I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

“I’m here, Professor! Sorry I’m late!”

Elin’s voice rang out breathlessly, cutting through the mild morning murmur of voices like a peal of bells. She came dashing toward the group, strands of her hair flying behind her in disarray, cheeks flushed from the effort of running.

But she was not alone.

Trailing behind her at a composed and unhurried pace was a young man—strikingly handsome, and yet wholly distinct from those around him. He appeared to be around the same age as the Heroes of Amun-Ra, but that was where the similarities ended. His hair was stark white, like freshly fallen snow under moonlight, and his eyes were a deep, piercing crimson that seemed to shimmer with veiled intensity. His features were finely chiseled, possessing an ethereal beauty that was both captivating and unsettling. Among the tanned-skinned Romans and sun-darkened warriors of the East, he stood out like a ghost out of place in time.

“Septimius,” Caesar said with a wry smile, a spark of humor gleaming in his gaze. “I thought you had wandered off and lost yourself.”

“I was simply taking a look around,” Nathan replied softly, his voice calm, almost distant. “And I happened to stumble upon one of the Heroes.”

Elin, who was just catching her breath, turned to speak—her voice still light and filled with innocence. “Yes, Septimius helped me to—” she began, but then her words caught in her throat as she noticed the subtle flicker of warning in Nathan’s eyes. She hesitated, her mind catching up with the implications of what she was about to say. Instinctively, she corrected herself. “I mean… he helped me find my way.”

Nathan allowed himself a quiet sigh of relief, concealed beneath his neutral expression.

That was far too close.

Had she spoken the truth—that he had brazenly threatened several high-ranking Roman politicians—it would have sparked immediate consequences. On his very first day, no less. Men like Octavius and Marcus Antonius, both hungry for leverage, would’ve leapt at the opportunity to use it against him.

“May I ask who he is, Emperor Caesar?” Brutus spoke up, his voice courteous but filled with a curiosity shared by many present. Several other members of the gathering turned their attention toward Nathan, their interest piqued. Those who had never met this enigmatic young man before—or had only glimpsed him briefly—now looked on with greater scrutiny.

Julia, who had passed him earlier and dismissed him as a mere soldier, looked very curious while Licinia furrowed her brows in thought. Caesar’s tone, the familiarity with which he addressed him, suggested a far deeper connection—one that demanded explanation.

“Ah, of course,” Caesar said, the smile never leaving his lips. He gestured toward Nathan with a hint of pride. “Allow me to formally introduce Lucius Septimius—a mercenary of notable reputation. Once he fought for Pompey, but he eventually made the wiser decision to join the right side—mine.”

There was a pause, a beat of silence, before Caesar added, almost casually: “He is also the one who killed Ptolemy.”

The air grew heavy. Gasps erupted among the onlookers. Tension flared like a sudden gust of wind feeding a smoldering flame.

The Heroes of Amun-Ra froze.

Ptolemy—the man they had sworn allegiance to, the Pharaoh and had been supporting. And the man who stood now before them, white-haired and crimson-eyed, was the one who had carried out the deed. The realization struck like thunder.

Elin stood as though turned to stone. Only moments ago, she had been talking to Nathan, about how Ptolemy was just a naive child…The revelation hit her like a slap. Nathan was the one who killed him.

“And that’s not all,” Caesar continued smoothly, his voice filled with dramatic flair. “He played a vital role during the Siege of Alexandria. But even Alexandria, grand as it was, proved far too small a stage for his talents. So I took him into my personal service.”

He spoke the last words with deliberate weight, his gaze settling firmly on the gathering as though to leave no doubt: Lucius Septimius was not just another soldier. He was chosen.

Nathan’s crimson gaze flickered toward Caesar, an instinctive caution rising within him as the Roman dictator revealed more details than he was comfortable with. He studied the man’s expression—the sly gleam in his eye, the measured cadence of his voice. Then it dawned on him.

This wasn’t idle praise. This was a calculated move.

By declaring openly that Nathan had once fought for Pompey and then betrayed him, and even more damning—that he had slain Ptolemy, the Pharaoh of Egypt—Caesar was drawing a very clear line in the sand. He was painting Nathan in vivid, provocative colors: a man of shifting allegiances, a killer of kings, a mercenary whose loyalty could never truly be trusted. A dangerous asset… or a potential threat.

It was political theater, cloaked in flattery.

And Nathan, astute as ever, understood immediately.

So that’s how it is.

Caesar had thrust him into the spotlight with the elegance of a master statesman, forcing him into a position where alliances would become strained. Especially with Crassus, whose favor Nathan had hoped to court. Now, with suspicion planted like a seed in the minds of every Roman noble and every Hero present, his path to forging quiet pacts had become infinitely more difficult.

Nathan’s lips twitched, almost forming a smile.

Julius Caesar… You’re every bit the cunning fox history remembers you as on Earth. Dangerous, perceptive, and never letting your guard down, even with those you claim to trust.

His moment of contemplation was broken by an excited voice.

“That is wonderful! You killed the false Pharaoh, Septimius?” Julia’s eyes sparkled with admiration, her voice tinged with the naive enthusiasm of someone enamored with tales of blood and glory.

