I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

Chapter 461: Julia burdened

The first day of the Gladiator Tournament was slowly dragging itself into its final moments.

And yet, the chaos in the arena was far from over.

The great battle royale still raged on with relentless ferocity. There were each group who had to play the battle royal and only four had passed today, the fourth group still fighting, each filled with warriors desperate for glory, honor, or simply survival.

Then, only ten participants of each group would advance to the next round—a cruel and deliberate design that ensured the bloodshed would continue until only the strongest and most merciless survived.

From the very beginning, it had been a slaughterhouse. Blades met flesh without hesitation, and the sand of the arena had been dyed a deep, sticky red. Unfortunately, not every group would see their champions move forward. By now, only four groups had managed to secure their places for tomorrow. The rest had been reduced to corpses—some intact, many unrecognizable.

It had been an endless day.

From the pale light of morning until the dark shroud of night, Nathan and the others had been forced to witness a macabre spectacle—men and women tearing each other apart in the most primal display of violence imaginable. Blood gushed freely, painting the ground in grotesque patterns. Limbs spun through the air like discarded toys. Blades split torsos, spilling slick ropes of entrails onto the trampled dirt. Heads rolled away, their eyes still frozen in shock. And above it all, the screams—those shrill, pitiful cries of agony and terror—wove together into something almost orchestrated, a grim and unending symphony of death.

Rome’s people loved every moment of it.

Not once did the spectators grow weary; not once did their voices falter. They cheered with wild abandon, their roars echoing through the stone walls of the Colosseum, demanding more, always more. Blood was their wine, and the arena was their feast.

Nathan, however, was less impressed. He had grown tired of the endless carnage hours ago. While he had noticed a few warriors among the earlier groups who piqued his interest—individuals whose skill or demeanor suggested untapped potential—watching them hack each other apart for an entire day was exhausting. The thrill of novelty had long since worn off, leaving only tedium in its wake.

Now, the fourth and final group of the day was still locked in combat, their bodies slick with sweat and gore. The arena floor was no longer sand but a vast, shallow lake of red, the metallic scent of blood hanging thick in the air. Around thirty fighters still remained, which meant at least twenty more would have to die before the round could end.

Nathan exhaled slowly, leaning back against the wall. He struggled to understand the appeal.

What pleasure could there possibly be in watching strangers butcher each other like this?

At least in the Trojan War, the warriors were legends—Khillea with her peerless might, Hector with his unshakable honor, Heracles with his godlike strength, Ajax the Great, and countless others whose names would echo through history. That had been worth watching. But here? These were nameless men and women who would be forgotten by next week, their bodies rotting in shallow graves if they were lucky enough to be buried at all.

His gaze shifted.

Athena sat up there, composed and attentive, her eyes never straying from the battle below. Was she actually enjoying this? She did not have the wild, wine-fueled excitement of Dionysius, who was currently laughing beside her about something, cup in hand, the scent of grapes and indulgence thick around him.

No, Athena’s purpose was different. She was not here for entertainment—she was here for evaluation. She was searching for someone, a warrior worthy of a far greater task: to be capable of handling Pandora. Her presence here, therefore, was deliberate and disciplined.

Nathan’s eyes flickered to Pandora herself, seated next to her. She was as unreadable as ever, her expression hidden beneath her delicate veil. Whatever thoughts churned in her mind remained locked away. He could not tell whether she was unimpressed, bored, or simply indifferent.

Still, a troubling thought crept into his mind—

If she had yet to see anyone in the arena worthy of her interest, what did that mean for the days ahead?

After all, she was in need of a husband—a man not only capable of enduring her but of standing as her equal. If no such person emerged from this endless parade of blood and death… then the consequences might be far greater than the crowd cheering for their next kill could possibly imagine.

“Father… I need some fresh air.”

Julia’s voice broke his thoughts.

