I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

“Brutus?” Freja repeated, her voice uncertain, almost hesitant.

The dimly lit room was heavy with tension. Shadows flickered across the cracked stone walls, cast by the lone oil lamp that hung from a crooked beam. The hidden house, buried beneath the outskirts of the city, had become their last refuge.

Once, it had only sheltered Crassus, his wife Tertulla, and their children—along with Pompey, whose presence was already risky enough. But after Johanna’s discovery of the previous hideout, Freja, Elin, Servilia, Ameriah, and Auria had been brought here under the cover of night.

The place was large enough to hold them all for a few days—spacious by common standards, but suffocating with over ten souls crammed inside. Ten strangers bound by circumstance, their alliances uncertain, their silences full of unspoken distrust. Still, it was the only place Caesar’s reach couldn’t yet touch.

That night, Nathan had come.

He stood near the window, where the faintest silver light of the moon brushed his white hair. His expression was unreadable—steady, calm, the way it always was before he set things in motion. He had come not for comfort, but to deliver news.

When he mentioned Brutus, Freja frowned slightly, trying to recall the name. But Servilia, sitting on a worn chair nearby, went pale. Her eyes widened, filling with both hope and dread.

“Yeah,” Nathan said, his tone low but decisive. “Tomorrow I’ll be fighting in the arena—the Colosseum. Caesar will be there. That will be your perfect opportunity to strike. While he’s distracted, you’ll enter the Senate castle and free your classmates.”

He paused, letting his gaze fall on Freja. “But there’s more. Brutus is being held prisoner there. I want you to bring him out.”

Servilia straightened suddenly, the tremor in her hands betraying her calm facade. “He’s my son,” she whispered, her voice breaking slightly. “Please… bring him back.”

Freja’s stern expression softened. She remembered the stories Servilia had shared about him—her quiet pride, her guilt. Freja offered a faint smile. “Don’t worry,” she said gently. “I’ll bring your son home. I promise.”

“I… I’ll go with her!” Elin’s voice cut through the thick air, firm and resolute. She met Nathan’s eyes without wavering.

Nathan studied her for a moment before nodding. “If either of you hesitate, you’ll die,” he said plainly. “Don’t forget that.”

Both women nodded in unison, their determination visible in their eyes.

Crassus, who had been silent until now, crossed his arms. “If you’re asking them to attack the Senate castle,” he said slowly, “then… everything ends tomorrow?”

Nathan turned his gaze toward him. “Yes. Caesar plans to use the Keys of Rome tomorrow,” he said.

Pompey, standing near the far wall, clenched his jaw. “He’s completely lost his reason,” he muttered.

“Power’s gone to his head,” Nathan replied coolly. “Greed blinded him, and now he’s trying to climb too high, too fast. That’s not ambition—it’s stupid arrogance.”

For a moment, silence hung between them, filled only by the faint crackle of the oil lamp. Everyone could sense it—Nathan’s quiet resolve. He wasn’t rushing toward victory; he was calculating it. Every step, every move had been deliberate.

Failure wasn’t an option for him.

Tertulla, Crassus’s wife, spoke up softly from beside her husband. “Then… you’re really certain you can take Caesar down?”

Crassus’s brows furrowed. “That’s my concern as well,” he added. “You’re underestimating the Beasts of Rome. Even you can’t defeat them easily. They were created to protect Rome—even from gods themselves.”

Nathan chuckled faintly, the corner of his lips curving in a subtle, confident smile. “Who said anything about killing them?”

He looked up, and for a moment his crimson eyes caught the lamplight—cold and glinting with something dangerous.

“It would be a waste,” he said simply. “A waste of time, of energy… and of potential.”

It would have been a far more difficult ordeal—an almost impossible one—if Athena had not been on his side.

Had she turned her back on him, had she allowed old grudges to outweigh reason, Nathan would have been forced to act long before Caesar could ever touch the Keys of Rome. He would have destroyed them, hidden them, something. Anything to avoid the confrontation that was now inevitable.

