I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

The second round of the gladiator tournament had come to an end.

And yet, its conclusion carried an irony so sharp it was almost laughable. The very challenge designed to test the strength and unity of all the gladiators together—the monstrous red wolf—had been crushed not by a coalition of desperate men, but by one single warrior. Nathan.

The beast that should have required dozens of gladiators fighting in perfect cohesion to subdue had been slain by his hand alone. He had fought without aid, without hesitation, and the sight of his lone figure standing bloodied in the ruins of the creature’s body had burned itself into the eyes of every soul present.

Now, as the echoes of the battle faded, his name thundered across the marble walls of the Colosseum. The chants of the Roman citizens refused to die, rolling again and again like waves crashing upon the shore. Septimius! Septimius! It was as though the city itself was breathing his name.

Among the gladiators, silence hung heavier than the dust. Their gazes followed him, each expression etched with a mixture of disbelief and awe. Jealousy, the usual poison that thrived in the hearts of men competing for survival and glory, found no foothold here. In the presence of such overwhelming might, petty emotions crumbled.

They could only respect him. Thɪs chapter is updated by NoveIＦire.net

Some lowered their heads. Others approached, offering words of acknowledgement or simple nods of reverence. Even those who had mocked him before, who had thrown barbed words in disdain when they thought him merely Caesar’s favored toy, now stood with contrition in their eyes. He had earned their respect—not just for the day, but for the rest of their lives.

All except two.

Isak and Benjamin, turned their backs the moment the round was declared over. Without so much as a glance toward Nathan, they stalked off into the tunnels. Their departure hardly mattered. In fact, it only highlighted how much the others had changed.

Nathan accepted their gestures with a calm neutrality. He did not revel in their newfound admiration, nor did he hold their earlier hostility against them. In truth, he understood it. They were slaves, after all—men bound in chains, their fates tied to the whims of Rome and Caesar. Nathan’s proximity to Caesar had made him a natural target for their resentment. Hatred born of circumstance, not of true malice.

Now, as he spoke with them, he saw the men behind the masks of gladiators. They were not monsters nor bloodthirsty beasts as Rome often portrayed them. Most of them longed for the same thing: freedom. Pandora may have been a distant, unattainable dream whispered in quiet moments, but the reality that pushed them forward was simpler. Fight well, earn rewards, buy their release, and walk free.

Nathan couldn’t blame them. If anything, he respected it.

At the end of the line stood Spartacus. The man’s eyes, hard as stone, lingered on Nathan for a long moment before he inclined his head in a slow, deliberate nod. The gesture was not given lightly. For a man like Spartacus, respect was not words but action, and this silent acknowledgment spoke volumes.

Nathan had already promised him a later discussion—about the matter Spartacus had raised before, the opportunity to end him. It was a promise Spartacus had taken seriously, and now that Nathan had shown such strength, the rebel leader was prepared to listen in return. A bond of respect had been forged between them, and though fragile, it carried weight.

With the formalities done, Nathan turned from the others and slipped into the shadowed tunnels beneath the Colosseum. The roar of the crowd still chased him, rolling like thunder from above. If he remained, he knew what would come next: hundreds, thousands of Romans throwing themselves toward him, desperate to touch, to see, to claim a piece of the man who had slain a god’s beast. He had no patience for that kind of adoration.

His footsteps echoed against the stone walls as he moved swiftly toward the exit. But he was not alone.

At the end of the passage, leaning casually against the wall, was Ethan. His arms were crossed, his posture relaxed, though his sharp eyes betrayed that he had been waiting.

“You need something?” Nathan asked, voice clipped, unwilling to waste time.

Ethan shook his head. “No. I just wanted to say that I’ve decided to leave Pandora in your care.”

Nathan arched a brow. “Not like you had much of a choice in the matter.”

For a moment Ethan simply stared, caught between indignation and disbelief. Then, suddenly, laughter burst from him. It was not mocking, but incredulous, a genuine laugh that echoed strangely through the tunnel.

“You really are something, aren’t you?” he said at last, shaking his head. “What kind of monster did Goddess Khione summon in the third summoning? I have to wonder…” His tone was amused, but there was a faint edge of unease beneath the jest.

Before Nathan could reply, a voice drifted from behind Ethan—soft, sharp, and undeniably feminine.

“Are you done?”

Both men turned.

A woman stepped into the dim torchlight, her presence like a blade slicing through the air. She was tall, her bearing regal yet cold, every movement precise. Her hair, bright green, shimmered faintly as it caught the flicker of firelight, flowing like strands of jade. Her eyes, crystalline blue, held no warmth. They regarded Nathan briefly, assessing him with a cool detachment.

