I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

The first day of the grand gladiator tournament drew to its bloody close beneath the waning light of the sun. The air inside the colossal arena was thick with the mingled scents of blood, sweat, and trampled sand. The cheers that had roared like thunder throughout the day had quieted now into a subdued murmur, tinged with exhaustion and a strange, lingering awe.

The fourth and final group of the day had just concluded their match, and ten battered survivors stood — or staggered — as the victors. Their armor was dented, their skin painted in crimson, their faces bearing the vacant, shell-shocked expressions of those who had seen too much death in too short a time.

The rest lay scattered across the arena floor, broken and unmoving. Most were corpses — their life spilled out into the dust for the crowd’s entertainment. A handful still clung to life, but only barely, their limbs gone or twisted beyond repair, their swords forever slipping from their grasp. None of them would fight again. And yet, they had stepped into the sand knowing this fate was a possibility — perhaps even a certainty. That was the choice they had made when they entered.

Above them all, Caesar’s voice boomed across the arena. He stood tall in his imperial regalia, his presence commanding as he delivered the closing speech for the day. His words were grand and formal, meant to honor the dead, glorify the survivors, and promise greater spectacles yet to come.

But the tournament was far from over.

Tomorrow, the carnage would resume. The four remaining groups — each as ruthless and hungry for glory as the last — would face one another in a battle royal that promised to be even deadlier. Out of four hundred warriors, only forty would be deemed worthy to advance.

Nathan sat in the shadowed recess of the VIP balcony, high above the killing ground. The gilded rail before him gleamed faintly in the evening light, but his gaze was distant. From here, he had the perfect view of the entire arena — the blood-slick sand, the long shadows cast by the massive gates, the corpses being dragged away like discarded dolls.

Yet, he barely heard Caesar’s grand closing speech. His attention was elsewhere. His eyes remained fixed forward, but his mind was tuned to the faint, almost imperceptible voices that came from far above. The gods were watching, their presence hidden from mortal eyes but unmistakable to him. He listened carefully, pretending all the while to be focused on Caesar so as not to draw their suspicion.

“Did any of them catch your interest?” The voice belonged to Athena. She wasn’t speaking to Nathan, but to another woman besides her.

Pandora.

“I want to see more,” Pandora replied, her tone quiet but laced with something sharp and electric beneath the veil she wore. The sound of her voice seemed to hum faintly, resonating in a way that didn’t belong to this world. Nathan could not see her expression, but he would have sworn there was a smile there — small, knowing, and perhaps… excited.

Nathan nearly smirked to himself. Athena, of all people, was playing matchmaker. She was clearly probing Pandora to see if she’d found any warrior in the tournament worthy of her interest — a dangerous question, because finding a man who could win Pandora’s favor, and more importantly, withstand her, was not just idle curiosity. For reasons Nathan understood all too well, it was a matter that could decide the survival of the world itself.

Perhaps Athena herself had already spotted a few warriors of note, but for her, Pandora’s opinion carried a weight all its own.

“What about you, Athena? Any interesting contenders you’ve found?” Dionysus’ voice cut in, smooth and amused. There was a chuckle in his tone, the kind that hinted at wine-filled leisure and the enjoyment of someone else’s game. “Perhaps that Hero Isis summoned?” His words referred to Isak, the figure who had drawn no small amount of attention earlier in the day.

Athena shook her head without hesitation. “I have seen better heroes in my life.”

She didn’t elaborate, but Nathan caught the unspoken meaning in her tone. In her long existence, she had witnessed champions far greater — warriors of staggering skill and spirit — and these modern champions, for all their posturing, had not yet measured up.

Also she had seen better Heroes.

Her thoughts, though unspoken aloud, drifted back to the heroes she had once seen in the courts of Babylonia, and within the Great Britain Empire where the proud Saxons reigned. Those heroes had been exceptional, almost unnaturally so.

It was strange for her that all summoned heroes began at the same starting point — drawn into the world with equal potential — yet some rose to such incredible heights while others lingered in mediocrity.

Perhaps the difference lay not in the heroes themselves, but in the hands that guided them.

For instance, Amaterasu treated the heroes of Kastoria with warmth and patience. She never forced them to fight, never pushed them beyond their will. It was kindness, yes… but was it strength? They were strong in their own right, undeniably so, but compared to the hardened Heroes of Babylonia or the ones of the Great Britain Empire, the Kastorian heroes seemed almost… sheltered. Naïve. And in the eyes of the gods, that naivety could be as fatal as any blade.