But Caesar had crossed a line from which there was no return. The tide of events had already surged beyond control. Words, reason, even politics had no meaning now. Only action remained.

There would be sacrifices. There always were.

And Nathan—though he once might have cared—no longer did.

Rome had worshipped Caesar, fed his pride, and drunk his lies until they themselves became blind to the monster they had built. They deserved to taste the consequences of their adoration, to feel the ruin that inevitably followed blind devotion. Only through suffering would they understand the folly of their own choices.

Nathan’s voice was calm, almost disturbingly so, as he addressed those gathered in the dim refuge. “I already know how to handle this. Stay here. Don’t move until I return. Once I’m finished with Caesar, you’ll know.”

There was not a single note of doubt in his tone.

Crassus, Tertulla, Licinia, even Pompey—each of them looked at him with a strange mix of disbelief and awe. They had seen men claim certainty before, but never with that kind of quiet, unshakable conviction.

Nathan’s gaze fell last on Freja and Elin. “Be ready,” he said simply. “When the time comes, intervene without hesitation.”

And with that, he turned and left, his figure swallowed by the night.

Moments later, the cold Roman wind whipped around him as he soared into the sky, his cloak fluttering like a shadow across the moon. “Medea,” he called softly.

The air shimmered beside him, and she appeared—her eyes gleaming beneath the hood of her cloak. “As you thought, Nate,” she said, her tone both sharp and reluctant. “Something happened. Octavius beat that slave girl Spartacus liked. He told him that if he doesn’t kill you in tomorrow’s final… she dies.”

Nathan’s lips curved into a small, humorless smile. “Of course he did.”

He had sent Medea to watch over Spartacus, not out of mercy but strategy—to gauge the man’s will, to see how he’d behave before their inevitable clash in the arena. And it seemed Caesar’s men had wasted no time exploiting the one weakness that could drive Spartacus into madness.

Still… it confirmed something Nathan already knew.

Octavius was filth.

Beating an innocent woman just to control another man—there was no nobility left in Rome’s leaders, only cowardice disguised as power.

And yet, Nathan couldn’t deny the cunning behind their cruelty. Caesar and Octavius were desperate now, cornered animals fighting for survival. Desperate people often resorted to the most effective methods.

Medea tilted her head slightly, her voice low. “Should I kill him?”

“Who?” Nathan asked, feigning ignorance.

“Spartacus.”

Nathan shook his head, eyes narrowing. “No. That man could still prove useful.”

“Then what should I do?” she asked.

Nathan’s smirk returned, colder this time. “I need you to take care of a few things for me,” he said, leaning closer. He spoke quietly, his words drowned beneath the whistling of the night wind. Whatever he told her, regardless Medea accepted.

Without another word, she vanished into thin air, leaving behind only the faint scent of ozone.

Later that night, Nathan met with Amaterasu in secret. The goddess had cloaked their surroundings in a divine barrier so dense that not even the faintest whisper could escape. The stars themselves seemed muted beyond its reach.

“So far,” Amaterasu said softly, “no one suspects anything. None of the gods have turned their gaze on you directly.”

Nathan exhaled in relief. “Good.”

He had asked her to check—just to be sure. The gladiator tournament had drawn more divine eyes than he’d expected. Gods of war, gods of pride, gods who loved watching mortals bleed for their amusement—all of them had taken notice of his performances.

Winning the crowd was one thing.

But catching the attention of the gods… that was another matter entirely.

From Nathan’s perspective, it was still too soon. Too dangerous. He wasn’t ready—not yet—to challenge a god in open combat. He knew his limits and he accepted them.

“But of course,” Amaterasu said, her eyes glinting faintly in the dim light of her divine barrier, “Isis is the only one truly bothered by you. She’s observant—dangerously so. It won’t be long before she starts digging deeper into your past. And knowing her, she’ll eventually trace everything back… to your true identity as the Hero summoned by the Light Empire. Summoned by Khione.”

