I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

The absence of Achilles and his Myrmidons from the battlefield had initially gone unnoticed by both sides. For the first few days, the Trojans assumed the formidable warriors were taking a much-deserved respite. After all, even though Achilles himself rarely engaged directly in the fray, his army—led by the stalwart Patroclus—had been wreaking havoc upon Trojan forces. Their relentless precision and sheer brutality had set them apart, tallying more kills than any other Greek contingent.

But as a week passed and the battlefield remained devoid of the Myrmidons’ presence, rumors began to swirl. Whispers reached Trojan ears: Achilles had withdrawn entirely from the war. It seemed the storied Trojan War, the clash that had drawn armies and heroes from across the Aegean, had lost its most formidable warrior.

The reason was clear: the feud between Achilles and Agamemnon had spilled beyond the Greek camp. Agamemnon, still seething over his loss of Astynome—whom he’d been forced to return—had demanded Briseis, Achilles’ prize of war, as recompense. Furious at the insult, Achilles had grudgingly complied but cursed Agamemnon in his rage. As punishment, he had withdrawn his forces from the conflict entirely, leaving the Greeks to fend for themselves.

For the Trojans, this was the best news they’d received since the war began. The morale boost was palpable. Having suffered the ferocity of the Myrmidons firsthand, the Trojans now found their Greek adversaries lacking by comparison. Emboldened, they pressed the attack harder than ever before, their confidence swelling with each skirmish.

Yet even without Achilles, the Greeks were far from toothless. The other kings—Odysseus, Menelaus, Diomedes, and Agamemnon himself—remained steadfast. Recognizing their precarious position, they resolved to take the offensive, aiming to cripple the Trojans before their newfound momentum became unstoppable. Agamemnon, in particular, burned with fury. His anger at the loss of Astynome and his quarrel with Achilles now fueled an insatiable desire for vengeance. He longed to face the Trojan warrior who had dared to challenge him.

In the Myrmidons’ absence, another force began to rise from obscurity: the Heroes of the Empire of Light. Initially dismissed by the Greeks as mere children, they were quickly proving their worth. Their skill and power on the battlefield were undeniable, and their presence reinvigorated the flagging Greek morale. Even the Trojans, who had grown bolder, found themselves facing a new challenge.

Among these heroes, one stood out, Aidan and eventually, his path brought him to the most feared of Trojan champions: Hector, Prince of Troy.

Aidan approached with a swagger, his massive sword resting on his shoulder, a devilish grin curling his lips.

“Today,” he announced, pointing his blade toward Hector, “I’m taking that head of yours. They talk far too much about you, and I’ll prove you’re nothing but a myth.”

Nathan stood silently beside Hector, his gaze devoid of emotion as he stared at Aidan. There was no mistaking the disdain simmering beneath his calm exterior. He hated Aidan—not just for the bullying he had endured at the hands of the so-called Hero of Light, but for the sheer audacity of Aidan’s arrogance now that he’d risen to prominence.

Yet, for all his hatred, Nathan felt nothing stirring within him at the sight of Aidan. No anger, no rush of vengeance—only a cold indifference. If Aidan sought death, Nathan wouldn’t refuse to grant it. But for now, he let the moment play out. After all, Aidan had no chance of defeating Hector. There was no need to intervene.

Hector, however, seemed hesitant as he studied Aidan. The boy didn’t look like a seasoned warrior. He had a youthful, almost naive air about him, as if he were a child playing at war. Hector’s lips tightened, and his voice carried the weight of patience, tinged with a hint of pity.

“You should retreat while you can,” Hector advised, his tone measured but firm. There was something peculiar about Aidan, that much Hector could sense. Perhaps it was the aura of a Hero, faint but discernible. Yet, even with such power, Hector knew this boy was no match for him.

“SHUT UP AND FIGHT!” Aidan snapped, his annoyance erupting like a firestorm. Without waiting for a reply, he swung his massive sword toward Hector, its blade gleaming ominously.

The Trojans nearby instinctively retreated, giving the two combatants space. The clash was ferocious, Aidan attacking with reckless abandon while Hector countered with precision and calm. But the sound of clashing metal was soon drowned out by panicked cries.

“Aidan! What are you doing?!” Jason’s voice cut through the battlefield as he rushed forward, Siara close behind. Their faces betrayed a mix of frustration and dread. Aidan had recklessly ignored their warnings about facing Hector, and now they were forced to intervene.

Nathan’s gaze turned colder at the sight of Jason. He doubted Hector needed any help to handle these two, but Jason’s presence was troubling nonetheless. Nathan’s eyes lingered on him, sharp and calculating. Khione’s warning about the Hero of Light’s SSS skill echoed in his mind. Whatever that power entailed, it was dangerous, and Nathan had no intention of underestimating it.

Though he wasn’t planning to kill Jason—not yet—he had no desire to see him meddling here. The time would come for Nathan to deal with him, but for now, caution ruled his actions.

