I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

The Shinobi Village had not felt this alive in a long time.

From the earliest hours of the morning, people moved through the forest paths with unusual purpose. Shinobi came and went from the hidden houses, carrying messages, weapons, maps, and supplies. Quiet conversations filled the spaces between the trees. Doors opened and closed. Horses were prepared. Smoke rose from cooking fires as families worked together to feed those who would soon leave again.

The village had always tried to keep two worlds apart.

There was the world of the shinobi, built on secrecy, danger, and assassination. Then there was the world of their families, the wives, husbands, parents, and children who lived quietly within the protection of the forest. The elders had spent years trying to keep their loved ones away from the bloodshed that came with the shinobi way of life.

But this time, it was impossible to keep that line clear.

Too much was happening.

Too much was at stake.

The fate of the entire village, perhaps even the future of the South itself, had reached a turning point.

News had spread quickly through the hidden settlement.

Two Daimyos had fallen.

Yorimasa was dead.

Mitsuhide was dead.

For the shinobi, it was difficult not to feel some measure of satisfaction. The Daimyos had spent years taking from ordinary people, drawing wealth from farmers, merchants, and laborers while living in comfort behind guarded walls. Their power had been built on fear, taxes, hunger, and the belief that no one beneath them could ever challenge them.

To hear that two of them had died within the span of two weeks was shocking enough.

To learn that the man behind it was their own ally made the news feel almost unreal.

The mysterious black ronin known as Ryo had become a name spoken quietly throughout the village that everyone had seen by now.

Nathan had arrived in their lives as an outsider, a stranger carrying his own burdens and secrets. Since then, everything had begun moving faster.

The shinobi had spent years preparing to free the South from the rule of the Daimyos. They had gathered information, built hidden networks, and waited for weaknesses they could exploit. But they had always been forced to move carefully. They were hunted, outnumbered, and still marked as enemies of the realm after the assassination of the King.

Their survival had depended on patience.

Nathan had changed that.

His arrival had given them more than strength. It had given them momentum. With Yorimasa and Mitsuhide gone, the balance of power in the South had already been shaken. The old order was beginning to crack, and everyone in the village could feel it.

Now only Norihiro remained.

The last Daimyo.

The most dangerous one.

For that reason, the shinobi worked from sunrise until deep into the night. Scouts moved through the roads around Minami Kyoto. Spies listened in markets, inns, shrines, and guard posts. Messages arrived from nearby towns almost every hour, carried by riders who barely stopped long enough to drink water before leaving again.

They needed to know everything.

How many soldiers Norihiro had.

Where they were positioned.

Which roads were watched.

Who entered and left the city.

Whether all the people of Minami Kyoto still supported their Daimyo, or whether fear had begun to weaken that loyalty.

Nothing was too small to report.

While the shinobi prepared for the fight ahead, their families helped in every way they could. Mothers cooked large pots of food for the returning scouts. Older children cleaned weapons and carried supplies between homes. Men and women who could not fight sorted herbs, wrapped bandages, repaired clothing, and prepared medicine.

No one was forced to help.

Yet almost everyone did.

They understood that the coming days would decide whether they remained hidden in the forest for the rest of their lives or finally stepped into the open again.

For years, this village had been their refuge.

After the King was assassinated, a ruthless hunt had begun against the shinobi. They had been branded traitors and murderers, forced to disappear into the forest where even traveling beyond the nearest paths had become dangerous. They had learned to survive in silence, hidden from towns, markets, celebrations, and ordinary life.

They had built homes there.

They had raised children there.

But hiding was not the same as living freely.

The forest had protected them, yet it had also become a cage.

Many of the younger shinobi had never seen the larger world beyond their secret paths. Some children knew other towns only through stories told by their parents. Others had never walked openly through a market, visited a festival, or traveled without first checking every shadow for danger.

They wanted their freedom back.

And now, for the first time in years, it seemed possible.

Kaguya had offered them a path toward that future. If they protected Ayame, their names would be cleared and they would receive official status once again. They would no longer need to live as hunted fugitives.

But even that promise could not solve everything.

Many of them had roots in the South. Their families had lived there for generations. Their memories, their losses, and their hopes all belonged to those lands. They did not want freedom only in the capital or beneath Kaguya’s protection.

They wanted the South to be free as well.

For that to happen, Norihiro had to fall.

Genzo had worked toward that goal for years. He had seen the cruelty of the Daimyos more closely than most, and he had never stopped gathering the people, information, and patience needed for the day they could finally strike back.

Now that day was approaching.

Nathan had given them the opening they had been waiting for.

His plan to draw Norihiro out of Minami Kyoto had already begun to move into place, and every shinobi in the village understood the importance of what came next. If they succeeded, the last great obstacle in the South would be removed. If they failed, Norihiro would not simply punish them.

He would destroy them.

That morning, Genzo sat inside the main house used for meetings, receiving report after report from the shinobi stationed around Minami Kyoto and the surrounding towns.

Maps covered the low table before him. Marked roads, mountain paths, hidden routes, and likely troop movements filled the parchment. Beside them lay written messages, some still sealed, others already opened and studied.

A scout entered, bowed, and placed another report in front of him.

Genzo’s eyes moved across it in silence.

Then another messenger arrived.

And then another.

Outside, the village continued to move with restless energy.

The final battle for the South had not begun yet.

But it was close enough that everyone could feel it coming.

Genzo read the newest report twice before setting it down.

The messenger who had brought it remained kneeling at the edge of the room, waiting quietly for a response. His clothes were dusty from travel, and the hem of his cloak was still damp from the morning mist outside the forest.

”How certain is this?” Genzo asked.

”Certain enough,” the scout replied. ”The soldiers have begun moving supplies from the western storehouses. Not openly, but there are more carts entering Minami Kyoto than usual. Food, arrows, medicine, and barrels of oil.”

Genzo’s expression darkened.

”That means Norihiro is preparing for a siege,” one of the older shinobi said from across the table.

”Or preparing to march,” another added.

Genzo shook his head slowly. ”Not yet. A man who intends to march does not strengthen his walls first. He expects someone to come for him.”

The room fell quiet.

Everyone understood what that meant.

Norihiro knew danger was approaching. Perhaps he had heard rumors about Urakami. Perhaps his own spies had noticed the movements around Kajiya Hara. Or perhaps he had known from the beginning that the balance in the South was beginning to collapse.

Either way, he was not waiting helplessly inside Minami Kyoto.

He was preparing.

Another shinobi entered then, moving quickly through the doorway. She was a young woman with dark hair tied high behind her head, her breathing controlled despite the urgency in her eyes.

”Genzo sama,” she said, bowing. ”A message from the eastern road.”

Genzo looked up. ”Speak.”

”Several of Norihiro’s men have been seen leaving the city in small groups. They are dressed as merchants and travelers, but they are soldiers. They are heading toward the nearby towns.”

”Scouts,” Genzo muttered.

”Or messengers,” the older shinobi said.

”Both,” Genzo replied. ”He wants eyes outside the city. He is trying to learn where the threat will come from before it reaches him.”

His gaze fell back to the maps.

The plan Nathan had set into motion depended on Norihiro believing that Urakami and the samurai were the true danger. If Norihiro focused too much on the black ronin, the shinobi, or Kaguya’s people, then everything could become more difficult.

They needed him to look in the wrong direction.

They needed him to move when the moment came.

A faint sound came from outside the room, followed by the creak of the door opening once again.

This time, Nathan entered.