Regardless of the champions paraded before her eyes, Athena’s mind had already closed off a certain path. She had no intention of entrusting Pandora to any of the so-called “heroes.” To her, they were inapt — blunt weapons in a game that required precision. Even the most lauded warriors of Babylonia, fierce as they were, could not, in her estimation, withstand Pandora for long.

Strength alone was never enough. To endure Pandora — truly endure her — a man would need more than muscle and skill. He would need to be forged from equal parts steel and shadow, an unshakable pillar both physically and mentally. He must have seen the depths of the world, tasted despair, and yet not been consumed by it. A man who could confront darkness because he carried his own… and still bend it to his will.

And yet, such a person could not be reckless or unpredictable. His danger must be the kind that could be leashed, his loyalty unwavering. Pandora’s partner, in Athena’s eyes, had to be a shield and an anchor, not a blade waiting to turn.

Five requirements. That was the impossible checklist.

One — exceptional physical strength.

Two — unyielding mental resilience.

Three — familiarity with the shadowed corners of existence.

Four — the ability to master Pandora’s darkness without losing himself.

Five — absolute trustworthiness, someone whose allegiance would never falter and would obey them, without getting drown by power and go against them.

How many men in all creation, she wondered, could claim to meet them? Even among the gods themselves, the number was perilously small — perhaps nonexistent.

And yet… some sliver of her still searched among mortals. For all their flaws, perhaps because of them, humans were unpredictable in ways that defied divine calculation. Their imperfection bred adaptability, and adaptability sometimes birthed the rarest kind of strength. It was a fragile hope, but Athena clung to it nonetheless.

“Hmmm… what about the Hero of Darkness?” Dionysus’ voice cut through her thoughts, smooth yet edged with provocation.

Even Nathan, who had been quietly eavesdropping from his balcony thanks to the sharpness of his hearing, felt his chest tighten at hearing himself brought into their conversation so casually — and by a god he had never seen until today.

Athena turned her gaze toward Dionysus, and it was as cold as the edge of a sword.

“He is the last hero who should ever lay a hand on Pandora,” she said flatly. “Even if, by some miracle, he could control her — which I very much doubt.”

The weight in her voice was unmistakable. This was not a casual dismissal but an iron verdict.

Yes, Nathan was strong — stronger than most. She had seen the scope of his abilities firsthand during the Trojan War. But in her eyes, strength did not erase the fact that he stood among her enemies. He was a hero of Tenebria, inheritor of a rare and dangerous variant of Dark Magic — one that echoed the power of the previous Demon King. His potential to shape the world was undeniable, and that was exactly what made him intolerable.

If Nathan ever chose the path of the Demon King, if he ever placed Pandora at his side — willingly or not — the results could be catastrophic. Control or chaos, the outcome was the same: disaster. Athena would not gamble on that.

“Don’t be so negative, Athena,” Dionysus replied with a smirk, his tone half-mocking. “If chance favors us, perhaps she could rid us of him entirely… and you wouldn’t even have to transgress any of our laws.”

It was an easy suggestion, almost careless, but it carried the lazy cunning Dionysus was known for.

Athena, however, only shook her head. “That mortal is dangerous. And he has powerful allies. Until we understand the nature and extent of those alliances, we will not take reckless measures. Pandora must be handled with care, not thrown into a fire to see if she burns.”

Her words were both warning and command, a reminder to Dionysus that this was a matter to be approached with calculation, not indulgence.

Pandora, for her part, seemed to pay no mind to their debate. Her gaze remained fixed downward, upon the arena below. The sand was still stained deep with blood, the air heavy with the ghost of screams. She watched the emptying field in silence, as though committing the scene to memory.

She had seen two… perhaps three individuals today who had caught her interest. But she was not yet satisfied. She wanted to see more — more strength, more cunning, more of what this world could offer her.

Nathan, listening from the shadowed comfort of his balcony seat, found his thoughts tightening around Pandora’s name like a fist. The gods’ words had painted a clear enough picture — if Pandora was truly as dangerous as Athena made her sound, then her presence in this tournament was not just another spectacle to observe. It was a potential catalyst for disaster.

If she could tip the scales of the world by merely choosing a companion, then it wasn’t just Athena and the rest of the pantheon who had reason to be wary. Nathan himself might one day find his path crossing hers in a way he could not ignore. And if that day came, he would need to be ready.

In that respect, it was almost amusing — and unsettling — how he and Athena, for all their mutual distaste and deep-rooted distrust, shared a single point of agreement. Neither of them wanted Pandora rampaging freely through the mortal realm. Neither of them wanted to see the world shattered beneath her whim.

His gaze lifted toward Athena.

“Maybe I should speak to her,” Nathan thought, the words forming not as a casual musing but as a careful calculation.