I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

Chapter 325: The Wounded Heroes of the Light Empire (1)

Before the Trojan War reached its inevitable conclusion, the Heroes of Light had already abandoned the blood-soaked battlefield, departing from Trojan soil and setting sail back to the Empire of Light. Their decision was not made lightly, but in the end, exhaustion, disillusionment, and the sheer brutality of the conflict left them with no reason to remain. What had once seemed like a righteous battle, a clash of legends, had devolved into something far more monstrous—something none of them had anticipated. 

The war had escalated to levels of violence beyond their comprehension. Both the Greeks and Trojans had become unrecognizable, their forces swollen with beings that defied the natural order. Monstrous creatures stalked the battlefield, warriors fought like demons possessed, and the very air was thick with an aura of malevolence. It was no longer just a war between men; it was something darker, something wholly unnatural. 

Sienna, the strongest among them, had suffered grievous wounds. The sight of her, usually so unshakable, so indomitable, brought low in battle had shaken them all to their core. She had been their role model, their pillar of strength—both back in high school and in this new, unforgiving world. If even she, the mightiest among them, could fall, then what hope did the rest have? Athenaʼs swift intervention had saved her, but that moment had been the final straw. They could no longer ignore the truth. They were out of their depth. 

To make matters worse, Liphiel, the Divine Knight who had been leading them since Radakelʼs death, had died as well. Her death had left them adrift, leaderless, and uncertain. She had been their guide, their authority in this foreign land, and with her gone, the fragile structure that had kept them moving forward collapsed entirely. Jason and Aidan, two of their most formidable warriors, had also sustained serious injuries. The weight of leadership, then, had fallen upon Siara. And she, understanding the growing despair in her comrades, had been the first to make the call—to leave. 

It wasnʼt a decision made out of cowardice, but rather out of grim understanding. They were no longer fighting for anything. They had no stake in this war, and to remain was to throw their lives away for a cause that wasnʼt theirs. One by one, their classmates had agreed. Their pride was wounded, their spirits shaken, but in the end, survival took precedence. 

With the surviving knights of the Light Empire, they boarded their ships and turned their backs on the Achaean continent. It was their first true war—and, without a doubt, the worst experience of their lives. 

The bitter truth was that they had been woefully unprepared. A few months of fighting demons and beasts had not been enough to prepare them for the horrors of large-scale warfare. They had been naive, blinded by the intoxicating rush of their own strength. In Uteska, they had known defeat, but after that, they had grown—becoming stronger, more confident, even arrogant. They had convinced themselves that they could handle war. 

Though their bodies had endured the trials of war—bolstered by the blessings of the gods and the formidable skills they had honed—there was an entirely different battle they had failed to prepare for. The war had not only tested their strength but had also ravaged their minds. The horrors they had witnessed, the blood they had shed, and the overwhelming reality of their mortality had left them shattered in ways they had never imagined. 

Physically, they had survived. Mentally, they were crumbling. 

More than anything, they just wanted to go home. Not to the Light Empire, which had claimed them as its champions, but home—back to Earth. Back to their families, their old lives, their simple worries and mundane struggles. At first, being transported to this world had been exhilarating. It had felt like an adventure, a dream come true. But that dream had twisted into a nightmare. This world was a place of constant danger, where death lurked behind every misstep, where war was not a game but a relentless, merciless force that swallowed the unprepared whole. 

The strain was unbearable for some. The weaker ones had already retreated into themselves, desperately craving peace of mind. Others, however, burned with something else entirely—rage. 

”SHIT! SHIT! SHITT!!!!!” 

A furious roar tore through the air, echoing across the wooden deck of the ship as Aidan erupted. It had been a week since he regained consciousness, his body barely recovering from the grievous wounds he had sustained in the war. And now, as he stood there, his face twisted in fury, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white, his classmates instinctively took a step back. 

They had been walking on eggshells around him ever since he woke up. Aidan had always been hot-headed, but this was different. There was something unhinged about his rage now, something raw and dangerous. It unsettled them. 

It wasnʼt just his injuries that fueled his outburst. It was humiliation. Pure, seething humiliation. 

His last memory on Trojan soil was burned into his mind—Heironʼs disdainful gaze, looking down at him as if he werenʼt even worth finishing off. That bastard hadnʼt even deemed him a threat. Aidan could still see it, the way Heiron had barely acknowledged him before walking away, his expression one of absolute indifference. 

And that was the truth, wasnʼt it? Nathan didnʼt care about Aidan. Not anymore. 

