its only Emperor. And for that to happen, there could be no rivals.

Pompey had foreseen this long ago. He had anticipated the betrayal and had made his own moves to counter it. But Caesar—damn him—was always a step ahead. He had twisted Pompey’s own actions against him, used them as fuel to justify his rise, and turned Rome’s gaze away from himself and onto his former ally. What had begun as a battle of strategy had become a game of survival, and Pompey knew all too well that Caesar would not rest until he had erased him completely from the board.

He clenched his fists, his jaw tightening as he exhaled sharply. No, he would not let that happen. If Caesar wanted a war, then so be it. Pompey had no intention of going down without a fight.

Pompey stood amidst the flickering lamplight of his command tent, his hands clasped tightly behind his back as he listened to his men speak.

“Should we leave Pelusium, Emperor?” one of his officers asked hesitantly, his voice edged with concern.

“It may be the wiser course,” another added. “Caesar is expected to reach Alexandria by tomorrow, and he won’t be alone.”

The implications were clear. If Julius Caesar had traveled this far, leaving the heart of the Roman Empire and bringing an army into the lands of the Amun-Ra Empire, it was not simply to display his military might. Caesar was not a man who wasted time or resources on empty gestures. If he had come, he had come with purpose. A decisive, ruthless purpose.

Pompey knew exactly what that purpose was. The army marching toward them was not for show—it was meant for battle. And Pompey was certain that battle was meant for him.

But he would not allow Caesar to defeat him again.

“No,” Pompey declared, his voice firm and unwavering. “We hold our position. We wait until our forces are complete.”

He was still awaiting the arrival of the rest of his fleet. More ships, carrying men and supplies, were set to join them by noon or at the latest, early tomorrow morning. He would not move until his full strength was assembled. Only then would he face Caesar on equal footing.

“Emperor!”

The tense silence of the tent was abruptly shattered as a soldier burst through the entrance, panting from exertion. His eyes were wide with urgency.

Pompey turned sharply, his gut twisting. “What is it?” he asked, bracing himself for yet another piece of bad news.

But this time, it was not what he feared.

“We have received a group of envoys!” the soldier reported breathlessly. “They claim to be allies of Queen Cleopatra!”