I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

The Senate Castle loomed with its stern marble walls and towering columns, an eternal reminder of Rome’s grandeur and the weight of its politics. As Nathan crossed the gates, his white hair catching the faint glow of the torchlight, he barely had time to breathe before a Roman soldier intercepted him.

The man’s armor gleamed dully in the fading light, his bronze-plated cuirass marked by the scars of old battles. His expression was grim, his gaze sharp as a gladius.

“The Emperor has been looking for you,” the soldier said, his voice carrying the weight of an unspoken warning. Original content can be found at novel_fіre.net

Nathan gave no reply. His silence was deliberate, his face calm as he followed the soldier through the echoing marble corridors of the Senate Castle. The rhythmic clatter of their footsteps bounced off the high, vaulted ceilings, blending with the faint murmur of distant senators debating in another hall.

At last, they reached the Emperor’s private quarters. The heavy doors opened, and Nathan stepped into a room steeped in an atmosphere so tense it felt suffocating.

Caesar sat behind a wide oaken table, the polished surface littered with scrolls and wax tablets. His expression was carved from stone—cold, unreadable, carrying the weight of an empire. Beside him, Octavius lingered in the half-shadow, his eyes sharp and calculating, like a hawk waiting for prey to falter.

Both men turned their gaze upon Nathan. The silence lingered a beat too long before Caesar finally spoke.

“Where were you?” His voice was low, wary, and edged like tempered steel.

“The Pope had called for me,” Nathan replied, his tone short, measured.

Caesar’s brows furrowed. “For what purpose?”

Nathan met his eyes without hesitation. “It seems the Goddess Athena herself has taken an interest in me. She considers me a potential candidate for Pandora.”

The words struck like a thunderbolt. Caesar’s expression broke—wariness giving way to pure shock. His eyes widened, his body stiffened, and even Octavius tilted his head, just slightly, as if recalibrating his calculations.

“You—Athena?” Caesar’s voice betrayed disbelief. “She asked for you?”

“Yes,” Nathan confirmed simply.

Caesar exhaled slowly, leaning back in his chair, his cold demeanor softening for a moment. He rubbed his temple as though the weight of this revelation pressed heavily on him.

Nathan tilted his head, feigning innocence. “Is there a problem, Emperor?” He knew perfectly well the storm churning behind those guarded eyes, yet he played his role with artful ignorance.

For a long moment, Caesar said nothing. His gaze shifted toward Octavius. The younger man’s voice broke the silence.

“Pompey has escaped.”

The words hung in the air, heavy as lead. Both men fixed their eyes on Nathan, studying every twitch of his face, every flicker of expression.

Nathan raised his brows, feigning surprise with practiced ease. “Pompey? But I thought he was executed—beheaded two days ago, in the gladiator tournament’s ceremony.”

Caesar’s lips pressed into a thin line. He finally shook his head, his voice low and bitter. “No. That was not Pompey. I executed a substitute. I needed Pompey alive, but somehow… he escaped the place I had hidden him.”

Nathan let silence stretch for a heartbeat, then narrowed his eyes as though pondering the implications. “Then you’ve been betrayed?”

“Impossible,” Caesar snapped, his frustration breaking through. “I handpicked the guards myself—men sworn to me. Yet all of them are dead. Slaughtered like cattle.” His fists clenched, and for a moment, the Emperor’s composure cracked.

“You should have killed him from the start,” Nathan said coldly, letting just enough regret seep into his voice. “I should have killed him when I first captured him.”

Caesar’s gaze snapped to him, sharp as a blade. “Killing is not the only answer if you seek to achieve true power,” he said, his tone stern and edged with scorn. “But perhaps I cannot expect a mercenary like you to understand such things.”

The insult slid off Nathan like water. Let Caesar think him a blunt weapon, a muscle-headed tool. That was the image Nathan wanted him to hold. The more underestimated he appeared, the freer he could maneuver.

Octavius, however, was not so easily appeased. His voice was icy, his words deliberate. “First Marcus Antonius dies under mysterious circumstances. And now Pompey vanishes from under our Emperor’s guard. These are no coincidences. There is a hand moving against us, tying these threads together.”

Caesar nodded grimly. “Yes. Someone dares to play this dangerous game. Someone believes they can strike against Rome itself.” His eyes narrowed, his suspicion tangible. He turned his piercing stare toward Nathan. “The question is… who would dare?”

Nathan furrowed his brow, adopting a thoughtful expression, knowing full well both men were watching for his reaction. He let the silence stretch just long enough before speaking.

“There is one name that comes to mind.”

“Speak,” Caesar demanded.

“Crassus,” Nathan said, his voice steady, almost casual, yet heavy with implication.

The reaction was immediate. Caesar’s eyes widened, disbelief etched across his features. Even Octavius’s controlled mask cracked ever so slightly, the corner of his lips twitching in surprise.

“Crassus?” Caesar echoed, his tone a mixture of shock and suspicion.

Nathan held his gaze, calm as ever, while inside he carefully wove the threads of the deception tighter around them.