Nathan turned his head toward her, schooling his features into calm neutrality. “I merely followed the command of Queen Cleopatra,” he replied, choosing his words with deliberate care. It was a deflection wrapped in truth. Yes, it had been Cleopatra’s will—and it served him now to anchor himself to her authority, not Caesar’s.

Julia nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer, but before the moment could settle, another voice cut in—more mocking, more crude.

“Queen Cleopatra herself, huh?” Isak, one of the Heroes, leaned forward with a smug grin, licking his lips in a gesture that reeked of vulgarity. “She’s supposed to be quite the beauty, isn’t she? Very hot, I imagine?”

The air chilled.

Nathan turned his gaze slowly toward the speaker, and in that instant, the room seemed to freeze around him. His crimson eyes, usually calm and unreadable, darkened like a storm gathering on the horizon. His expression didn’t change, not overtly—but there was a shift, subtle and suffocating, as if the temperature had dropped several degrees.

Isak’s smirk vanished.

He shivered involuntarily, as though something primal within him had recoiled from the look Nathan gave. It wasn’t just cold—it was lethal. The kind of gaze a man gives when he is imagining a thousand ways to kill you.

Nathan hadn’t meant to let such raw emotion leak through. But hearing another man speak about Cleopatra—his Cleopatra—with such lecherous disdain, as if she were nothing more than an object to be consumed… it stirred something violent inside him. A territorial, almost animalistic fury.

He forced his eyes away before the moment lingered too long.

Freja, standing nearby, caught the entire exchange. Her sharp intuition picked up on more than most. She saw the way Nathan’s body had gone still, the way his eyes had shifted—not with jealousy, but something deeper, more possessive. The way a lion might look when another beast dares encroach on its mate.

Could it be…? Freja narrowed her eyes in thought. Is that why he reacted so strongly? Is Cleopatra more than just a queen to him?

Before she could dwell further, Crassus’s voice rose above the murmurs, carrying authority and rebuke.

“Cleopatra is the Pharaoh of the Amun-Ra Empire,” he said, his gaze sharp and unyielding as it settled on Isak. “You would do well to show her the respect she is due, Hero.”

A beat of silence followed.

Several of the women, particularly those from the East, nodded in agreement, their expressions mirroring Crassus’s disapproval. Even among Roman elites, Cleopatra was a name that carried power, mystery, and seduction. To speak of her so crassly was not only disrespectful—it was dangerous.

Isak groaned and waved a dismissive hand, clearly irritated. “Alright, alright. No offense meant.”

Crassus ignored him and turned instead to Nathan. His stern visage softened, if only slightly.

“Septimius, was it?” he asked, stepping forward. “I would be very interested in hearing more about your exploits someday. But for now… victories are meant to be celebrated.”

He turned toward the long marble corridor leading into the hall beyond, where golden light spilled from open doors, the sounds of music and laughter drifting into the air.

“Come Julius,” Crassus said with a grin. “Let us not waste any more time. A feast awaits us.”

With that, he strode forward, his heavy boots echoing against the polished floor.

Nathan trailed silently behind the others, his footsteps echoing softly through the marbled halls of the Senate Castle. Though surrounded by heroes, nobles, and dignitaries of Rome’s most powerful circle, he felt utterly alone in this foreign den of politics and ambition.

In truth, he had no allies here.

No one he could trust.

No one he could turn to if things went awry.

Except for Scylla.

But even she wasn’t with him now.

He had sent her out earlier—under the pretense of gathering intelligence, scouring the city for useful information. Perhaps, with some luck, she might find traces of Ameriah or Auria. But deep down, Nathan knew the real reason he had ordered her away had little to do with strategy.

Scylla was… volatile. Dangerous. She had no patience for deceit or the hypocrisy that festered in places like this. The very air inside the Senate Castle reeked of backroom deals, sharpened smiles, and hidden daggers. He doubted she would’ve lasted an hour without cutting down at least one of the so-called esteemed senators or “heroes” who strutted through these halls like gods among men.

Better she’s out there, Nathan thought. A sentinel in the shadows. Eyes in the dark where I cannot see. If something happens… she’ll know. She’ll come.

So, his first priority now was clear: he needed allies. Friends, or at the very least, temporary connections that could help him survive and eventually bring down Caesar.

But priority was Ameriah and Auria.

His gaze swept the room, sharp and calculating. And it didn’t take long for one name to emerge in his mind—one opportunity.

Brutus.

The young man had been speaking with Caesar earlier, his tone polite but carrying an undercurrent of conflict, of hesitation. Nathan had observed him closely, noticed the tension in his shoulders, the way he looked at Caesar not with worship, but something else—perhaps a complicated loyalty. Or perhaps… doubt.

He remembered what Elin had told him. She’d overheard someone, very likely Brutus, speaking about Ameriah.

That alone was enough to mark him as someone worth investigating.

Not a friend, Nathan reminded himself. He seems far too entangled in Caesar’s web to be anything of the sort.

Still, proximity was power. And Brutus might prove useful, whether he realized it or not.

Nathan’s crimson eyes narrowed as he continued to walk among the marble giants and golden banners, his thoughts sharpened to a blade’s edge.

He didn’t need friendship.

He needed access.

And Brutus was the key.