I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

The arena chosen to host the grand opening ceremony—and the site of the upcoming tournament—was none other than the most colossal battleground in all of Rome: the Mars Arena, so named in honor of the war god Ares, revered here by his Roman name, Mars. It was an architectural marvel, a stadium that embodied the very spirit of Roman glory and blood-soaked tradition.

As Nathan stepped onto the stone threshold of the arena, he was hit by a thunderous, bone-rattling wave of sound. It wasn’t mere cheering—it was a roaring storm of human voices, an avalanche of cries and chants that shook the very air. The overwhelming cacophony crashed down on him like a tidal wave, powerful enough to make his ears ring.

Climbing a set of marble stairs flanked by elite guards in glimmering ceremonial armor, Nathan approached the VIP balcony, a raised terrace of ancient stone that overlooked the entire arena. Reserved for Rome’s elite, this was where the most powerful figures of the Empire reclined during grand spectacles—men like Julius Caesar and Marcus Licinius Crassus. The very ground where Nathan walked had once held emperors, kings, and conquerors.

And then he saw it—the Arena.

It was vast, almost unthinkably so.

Before him stretched a massive oval coliseum of such scale that it dwarfed everything he had ever seen. The rows of seats seemed to ascend into the clouds, towering high into the sky as if built to reach Olympus itself. It was as if the Arena were a mountain made of people—a city unto itself, with tens of thousands upon tens of thousands packed tightly together, each one a mere speck in a sea of humanity.

The stands circled the battleground like a living wall, so dense and sprawling that they completely obscured the rest of Rome. From this vantage point, the city had vanished, swallowed whole by the Arena’s embrace. The crowd was a pulsing, shouting mass—each person indistinguishable from the next, their voices merging into a single unrelenting chant of excitement and anticipation.

It was clear now: Rome was a city of gladiators, of war, and of spectacle. And this, Nathan realized, was its beating heart.

Turning his gaze from the awe-inspiring structure to the company gathered within the VIP balcony, Nathan immediately recognized the central figure—Julius Caesar himself, seated in the place of highest honor. Regal in a crimson-trimmed toga, his expression was one of contentment, eyes scanning the crowd with the calm detachment of a ruler who had nothing left to prove.

Beside him sat Crassus, older but no less imposing, his eyes sharp and calculating as he observed the crowd. The two emperors of Rome—rulers in all but name—sat side by side, their authority unquestioned, their mere presence commanding silence from those around them.

But there was a third high seat, slightly apart from the other two, and seated upon it was a figure Nathan did not recognize. An elderly man, his white Roman tunic pristine and his wooden staff carved with ancient sigils. His posture was serene, and his eyes glowed with distant wisdom. Nathan could only assume this man was none other than the High Pontiff of Athena’s Church, the religious authority in a city that still whispered prayers to gods old and new.

These three—the general, the magnate, and the priest—were the pillars of Rome. Together, they represented war, wealth, and faith.

Just behind the high seats sat Octavius, Caesar’s adopted son and heir, his expression unreadable as ever. Seated next to him was a delicate young woman, hands pressed tightly against her ears as she winced at the deafening cheers. This was Julia, Caesar’s only daughter. Her features bore a soft, noble beauty, but she looked utterly out of place in the violent, roaring world of the arena. She was clearly unaccustomed to such brutal pageantry, but as the daughter of Caesar, she had little say in the matter.

Beside her, a few seats remained empty—for now.

Nathan didn’t need to guess long who would soon arrive to claim them.

Moments later, Brutus appeared, flashing a wide smile as he made his entrance. The young man carried himself with confidence, perhaps even pride, though his eyes flickered with unease.

Trailing him, however, was a more imposing presence—Servilia, his mother. Her expression was carved from stone, her mouth a grim line. There was tension in her steps, the kind that comes from unspoken wounds and unresolved quarrels. The air between mother and son was heavy, and Nathan could sense that whatever reconciliation they needed had not yet occurred.

“Emperor,” Brutus greeted Caesar warmly, inclining his head with a respectful smile.

Caesar smiled in return, gesturing grandly to the Arena below. “Ah, Brutus, take a seat. You’re just in time to see how real men fight.”

“I will!” Brutus replied with enthusiasm, eyes gleaming as he moved to sit beside Octavius.

Caesar chuckled lightly, then turned his attention to the silent woman beside Brutus. “Servilia,” he said with a polite nod. “How are you today?”

Her voice was colder than winter steel. “Fine.”

She sat next to Julia without so much as a glance toward Caesar. But as Julia turned to her with a bright, innocent smile, Servilia’s expression softened.

“Lady Servilia,” Julia greeted cheerfully, her voice sweet and sincere.

Servilia returned her smile, almost tenderly.

