I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

Two full days had slipped by since the conclusion of the third round of the gladiator tournament. The air inside the Senate Castle carried a strange heaviness, an unease that none of the students could quite shake off. That particular morning, Freja and Elin were still buried under their sheets, drifting in the stupor of an unrestful sleep, when a sudden, frantic voice cut through their drowsiness.

“Freja! Elin! Wake up!”

Elin stirred first, her eyelids heavy and rimmed with the redness of exhaustion. Sleep had not come easily to her—not after what she had witnessed in the atrium. The vivid image of Nathan, unabashed and merciless as he fucked Servilia, had carved itself into her mind. She could still hear their shameless cries echoing in her ears. Though she was not part of that feverish scene, a strange sense of embarrassment lingered in her, as though she too had been caught in that raw display. Every time she closed her eyes, her body seemed to tense, her thoughts consumed by that forbidden memory.

Freyja, beside her, groaned and rubbed her face against the pillow, clearly not eager to deal with the intrusion.

“What is it, Edit?” Freja asked, her voice a half-yawn, half-snarl.

The girl who had barged in—Edit, flushed and breathless—looked as if she had sprinted all the way from outside. Her hands clutched at the frame of the door, knuckles white.

“Come quickly! We found Hugo!”

At the mention of that name, Freja blinked once, unimpressed. Her expression carried no flicker of excitement or relief. Hugo’s disappearance had gone largely unnoticed by her, and for good reason. He had been one of those who had shamelessly bartered her off to Lilia, treating her like little more than an object. Whatever fate had found him, Freja had little interest in mourning it.

“Hugo, huh?” she muttered, rolling onto her back. “Good for him.” She tugged the blanket higher, clearly intending to return to sleep.

But Edit’s next words pierced through her indifference like a blade.

“Freja—he’s dead!”

That single word changed everything.

Elin’s head jerked up from her pillow, her eyes wide and pale with shock. Even Freja, who had seemed intent on dismissing the matter entirely, froze.

“…Dead?” Elin whispered, disbelief trembling in her voice.

“Yes! His body—it’s outside the gates! Come, you have to see!” Edit urged, panic thick in her tone.

There was no longer any room for hesitation. Freja and Elin quickly threw on their clothes, still bleary but propelled forward by the gravity of the news. They followed Edit out of the Senate Castle, weaving through the bustling streets of Rome. The city, drenched in the golden light of the morning sun, seemed almost cruelly indifferent to the horror awaiting them. Their enhanced bodies carried them swiftly beyond the city’s embrace, through the sandy outskirts where the main road stretched in silence.

It didn’t take long to spot the gathering. A crowd had formed not far from the road, soldiers in Roman armor standing guard while students and citizens clustered around what appeared to be a shallow pit in the earth. Murmurs rippled through the air like an uneasy tide, punctuated by the occasional stifled sob.

As Freja and Elin approached, they saw their classmates among the throng. Some of the girls staggered away after a single glance, retching into the dust, their faces drained of all color. Others refused to even look, their eyes cast firmly to the ground as if the very act of acknowledging what lay ahead would be too much to bear.

“Stay here, Elin,” Freja muttered, her tone sharp with protectiveness. She pushed through the press of bodies, unwilling to shield herself from whatever awaited.

The smell hit her first.

A rancid, overpowering stench of decay thickened the air, clinging to her skin and hair, making her stomach clench. Still, she forced herself closer, ignoring the instinct to recoil. And then she saw it.

The pit.

The body.

It lay half-buried in the sand, as though the earth itself had tried to swallow it and failed. Parts of Hugo’s frame were still covered by gritty layers of soil, but enough was exposed to reveal the grotesque truth. His flesh had already begun to rot, darkened and eaten away in places, while empty sockets stared upward at nothing. From them, a writhing mass of insects crawled free, spilling onto his sunken cheeks.

Freja’s eyes widened, but she forced her hand up to cover her nose, shielding herself from the foul air. She had seen blood before, even death—but this was different. This was slow, ugly, and deliberate.

Around the pit stood Axel and Isak.

Axel’s face was carved into stone, unreadable, his gaze fixed upon the corpse with a weight that gave away nothing. Isak, by contrast, looked shaken, his skin pale as chalk and his lips parted in disbelief.

“Who could have done something like this?” one of the boys whispered, his voice trembling as though afraid that even the corpse might hear him.

“I thought… I thought we were safe here!” another blurted, turning desperately toward Axel. “What does this mean, Axel? What the hell does this mean?”

