I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

After Nathan had spilled his seed across Freja’s flushed face, the heavy silence that followed was broken not by words but by the stunned, almost strangled gasp that escaped Elin. She had walked in at the wrong moment—or perhaps the worst possible moment—and the sight before her struck her speechless.

Her wide eyes fixed on Freja, who was still kneeling on the floor, her cheeks glowing crimson beneath the streaks of white that clung to her skin and dripped into her hair. It was obscene, undeniable, and shocking in a way Elin’s mind could barely process. Never in all her life would she have imagined seeing Freja—so composed, so proud, so untouchable—reduced to this position, trembling on her knees with the unmistakable evidence of Nathan’s climax smeared across her face.

Her lips parted, but no words came. There simply weren’t any.

Freja herself was no less undone. Her breath came shallow, erratic, as her trembling hands instinctively moved to cover her face. Yet there was nothing to cover—her shame was painted across her features for Elin to see. She forced herself to stand, legs unsteady, and stammered out with a voice that cracked:

“E…Elin, this isn’t… it’s not what you think—!”

But how could it be anything else? Elin’s silence was louder than accusation, louder than condemnation. Freja’s blushing face, damp with seed, told a story words could never undo.

Nathan, however, remained utterly unbothered. His chest rose and fell with the faint edge of exertion, but his expression carried none of the guilt or shame one might expect from being caught in such a scandalous act. If anything, there was a calm certainty to him, as though such a scene were nothing worth hiding. For Nathan, dignity was not tied to secrecy. He had only one line he would never cross: no other man would ever lay eyes on his woman’s bare body. Beyond that, he cared little who watched or judged.

With a slow exhale, he adjusted his clothes, pulling his pants back into place. His eyes slid toward Elin, assessing her with the same steady sharpness as before. His voice came low, roughened by breath, but direct:

“Did you do it?”

The question seemed to snap Elin back into herself. She flinched, her gaze darting nervously between him and Freja, lips parting in a futile attempt at speech.

“I… I…” she stammered, unable to give either denial or confirmation.

Nathan didn’t press further. Instead, he reached casually into his storage, retrieving a folded towel. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed it toward Freja. She caught it clumsily, the heat in her cheeks flaring deeper red as she clutched it like a lifeline.

Wordlessly, she began wiping at her face, the fabric dragging across her skin as if to erase the shame clinging to her. Her hands moved with urgency, desperate to remove every trace before she dared meet anyone’s gaze. Elin’s presence only deepened the humiliation—being seen by her was far worse than being caught by Nathan. And Nathan himself… she couldn’t even look at him.

Why did I let it go that far?! The thought screamed through her. Why didn’t I refuse?!

The answer twisted painfully in her chest. Because Servilia had pushed her into it, yes—but also because deep down, she hadn’t resisted hard enough. On Earth, she would never have imagined kneeling like that, surrendering so much of her dignity. But here? Before Nathan? It had been different.

Because it was Nathan.

Because something about him pulled her in, unraveled the walls she had built around herself, and remade her without asking. He was reshaping her choices, her limits, her very sense of self. And terrifyingly, she hadn’t been able to stop him.

Nathan, seeing Elin’s hesitation linger, didn’t bother waiting for a clearer answer. He brushed past her stiffened figure with a measured stride, his eyes already shifting toward his next destination.

Servilia trailed after him, the faint curve of a smile tugging at her lips. She cast a sidelong glance at Elin’s stricken expression, and in a sing-song whisper meant only for her, she teased:

“If you want it too, don’t hesitate… or you’ll regret it.”

Her words slid like silk and thorns into Elin’s ears, making her body tense as though pierced. Servilia’s laughter, soft and amused, followed as she drifted after Nathan, leaving Elin behind in a haze of confusion.

The chamber fell into a heavy silence once more, broken only by Freja’s shallow breaths. She avoided Elin’s eyes, clutching the towel in her fists as though it could anchor her against the tide of shame. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t defend herself.

Elin’s voice, quiet and trembling, finally broke through.

“D…Do you like Septimius, Freja?”

Freja’s head jerked up, her eyes widening. “W…What?! I…I don’t…” She faltered, but the look on Elin’s face—earnest, searching—made her stumble. She bit down hard on her lip, lowering her gaze again. “…I don’t know,” she whispered, fingers tightening around the fabric.

Elin drew in a sharp breath, her own cheeks pink with an emotion she couldn’t fully name. “I… I think I like him, Freja.”

Freja’s eyes snapped upward, colliding with Elin’s bashful expression. The honesty in her tone struck harder than any accusation.

“Even though… even though he already has other women,” Elin continued, her words trembling with both courage and fear, “I think I still really like him…”

Freja’s lips parted, but no answer came. What could she possibly say? She was caught between denial and admission, shame and longing.

