I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

Chapter 569: Septimius VS Romulus (3)

The great coliseum of Rome—normally a roaring cauldron of cheers, wagers, and drunken revelry—had fallen into a suffocating, almost sacred silence. The only sound that remained, echoing violently across the ancient stone, was the furious clash unfolding at the heart of the arena.

Moments earlier, panic had erupted through the stands like wildfire. Roman civilians, seasoned spectators who had witnessed all manner of gruesome spectacles, had bolted for the exits the instant the colossal wolf—Romulus, the mythical guardian of Rome’s founding—materialized on the arena sands in a burst of celestial fire. For a heartbeat, chaos had seemed unstoppable.

But now… now the fleeing had slowed.

Now, countless spectators stood frozen mid-step, their faces ashen, their bodies trembling, their breath caught in their throats. Some still crawled or limped desperately toward the arched gates, but most had become statues—drawn, held, captured by the impossible sight before them.

A battle that looked as though it had been torn straight from a lost epic of the gods.

BADOOOOM!!

An explosion of light and fire rippled across the arena, shaking the stone beneath thousands of feet. A shockwave tore through the air, powerful enough to reduce bone to dust—if not for the shimmering barrier Hermes had cast around the entire coliseum. His divine shield wrapped around the stands like a translucent dome, absorbing each blast of heat and force with crackling resistance.

Without that barrier, half the audience would already have been corpses.

A lone human battling a mythic beast tall as a building, wreathed in flame, born of Rome’s origin—

it was a sight so unreal that even terror was momentarily forgotten.

Even the gods themselves were leaning forward, fully consumed by the spectacle.

“Dark Magic…” Sif whispered, her eyes narrowing as she studied the dark aura swirling around the young warrior.

“I see now…” Ishtar murmured, lips curling into a knowing smirk. Her pink eyes shimmered with sudden recognition.

The movements… the magic… the overwhelming pressure he released with each strike—

She had seen this before.

She had witnessed it during the war between the Kingdom of Kastoria and Tenebria. Not in full detail, but enough to remember the shadow that had turned the tides of battle.

She understood now why something had felt eerily familiar the moment she set eyes on him.

The man fighting Romulus—Septimius—

was no mere Roman hero.

He was Samael, the Hero of Darkness.

Summoned by the Tenebria Kingdom. The one whispered about in fear and awe.

“Do you know him?” Sif asked, sensing Ishtar’s sudden interest.

“Perhaps,” Ishtar replied, her tone light but her gaze razor-sharp. Her pink eyes never left Nathan—Septimius—Samael.

Whatever name he bore, she was certain now of his true nature.

Down below, Nathan’s full focus was locked on Romulus.

His golden demonic eyes gleamed sharply, the pupils slit like a predator’s. Every muscle in his body moved with a controlled, lethal grace. His feet skimmed across the cracked arena floor, barely touching the ground as he dodged, weaved, and countered.

One mistake—one slip—

and he would be ripped apart.

Or burned alive.

Or both.

BADAM!!

A massive paw crashed down, claws tearing deep trenches into the ground. The heat radiating from Romulus’s flaming fur melted the stone on contact, turning dust into glowing slag.

Nathan pivoted sharply, ducking beneath the blow, and swung his sword in a sweeping arc. Frost bloomed along the blade’s edge, trailing behind him like a ribbon of pale mist.

CLAAANG—BOOOOM!

The strike hit Romulus’s leg with explosive force, parting fur and flesh. A thin line of blood splashed against the ground—but not nearly enough.

“What kind of fur is that…?” Nathan muttered, astonished—and slightly irritated—that his blow had barely pierced the beast.

He had no chance to dwell on the thought.

Romulus’s blazing maw lunged, fangs like molten iron closing in to rip his torso apart.

Nathan’s left hand shot up.

In an instant, his Demonic Sword materialized in a burst of black flame. He slashed upward, channeling a surge of dark magic.

“GRAAAAAH!!”

The wolf recoiled violently, its head snapping back, blood spraying from its maw. Fire erupted even hotter along its body, its aura burning the very air. Flames spiraled inward, gathering at its mouth, condensing into a blinding sphere.

