I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

After agreeing to eliminate one of Caesar’s most trusted men, Nathan stepped out of the Fulvii estate under the cloak of dusk. The stone walls and marble pillars behind him held secrets that now tied him to a decision drenched in blood and treason. The air was cool, and Rome’s night was beginning to settle over the city like a shroud.

But he hadn’t gone far before a voice called out behind him, faint and trembling.

“W…wait! Septimius!”

Nathan halted mid-step, his long white cloak catching in the breeze. Slowly, he turned around. His eyes, silver and cold under the moonlight, met Fulvia’s.

She stood at the threshold, her face pale and conflicted, lips parted as though she’d spoken before her mind could catch up. Her fingers were clenched at her sides, trembling slightly. The flickering torchlight behind her painted wavering shadows on her face.

“Are you… are you truly serious about this?” she asked, barely able to hold his gaze.

Nathan gave a slow nod. “I am.”

She swallowed, eyes widening. “About killing one of Caesar’s men and… going against him entirely?”

Nathan nodded again, this time more firmly. “Yes.”

A silence stretched between them, broken only by the soft rustle of the trees beyond the garden wall. Then his voice, cold and unwavering, slid through the stillness.

“Why does this disturb you, Fulvia? Are you afraid I’m planning to kill Marcus Antonius? Was he someone you… loved?”

“What? No!” she said quickly, almost defensively. “I don’t care what happens to him.” Her fists tightened until her knuckles turned white. She bit her lip before speaking again, her voice lowered. “But… just who are you, really?”

Nathan’s expression remained unreadable. “I’ll tell you—if you truly wish to know. But not now. After it’s over.”

He turned, his silhouette blending into the dimly lit corridor. But he paused, glancing over his shoulder one last time.

“Fulvia… what we did earlier—that was because you wanted it. If you’re thinking it meant something more… do you want something more now?”

Her eyes flickered, uncertainty flashing across her features. “T…That’s… I…”

“Take your time,” he said, his voice gentler now. “Tell me when you know for certain.”

With that, he vanished into the shadows, his footsteps swallowed by the silence of the Roman streets. He couldn’t afford to linger near the Fulvii estate—Caesar’s spies had eyes everywhere, and too many questions could become dangerous.

Nathan moved swiftly through the narrow alleys and across the tiled rooftops of the sleeping city. His movements were swift, calculated—he was a blur beneath the stars. Then, without warning, he stopped on a rooftop overlooking the merchant district. The wind tousled his white hair, and he waited.

Moments later, a figure landed beside him soundlessly, her arrival as silent as a whisper.

It was her—Scylla.

Dressed in form-fitting black, her presence exuded danger and seduction in equal measure. Her raven-black hair spilled over her shoulders, and her amber eyes glinted in the moonlight like those of a predatory cat.

“I hope you’ve been good, Scylla,” Nathan said with a slight smirk.

She answered not with words, but with a kiss—her arms snaking around his neck as she pulled him close. Nathan returned it, wrapping his arm around her waist, feeling the familiar warmth of her body against his.

But as their lips parted, Scylla’s gaze sharpened, and her voice turned cold and accusing.

“I smell another woman’s scent on you, Nate.”

Nathan chuckled softly, unbothered. “As always.”

She pouted, crossing her arms, her expression darkened with jealousy. He knew her moods well. A creature of passion and violence, Scylla’s emotions burned as fiercely as her blades did in battle. But Nathan had always known how to soothe her storm.

“Did you find something?” he asked, steering the conversation back to what mattered.

Scylla nodded. “I found them.”

A ripple of tension passed through Nathan’s body.

“The two girls you’ve been searching for—they’re alive. Kept inside a house, locked away, and heavily guarded.”

“Whose house?” he asked, his voice low and urgent.

“A compound surrounded by other noble estates. The whole area is under the protection of a powerful Roman aristocratic family, led by a cunning woman.” She paused, then snapped her fingers as if trying to recall a name. “Servilia… that’s what they called her.”

Nathan’s eyes narrowed. “Servilia…”

The mother of Brutus, and Caesar’s secret lover.

He had met her just that morning in tears as she watched Caesar fucking Johanna.

“Do you want me to release them?” Scylla asked, casually brushing a dagger’s hilt at her hip. “I could do it. They wouldn’t even see it coming.”