Jason, meanwhile, scowled as he neared Aidan. His frustration with the situation was palpable, his voice laced with irritation.

“This stupid guy!” he muttered under his breath. Babysitting Aidan was the last thing he wanted to do. If it were up to him, he’d gladly let Hector kill the boy and be done with it. But Liphiel had burdened him with responsibility, pestering him about his role and the need to keep Aidan alive. Jason clenched his glowing sword, its light pulsating with power. If he could kill Hector in the process, it would be all the better.

But just as he raised his sword, preparing to strike, a figure appeared before him in an instant, a blur of movement too fast to track.

“What?!”

BADAAAM!

The sound was thunderous, like a clap of thunder splitting the heavens. Nathan’s fist connected with Jason’s face with bone-crushing force, breaking his nose instantly and sending him hurtling through the air. Jason’s body crashed to the ground over a hundred meters away, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake.

“Jason!” Siara screamed, her voice trembling with worry. She turned her gaze toward Nathan, who now stood before her, his expression as cold and unyielding as ever. Her breath hitched as recognition dawned on her.

“You are…” she whispered, her eyes widening in realization. The image of Nathan from Lyrnessus flashed in her mind—a man shrouded in death, the one who had nearly killed Gwen or she thought. The memory sent a shiver down her spine.

Siara’s gaze hardened, her eyes turning icy. She clenched her fists, but the futility of the situation was clear. She was no match for Nathan.

Siara hesitated, torn between fleeing and staying to watch Aidan’s impending doom. Hector was a force unlike any other; there was no way Aidan could survive against him. But did she even care? Aidan’s arrogance was bound to lead him to an early grave, and she felt no obligation to save him.

Just as she wavered, a sudden roar of flame erupted across the battlefield, slicing toward Nathan. He leaped back, narrowly avoiding the searing heat, but the fire’s impact left scorched earth and several charred Trojan soldiers in its wake. This was no ordinary fire—it was intense, almost vicious, with a ferocity that was all too familiar to Nathan. Yet something had changed. This fire carried a deadly resolve, unlike anything he’d sensed before.

As the flames receded, they revealed a stunning figure—a woman of striking beauty, her chestnut hair streaked with vibrant shades of red, flickering like embers. She wore an intricate dress of red armor that fit her like a second skin, amplifying her regal yet fierce presence. Her once-naive eyes were now sharp and unyielding, glinting like the heart of a raging fire.

Nathan masked his surprise. Courtney. She was ten times more beautiful than he remembered from a year ago, her aura transformed, hardened, and undeniably dangerous.

“Get back, Siara,” Courtney commanded, her tone like steel as she fixed her gaze on Nathan, who she didn’t seem to recognize.

“Courtney! No, he’s dangerous! He beat Gwen!” Siara’s voice trembled as she frantically tried to warn her.

“I know,” Courtney replied, her tone as icy as her glare. She’d seen Nathan’s strength with her own eyes—she’d witnessed how he’d sent Jason flying with a single blow. Yet she wouldn’t let Siara, someone she now considered dear to her, be harmed. She knew Nathan cared for Siara, and in that bond, Courtney had grown close to her as well.

With a fluid, decisive motion, Courtney raised her arm, summoning flames that crackled with a fearsome energy. “Seventh-rank fire magic!” she intoned, releasing a fierce beam of fire that blazed toward Nathan, intent on consuming him in its fiery path.

Nathan reacted swiftly, swinging his sword with precision, conjuring an immense wall of ice to intercept the flames. The heat clashed against the barrier with an explosive hiss, but his ice held firm, repelling the flames with an unexpected strength. Courtney’s eyes widened slightly; she’d faced ice-wielders before, but none of their defenses had withstood her fire like this. Her magic was powerful, yet his ice seemed almost… unbreakable.

Nathan raised his left hand, conjuring several razor-sharp swords of ice, sending them hurtling toward her. Courtney twisted mid-air, narrowly dodging the projectiles. The cold clash of ice against her flames had left the ground steaming, yet she remained poised. In a flash, Nathan vanished, only to reappear directly in front of her, his hand reaching out with deadly intent.

Courtney reacted instantly, sweeping her arm in a wide arc and engulfing Nathan in a gust of fire. She clenched her fist, intensifying the flames, aiming to reduce him to ashes. But to her shock, Nathan emerged unscathed, cutting through the inferno with an icy calm, his hand reaching for her once more. She sprang back, her reflexes razor-sharp, evading his grasp by a hair’s breadth.

The distance between them felt electric, tense. Courtney steadied her breath, her gaze more serious, more resolute. She knew she was up against a strong adversary—one whose power seemed to be much stronger than hers.

As she landed, her gaze met Nathan’s, and a strange feeling churned in her chest. There was something about the way he reached out to her… something that made her feel uneasy, a faint, unshakable discomfort that lingered like a ghostly whisper in the back of her mind.