Meanwhile, Nathan had already left them behind. His steps carried him steadily down the corridor until he reached the cell where Ameriah and Auria were imprisoned. Servilia, still wearing her amused smile, remained close at his side.

“Are they going to be your women as well, Septimius?” Servilia’s teasing voice lilted through the corridor as she cast Nathan a sideways glance, her lips curled with quiet amusement.

Nathan’s eyes remained forward, his tone steady and without hesitation.”It will depend on them.”

That was all he gave. Yet the weight of the words lingered. For Nathan, once a woman was accepted as his, there was no turning back. He did not let go. What others might call possession, he called devotion—and once his heart marked someone, they were bound to him. Still, he kept himself restrained at the edge of what he called true love, for he knew if he allowed himself to fall completely, he would never be able to release them, not even in death.

He reached the cell door and, with a flick of his hand, the cold space within transformed. What had once been a prison now resembled a luxurious chamber, rich with warmth and dignity, as if it had always been meant for nobility rather than captives.

The heavy door creaked open, revealing Ameriah and Auria. Both were awake, seated on their beds, deep in conversation. Ameriah’s crimson eyes shimmered with a light that hadn’t been there before, and as soon as she noticed him, her entire face blossomed into a radiant smile.

“Sir Nathan!” she exclaimed, rising to her feet with a sudden rush of emotion. She ran forward and threw herself against him, arms wrapping tightly around his body.

Nathan looked down at her, the corners of his lips twitching faintly. “I told you not to call me by my real name.”

Ameriah tilted her face up at him, her beautiful features framed by the faint gleam of demonic allure. Her eyes, red and glistening with unshed tears, carried both relief and affection. She puffed her cheeks in protest.

“I… I’m just happy to see you again, Sir Samael.”

His hand lifted almost on instinct, brushing softly against her cheek. “You look better already,” he murmured.

It was true. The dark taint of the Demon King’s curse had lessened considerably. Her skin no longer carried the pallid shadow it once did, and her aura seemed brighter, steadier.

Ameriah leaned into his touch, her lips curving into a smile. “I am. Elin helped me a lot!”

Nathan’s gaze softened, and he nodded. “She did well.”

As expected of Elin. With her SSS-rank Healing Skill, she was one of the few capable of slowly unweaving the curse of demonic blood. It was not quick, but her power worked with a thoroughness that others could never hope to match.

At that moment, the door opened again. Freja and Elin stepped into the room.

Freja’s eyes widened immediately, a gasp escaping her lips as she caught sight of Ameriah and Auria. “What…?” She stopped dead in her tracks, confusion rippling across her face. She didn’t recognize them, yet it was clear at first glance that they were not ordinary women. Especially Ameriah.

Her aura was undeniable. She was a demon—more than that, a royal princess of the demonic bloodline. Her beauty and presence radiated in ways that set her apart from all others.

“You did well,” Nathan said, his gaze falling on Elin. His words carried quiet acknowledgment.

Elin shifted uncomfortably under his eyes, averting her gaze as a faint flush rose to her cheeks. “I… I might need a little more time to fully remove the curse,” she admitted softly.

“You will have all the time you need,” Nathan assured her, his tone calm, resolute. “Once I’ve dealt with Caesar, it will no longer be an issue.”

Auria, who had been listening quietly until now, stood from her bed. Her posture was elegant, her eyes filled with anticipation. “And then we can return to Tenebria?”

Nathan inclined his head. “I am nearly finished here.” He gently loosened Ameriah’s embrace, stepping away to give Auria his attention.

“What are you waiting for then?” Freja cut in, her voice sharp, her usual bravado slipping back into place. “I’m ready to beat Axel right now.”

But the moment Nathan’s eyes flicked toward her, her confidence faltered. Heat crept up her neck, her cheeks flushing as she quickly looked away, suddenly small under his gaze.

Nathan did not linger on her reaction. A thought stirred in his mind, pulling him elsewhere. Johanna. He remembered something he had overlooked, something gnawing at the edges of his memory.

“By the way,” he asked casually, turning his attention back to Elin and Freja, “what kind of Skill has your teacher awakened?”

The two young women exchanged glances. Freja frowned faintly, as though recalling something. “I think… she can see through memories?”

Nathan froze. The calm mask he so carefully wore threatened to shatter.

“What… did you just say?” His voice was controlled, but the tension beneath it was unmistakable.

Freja blinked at him, startled by the sudden shift in his demeanor. She looked at Elin, who hesitated before nodding in confirmation.

“She can see memories… but she has to touch you first,” Elin explained softly.

Nathan’s eyes widened. His mind raced back—Johanna’s hand against his cheek. The fleeting, inexplicable look that had crossed her face afterward.

Realization slammed into him like a blade. Everything he had carefully constructed, everything he had planned, was beginning to crumble.

And then—he felt it. Movements. Shadows shifting, presences stirring all around the estate. The air thickened with the weight of approaching danger.