I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

Chapter 592: Giving Hope to Julia

After Nathan finished laying out every one of his conditions, he did not add another word.

Silence settled over the chamber, heavy but not hostile—more like the quiet that follows a verdict already understood.

There were, of course, other matters still hanging in the air. Talks of Tenebria, of a future alliance, of the inevitable confrontation with the Light Empire—all of it lingered unspoken, deliberately postponed. Those discussions would come later, when tempers had cooled and foundations had been properly set.

Rushing such things now would be foolish.

Rome had only just clawed its way out of disaster. The city was wounded, exhausted, and fragile. Streets needed rebuilding, authority needed reasserting, and trust—most of all—needed time to be restored. Throwing Rome straight into another large-scale conflict would only tear open scars that had barely begun to heal.

“For the matter of Tenebria,” Nathan finally said, his voice calm and measured, “I will speak of an alliance later. I will inform you when the time comes.”

Crassus released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and nodded.

“That is acceptable to us,” he replied, genuine relief evident in his tone. He was grateful—deeply so—that Nathan was not demanding immediate troops or pressing Rome into yet another war against the Light Empire while the city was still struggling to stand.

“Then we are settled,” Nathan said, pushing himself to his feet.

He adjusted his cloak as he rose, his presence commanding without needing to raise his voice.

“I will leave the matter of welcoming Cleopatra as queen to you. She will also be overseeing the recovery of the Heroes.”

“That suits us just fine,” Fulvius said, waving a hand dismissively. “We have no desire to keep the summoned Heroes here either.”

If anything, they were more trouble than they were worth—immensely powerful, politically sensitive, and dangerously difficult to control. A headache Rome could do without.

Nathan turned toward the exit, already halfway out of the room, when he suddenly stopped.

He looked back.

His gaze settled squarely on Crassus—and then shifted to Fulvius—sharp, cold, and deliberate.

“Oh, one more thing,” he said quietly.

Both men stiffened.

“I may live thousands of miles away,” Nathan continued, his eyes narrowing slightly, “but do not mistake distance for absence. I can return here whenever I wish.”

The air grew tense.

“And when I do,” he added, voice lowering just enough to make the words bite, “I expect to find things exactly as they should be. Servilia treated with the respect she deserves, for example.”

He paused, letting the implication sink in.

“It would be a shame,” Nathan said calmly, “to have to pull off another Caesar on you… simply because you chose to be stubborn.”

It was not shouted.

It was not dramatized.

But it was unmistakably a threat.

A clear warning not to treat his women as disposable tools, not to forget whose shadow loomed over Rome now.

Fulvius clicked his tongue irritably.

“We understand, boy,” he grumbled. “Your woman will be safe.”

Servilia, standing nearby, allowed herself a small, satisfied smile.

The warmth that spread through her chest made her want to rush forward and embrace Nathan right then and there—but she restrained herself. There were still negotiations to be had, discussions to oversee, and Rome’s future remained far from settled.

“Good,” Nathan said simply.

Without another glance, he turned and left the chamber.

Now, all that remained was to wait for Cleopatra’s arrival. Once she was settled and the final loose ends were tied, his work in Rome would finally be complete. Only then could he return to Tenebria with a clear mind and an unburdened conscience.

With that thought steadying him, Nathan made his way through the Senate Castle.

His steps carried him down familiar corridors until he reached a section far more heavily guarded than the rest. Soldiers stood at attention outside the doors, armor gleaming, expressions rigid.

When they recognized him, they immediately bowed their heads.

“Lord Septimius.”

“Let me in,” Nathan said.

Without hesitation, the guards stepped aside and opened the door. Once he passed through, it closed softly behind him, sealing the corridor away.

Inside was a set of quarters unlike any other in the Senate Castle—lavish even by Roman aristocratic standards. Marble floors, rich drapery, and furnishings so expensive that even the wealthiest nobles could never hope to afford them.

Which made sense.

