I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

His body, now headless, remained upright for a moment before collapsing to its knees. Blood streamed down, soaking the earth beneath him.

Nathan stood a short distance away, his black blade gleaming with fresh blood. His expression was unchanging, as if Jason’s death carried no more weight than a passing breeze.

The man who had dared to challenge him for Medea and the Golden Fleece was nothing more than another obstacle—easily and ruthlessly removed.

Nathan turned his back on Jason’s headless corpse without a second glance.The Greeks, who had watched their champions fall, were too terrified to act to try anything.

“He… He killed Ajax…”

A Greek soldier whispered in disbelief, his trembling voice barely audible amidst the chaos. It was as if muttering the words aloud would somehow confirm that this wasn’t some twisted dream—though for them, it was nothing short of a nightmare.

But his quiet exclamation carried, rippling through the ranks like a stone dropped in still water.

“Jason too…” another soldier muttered, his voice tinged with horror.

The battlefield fell into a stunned silence, broken only by the distant clash of weapons and the crackling of flames. The mighty Ajax the Great—King of Salamis, the fabled colossus of Greek legend, a man said to be as indomitable as Achilles or Agamemnon—was dead. His presence had been a pillar of Greek morale, his strength a banner under which the army rallied with unwavering confidence. Yet now, his lifeless body had been shattered, his legend reduced to icy shards scattered across the blood-soaked earth.

Jason, the leader of the famed Argonauts, had fared no better. A single, effortless slice to his neck had ended his storied life. The precision of the strike was almost surgical, devoid of struggle, as though Heiron had found it beneath his notice to extend the fight. One of the bodies lay shattered into crystalline fragments, glittering faintly in the dim light, while the other lay prone on the ground, headless and unmoving.

“Heiron won!”

The shout came suddenly, bursting forth from the Trojan ranks.

“YEEEAAAAHHHH!”

“HEIRON! HEIRON!”

The Trojans erupted in unison, their voices rising into a deafening roar. Weapons were thrust into the air, glinting fiercely beneath the sun, and their jubilant cries echoed across the battlefield like a triumphant symphony. The sound was so powerful, so all-encompassing, that it seemed to make the very air tremble.

The Greeks, paralyzed by the weight of their shock, began to falter. The sight of their two champions defeated so decisively drained the fight from their spirits. Unwilling to face Heiron’s wrath or the resurgent Trojans, they turned and retreated, their once-proud army now a broken shadow of its former self.

Meanwhile, the Trojans surged forward, surrounding Heiron with reverent awe. Their cheers grew louder still, their voices carrying all the way to the towering walls of Troy. The defenders upon the ramparts could see him standing amidst the carnage, his armor gleaming, his presence larger than life.

Heiron had fought Ajax with such ferocity that the ground bore the scars of their clash—craters, shattered stones, and scorch marks from the sheer violence of their duel. Few among the Trojans had dared to hope he could triumph against the Greek titan, and yet, not only had he done so, but he had also vanquished Jason, a cunning and dangerous foe in his own right.

Inside the great city of Troy, Queen Hecuba stood upon a balcony overlooking the scene, her hands clasped tightly against her chest. Her expression was a mixture of shock and joy, her lips curving into a delighted smile as her wide eyes turned toward her husband.

“Dear…” she murmured, her voice trembling with emotion.

King Priam sat beside her, his aged face glowing with an uncharacteristic vitality. His smile was wide and unrestrained, and his eyes, once dulled by time, now gleamed with the fiery spirit of his youth. For a fleeting moment, he felt like the warrior he had once been, the king who had led his people through countless trials.

Heiron’s name thundered across the battlefield, carried on the lips of every Trojan soldier. This was more than a victory; it was a rallying cry, a spark of hope in a war that had brought so much despair.

For King Priam, this was already a monumental victory.

Heiron was strong.

Extremely strong.

Strong enough to defeat Ajax, one of the mightiest of the Greek kings. This realization alone sent a thrill through Priam’s old bones, rekindling a warrior’s fire within him. If Heiron could rival and even surpass Ajax in raw power, it meant he was at least on par with Hector, Troy’s beloved prince and greatest defender. Together, these two warriors formed an unparalleled force, a shield and sword for Troy that could turn the tides of the war. With both Heiron and Hector standing tall, Priam could not help but entertain a dangerous, intoxicating thought: victory.

High hopes surged through the King and Queen, but their astonishment paled compared to that of two others among the gathered Trojans.

The first was Helen of Troy.

Once Helen of Sparta, she knew Ajax all too well. His strength was the stuff of legend, and she had witnessed it firsthand. To her, he was nearly invincible, an unshakable pillar of Greek dominance. The only man she ever thought might rival him among Trojans was Hector, and even then, she had doubted Hector could truly match Ajax in raw power. Ajax the Great was not just strong; he was feared by friend and foe alike.

Yet now, today, she had seen the unthinkable.

