I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

Chapter 472: Medea’s wish Granted!

After qualifying among the survivors, Nathan finally stepped out of the blood-soaked sands of the arena. The roar of the crowd followed him like a tidal wave, a cacophony of cheers and chants that shook the very stone of the Colosseum. Yet, despite the praise, despite the thunder of admiration from thousands of voices, his expression remained calm, almost indifferent.

He had done what was required. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Before the mob of spectators—or worse, his fellow competitors—could close in on him, Nathan quietly slipped away from the spotlight, vanishing down the shaded corridor beneath the stands.

But he wasn’t alone.

“You fought quite strangely, Septimius.”

The voice was smooth, deliberate. Nathan halted mid-step and lifted his gaze.

The man with piercing blue eyes—the same one he had noticed earlier—was waiting for him in the dim passage, smiling as though they had known each other for years.

Nathan’s eyes narrowed. Since when has he been here? More importantly… how did he appear so suddenly without me noticing?

“Not killing, and clearly not using your full strength,” the man continued, his smile never faltering. “If you wanted, you could have disposed of everyone without even breaking a sweat.”

Nathan regarded him silently for a moment before replying, his voice steady and sharp.”I return you the remark.”

He hadn’t been blind during the fight. His instincts never lied, and what he sensed from this man was not ordinary. Strength clung to him like a second skin—effortless, concealed beneath a mask of casual demeanor. But there was something else too, something hidden that Nathan couldn’t yet define.

The man extended his hand, introducing himself with the same unshakable calm.”I am Ethan. Let’s get along, Septimius.”

Nathan’s eyes flicked down to the offered hand, then back up to Ethan’s confident expression. Without a word, he stepped past him, brushing by as though the gesture had never existed.

He wasn’t about to place trust in someone like this—not here, not now. A man like Ethan appearing suddenly within his group? No, that wasn’t coincidence. That was deliberate. Suspicious. Dangerous.

Ethan’s hand lingered in the air for a moment before he finally let it fall. Yet his smile didn’t falter.”I know who you are, Septimius,” he said softly.

Nathan didn’t even bother looking back.”Good for you.” His reply was curt, dismissive, and he continued walking deeper into the corridor.

Behind him, Ethan lifted a finger to his ear, speaking to someone unseen.”I know, I know, Olivia. Don’t get angry,” he muttered, chuckling faintly as though answering a reprimand. Then, just as quietly as he had appeared, Ethan turned away.

Nathan slowed his pace for a fraction of a second, the name echoing in his mind. Ethan. Olivia… He frowned. The names stirred something faint in his memory, a whisper of familiarity, but he couldn’t place it. Not yet. Not here.

“Whatever,” he muttered to himself. He had no time to waste on that man—not when there were greater things to focus on.

“Septimius!”

The call rang out the moment he reached the tunnel’s exit.

Nathan turned, his sharp gaze catching sight of Julia rushing toward him, her silken robes flowing behind her like a cascade of moonlight. Two Roman soldiers flanked her, their armor glinting dully in the torchlight.

His eyes hardened.”Princess, you shouldn’t be here,” he said firmly, his tone carrying both warning and reproach.

The underground passages were dangerous, riddled with gladiators who bore fresh resentment against Rome. Many of them would leap at the chance to seize Caesar’s daughter if she wandered into their grasp. And with only two soldiers at her side? They would stand no chance against a mob of bloodthirsty killers.

Did Caesar truly allow his daughter to come here unguarded? No… impossible. She must have come on her own.

Julia, breathless from her rush, lowered her gaze and spoke shyly.”I… I just wanted to congratulate you for the victory, Septimius.”

Nathan shook his head.”I haven’t won the tournament yet.”

“Yes, but…” Her voice softened into a smile. “You fought wonderfully. And… kindly.”

Nathan arched a brow at her choice of words. Kindly? That’s not something often said about a gladiator’s battle.

A faint chuckle escaped him, surprising even himself. Julia’s naivety was disarming, almost refreshing amidst the blood and schemes of Rome. For once, he allowed a genuine smile to surface.

And Julia froze.

Her breath caught in her throat, her cheeks flushing a vivid red. Since the moment she had met Septimius, his face had been cold, unreadable, his expressions carefully guarded. But this… this was the first time she had seen him smile without force, without masks.

And he was devastatingly handsome when he did.

Nathan stepped closer, his presence washing over her like a sudden warmth. He took her delicate hand gently into his own, bowing slightly before brushing his lips across her skin.

“I am thankful for your support,” he said in a low, smooth tone.

Julia’s heart hammered in her chest, her thoughts scattering into chaos at the contact.

Then, just as quickly, Nathan released her hand and turned away, his composure returning as if nothing had happened. He didn’t say more, not with Caesar’s dogs—the Roman soldiers—looming nearby. Courtesy was enough.

And with that, he walked off, leaving Julia standing there, her face still flushed, her heart still racing.