Nathan knew she meant it—her idea of a rescue always ended with carnage and blood-drenched floors.

And yes, he wanted the girls out. But not at the cost of blowing their cover.

“No,” he said quietly. “Not yet. Timing is everything.”

Nathan didn’t yet grasp the full significance of Ameriah and Auria for Caesar. They were clearly valuable to someone, that much he could tell. But how valuable they truly were to Rome, and more precisely, to the grand chessboard behind the Light Empire’s second summoning Heroes… that was still a mystery cloaked in shadows.

The connection between these girls and the so-called Heroes of the second summoning—it gnawed at him, whispering implications he wasn’t yet ready to voice. He didn’t know who truly needed them, nor why their captivity had been so deliberate, so precise.

“Are they okay?” Nathan asked quietly, breaking the heavy silence between him and Scylla.

“They are,” Scylla replied with a nod, her voice calm. “Just closely watched. Like precious artifacts no one dares to touch… yet.”

Then it’s fine… for now.”

Of course, he didn’t believe for a moment that they were being kept merely out of convenience. Someone—no, multiple people—wanted them alive, contained, and hidden. That meant they had power. Influence. Or worse—potential.

Servilia may have been the visible gatekeeper, but Nathan’s instincts screamed that there was someone else—someone far more dangerous—pulling the strings behind the curtain.

Could it be Caesar?

The thought had crossed his mind before. And now, with each piece of evidence he uncovered, it felt less like suspicion and more like certainty. Caesar’s hand was everywhere, wrapped around every secret in Rome like a serpent’s coils. But Nathan didn’t believe for a second that the dictator was acting alone.

No. Caesar was clever—but clever men never worked in isolation. Whatever game was being played, it had multiple players. And at the center of it all… there was something brewing. Something vast. Something terrifying.

“What are you planning exactly…?” Nathan muttered under his breath, his brow furrowed. “What are you preparing for?”

That sinking feeling returned—the same one he felt every time he looked into Caesar’s eyes and saw not a man, but a force of will shaping the Republic into something else. Something unrecognizable.

Nathan clenched his fists. This wasn’t the time for recklessness. If he moved too soon, he’d be walking straight into a trap. If he moved too late… it would be over before he had a chance to stop it.

Patience.

He had to be patient. Surgical.

One step at a time. One piece at a time.

“Fulvius…” he whispered, eyes narrowing. “He might know something.”

The patriarch of the Fulvii family had always been close to power, close enough to drink from its cup. If anyone outside Caesar’s inner circle had information about the Heroes—or about Ameriah and Auria—it was Fulvius or Crassus the third Emperor but Nathan had yet to confirm Crassus’s intentions so it will be Fulvius first.

And if Nathan wanted to get Fulvius talking, he’d need more than words or charm.

He’d need to prove his worth.

To win Fulvius’s trust, Nathan would have to commit to the mission he had given him: to assassinate one of the two so-called Lions of Rome—Octavius or Marcus Antonius.

And Nathan had already made his decision.

Not because he particularly hated one more than the other, but because Marcus Antonius was a known quantity. Nathan had studied him, observed his habits, even shared wine with him on one occasion. Octavius, on the other hand, was a cipher—a young man with a veil over his true intentions, a walking enigma who had Caesar’s favor but showed none of the warmth or arrogance that usually accompanied such status.

Octavius was dangerous.

In fact, Nathan suspected he might be more dangerous than Caesar himself.

Killing Octavius would raise too many red flags. He was protected. Watched. If Octavius fell, every eye in the Republic would turn toward Nathan, even if he acted with surgical precision. It would be too obvious.

Marcus Antonius, though…

He was a soldier. A general. A man who welcomed conflict like an old friend. If he were to die, it wouldn’t be questioned—it would be grieved, perhaps, but not investigated deeply. Soldiers died in war. Leaders fell on the battlefield.

Nathan didn’t plan to assassinate Marcus Antonius.

No—he planned to kill him in battle.

There was a conflict coming. He could feel it like a storm gathering on the horizon. Caesar was preparing for something monumental, and Marcus Antonius would be on the front lines when it happened. That would be Nathan’s moment.

He would strike in the chaos of war, where death was a natural part of the symphony.

He would strike, and no one would ever know it was him.