I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

As dusk blanketed the eternal city of Rome, the air turned heavy with the scent of cypress and aged stone. Shadows stretched long across the marble-paved roads, and the once-bustling streets quieted to a murmuring hush. In this silence, Servilia arrived before a grand domus—a second residence she owned, though few knew of it. Its towering walls and imposing gate exuded both nobility and secrecy. But what was once merely another asset of her estate had now become a private prison… one holding Ameriah and Auria.

From a distance, Nathan observed silently from the cover of a crumbling garden wall across the street. His silver hair glimmered faintly in the dying light, and his crimson eyes narrowed with focus. Every detail mattered now.

But something unexpected occurred.

Just as Servilia stepped toward the gate, her path was blocked.

Two soldiers in imperial armor stood stiffly before her, halberds crossed in a clear signal of denial. Servilia’s elegant steps faltered, her long emerald cloak swaying slightly as she came to a halt.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked coldly, her voice low but razor-sharp, each syllable laced with authority. Her emerald eyes narrowed with barely concealed disdain.

One of the guards, clearly the more senior of the two, replied with visible discomfort. “The Emperor has issued strict orders. No one is to enter the premises. Not even you, Lady Servilia.”

A pause. Then silence.

Then… icy fury.

“Is that a joke?” Servilia hissed, stepping forward, her presence alone enough to make the soldiers flinch. “This is my house. You serve my household. I am the matriarch of the Junii—your Queen, in title and blood. Obey me, and stand aside.”

The guard hesitated, but remained firm. “I regret I cannot do that, my lady. We act under direct imperial command.”

The temperature seemed to drop.

Servilia’s eyes sharpened to points of venom. Her voice dropped to a near-whisper, and yet its effect was thunderous.

“Do you truly wish to test my wrath? You stand before the Lady of House Junii—chosen mother of emperors, heir of Rome’s sacred blood. If you raise your sword against me, you may as well carve your own epitaph.”

A heavy silence fell between them.

The younger of the two guards swallowed audibly, glancing sideways at his partner. After a brief, silent exchange of fear and resignation, both men slowly moved their halberds aside and stepped away, clearing the path to the door.

“I thought so,” Servilia murmured coolly as she passed through the gate, not sparing them another glance.

Nathan remained crouched in the shadows, watching the soldiers exhale in nervous relief.

“So even Servilia’s own soldiers are under Caesar’s thumb,” Nathan muttered to himself, narrowing his eyes. “That man is more devious than I thought.”

He waited until Servilia disappeared inside before leaping over the wall with barely a whisper of sound. His movements were swift and fluid, honed by years of shadowy practice. He landed silently, crouched low like a predator stalking prey, and quickly slid into the cover of tall hedges.

Several soldiers remained stationed in and around the estate. Nathan moved carefully, weaving through corridors and patios like a phantom. His hand often drifted toward the dagger hidden under his cloak, aching to slit a few throats, but he restrained himself. A single corpse would raise suspicion. And Caesar, cunning as he was, would notice Servilia’s sudden visit coinciding with even a minor disturbance.

Too risky.

He moved like water through the villa, past statues, columns, and the soft echo of distant footsteps. Eventually, he found himself back inside the building proper—beneath vaulted ceilings, past a fresco-painted hall, following from a cautious distance the sound of Servilia’s soft footsteps as she traversed the estate with purpose.

She paused before an iron-reinforced door tucked behind an old wine cellar. Pulling a heavy key from her sleeve, she slid it into the lock and turned it with a metallic clack.

Nathan’s instincts sharpened.

This wasn’t just any chamber. There was something below.

He followed in silence, remaining far enough not to be noticed but close enough to intervene if needed. He descended the stone staircase after her, the air growing damper and colder with every step. Torches lit the passage, casting trembling shadows on the narrow walls.

Then, faint voices echoed from below.

“Lady Servilia…” two men said in unison—guards, stationed before the final chamber.

Nathan could no longer risk hiding.

His fingers sparked with cold mana as he raised his hand.

In a split second, before either guard could react, a wave of frost surged forth. Their bodies were frozen mid-breath, entombed in clear, glimmering ice. Eyes wide with shock, their final expressions captured forever.

Servilia gasped, recoiling half a step, her breath caught in her throat. She had just opened her mouth to speak to the guards.

Nathan stepped from the shadows into the torchlight, his expression unreadable.

