I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

After the fourth round concluded, Nathan deliberately withdrew from the spotlight. He kept his movements silent, his presence erased, watching from the shadows. It wasn’t out of fear — no, Nathan had long outgrown such emotions — but strategy. He wanted to observe Caesar, to study the man’s every move and perhaps follow him into that forbidden place where the twin Beasts of Rome — Romulus and Remus — lay sealed in restless slumber.

He had imagined the scene vividly: Caesar standing before their prison, invoking their names, summoning their power in a bid to strengthen his crumbling empire. And Nathan, concealed within the mist, witnessing for himself the mythical Beasts who were meant to guard and protect Rome.

But as days passed, that fantasy never came to fruition.

Caesar did not go.

Nathan’s crimson eyes narrowed behind the veil of his disguise. Of course, he thought bitterly. The man wasn’t foolish enough to risk it — not after learning Nathan’s true identity and understanding his purpose. Caesar had become too paranoid, too cautious, the kind of ruler who trusted no one and dared not move without a guarantee of survival.

A shame.

Nathan had been so close — so close to stepping foot in that place, to gazing upon the legendary Beasts whose howls were said to have shaped the destiny of Rome. But Johanna’s interference had ruined it all. Her accursed skill had shattered his carefully woven plan like glass beneath a hammer.

Still, Nathan was not one to despair. Far from it,; rather now he had more freedom.

He just needed to change some details that was all.

Before moving on, he lingered a little longer, half-expecting Athena to appear. He had assumed that she, of all people, would have confronted him — to question his choices, or simply to speak to him but no.

When the fourth day ended, she departed alongside Pandora without a word.

Nathan exhaled softly. There had been a faint hope — foolish perhaps — that she might speak to him, he wanted to make things clear between them once for all. But Athena was a woman of reason, not sentiment. Her silence was its own declaration.

Once she was gone, Nathan turned away from the lingering traces of divine presence and made for the secured residence where Crassus’s family remained hidden under Medea’s protective enchantments. The structure was quiet, sealed behind layers of magic strong enough to deceive even Caesar’s spies.

As he stepped through the doorway, the faint glow of runes flickered across his boots.

“Septimius…”

Pompey’s voice cracked the silence. The older general’s tone carried that familiar blend of suspicion and unease. No matter how many times Nathan had proven himself useful, Pompey could never look at him without the tension of a man standing before a blade.

Nathan gave him a passing glance before entering fully.

“Is everything going well?” Crassus asked, stepping forward. His brow was furrowed, the faint tremor in his voice betraying the weight of constant fear.

Nathan sat down, leaning back into the chair with calm authority. “Caesar found out I betrayed him,” he said simply.

The room froze.

The words struck like a thunderclap. Crassus, Pompey, Tertulla, and Licinia all turned pale. Shock rippled through the chamber, heavy and suffocating. Even the air itself seemed to pause.

Then Nathan smiled faintly. “But everything is going well.”

He extended a hand without looking. “Wine,” he said, his tone gentle but carrying the weight of command.

Licinia flinched, caught off guard, but when her gaze met Nathan’s eyes — eyes that gleamed like molten ruby beneath the lantern light — she blushed and obeyed, pouring the crimson liquid into a glass. Her hand trembled. She could feel his presence pressing on her chest like a tide. And yet she couldn’t resist.

When she realized how easily she’d yielded, shame colored her cheeks deeper than the wine she poured. She was a princess, and yet in front of this man, she just!!!

“What do you mean everything is going well?!” Pompey suddenly barked. “If Caesar knows, then we must leave this place immediately!”

Nathan raised the glass to his lips, savoring the aroma before taking a slow sip. His gaze was calm, unshaken. “You are safe here,” he said evenly. “Caesar can do nothing against me.”

Crassus clenched his jaw. “Maybe not against you,” he said, voice low, “but if he releases the Beasts…”

The room darkened with the weight of that name.

Nathan’s eyes flicked toward him.

He knew what Crassus meant. If Caesar were desperate enough to unleash the Beasts — the twin fangs of Rome — then everything would change. Romulus and Remus, the sacred wolves said to possess the strength of demigods, were not mere legends. Their roars could level mountains, their claws could shred steel, and together they could rival gods themselves.

Nathan’s hand tightened around the glass.