Her tone grew heavier, her voice sharp as crystal. “And once she reaches that conclusion, it won’t take much for her to connect the other disappearances—Khione’s, Hera’s, Poseidon’s. She’s far too clever not to see the pattern.”

Nathan exhaled slowly, his gaze drifting toward the horizon. The faint outlines of Rome shimmered in the night air, wrapped in divine silence. “She wants, above all else, the prosperity of the Amun-Ra Empire,” he replied calmly. “And I can tell she doesn’t trust me… or my intentions regarding Rome.”

Amaterasu folded her arms, her long white sleeves catching the moonlight. “That’s mainly because she doesn’t know enough about you,” she said. “She’s pieced together fragments—learned that you were once summoned by Aphrodite, learned that you bear the mantle of the Hero of Darkness—but she senses there’s something deeper you’re hiding. Something that doesn’t align with either god or man. That alone will drive her to act. Isis is cautious by nature; she eliminates potential threats before they ever have a chance to grow.”

Nathan’s eyes flicked toward her. “Then tell me, why didn’t she do the same with Cleopatra’s brother? Eliminating him would’ve spared thousands of lives.”

Amaterasu’s lips curved faintly—not a smile, but a knowing gesture. “You already know why,” she said. “To reclaim her throne, Cleopatra needed to be seen fighting for it. To inspire loyalty, she had to earn it in blood, not inherit it through divine interference. Now, she’s worshipped as a living goddess in Alexandria. Her struggle made her legend.”

Nathan chuckled quietly, the sound low and edged. “Then I suppose her ‘request’ for me to bring down Caesar wasn’t just politics.”

“No,” Amaterasu said, shaking her head. “It was also her way of confirming who you really are. Testing the man beneath the mask.”

A slow smirk crept across Nathan’s face. “It must be frustrating for her that she found nothing.”

Amaterasu glanced sideways at him. “And yet,” she said softly, “I’m surprised you revealed your true identity so casually to Athena. That was… unlike you.”

Nathan turned his gaze toward her, intrigued by her tone. “Hmm. You disapprove?”

“I don’t,” she replied quickly, though her voice faltered for a fraction of a second. “I just… didn’t expect it.”

Nathan’s smile deepened. “Athena is a goddess of wisdom. Analytical, fair-minded, capable of understanding perspectives beyond her own. I knew she wouldn’t react blindly—wouldn’t let resentment cloud her judgment. When I told her the truth, it wasn’t a gamble. It was a calculated move.”

Amaterasu nodded slowly. “You’re right. She’s sharp, far more rational than most deities. Still…” Her gaze softened. “You seem to have taken quite a liking to her, haven’t you?”

Nathan’s expression shifted—his usual calm composure replaced by something unreadable. Without warning, he stepped closer, closing the space between them in an instant. Amaterasu froze, her breath catching as his presence enveloped her.

He raised a hand and gently touched her cheek, his fingers brushing against her skin with disarming tenderness. Her divine aura flickered for just a heartbeat, surprised—but she didn’t recoil.

“When this is over,” Nathan said quietly, his voice a mixture of warmth and certainty, “let’s take some time for ourselves. You know almost everything about me, Amaterasu. My victories, my failures, even my sins. But I still know so little about you. And I want to.”

Her cheeks flushed a delicate rose beneath the golden glow of her barrier. She turned her gaze away, trying—and failing—to suppress a shy smile. “T…That’s… yes. If you survive this… I’d like that,” she stammered softly.

Nathan smiled faintly, his eyes glinting like steel beneath moonlight. “Then it’s a promise.”

He stepped back, his cloak shifting with the wind. After exchanging a few more quiet words with her—details of plans and preparations—he departed, vanishing into the dark horizon.

Amaterasu remained still, her heart uncharacteristically unsteady, her mind echoing with his words.

Tomorrow would be the day.

The decisive day.

The final day of Rome.