These chambers were not meant for just anyone.

Nathan walked deeper into the room, his footsteps echoing faintly, until his gaze caught on a figure curled up atop a large, ornate sofa.

She lay on her side, knees drawn close, curly blond hair spilling across the cushions.

Julia.

Nathan stood there for a long moment, simply looking at her.

Under Fulvius’s orders, Julia had been confined to these quarters, kept under constant guard. It wasn’t a decision Nathan particularly blamed him for. As Fulvius himself had said, Julia might be kind—gentle, even—but she was still Caesar’s daughter. Blood alone was enough to make things complicated in Rome, and hatred did not care for nuance.

Some despised her purely because of whose blood flowed through her veins.

Here, at least, she was safe. She was treated with care, given comfort, protected from the sharpest edges of the Senate’s resentment.

Yet it was immediately obvious that safety was not what she lacked.

Julia looked… broken.

Not physically—her body bore no wounds—but her posture, the way she lay curled in on herself as if trying to disappear, spoke of a far deeper injury. Her eyes were swollen and red, skin raw from tears that had clearly fallen far too often, far too freely.

“Julia,” Nathan called.

Her body flinched, a small involuntary shiver running through her as she slowly turned her head.

When her gaze met his, her breath caught.

There he stood—Nathan—solid, real. Her eyes widened slightly, disbelief flickering across her face.

“S… Septimius…” She whispered, voice hoarse and fragile.

“How are you doing?” Nathan asked.

The question might have been shameless in its simplicity, but he had to begin somewhere.

Julia didn’t answer. She turned her head away, lips pressing together as if afraid that if she spoke, everything she had been holding back would spill out at once.

Nathan didn’t push.

Instead, he dragged an ornate chair closer, the legs scraping faintly against the marble floor, and sat down in front of her. He leaned forward slightly, crimson eyes steady and attentive, never leaving her face.

Up close, the extent of her misery was even clearer. This wasn’t exhaustion of the body—it was exhaustion of the soul.

There were many reasons for it. Learning the truth about her father. Discovering the depth of his crimes, the countless lives he had destroyed. Being forced to confront the fact that she carried his name, his blood, his legacy—while having had no power to stop any of it.

A prison without bars.

“Has my father… been executed?” Julia asked at last, her voice so small it almost vanished into the air.

“No,” Nathan replied calmly. “He won’t be.”

Julia’s fingers tightened slightly in the fabric beneath her.

“Keeping him alive is better for Rome,” Nathan continued, “and a far harsher punishment for someone as prideful as him.”

“I see…” she murmured, nodding weakly.

Silence lingered again.

“Are you worried about him?” Nathan asked gently.

That was all it took.

A tear slipped free, rolling down her cheek and dripping onto the cushion below.

Julia let out a broken, shaky breath.

“It’s… pathetic, isn’t it?” she said, her voice trembling. “That I’m worrying about such an evil man…”

“No,” Nathan said immediately, shaking his head. “It isn’t.”

She glanced at him, surprised.

“He is your father,” Nathan said simply.

Even if Caesar was nothing but rot and cruelty to the rest of the world, Nathan had no doubt that, to Julia, he had been something else entirely. A man capable of love, twisted though the rest of him might have been.

Julia’s composure finally cracked.

“H…He killed so many people,” she cried, clenching her hands tightly, knuckles whitening. “Innocents… I saw it. I watched it happen—and I couldn’t do anything. Nothing at all…”

“I saw you helping people,” Nathan said quietly. “Saving them. Protecting them.”

Julia shook her head harder, tears falling faster.

“It wasn’t enough… It was never enough…”

“You are not responsible for your father’s actions,” Nathan said firmly. “If you were, you wouldn’t be here now.”

Her shoulders shook.

“E… Everyone looks at me like I’m a monster,” she whispered.

“Not everyone,” Nathan replied. “Just some senators who hate anything connected to Caesar.”