“This looks bad,” Nathan thought, preparing to dodge—

—until a flicker of movement at the edge of his vision made his heart jolt.

A familiar figure stood there.

Too close.

Far too close.

“G…Grab onto me!” a voice cried out desperately.

Nathan whipped around.

It was Julia.

She had climbed down into the arena.

Not alone—many terrified civilians had attempted the same, trying to squeeze through the arena floor’s lower exits, pressing themselves against the walls to evade the explosions.

But Julia was the only one who had run toward danger.

She supported a limping woman under her arm, guiding her through falling debris and swirling fire.

“Why is she here—?” Nathan’s thoughts sharpened in alarm.

She should have been in the VIP balcony, safe with Caesar’s entourage.

She should have escaped immediately.

But she hadn’t.

She had chosen to stay.

To help.

Julia was standing directly in the path of Romulus’s attack.

If Nathan dodged—if he so much as shifted a step aside— she would be swallowed by the blast and reduced to ashes in an instant.

Julia, exhausted and trembling, had an arm wrapped around the injured woman beside her. Judging from her blood-stained dress, torn sleeves, and tangled hair, Julia had clearly helped more than just one person escape the chaos inside the coliseum. She had been running back and forth. She had been saving people.

But now… she felt it.

That crushing, suffocating sense of coming death.

Her head lifted slowly, dread creeping through her veins like ice.

And then she saw it.

Romulus—towering, monstrous, its maw open wide and glowing with devastating fire.A godly beast preparing to erase her from existence.

Julia’s body froze.

Her breath hitched.

Her mind blanked.

“Why didn’t you leave already?”

The voice came from right in front of her.

She blinked.

Septimius—Nathan—stood there, shielding both her and the injured civilian with his body. He had appeared so quickly she hadn’t even seen him move.

“S..Septimius…” she breathed out, her voice trembling.

For a heartbeat, she stared at him—not as the man she had spoken to several times, but as the overwhelming being he truly was. The demonic golden eyes, the cold confidence, the raw power radiating from him… it left her momentarily mesmerized.

“Why didn’t you leave with Caesar?” Nathan asked again, quickly glancing back at her before turning toward the incoming blast.

Julia’s lips parted.

Her eyes filled with tears.

“M…My father…” she whispered. “H-He… he’s the one who did this… I saw him, Septimius…”

Her voice cracked with a sound so fragile that Nathan felt it more than he heard it.

“He’s the one responsible… all of this… it’s him…”

Her hands trembled. Her heart felt crushed beneath the weight of betrayal.

Naive she might be—yes—but not blind. Not a fool.

She couldn’t run away under the protection of the very man who had thrown Rome into chaos.

She couldn’t abandon the people he had endangered.

Nathan exhaled sharply.

“…Just stay back,” he said, voice dropping into a colder, darker register.

His stance shifted.

In his right hand, he held the golden sword of Alexander the Great, gleaming with ancient authority.

In his left, the Demonic Sword of the Demon King, pulsing with malevolent energy.

Dark magic surged along both blades, tendrils of shadow swirling like living smoke.

With a single explosive step, Nathan launched himself skyward.

At that exact moment, Romulus unleashed its attack.

BADOOOOOM!!

The fire that poured from the wolf’s jaw wasn’t mere flame—it was the rage of a legendary beast made manifest, burning so intensely that the very air distorted and sizzled. The temperature spiked violently, washing over Nathan like a tidal wave of molten heat.

If not for the ice armor coating his body, his skin would have already blistered.

The beam struck him.

Darkness erupted from Nathan’s body in a violent shockwave as he crossed both blades in front of him.

BAAADOOMMMMM!!!

The collision was apocalyptic.

Darkness clashed against blazing fire.

Darkness and light split the sky above the arena.

The air trembled, screaming under the pressure as shockwaves rippled outward and crashed against Hermes’s divine barrier.

For a moment—just a moment—the two forces appeared equal.

Then Nathan’s demonic golden eyes sharpened.

They glowed deeper, darker.

He roared inwardly and poured even more dark magic into the clash.

BADOOOOOOOOOM!!!

Gasps rose from the audience.

From the gods.

From even the divine audience.