Athena’s face flickered in his mind. If she stood with him, if she truly allied with his cause… then he could take them down…

“I’ll handle them,” Nathan finally said, setting the glass down with quiet finality.

“I admit you are strong,” Crassus said at last, his tone heavy, almost reluctant. “But even you cannot face these things alone.”

The faint crackle of the lantern filled the silence that followed. Nathan swirled the wine in his cup, watching the crimson liquid catch the light like spilled blood.

“I have a plan,” he said softly, a ghost of a smile curling his lips. “That’s all you need to know for now.”

Then, setting the cup down, his voice sharpened. “What you should be thinking about… is what comes after Caesar.”

Pompey’s brows knitted together. “After Caesar?” He exchanged a wary glance with Crassus, as if trying to discern whether he’d misheard.

Nathan leaned forward, resting an elbow on the table. “After I remove Caesar from his throne,” he said, each word deliberate, “Crassus will take it.”

“What… what did you say?” Pompey’s voice cracked. He turned sharply toward Crassus, eyes wide in disbelief. “You two planned this together?”

“What?!” Crassus yelled, his composure breaking. “I didn’t plan any of this! Look at me, Pompey — look where I am! I’m in hiding, caged with my own family like a criminal!” His glare turned toward Nathan. “Does this look like the position of a man conspiring to take the throne?”

“Wait, then, dear, what is he talking about?” Tertulla asked, stepping closer to her husband. Concern rippled through her gentle features.

Nathan’s gaze shifted toward her. “I’m the one planning this,” he said simply. There was no hesitation in his tone — no arrogance, just certainty. “I want Crassus on the throne.”

“W…Why?” Licinia stammered, her voice trembling. Her cheeks flushed pink again, misinterpreting his intentions entirely.

Nathan didn’t even seem to notice her embarrassment. His expression remained as composed as stone. “I want Rome’s alliance,” he said plainly. Then his eyes — those piercing crimson eyes — locked onto Crassus. “And you, father, will give it to me.”

“A… alliance?” Licinia’s face went scarlet, her breath catching. “Ah… I see…” she murmured shyly, lowering her head as her mind spun in a far more romantic direction. To her, those words sounded like a proposal veiled in strategy — a merging of hearts for the sake of empire.

Nathan, unaware of the misunderstanding, turned toward Pompey. “As for you,” he said, his voice calm yet cold, “you’re not part of this plan. When Caesar falls, you’ll have to leave Rome.”

Pompey’s fists clenched beneath the table. His glare could have cut steel, but he said nothing. Even his pride bowed before Nathan’s quiet menace.

Crassus, however, frowned. “Must he really leave?” he asked carefully, a trace of pity in his tone.

Nathan’s gaze hardened. “If you keep trusting too easily, Crassus, you’ll be dead before you sit on that throne — and you’ll drag your family down with you.” His words were calm, but they struck like a hammer. “If I hadn’t warned you about Caesar, you’d already be a corpse rotting in some alley. You understand that, don’t you?”

Tertulla’s hand flew to her mouth. Her face drained of color. She looked at her husband, horror and realization dawning in her eyes.

Crassus couldn’t speak. He knew Nathan was right.

“You will be the only Emperor,” Nathan continued, his tone shifting back to one of measured composure. “And the only influence beside you will be that of Athena’s Pope. Servilia and Fulvius will support your ascension — don’t concern yourself with them.”

Crassus froze. “W…What?!” He rose so suddenly his chair scraped against the stone floor.

Servilia of the Junii. Fulvius of the Fulvii. Two of Rome’s most ancient and powerful houses. Their favor could make or break an empire.

“Where… where does that come from?!” he demanded, disbelief overtaking his features. He stared at Nathan as if the man had just declared he could command the gods.

Servilia’s family had never sided with him. The Fulvii despised him outright. And yet Nathan spoke as though their allegiance was already secured, as though the pieces had been quietly moved while none of them were looking.

Nathan didn’t bother answering. He merely regarded Crassus with that inscrutable calm — eyes steady, expression unreadable. He didn’t need to explain himself. His silence was the explanation.

Crassus sank slowly back into his chair, staring at the man across from him — the stranger who had upended his fate.

Had Nathan somehow convinced them? Manipulated them? Or perhaps ensnared them in the same unseen web that now bound him and his family?

The thought sent a chill through his spine.

Just who was this man who spoke of thrones and empires as though they were pieces on a board he had already mastered?