Perhaps there had been a time when Nathan sought revenge against him, a time when old grudges still mattered. But that was the Nathan of the past. That Nathan had long since faded, buried beneath everything he had endured and the power he had gained. Now, Aidan was nothing to him. Just another insignificant figure in a world where strength was everything. 

”C-Calm down, man… Aidan…” 

One of his friends hesitantly reached out, trying to soothe him, but Aidan wasnʼt having it. 

”SHUT UP!!” 

His voice cracked like a whip as he slapped the hand away violently, his eyes blazing with fury. 

His friends recoiled, their fear evident. They had never seen him like this before. 

And the worst part? Aidan knew exactly why he was so angry. It wasnʼt just about Heiron. It was about himself. His own weakness. 

He had dreamt of it last night—a nightmare that played on repeat, Heironʼs cold, dismissive gaze boring into his soul. It was torture, an agony that clawed at him from the inside. He wanted to rip Heiron apart, to crush him, to wipe that look off his face forever. But he wasnʼt stupid. He knew the truth, and that truth burned. 

He was too weak. 

And so, in his frustration, with no way to strike back at the one who had humiliated him, he lashed out at the only people around him—his own classmates.

None of his classmates dared to approach him. 

They had seen Aidan angry before, but this… this was different. There was something feral about him now, something unhinged. Even the knights accompanying them remained silent, exchanging wary glances but making no move to intervene. The more time passed, the more volatile Aidan became, and none of them wanted to be caught in the explosion. 

The tension in the air was suffocating—until an irritated voice broke through the silence. 

”Canʼt you shut up, Aidan?” 

It was sharp, cutting through the weight of the moment with absolute authority. 

Aidanʼs head snapped toward the source, his fury flaring. Only one person on this ship would dare to speak to him like that. 

”What?!” he snarled. 

Jason Spencer stood there, his posture casual but his gaze unwavering. He wore a simple linen shirt, but the bandages wrapped tightly around his stomach were evidence of the wounds he had suffered during the war. Atalantaʼs arrows had struck deep, and even with divine healing, the recovery was slow. 

Like Aidan, Jason was furious about their pathetic defeat, about the way they had fled from the battlefield like cowards. But unlike Aidan, he controlled his emotions. His anger wasnʼt a raging fire—it was cold, smoldering, calculated. 

”I said calm down,” Jason repeated, his tone laced with irritation. ”Youʼre being too damn noisy. If you want to kill Heiron so badly, we can turn the ship around and drop you off back there. Who knows? Maybe the warʼs still going on.” 

Aidan groaned, his entire body tensing with frustration. His fists clenched so tightly that his nails dug into his palms. 

”FUCK IT!!” 

BADAM!

With a roar of rage, he slammed his fist into the wooden guardrail of the ship, shattering it into splinters. The force of the blow sent cracks running through the wood, and a few startled knights stepped back, their hands instinctively moving toward their weapons. 

”Why the fuck are these skills so weak?!” Aidan growled, his breathing ragged. 

They were supposed to be Heroes—chosen ones, summoned to this world to defeat the Demon King. Yet they had been humiliated, crushed, and forced to retreat. If they couldnʼt even defeat a single enemy commander, what hope did they have against the real threat? He had expected more. More power. More dominance. More everything. 

”They arenʼt weak. We are weak,” Jason said flatly. 

Aidanʼs head snapped toward him, his glare filled with disbelief and fury. 

”What did you just say?” 

”I said weʼre weak. Thatʼs all.” Jason met his gaze without flinching. ”But we can get stronger.” 

Aidan scoffed. ”How?” 

Jasonʼs smirk was slight, but it carried a dangerous edge. ”Donʼt you remember what Liphiel offered us?” 

Aidan stiffened. 

A pact. 

Back then, Liphiel had spoken to them about forming a pact with one of the Gods of Light—a contract that would grant them immense power in exchange for their servitude. Both he and Jason had rejected the offer. 

Jason hadnʼt trusted them. 

Aidan had been too arrogant to think he needed them. 

But now? Now, the memory sent a shiver down his spine. 

”Thatʼs not all,” Jason continued, watching him closely. ”If we accept, we donʼt just get stronger. We get new skills. More power. More control. She said so herself.” 

Aidan looked away, his jaw tightening. 

He hated this. Hated that he was even considering it. Hated that he had been reduced to this—standing on a ship, licking his wounds, while Heiron and the others walked away unscathed. 

But he hated his own weakness even more. 

His decision was made. 

He was going to do whatever it took to gain strength. He would crush Heiron. He would tear down the Kingdom of Tenebria. He would overpower the other summoned Heroes, prove he was above them all. 

And if the gods stood in his way? 

He would crush them too.