He paused, then added, “You should know this—among the people of Rome, you are loved. Deeply. Alongside Servilia, you are one of the most beloved women in this city.”

“But… I—”

“You don’t have to answer for Caesar’s sins,” Nathan said, cutting her off. “But if you want to do something—if you want to make a difference—then help rebuild Rome.”

Julia hesitated, listening.

“You may have lost your influence in the Senate,” Nathan continued, “but among the people? That influence is still very much alive. They listen to you. They trust you. And right now, Rome needs that more than ever.”

Julia lowered her gaze, her breathing uneven—but for the first time, something other than despair flickered behind her eyes.

A fragile, uncertain possibility.

“I… I am scared,” Julia admitted in a weak, trembling voice. “Scared of facing everyone.”

Her fingers tightened against the fabric beneath her as she spoke, knuckles paling. It wasn’t the fear of danger that haunted her—it was something far more painful. The thought of walking into rooms filled with people who would look at her with hatred, suspicion, or thinly veiled disgust. Being judged not for who she was, but for whose blood ran through her veins.

For someone as gentle and innocent as Julia—someone who had known little but affection and sheltered kindness for most of her life—that kind of rejection cut deeper than any blade ever could.

Nathan watched her quietly for a moment before speaking.

“Then don’t look at them,” he said calmly. “Ignore those who hate you and focus instead on the people who love you—on those who believe in you.”

Julia swallowed.

“W… who?” she asked softly, as if she genuinely couldn’t imagine such people existing anymore.

Nathan didn’t hesitate.

“Servilia believes in you, for one,” he said. “More than you think.”

Julia’s eyes flickered.

“She’s in a similar situation—arguably worse,” Nathan continued. “She was openly your father’s lover for a year. The Senate despises her for it. They glare at her, whisper behind her back, curse her existence.”

He allowed a faint, knowing smile.

“And yet—have you seen how she walks? How she carries herself?”

Julia nodded slowly.

“She doesn’t care,” Nathan said. “Not about their gazes, not about their hatred. She walks forward regardless. And she will do the same for you. She’ll stand beside you.”

Something stirred in Julia’s blue eyes at the mention of Servilia.

She had always admired her—her strength, her grace, her pride, her refusal to bow no matter how heavy the pressure became. Servilia had always been her model and Julia had never hide it.

“And you won’t be alone,” Nathan went on. “Fulvia will be there as well. And Licinia.”

Julia blinked.

“Since it seems you’ll be adopted by Crassus,” Nathan added casually.

“A—Adopted?” Julia lifted her head sharply, eyes widening in pure shock.

Nathan raised an eyebrow.

“What? You don’t want Licinia as a sister?” he asked lightly.

Licinia had quite the character, to say the least.

“N…No!” Julia shook her head immediately, almost panicked. “I love Licinia!”

Of course she did. Julia was Caesar’s daughter. Licinia was Crassus’s. Two daughters raised in the shadow of Rome’s greatest powers, educated together from childhood, sharing tutors, lessons, expectations. They knew each other better than most sisters ever would.

“Then it’s settled,” Nathan said. “If you truly want to stay here—if you truly want to help Rome—then start anew from there.”

That was all it took.

Tears streamed freely down Julia’s cheeks, but this time they were different. They weren’t born purely from despair. Something warm had rekindled in her chest—fragile, uncertain, but undeniably there.

Hope.

All from a simple conversation.

Nathan had always been good with words, whether he intended to be or not.

But then Julia clenched her fists, her expression tightening once more. She hesitated, drawing in a shaky breath before speaking again.

“Septimius…”

“Yes?” Nathan asked gently. “Is there something you want to ask?”

“Yes… I…” She swallowed. “I’m not stupid.”

Nathan remained silent, allowing her to continue.

“I believe you joined my father’s side… in order to bring him down,” she said slowly, carefully choosing each word. “But… is that really true?”

Her tear-filled blue eyes locked onto his, searching—not accusing, but desperate for honesty.