“Shut your mouth!” Isak snarled, shoving the boy hard enough to send him sprawling backward into the dirt. His anger seemed born less of courage and more of terror, his eyes never leaving the decomposed body as if it held an answer he was too afraid to voice.

Finally, his gaze snapped toward Freja, sharp and accusatory.

“Who do you think did this? Don’t tell me it was you, Freja. That bitch wouldn’t dare—do you think she would?”

But Axel shook his head, his tone quiet yet firm.

“No. It’s not her.”

“Then who?!” Isak snapped, his voice cracking under the strain of his own fear.

Axel didn’t answer immediately. His jaw tightened, and he turned his gaze away from the corpse. A cold shiver crept down his spine; even his iron composure wavered in the presence of such grotesque death. The others whispered, trembled, and recoiled, but Axel stood silently—though not without fear. It was there in the stiffness of his shoulders, in the way his fingers curled unconsciously into fists.

He had no answer, no explanation. Whoever had done this had moved unseen, like a phantom, and left only horror in their wake. But one thought gnawed at him: Hugo had disappeared shortly after Freja’s return. That timing was far too convenient, too sharp-edged to ignore.

And Freja herself… How had she come back at all? Had that witch Lilia simply released her? Yet Lilia had not been seen again. Neither had Logan. The unanswered questions only deepened the unease crawling in Axel’s chest.

He cast a glance toward Freja.

She was standing a little apart, her arm lightly brushing against Elin’s as though steadying the girl. Elin’s face was pale, her lips drawn tight in horror, but Freja’s expression was curiously calm. Detached, even. There was no trace of grief, nor of outrage, only a cool indifference that chilled Axel more than the stench of death. Why didn’t she care? Why was she so composed when everyone else was on the verge of collapse?

Before he could pursue the thought, the crowd stirred.

“Professor!”

“Miss Johanna!”

The teacher arrived at last. Johanna pushed her way forward, her dark robes brushing against the shoulders of her students, her face carefully arranged into an expression of sorrow. Her eyes softened as they fell upon the corpse, and she clasped her hands together in a display of grief that might have been convincing to anyone who hadn’t come to doubt her sincerity.

The girls rushed toward her first, clinging to her like children, their fear breaking into panicked sobs. A few boys followed, their voices overlapping in desperation.

“W-what does this mean, teacher?!”

“Are we going to die too?!”

“I’m scared—”

“I thought Rome was supposed to be safe! Why is this happening?!”

Johanna raised her hands, her voice firm but gentle. “Calm down, everyone. Please, calm yourselves.” Her words spread over them like a thin veil, enough to quiet some of the cries, though not to erase the fear from their eyes.

“Hugo’s death is… very sad,” she continued, her tone breaking just enough to sound rehearsed. She let a tear glisten at the corner of her eye, a performance worthy of the stage. “But this is why we must not falter. We must become stronger, together. I have spoken with His Majesty the Emperor—he has promised to reinforce the security around us immediately. You will all be protected. And rest assured…” Her eyes swept across the crowd with the solemn gravity of a priestess. “…we will find the culprit.”

Freja stood apart, arms folded, watching Johanna with cold disdain. Once, she had admired this woman, trusted her guidance and her strength. But those days were gone. After learning the truth—that Johanna was little more than a pawn used to please Caesar—whatever respect she had once held for her had rotted away, just like Hugo’s corpse in the sand.

Her gaze drifted back to the pit.

She had her suspicions. The image formed unbidden in her mind: Hugo captured, dragged away into the shadows, interrogated, broken, and finally discarded in the dirt. The timing, the disappearance, the silence—it all pointed toward a single person. Septimius.

It had likely happened before he came to rescue her. Perhaps he had stumbled upon Hugo, squeezed out the truth, and silenced him forever. Yes, it was possible—no, it was likely. Nathan had always carried that duality: calm and composed on the surface, yet beneath it lay a ruthless steel, unflinching and merciless.

A strange feeling swirled in her chest. If Nathan had killed Hugo, was it because of what Hugo had done to her? Was it vengeance on her behalf? The thought sent a warmth through her that felt almost guilty—happiness, twisted out of the ugliness of murder. That he would think of her, act for her, even in such a brutal way… it stirred something deep within.

“Freja…”

Elin’s whisper pulled her back. She turned, seeing the worry etched on her friend’s face.

“What is it, Elin?”

Elin’s voice trembled as she leaned closer, speaking low so that only Freja could hear. “Hugo… Do you think Septimius did it?”

Freja’s eyes hardened, and she cut her off instantly. “Don’t say that here.” Her tone was sharp, almost scolding. Then, softer, she added, “And I don’t know… really.”

Elin swallowed and nodded silently, falling quiet beside her.