Olivia Kane.

Nathan’s expression darkened.

“Since when,” he asked, his tone edged with irritation, “do Heroes of the relic era wander freely into the Colosseum of Rome?”

He had seen too many of them lately, circling like vultures, each carrying their own secrets and schemes.

Olivia narrowed her eyes at Nathan, her piercing blue gaze sharpening as if to cut through his thoughts. She could not understand it—why was he openly irritated at her presence? She had barely spoken, yet his annoyance was plain as day.

Beside her, Ethan chuckled, ever the one to lighten the mood even when blades were almost drawn. “You know, you’re also a Hero. Don’t forget that. And we’re both from America. Shouldn’t we, at the very least, try to get along?”

Nathan didn’t even slow his stride. His expression was flat, his tone clipped with disdain.

“Not interested in joining your goofy little group,” he muttered as he walked past them.

Ethan tilted his head, smirking as though amused by Nathan’s perpetual indifference.

“Goofy, huh? Did you even take a look at yourself first? Changing names, hiding behind disguises…”

Nathan’s steps faltered for the briefest moment. He cast a glance over his shoulder—just enough to catch sight of another presence. His mood soured immediately.

The other one. The irritating one.

A woman with golden blond hair that shimmered under the torchlight, her crimson eyes gleaming with a mix of pride and provocation. She stood with her arms crossed, lips curled in the faintest smirk. Jane.

Nathan’s jaw tightened.

So they had been here too, watching the second round like bored aristocrats watching a street show?

“Speaking highly about saving the world, and yet you’re here wasting time, gawking at a tournament,” Nathan said coldly, his crimson eyes narrowing. “Stupid woman.”

Jane’s composure cracked at once. Her cheeks flushed red, partly with embarrassment, partly with rage. She raised her hand sharply, mana sparking at her fingertips as she prepared to summon a barrier—not to kill, but to trap him, to humiliate him in front of the others.

Nathan didn’t feel the slightest trace of danger. Her intent was petty, clearly. And he had no patience for it. If she wanted to test him, he would break her pride in a single stroke.

He vanished.

In less than a heartbeat, Nathan was standing before her. The golden sword of Alexander was drawn, its radiant edge glowing an inch away from the pale skin of her throat.

Jane froze. Her body stiffened as her crimson eyes went wide, shock flooding her expression. She hadn’t seen him move. She hadn’t even had time to blink.

Ethan remained calm, though his smirk had faded into something more thoughtful. He knew Nathan wouldn’t strike—at least, not lethally. Olivia, however, reacted instantly. In a blur of green hair and steel, her sword appeared at Nathan’s neck, the edge cold against his skin.

Nathan ignored her completely. His attention was locked on Jane.

“Nearly ten years in this world,” he said softly, his voice dripping with mockery, “and you’re still this weak?”

Jane flinched as though struck. Her crimson eyes trembled with anger as she glared up at him. But Nathan’s crimson gaze bore down on her like a predator toying with prey, and then—slowly, cruelly—a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

Her face burned crimson.

“Y-You!!” she stammered, her voice breaking with indignation. “Are you mocking me?!”

“I am,” Nathan replied simply. He stepped back, lowering the sword with deliberate casualness. Olivia withdrew her blade as well, though her gaze lingered on Nathan, calculating.

Without another word, Nathan turned his back to them and strode away, the sound of his footsteps fading into the tunnels. His disinterest cut deeper than any insult could.

Jane stood trembling, her fists clenched, her chest heaving with pent-up fury. She stared daggers into his retreating figure.

“I… I’m not a fighter to begin with, you idiot!!” she shouted after him, her voice echoing uselessly in the stone passage. “I specialize in barriers! I have Divine Rank Skills in them!!”

But Nathan was already gone, his silence louder than any reply.

Ethan placed a hand on Jane’s shoulder, grinning wryly. “Calm down, Jane. He is technically your junior, you know.”

Jane’s head whipped toward him, her crimson eyes blazing. “That guy?! My junior?! No way in hell!”

Olivia exhaled slowly, a long, tired sigh escaping her lips. She sheathed her sword with a crisp motion and spoke in her usual calm, detached tone. “Enough. Calm yourself, Jane. We should leave now.”

Ethan chuckled under his breath but gave a small nod. Olivia simply turned away, her jade-green hair swaying as she walked. With one last glare at the empty tunnel where Nathan had vanished, Jane reluctantly followed.

In the next instant, all three of them disappeared, their presence fading like smoke on the wind.