“So this is where you’ve kept them,” he said, his tone even, but not without a trace of bitter accusation.

Servilia straightened her back and composed herself, though her gaze lingered briefly on the frozen statues beside her.

“They’re in there,” she said, pointing to a thick oak door bound in iron. Her tone betrayed no guilt. Only weariness.

She reached into her cloak and handed Nathan the key—cold and heavy in his palm.

Without hesitation, Nathan stepped toward the heavy oak door. The key Servilia had given him was cool in his palm, its metallic edges digging faintly into his fingers. He slid it into the lock and turned it with a muted click. The mechanism gave way, and the door creaked open on slow, rusted hinges.

What greeted him was not a cell—not in the way he expected.

The room beyond was dim but far from the image of a dungeon. A soft glow spilled from a small oil lamp mounted on the far wall, casting flickering shadows over a modest but decently furnished chamber. The stone walls were plain, but the floor was carpeted in faded tapestries, and two wooden beds stood parallel on either side of the room. There was a simple table in the corner, a pitcher of water resting atop it, and a single barred window near the ceiling that allowed in a sliver of moonlight.

It wasn’t luxury—but neither was it suffering.

Compared to what had been done to Arsinoe, this was mercy.

Nathan stepped inside quietly, sweeping his golden gaze around the room, taking in the sleeping—or resting—figures on the beds. His expression remained unreadable, but deep down, a faint note of relief echoed in his chest.

At least they weren’t broken.

On the nearest bed, a girl stirred beneath thin sheets. Her curly blonde hair spilled over the pillow like tangled silk, and her eyes, half-lidded and fogged with exhaustion, cracked open at the sound of the door.

Auria.

Her gaze found him instantly—but there was no warmth in her expression. She blinked once, groggy and confused, then turned her face away with a dismissive motion.

Of course.

He was still cloaked in his Septimius disguise—white hair and cold crimson eyes like burning coals. A form born of manipulation and necessity. She wouldn’t recognize him like this.

On the second bed, Ameriah remained still.

She hadn’t reacted at all.

Nathan frowned, concern flashing in his eyes as he stepped further into the room, his boots making no sound on the worn rugs. He stopped near the center and exhaled quietly before releasing the illusion that cloaked him.

In an instant, the false image shattered like glass.

His white hair became even more vivid, nearly glowing in the dim light. His skin took on a pale, ethereal sheen—like snow under moonlight—and his crimson eyes shifted, transforming into a striking, luminous gold. The pupils narrowed to vertical slits, unmistakably inhuman, yet mesmerizingly beautiful—like those of a divine beast, a creature of both majesty and terror.

Even though he was suppressing his power, his presence leaked into the room like invisible gravity—thick, heavy, suffocating.

And that was all it took.

Auria’s breath caught.

Her entire body tensed as if struck by lightning, and her head whipped around toward him. Her bleary eyes, once dull with fatigue and guarded apathy, now widened in disbelief.

She knew that presence.

It had been years—or at least it felt like years—since she had last felt it.

And now, impossibly, it was here again.

“L…Lord Commander…” she whispered, her voice quivering, almost broken.

Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes, and before another second could pass, she threw off the sheets, jumped out of bed, and rushed toward him barefoot.

She flung herself into his arms, embracing him tightly around the waist as if he were the only solid thing in a world that had collapsed around her. Her shoulders trembled. Her face pressed into his chest.

Nathan stood there for a moment, surprised.

He didn’t know much about this girl. Their interactions had been limited—brief words.

But in this moment, that didn’t matter.

He gently wrapped his arms around her and returned the hug.

“Have you been treated well?” he asked.

Auria sniffled and nodded weakly. “A little… yes. But the Princess—” she suddenly pulled back, her voice rising with urgency. “The Princess, Ameriah!”

She turned, pointing at the still form on the second bed.

Nathan’s eyes darkened with worry.

He approached the bed and knelt beside it, gently pulling back the covers. His breath hitched slightly.

Ameriah lay there, her small frame curled beneath the thin blanket, her face pale as moonlight. Her lips were colorless, and her breathing—shallow, labored, fragile.

He knew she had been sick before. Her body had always been frail. But this… this wasn’t illness alone.

His senses told him something else entirely.

She had been cursed.

He could feel it clinging to her like poison—ancient, foul, and dark. It pulsed faintly under her skin, like a parasite feeding on her life force.

Demon King’s blood.