Though she loathed Caesar with every fiber of her being, she held no ill will toward his daughter. Julia was untouched by her father’s cruelty, untainted by the dark web of blood and betrayal Caesar had spun over the years. If anything, the girl was merely a victim of circumstance—born into the wrong family at the wrong time.

A few minutes passed, the atmosphere still crackling with excitement, before Licinia finally arrived—noticeably late. Most might not question her tardiness, but Nathan knew the lustful truth…

She had been forced to rush, barely managing a quick bath and change of clothes before making her appearance. Her flushed cheeks and slightly damp hair hinted at the haste of her preparations.

“You’re late, daughter,” Crassus said, his voice a sigh of weary disapproval as he cast a sideways glance in her direction.

“Apologies, Father… I was occupied,” Licinia replied, her tone carefully composed, but the glare she shot toward Nathan betrayed her underlying frustration. However, when he returned her gaze with his usual unreadable calm, her eyes faltered. A delicate pink blush bloomed across her cheeks as she quickly averted her eyes.

Was this simply the lingering effect of the aphrodisiac he had used?

She hadn’t even consumed the full dose. If anything, the remnants in her bloodstream should have faded by now. That level of response didn’t make sense unless…

Unless she was genuinely attracted to him.

As soon as that unsettling realization flickered in her thoughts, Licinia gave a sharp shake of her head.

“There’s no way I’m falling for him!” she scolded herself mentally, trying to crush the thought beneath layers of pride and indignation.

But her flustered expression told another story entirely.

With a frustrated sigh, she took a seat beside Servilia, who had been watching Nathan in silence as well.

He stood near the edge of the balcony, arms crossed, perfectly still yet radiating a quiet intensity. Despite the presence of two emperors and the Pope himself, he seemed completely at ease—as though this was all part of his plan.

Servilia observed him carefully.

She knew the truth—or at least part of it.

He intended to bring Caesar down. That much was certain. And yet… even knowing his dangerous ambition, she felt something strange when she looked at him.

Safety.

He had promised to protect her—from Caesar, from the twisted powers that surrounded the Roman elite. And though those were only words, they had anchored her in a sea of uncertainty.

Unconsciously, a small smile curled on her lips.

The moment she noticed, Servilia blinked in surprise, her fingers brushing her mouth.

Had she… smiled?

A faint heat touched her cheeks, and feeling oddly self-conscious, she turned her face away from Nathan’s direction.

Meanwhile, Julia, who had been stealing concerned glances at Nathan this entire time, suddenly leaned forward.

“Lord Septimius… shouldn’t you sit down?” she asked softly, her voice barely rising over the noise of the crowd.

She couldn’t help but feel pity—he had been standing for quite a while, and she wondered how much longer he would have to endure it.

Nathan turned slightly, his pale hair shifting in the breeze. “I am here to protect everyone, in case things take an unexpected turn, Princess Julia. I must remain alert,” he said calmly, a faint smile touching his lips. “But thank you for your kind offer.”

“P… Princess?!” Julia gasped, blinking in astonishment.

Nathan raised a brow. “Aren’t you?”

If Caesar was an Emperor of Rome, that makes you her Princess.

That was his logic.

But for Julia it looked like he was complimenting her maybe even flirting.

“Th… That is…” Julia stammered, her face flushing crimson.

She looked up at him again, unsure how to respond. He wasn’t striking in the way some Roman men were—men like Marcus Antonius, whose chiseled features and confident swagger made women swoon. And yet, Nathan had a strange allure, a mysterious gravity she couldn’t quite explain. Every time he spoke to her, there was a sense of warmth and dignity in his voice, like he truly saw her, not just her father’s legacy.

During the past week, they had exchanged only a handful of words, but in every instance, he had treated her with patience and gentleness—like someone protecting something precious.

Licinia, sitting beside Julia, had been quiet up until now—but her fingers were gripping the edge of her seat tightly.

She was annoyed.

If Julia was a Princess, so was she—the daughter of Crassus, a man who held more power than most in Rome. Why hadn’t Nathan ever called her “Princess”? He had met her countless times already. Did he think Julia was more deserving of respect?

She scowled slightly, though she said nothing.

Nathan, for his part, hadn’t done it intentionally.

There was simply something within him—a soft spot for women who were still untouched by the brutalities of the world. Innocent souls who, despite being surrounded by cruelty, held onto kindness and light. Women like Ameriah, Elin, and now Julia—women who didn’t try to seduce or manipulate, but instead faced the world with quiet strength.

And though Nathan never voiced it, a divine magic lingered around him—a passive skill granted by Aphrodite. It made him irresistible to those whose hearts remained uncorrupted, wrapping his every gesture in subtle, supernatural allure.

To those women, he might as well be the prince of their dreams, simply because he treated them as human, not objects or pawns.