Ajax had not just been defeated—he had been utterly overwhelmed. The great hero of Salamis, a warrior renowned for his invincibility, had been bested in a contest of sheer physical might. Fist against fist, strength against strength, Heiron had overpowered him. The sight of Ajax succumbing to another man’s strength, his mighty form shattered like glass, was an image that would haunt Helen for a long time. Her disbelief left her frozen.

A short distance away, another figure stood equally stunned: Kassandra of Troy.

Her wide eyes and slack jaw betrayed her utter shock, though her reasons were unique. Known for her prophetic visions, Kassandra often saw beyond what others could, but even she had not foreseen this outcome. Her mind struggled to process what had unfolded, leaving her uncharacteristically speechless.

Beside her, a young woman bubbled with excitement.

“Sister! Look! He won! This is amazing!”

It was Polyxena, Kassandra’s younger sister and a princess of Troy. She hopped in place, her gleaming eyes filled with admiration as she gazed at Heiron. Her joy was infectious, her enthusiasm spilling over as she clutched at Kassandra’s arm.

But Kassandra was too stunned to respond, her mind consumed by the implications of what she had just witnessed.

Above the walls of Troy, three divine beings watched the scene unfold with keen interest, unseen by mortal eyes.

Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty, had an ecstatic smile on her radiant face. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkling as she observed Heiron’s triumphant figure standing amidst the cheering Trojans. She placed a hand on her chest as if to steady her racing heart.

“He really did it…” she whispered, her voice carrying a mix of relief and unrestrained joy.

Next to her, Artemis, the goddess of the hunt and protector of women, wore a soft smile. Her usually reserved demeanor had given way to visible delight.

“I still can’t believe it,” she murmured, her voice trembling ever so slightly. But beyond her disbelief was a deep satisfaction. Heiron had done what few could have imagined, and in doing so, he had vanquished a man Artemis despised. Ajax, who had always treated women as objects, had finally met his end at the hands of someone who fought for more than glory or conquest.

“He’s not bad at all,” she added, her tone laced with approval.

Ares, the god of war, stood nearby, his expression a stark contrast to the two goddesses. His lips curled into a wide, wolfish grin, his blood running hot with excitement. His muscles tensed, his fists clenched, and his eyes glinted with a predatory gleam as he watched Heiron bask in the adoration of the Trojans.

“I like him,” Ares growled, his voice rumbling like thunder. “He’s strong… really strong. I want to fight him.”

On the other side of the divine divide, two goddesses were far from pleased.

“How?!” Hera’s voice thundered with unrestrained fury, echoing like a storm ready to break. Her regal composure cracked as she clenched her fists tightly, trembling with the effort it took to restrain herself from acting on her rage. Every fiber of her being screamed to kill Heiron where he stood, to erase the dangerous man who had just shifted the balance of the war.

Yet, she couldn’t.

Artemis and Aphrodite stood nearby, their gazes locked onto her with quiet intensity. Both goddesses were clearly prepared to intervene if she made a move against Heiron. The audacity of their defiance only deepened Hera’s anger, but she knew better than to provoke them openly. Worse still, her stupid son, Ares, would likely join the fray—not to support her, but because the prospect of battle thrilled him.

And then there was Zeus.

Her husband wouldn’t take kindly to such impulsiveness, especially not over something that might threaten the fragile balance of divine alliances. Hera grit her teeth so hard it felt as if they might crack. She had never been a stranger to anger, but rarely did it burn as hotly as it did now.

“I should have blessed him!” she spat, the frustration in her voice sharp enough to cut. In her mind, the outcome was clear: if only she had granted Ajax her divine favor, this catastrophe could have been avoided.

“No,” Athena interjected, her tone calm but firm. “Even with your blessing, I believe he still would have lost.”

Athena’s composed exterior masked her inner turmoil, but the way her hand tightened on the shaft of her lance betrayed the anger simmering beneath her calm demeanor. Ajax had been one of their greatest champions, a critical piece on the chessboard of this war. His loss was a heavy blow, but Athena’s nature wouldn’t allow her to lose control as Hera had.

Hera whipped around to glare at her fellow goddess. “Who the hell is that bastard?!” she demanded, her voice dripping with venom.

It made no sense. This Heiron had appeared out of nowhere. A mortal with such overwhelming strength should have been famous, spoken of in songs and stories across the lands. How had someone so powerful remained in the shadows until now?

“I don’t know either,” Athena admitted, her eyes narrowing in thought. For all her wisdom and far-reaching knowledge, even she was at a loss. It was infuriating, and yet she couldn’t deny the mystery intrigued her.

Athena’s gaze shifted to Aphrodite, whose expression had remained unreadable through the exchange. The goddess of love and beauty had been suspiciously quiet, and Athena couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew more than she was letting on.

“I don’t care!” Hera snarled, the air around her crackling with her fury. “I will find out who he is!”

Before anyone could respond, Hera’s form shimmered and vanished, leaving behind only the faint scent of ozone and the lingering echo of her anger.