Romulus’s massive paws skittered back, claws digging trenches into the stone floor as it was forced to retreat. Its flames sputtered, its fire being devoured—consumed—by the expanding darkness.

Nathan didn’t hesitate.

He shifted his magic.

Light—pure, searing red—gathered around him.

Ra’s divine light magic crackled through his swords, then burst forward.

A crimson beam sliced through the clashing energies, carving a path straight for Romulus.

BADAM!

The blast struck the beast square in the forehead.

Romulus staggered.

Nathan didn’t waste the opening.

He kicked off the air itself, propelling his body at blinding speed toward the wolf.Both his swords screamed with pressure, dark magic swirling so densely it bent the space around them.

“Twin Blades of Darkness”

The words left his lips barely above a whisper.

For a heartbeat—everything went silent.

Then the world detonated.

BADOOOOOOOOOM!!!

Darkness erupted outward in a crescent arc, tearing through the air so violently it left cracks of black lightning behind. The strike sliced through flame, fur, and divine protection.

SPATTER!!!

Nathan appeared behind Romulus, sliding across the cracked stone, unable to stop his own momentum.

But he didn’t need to.

The damage was already done.

“GRROOOOHHHHHHH!!!”

Romulus let out a deafening, agonized roar.

Blood sprayed from its face.

Its right eye—gone.

A long, brutal slash carved from the ruined socket down across its head and cheek, its fur split open and burning blood dripping onto the arena sands.

The mythical guardian of Rome staggered, trembling, blinded on one side.

Nathan hit the ground hard, rolling across the cracked stone until he dug his heel in and forced himself upright again. His breath came out in sharp bursts, the taste of smoke still burning in his throat. His muscles screamed from the impact of Romulus’s last attack, but he couldn’t afford even a second to recover.

Because something was wrong.

Terribly wrong.

He felt it—a sudden, crushing pressure slamming down on the arena like a falling sky.A suffocating aura, cold enough to turn bone brittle.

And it was familiar.

Horrifyingly familiar.

Nathan’s head snapped up.

There, floating above the coliseum like a dark omen, was Pandora.

Her entire body was wreathed in a swirling, deathly purple aura. It pulsed and twisted like living miasma, the very air around her warping under its influence. The sky dimmed, clouds trembling, and shadows lengthened unnaturally.

She looked like a being standing one step away from ending the world.

Even the gods reacted instantly.

Dionysus and Hermes—normally relaxed, carefree, and borderline playful—shot backward into the sky at full speed, their expressions turning grim.

Hermes’s voice trembled with urgency.

“This is very bad—what happened to her?!”

“I don’t know,” Dionysus said, eyes narrowing, his usual smirk gone. “Call Athena. Now.”

For a god known for wine and laughter to lose his smile… that alone was enough to terrify the entire divine balcony.

Pandora was not a threat they could ignore.

If she lost control—

If even a flicker of her power slipped out—

The world itself could end.

Nathan felt his heartbeat quicken feeling once again that deathly aura.

But then his eyes shifted.

Up toward the very top of the coliseum.

A lone figure stood there—calm, unmoving, and terrifyingly composed.

Aaron.

His hood was pulled back, revealing his face, and in his hand he held a small, pitch-black orb.

The sphere pulsed with an aura nearly identical to Pandora’s—dark, corrupt, ancient, and suffocating.

Nathan’s stomach tightened.

So that was how.

Until now, he hadn’t been able to understand how Aaron planned to influence someone as overwhelmingly powerful—and as dangerously unstable—as Pandora. But now the answer was obvious.

That orb…

It wasn’t from this world.

It wasn’t magic.

It wasn’t divine.

It was a fragment—an artifact—created by one of the curses sealed inside Pandora’s Box.

How Aaron had acquired something like that was a mystery Nathan had no time to solve.

But the implications were terrifying.

Aaron had tapped into the power of the curses themselves.

And now he was using it as a leash—or a detonator.

Nathan exhaled slowly, a small, tense smirk forming on his lips despite the sweat trickling down his cheek.

“Let’s see…” he muttered under his breath, tightening his grip on his swords.”Let’s see if I can fight death once more.”