I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

Chapter 482: Lilia Kent

Lilia Kent was once an ordinary young woman, living the simple, fleeting joys and frustrations of her final year of high school. Yet her fate, like that of her classmates, was forever rewritten the day they were torn from their world. Thirty years had passed since that fateful summoning, though to her it still felt like yesterday—the day when the floor beneath her vanished, when reality folded, and when she and her entire class were thrust into a world of swords, magic, and endless wars.

They had been called by the Light Empire, one of the greatest human nations of this unfamiliar realm, and immediately confronted with demands. No explanations, no time to adjust—simply the command to fight. At that very moment, the Empire was embroiled in a brutal, multi-front war: against the neighboring Tenebria Kingdom, against the legions of Demons, and above all, against the unfathomable force known as the Demon King.

For teenagers barely on the cusp of adulthood, everything felt surreal. Castles of white marble, knights clad in gleaming armor, nobles who spoke of divine missions—at first, it all seemed like the stuff of fairy tales. But the glamour faded quickly, replaced by exhaustion, fear, and the crushing weight of expectation. They had no choice. The Light Empire insisted they were Heroes, summoned by divine right to fight for this world.

And yet, it did not take long for reality to shatter their illusions.

When the Demon King finally appeared before them for the first time, they understood what despair truly meant. He was not merely strong—he was overwhelming, an existence that towered over them like a storm. The clash was one-sided, a massacre disguised as a battle. The so-called Heroes fought with trembling hands, desperate to prove themselves, but against that absolute power they were as insignificant as children throwing stones at a mountain.

It was then the group fractured.

The first faction, led by Ethan and Olivia, chose to remain in the Light Empire. Though disillusioned, they clung to a sense of belonging, perhaps even guilt. They fought not for emperors or divine knights, but for the farmers, the children, and the common folk who would suffer most if the Demon King’s armies triumphed. They carried themselves as true protectors, no matter how futile their mission seemed.

The second faction turned away. In the dead of night, they slipped beyond the Empire’s borders, abandoning their supposed duty. They sought refuge in distant kingdoms, choosing to live quietly, to carve out new lives in a world that had stolen their old ones. They accepted they would never return to Earth, but at least they would not die screaming in a hopeless war.

And then there was the third faction—the one that Lilia herself had joined.

At its head stood Aaron Parker. Even back on Earth, he had been different: proud, sharp-tongued, sometimes cruel, a boy who carried a weight no one else could quite name. Rumors of family troubles had followed him, shadows he never bothered to explain. In this new world, those shadows deepened. Unlike the others, he had an almost instinctive understanding of the situation they were trapped in.

Aaron did not believe in fairy tales of victory. He looked upon the Demon King not as an enemy, but as the inevitable winner of this war. And so, when the moment came, he chose pragmatism over ideals. He bent the knee to the Demon King, and those who shared his hunger to return to Earth followed him.

Lilia was one of them.

She did not care about honor, nor about the Empire’s endless struggles. Her heart yearned only for home—for the warm smile of her mother, for the familiar streets where she once walked, for the peace of a world without monsters, gods, and wars. Even if decades had passed and her family might no longer live, she would do anything to see Earth again. If siding with the Demon King was the path that promised survival and the faintest chance of return, then so be it.

But fate was cruel.

In their final confrontation, the Demon King lost control. His power surged into a storm of chaos that swallowed friend and foe alike. Ethan’s group, Aaron’s, even Lilia herself—all were caught in a spell beyond comprehension. When the dust settled, they found themselves flung across time itself. Five years ago, they had reappeared, scattered, stranded once again in this hostile world.

Ethan and his companions did not return to the Light Empire. They wandered elsewhere, carrying the weight of their choices. Aaron and Lilia likewise avoided Tenebria, drifting instead in search of a greater answer. For years they searched for a path between worlds, some fragment of hope that could carry them home. But every road ended in silence.

There was only one conclusion left to them: if the Gods themselves had orchestrated this summoning, then only the Gods could undo it. Yet no god would willingly offer such mercy.

So they conceived a new plan. If the divine would not answer their pleas, then they would tear the answer from their hands.

The key lay in a forbidden legend—Pandora and her Box. For years, Aaron, Lilia and the others waited, patient as shadows, watching and preparing. And when at last Athena herself descended from the heavens along Pandora, they knew their time had come.

The goddess of wisdom would be their first victim.

Unfortunately, not everything had gone according to plan.