The arena was still vibrating with cheers when Nathan disappeared from sight. Moving like a shadow, he slipped past the guards and spectators, avoiding every attempt to stop or call to him. Within moments, he had already left the Colosseum far behind.

The night embraced him as he soared above Rome, the cool air brushing against his face, carrying with it the distant echoes of celebration. The city below shimmered with torches and scattered lanterns, its countless rooftops stretching endlessly, a labyrinth of stone and firelight. Nathan drifted silently through the skies until he chose his perch—a tall rooftop overlooking the heart of Rome.

There, he waited. Patient. Still.

It didn’t take long. A soft glow shimmered beside him, and from the night air itself, she appeared.

“Nathan.”

Medea’s voice was smooth, elegant, her form materializing like an enchantress woven from moonlight.

Nathan reached for her without hesitation, his hand catching hers and drawing her close. Her warmth seeped into him instantly, grounding him after the cold isolation of battle. Medea’s cheeks flushed as she leaned into him, her hands resting gently against his chest, as if trying to feel his heartbeat through his tunic.

“I saw you fighting,” she whispered.

Nathan tilted his head slightly, his gaze calm. “And?”

Her fingers curled tighter against his chest. “I don’t like it.”

His brow furrowed, amusement flickering briefly across his face. “Don’t like what?”

Medea’s warmth shifted suddenly, replaced by a chilling aura. The softness in her expression hardened, her heterochromatic eyes burning with something fierce. Nathan could almost taste the killing intent radiating from her.

“Seeing so many ants calling you…” she spat softly.

Nathan understood instantly. She wasn’t speaking about his enemies in the arena. She meant the crowds, the thousands of voices that had screamed for him, chanted his name as though he belonged to them. To Medea, those cheers were unbearable. They weren’t admiration—they were theft.

Jealousy, pure and unbridled, twisted her heart. Medea wanted Nathan to be hers and hers alone. She knew his goals required attention, that drawing eyes was part of his plan, yet knowing did not soothe her. In her heart, every cheer was a provocation, every chant an insult. In her rage, she felt the terrifying urge to silence them all—to slaughter the entire arena without hesitation.

Nathan smiled faintly at her obsession, lifting her chin with his hand. “You’re worrying about nothing.”

And before she could respond, he closed the distance, pressing his lips against hers.

Medea melted instantly. Her jealousy, her killing intent, all dissolved into heat as she surrendered to the kiss. Her arms wrapped around him tightly, her soft body pressing against his as though she could fuse herself into him completely. She kissed him back desperately, hungrily—because Nathan was her weakness, the only one who could unmake her with a single touch.

When he finally drew back, her lips parted reluctantly, her breath uneven. Nathan’s gaze softened.

“How was it? The task I asked of you.”

Medea steadied herself, forcing the words past her heated lips. “Yes. The man called Pompey… he’s still alive.”

Nathan’s lips curved into a slow, knowing smile.

Pompey.

The man who was supposed to have died during the grand entrance ceremony—the very event Nathan had missed. Yet Caesar had orchestrated that death, or so it seemed. If Caesar had truly wanted Pompey gone, he would have ordered Nathan himself to do it swiftly. But instead, he had delayed.

That meant only one thing: Pompey possessed something Caesar still needed.

And that knowledge made Nathan’s smile widen even more.

Medea’s fingers traced along his chest. “What should we do, Nate? Can we kill them already? Can we kill everyone in this city?” Her voice had lowered to a whisper, sultry and venomous, her hot breath brushing against his lips as she leaned in again.

Nathan kissed her once more, lingering, his tongue teasing against her lips until she moaned softly.

“Hmmm~~”

When he finally spoke, his tone was resolute, carrying a weight that made her shiver.”Rome will belong to me soon enough. And when it does… I promise I will give you a child.”

That would be Nathan’s reward for that woman he trusted with his life and who had sacrificed so much for him and had done so much for him without asking anything in return but just to be next to him.

Medea froze, her eyes widening. For a moment she searched his gaze, trying to see if he was serious. Nathan never spoke idly, never jested about matters of weight. And the truth in his eyes stole her breath.

Her body trembled. Tears welled up, spilling from her mismatched eyes—one red, one green—streaming down her cheeks in sheer joy. For Medea, nothing could compare to this. A child, born of both their blood, their flesh—something eternal to bind them beyond all else.

She pressed her face against his chest, overwhelmed, her heart pounding wildly.

Nathan’s arms wrapped around her in a rare, tender embrace. He stroked her hair gently, his voice low and certain.

“Stay with me until then. Together, we’ll bring down the Roman Empire.”

Medea’s flushed cheeks buried deeper into him, her tears dampening his tunic, but her smile was radiant even through the trembling.

In that moment, the sorceress who could turn worlds to ash just for Nathan was nothing more than a woman in love—utterly consumed by the man she had given her entire existence to.