He nodded slowly, his expression composed, voice measured.

“He seemed quite upset about my allegiance toward you,” he said carefully, letting each word linger. “And he pried into what I might desire in return for my loyalty. I am a mercenary after all—at least, that is how he views me.”

Caesar’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. His fingers tapped once against the arm of his chair, a small gesture betraying his irritation.

Indeed, Caesar remembered clearly. During yesterday’s bloody spectacle in the arena, Crassus’s composure had faltered seeing his fight. Crassus’s expression had twisted—concern, suspicion, even wariness flickering across his patrician face. A mask slipping. And Caesar, keen-eyed as ever, had noticed.

“Crassus…” Caesar muttered, almost tasting the name like venom. “But would he truly dare something so bold?” His tone carried disbelief, yet beneath it lay a thread of growing dread.

Nathan tilted his head, feigning thoughtfulness, though the words he spoke were placed with the precision of a dagger. “You’ve been conquering Alexandria, Emperor. Expanding your fame, your wealth, your influence. Do you truly believe Crassus would sit idle in Rome while you gather all the glory?”

Caesar’s jaw tightened. His hand clenched into a fist so hard the knuckles turned white. The question struck exactly where Nathan wanted it to—on Caesar’s pride.

Had he underestimated Crassus?

“Besides…” Nathan leaned forward just slightly, as though offering something reluctantly. “He seemed… unsettled by Pompey’s imprisonment.”

Octavius, who had remained quiet until then, frowned deeply, his youthful face hardening into lines of suspicion. “Now that I think of it,” he said slowly, “he did not appear overly shaken when we displayed Pompey’s so-called head. Almost… indifferent.”

The realization slithered into Caesar’s mind like poison. His fury ignited.

“That bastard!” Caesar roared, his chair scraping as he surged to his feet. His cloak flared behind him as he stood tall, rage radiating from him in palpable waves. “How dare he play games with me!”

Nathan fought the urge to laugh aloud. Pride—Caesar’s greatest weakness. Pride so swollen it blinded him to truths that danced mockingly before his eyes. He was brilliant, yes, but brilliance dimmed when shackled by arrogance. When a man believed himself the sharpest mind in every chamber, he ceased to look for daggers at his back.

“Who?” Caesar demanded suddenly, his face contorting with panic. “Who has he found? Is there truly someone capable of killing Marcus Antonius in my absence?”

Octavius raised a hand, his voice steady, calm against Caesar’s storm. “We cannot be certain yet.”

“No, no, I know Crassus,” Caesar snapped, pacing furiously across the chamber. His sandals struck against the marble floor with a sharp echo. “If he desires something, he will achieve it with that damned smile on his face, that insufferable cunning.” He spat the words, almost trembling with hatred. It was more than rivalry—it was something deeper, rawer. An inferiority etched into his very core.

Nathan observed quietly, taking in every flicker of emotion. Was Caesar’s hatred of Crassus born from fear? Or from the unbearable knowledge that Crassus was perhaps the only man who could match his influence in Rome?

Then Caesar froze mid-step, his eyes narrowing with a new thought. “Wait… Servilia.”

At the name, Nathan’s expression hardened despite himself. The sudden shift was small, subtle, but Caesar noticed everything.

“Yes, Servilia,” Caesar said, almost to himself, his words quickening. “She has stopped appearing in the Senate Castle of late—even though I hold her son. Does that not strike you as strange? A mother so quiet when her child is my prisoner? And why does she continue to visit the estate where the Tenebrian princess is kept?” His voice sharpened with each accusation, each question.

Of course. Spies. Caesar’s reach extended everywhere. Nothing within Rome escaped him entirely. He had seen Servilia’s visits, tracked her steps, and now suspicion coiled within his mind like a snake. Ameriah, Auria… even Servilia herself. All were now under his gaze.

He was not entirely a fool after all.

“From this moment,” Caesar barked suddenly, his voice filling the chamber like thunder, “Brutus will remain locked inside the Senate Castle. Place him under guard, day and night. And ensure Servilia knows of it. We will see how she reacts when she learns her son’s life rests in my hand. If she dares betray me, I will deliver Brutus’s head to her myself.”

Octavius inclined his head, his expression unreadable. “As you command.” Without another word, he turned and left the chamber, his footsteps echoing into the distance.

The air grew heavier once he was gone.

Nathan remained, standing silently in the presence of Caesar, whose cold eyes now fixed on him. The Emperor’s expression shifted from fury to something harder, more calculating.

“And you,” he said, his voice low and sharp. “You will find a way to kill Crassus. Make it look like chance, like an accident or whatever it is. I want no trace, no whisper, no suspicion that it was my hand guiding the blade.”

“I will need help.”

“Take my men if you need but I want the job done.”

Nathan’s lips curled into the faintest of smiles. Inwardly, he almost relished the irony of being entrusted with such a task.

“As you wish, Emperor,” he said smoothly, bowing his head just enough to hide the glint of amusement in his eyes.