He didn’t know how or why, but her condition had worsened drastically since he had last seen her. And the curse—whatever it truly was—was now threatening to consume her.

“Since we were locked in here,” Auria said behind him, her voice trembling again, “she cried… every night. She cried to see the Queen. And you, Lord Commander. I… I tried to comfort her. I did. But… her state just kept getting worse…”

Nathan’s gaze softened as he reached out, brushing a few loose strands of hair from Ameriah’s face.

Her eyelids fluttered faintly.

And then—slowly, with great effort—she opened them.

Her red eyes, dim but still beautiful, searched for him in a haze of pain and exhaustion. A tiny smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

“Sir… Nathan…”

The words came out like a whisper, light as a dying breeze.

And then she closed her eyes again, as if the effort of speaking had taken all her strength. Perhaps she thought she was dreaming. Perhaps she thought he was just a figment of her longing. But she looked… content. As if seeing his face, even in hallucination, was enough to bring her peace.

Nathan remained silent, kneeling beside Ameriah, his hand still gently resting on her head, her blonde hair like silk between his fingers. Her breathing was faint but steady now, as though the warmth of his presence alone had soothed some of her pain.

He wanted to help her but even as those thoughts surged through his mind, a grim truth loomed.

He had no idea how to cure this curse.

He could sense the malevolent presence festering deep within her veins, something that defied the logic of normal healing spells or alchemical remedies. It wasn’t an ordinary affliction—it was corruption. A curse tied to the blood of the Demon King, perhaps something woven into her very essence. Whatever it was, it wasn’t something he could simply cut out or erase with brute force.

His golden eyes narrowed, frustration quietly building.

Then… a name surfaced in his mind.

Elin.

A flicker of hope.

She was the only known wielder of SSS-Rank Healing Magic, an impossibly rare gift that could mend wounds beyond the reach of most priests and scholars. If anyone could purify Ameriah’s blood—cleanse this curse—it would be her.

Maybe… just maybe…

That thought sparked something inside him. For the first time since entering this room, he saw a path forward.

He stood slowly, the decision already made.

“Auria,” he said, turning to the blonde girl who watched him closely, her expression a blend of hope and quiet sadness. “I can’t get you out of here right away. Not yet. But I promise I’ll return—and I will get you both out.”

Her lips trembled slightly, and her brows drew together with emotion. She didn’t want to stay here another day, not after finally seeing him again. But she saw something else in him now—certainty. And with that came something far more precious.

Hope.

Nathan—no, Samael, the Hero of Darkness—the summoned warrior of Tenebria, the man who had shaken the very foundations of the Greek world during the Trojan War—was here.

In this city.

Right now.

And he had found her.

That alone was enough.

Auria stood tall despite her weariness and gave him a sharp nod, her golden curls brushing her shoulders. “I will. Count on me, Lord Commander,” she said resolutely.

But before he could respond she leaned up.

And kissed him.

Her lips, delicate and trembling, brushed his. It wasn’t a deep kiss, nor a passionate one—it was gentle. Pure. A kiss born of gratitude… of a lingering dream she thought would never come true.

Nathan froze.

He hadn’t expected it. He couldn’t understand why she had done it—but when he saw the small smile on her face, the soft curve of joy in her expression, he didn’t say anything. He simply accepted it.

He gave a last look to American and walked to the door.

And as it opened, light from the hallway spilled into the chamber once more—revealing the tall figure of Servilia still standing outside, her green eyes wide with stunned disbelief.

Her breath hitched.

She had seen many men in her lifetime—senators, kings, generals, even emperors.

But she had never… never seen a man like this.

Gone was the calm and cold Septimius she thought she knew. Standing before her now was something else entirely—a being of power. A young man whose beauty seemed almost unnatural, whose golden eyes carried the weight of countless lives, and whose presence alone seemed to warp the very air around him.

He was terrifying.

He was divine.

And he made Caesar look like an insect pretending to be a lion.

Her heart beat faster in her chest, caught somewhere between awe, fear, and something far more dangerous—admiration.

Nathan’s gaze flicked to her, piercing straight into her soul.

And Servilia flinched—just slightly.

“Make sure they are treated well,” he said, his voice like cold steel wrapped in velvet.

He began to walk past her.

But she gathered the courage to speak.

“W…What about Caesar?” she asked, her voice unsteady.

Nathan paused for just a moment.

He didn’t look back, but his next words echoed like a curse carved in stone.

“I’ll make him regret ever being born.”