Aaron and Lilia had prepared for Pandora meticulously, but complications continued to pile one after another. The first and most troubling was Ethan. He was here in Rome—of that they were certain. And where Ethan was, the others from his group would not be far behind. That alone was dangerous enough. They were no longer children fumbling in a strange new world; long years of blood and hardship had hardened them, made them sharp and difficult to predict. If they had remained hidden in Rome for the last five years, maneuvering quietly through Caesar and his networks, then surely they understood how delicate this moment was.

They would not sit idly by. They would be thorns, daggers in the dark, ready to disrupt everything. But Aaron… Aaron was not afraid. He was prepared to face them, no matter what.

Yet there was another, far more unsettling problem.

A foe. An unknown enemy who lurked in the shadows, striking without warning. Someone whose motives were a complete mystery.

What did he want? Why was he interfering? Why attack them specifically?

No answer came.

And the most haunting proof of his threat was Logan. Strong, capable Logan—cut down without mercy. If someone like him could be killed, then this shadow was far more dangerous than they had imagined.

That was why Lilia had taken it upon herself to investigate. They had found clue, one lead in the two young women, Freja and Elin. Since Elin wasn’t there Lilia went for the other one.

Freja.

Now, the girl sat in a dark, suffocating room lit only by flickering candles. The damp air carried the faint stench of blood and sweat. Chains rattled faintly as Freja shifted, bound tightly to a chair. Bruises marred her face and arms—she had fought, fiercely, stubbornly, but in the end she was no match for Lilia.

Lilia was no longer the naïve girl who had once trembled before the Demon King. She was older, sharper, hardened by three decades of battle. Compared to her, Freja—summoned barely two years ago—was still a child stumbling through this cruel world.

Lilia’s boots clicked against the stone floor as she stepped closer, her eyes narrowing.

“Tell me,” she said, her voice low and commanding, “who killed Logan? Who is pulling your strings?”

Freja’s head hung low, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. She said nothing.

Lilia’s expression hardened. “If you won’t answer, then I’ll have to ask Elin when she arrives. Do you want me to drag her into this?”

That pierced through Freja’s silence. Her head snapped up, eyes blazing with defiance despite her bruised face.

“W… What do you want from us?!” she shouted hoarsely. “Just leave us alone! We’re only trying to survive!”

For a moment, Lilia faltered. The fire in Freja’s eyes reminded her of herself—of a younger Lilia, once naive, once desperate, clinging to hope and family. She saw the reflection of her own struggles staring back at her.

But that softness lasted only a heartbeat. She buried it. There was no room for sympathy anymore.

“I need a name,” Lilia said flatly.

Freja clenched her jaw, biting her lip so hard she tasted blood. The name burned at the edge of her tongue. Septimius.

But if she spoke it, she would be betraying him. Septimius had promised to help them, had sworn to get Caesar out of the way and send them back to Alexandria. Strong as he was, this woman standing before her was terrifying. Could he survive if she turned her blade against him?

Her mind raged with conflict—protect Septimius, or protect Elin.

“Promise me,” she said at last, voice trembling, “you won’t hurt Elin. Promise me you’ll release us.”

Lilia did not hesitate. Her voice was steel. “I give you my word. I won’t touch her. And once you answer, you will both walk free.”

It was a lie seasoned with truth, but in her desperation, Freja clung to it. Tears threatened at the corners of her eyes as she whispered an apology, one meant for someone else entirely.

I’m sorry, Septimius.

Her lips parted, and with a shaky breath, she gave him up.

“…Septimius.”

The name echoed in the candlelit room like the toll of a bell.

Lilia’s eyes widened slowly, a sharp glint flashing in them. “Septimius?” she repeated, almost in disbelief. “That mercenary… the one I saw at Caesar’s side when he returned from Alexandria?”

Freja gave the smallest of nods.

And then the world exploded.

A thunderous crash tore through the room—

BAAADOOM!

The ceiling above them split apart, stones crumbling as daylight spilled through in jagged rays. Dust choked the air, and huge slabs of rock tumbled downward with murderous weight.

Lilia moved instantly, leaping back to avoid being buried.

Freja closed her eyes tightly, certain her end had come, when a sudden warmth enveloped her. A red sphere shimmered into being around her, halting the falling debris as though the very air had solidified.

Slowly, she opened her eyes. Standing before her, illuminated by the fractured light, was a woman of breathtaking beauty—so striking it made Freja’s heart falter. Her eyes were mismatched, one glowing red, the other green, an otherworldly contrast that marked her as someone beyond mortal.

Freja had never seen her before.

But Lilia’s breath caught. Her gaze rose higher, past the woman, to the figure standing above, framed against the blazing sun.

“You are finally here…” She whispered narrowing her gaze.

The man was tall, his silhouette outlined by light, his crimson eyes burning coldly into hers.

“Septimius…”