She looked pale, her hands resting tensely in her lap. Though she had barely glanced toward the arena throughout the day, the sounds had been impossible to escape—the wet, nauseating rip of flesh being torn, the spray of blood, the clash of steel, the screams that ranged from rage to pure agony. Each cry had settled into her stomach like a stone, making her feel ill.

Julia was not accustomed to such raw brutality.

By contrast, the other three women—Servilia, Fulvia, and Licinia—seemed to endure it with far greater composure. Servilia and Fulvia watched with the detached poise of those who had grown used to Rome’s bloody spectacles, while even Licinia, though less at ease, maintained her calm.

Caesar glanced at his daughter, his sharp features softening.

“Yes, my dear. Septimius—accompany my daughter safely,” he instructed.

Nathan had been half-focused on the carnage below, curious to see how the final match of the day would conclude. But her request pulled him away without much resistance. A day’s worth of slaughter was more than enough for him as well.

He followed Julia out from the grand, marble-pillared balcony, the “special” seating reserved for Rome’s elite—a place with the perfect view of every kill, every scream, every fall to the blood-soaked sand.

As they stepped into the quieter corridors beyond the stands, Julia glanced at him apologetically.

“I… I apologize, Lord Septimius… for troubling you like this,” she said, her tone hesitant, as if she feared she’d spoiled his enjoyment.

Nathan shook his head. “You don’t need to. I’m not particularly interested in watching a bunch of people hacking each other apart like wild animals. An entire day of it is… more than enough.”

Her eyes brightened, surprise flickering there. “I… is that really so?”

He nodded.

Julia giggled softly, the sound lighter now that the roar of the crowd was fading behind them. “I… I’m glad to hear that. I was feeling sick, even though I hardly looked. Just hearing it was enough.”

“Then why are you so upset about leaving?” Nathan asked.

Her smile faltered. “Because… Father wanted me to be there. So I stayed. Until now.”

“The Emperor is the Emperor,” Nathan said, his voice steady. “But you are yourself. You don’t have to follow every one of his steps.” Inwardly, he hoped she would never let herself be molded into her father’s image.

“But… as the Emperor’s daughter, I have duties,” Julia murmured.

Nathan studied her for a moment—her hesitation, the weight she carried even in something so small as this—and then, without a word, he bent down, slipped an arm beneath her knees, and lifted her into his arms.

“W..what…Septimius?!” she gasped, startled, instinctively wrapping her arms around his neck.

Before she could protest further, the world fell away beneath them. Nathan leapt from the marble balcony into the open sky, the rush of wind pulling a startled cry from her lips. She squeezed her eyes shut until she felt them slow, then stop, suspended in the cool night air.

“Look,” Nathan said.

Julia hesitated before opening her eyes.

They were floating high above the city, the golden lamps of Rome scattered like stars across the earth below. Far behind them, the Colosseum still blazed with light, its crowd’s frenzied roar muted by distance.

“This is most of Rome,” Nathan said, his gaze drifting downward.

Julia followed his eyes and saw a different Rome than the one she’d just left behind. The streets were alive, not with blood, but with life—families strolling side by side, mothers guiding their children through the bustling market lanes, fathers carrying laughing toddlers on their shoulders. Merchants called out their wares; lovers walked hand in hand. Children chased one another through the torchlit alleys, their laughter clear and untainted by the violence in the arena.

Not one of them seemed to care what was happening in the Colosseum. They were happy living their lives elsewhere, free from the madness of the crowd.

“You can’t become the princess of those blinded by blood and battles,” Nathan said quietly, “but you can be the princess of these people.”

Her eyes shimmered with sudden tears. She looked up at him, but his gaze remained ahead, calm and unwavering. A flush touched her cheeks, and she lowered her eyes. “T… thank you…”

Nathan said nothing.

He wasn’t trying to charm her, nor was this some fleeting gesture. This was preparation—an unspoken step toward a Rome without Caesar. When that day came, Julia could be something far greater than a silent figure at her father’s side. With people like Servilia and Fulvia beside her, she could lead.

And Nathan intended to make sure she would.