I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

Chapter 483: Nathan Vs Lilia

“S…Septimius…” Freja’s lips trembled as the name slipped out, her voice frail, disbelieving. Her wide eyes fixed on the figure standing before her as though the world had tilted into some impossible dream. For a moment she thought she must be imagining him, a figment her desperate mind had conjured to soften the certainty of her death.

Was it really him?

Had he truly come? For her?

Her chest tightened, breath shuddering between hope and terror. She could hardly process it. The thought of rescue had never crossed her mind—why would it? She had already resigned herself to her fate, bracing for the cold finality of death. No one was supposed to come. No one ever had before.

And yet, against every expectation, it was him. Septimius. Standing there, real, undeniable.

A flood of emotions crashed over her—relief, confusion, gratitude, and something deeper she could not name. If he was here, then it meant a storm was about to break, and she wasn’t sure if she had the strength to weather it.

Lilia’s voice broke through the fragile moment, sharp and cutting like a blade drawn across stone. She tilted her chin upward, her eyes cold and calculating as she studied Nathan.

“So, it is you after all—the shadow lurking behind these girls, pulling their strings,” she said, her tone carrying both disdain and curiosity. “You killed Logan… even had the audacity to send us his mutilated corpse as some kind of message. And Marcus Antonius as well? That was your doing too, wasn’t it?”

Nathan didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The silence hung heavy in the air, and it spoke louder than any words could.

Lilia’s lips curled into a faint, humorless smile. “If you’ve come here in person, then you must truly believe yourself capable of killing me.”

Nathan’s gaze never wavered. His reply was steady, unwavering, as though it carried the weight of inevitability.

“Yes. I believe it.”

With a swift leap, he landed upon the ground before her, dust rising around his boots. His hand hovered close to his weapon, but his voice was edged with something deeper than mere bloodlust.

“But before I deal with you… I want answers. Tell me—what’s Aaron’s last name?”

Lilia’s expression flickered. Her eyes narrowed, suspicion flashing across her face. Of all the questions she had expected, that was not one of them. And though she had no intention of answering, the fact that she hesitated, even for a heartbeat, betrayed her curiosity.

“You think I’ll simply hand you that information?” she said coolly, her tone meant to mask her unease.

Nathan’s eyes hardened. “Then I’ll rip it from you after torturing you… the same way I did from Logan, your precious classmate.” His voice was cold, merciless, every syllable dripping with promise.

Her nostrils flared, a flicker of anger breaking through her mask. “You’ll regret this interference. I am leagues beyond Logan in strength—and you cannot even fathom the depth of my experience. Your arrogance will be your undoing.”

Her words no sooner left her lips than the air trembled. With a surge of violent force, an ocean erupted within the underground chamber. Water roared into existence, bursting forth in a colossal wave that clawed hungrily toward the ceiling, threatening to swallow everything whole.

“Medea.” Nathan called, glancing toward her.

Without hesitation, Medea’s sharp instincts carried her into action. She seized Freja, freeing her from her binds, and with practiced speed they launched upward, bursting free of the collapsing hall into the open world above.

The two women landed hard on loose, sandy earth. The sunlight blinded Freja at first—after the oppressive dark below, the vast emptiness of the desert stretched endlessly in every direction. The dry air tasted foreign, yet it was a cruel reminder: they were far from safety. Somewhere south of Rome, the desert wasteland offered no comfort.

Nathan appeared a heartbeat later, emerging from the ruined hall in a swift bound. Behind him, the tide surged outward, spilling into the open like a floodgate had been torn apart. And from within that torrent, she came—Lilia, her presence towering, her aura thick with power.

Beside her, two monstrous serpents of living water uncoiled, their forms massive and sinuous. Their eyes glowed with cold malice as they reared back, striking toward Nathan with a hiss that echoed like thunder.

Nathan’s hand moved without hesitation. The golden blade of Alexander the Great flashed into existence, its brilliance defying the shadow of Lilia’s conjured beasts. He stepped forward, raising the sword high.

The moment steel met serpent, the desert trembled.

BADOOM!

The first strike split the air, the sheer force of it cracking against the serpent’s liquid flesh, scattering it into torrents. The pressure was immense, the weight of her magic crashing down on him with suffocating force. He could feel it—Lilia was indeed far stronger than Logan. More refined, more experienced. She had lived longer, fought longer, and her command over her craft was undeniable.

But there was something she lacked.

Nathan’s grip tightened on the hilt, his knuckles pale against the gold. His eyes burned with a determination born not from years, but from scars. The agony he had endured, the countless brushes with death, the pain that had shaped him into something unyielding—these were the crucibles that no measure of experience could ever replicate.

With a fluid motion, he cleaved through the first serpent, his body twisting as he leapt skyward. But in the air, Lilia was already there, her sword flashing with intent to kill.

Steel met steel.

The clash thundered, a ripple of raw magical force bursting outward. The ground below cracked, the air screamed under the strain. The shockwave sent sand and dust spiraling outward in violent gusts.

Lilia’s eyes narrowed further, locking on Nathan. For the first time, she faltered—not in strength, but in certainty.

“You…” she hissed, her voice low with dawning realization.

This wasn’t the power of a mercenary plucked by chance. No. What stood before her was something else entirely—something that did not fit the order of her world.

Nathan’s power was not normal.

Not at all.

Nathan’s body twisted midair as he corrected his flight with a sublime flick of motion. With a surge of force, he shot forward, his blade already raised, eyes locked on his opponent. Lilia mirrored his charge, her form blurring into a streak of sapphire light.

When their weapons collided—

BADOOM!

BADAM!

BADOOOM!

The desert erupted. Explosions blossomed one after another, detonating with deafening roars that shook the ground and split the air apart. Each clash birthed a storm of violent energy, raw magical ripples that scattered sand in choking waves and carved craters into the arid wasteland.

Freja could only watch.

Her body trembled as she shielded her eyes against the searing winds. Beside her, Medea extended a protective barrier, shielding them both from the blunt, destructive force radiating from the duel. Yet even through the ward, Freja felt the vibrations pounding against her bones, rattling her ribs as though the world itself was coming undone.

She stared, wide-eyed, at the two figures locked in that apocalyptic clash. Their movements were too fast for her eyes to follow—flashes of gold and blue colliding again and again in a storm of destruction. The sheer difference in strength left her numb.

This is impossible…

They’re in another world entirely…

Her gaze lingered on Nathan. A fellow Hero. Like her. At least, that’s what she thought. But watching him now, she could not reconcile that notion. Heroes were strong, yes, but not this. Not overwhelming, untouchable, godlike.

How… how is he this powerful?

She turned to Medea, the question burning at her lips. But before she could speak, the words withered in her throat. Medea’s expression stopped her cold.

The woman’s face was flushed, her lips parted in a twisted smile. Her eyes never left Nathan, following every movement, every strike, with a hunger that bordered on obsession. Her tongue darted out, wetting her lips, as if she could devour the sight of him whole. She wasn’t merely watching a battle—she was basking in it, enthralled.

Freja’s breath caught. She understood then that any question about Nathan’s identity or power would remain unasked. Medea would never answer.

The ground trembled again.

Nathan and Lilia clashed midair, steel howling against steel. But in the midst of their furious exchange, Lilia’s serpentine conjurations struck with cunning precision. One of the water snakes darted in from Nathan’s blind side, its fangs of liquid pressure piercing against his waist.

The force hurled him back. He steadied himself, halting midair with his sword raised defensively. Blood trickled down his side, staining the golden hilt of his weapon.

His gaze fell upon the wound, then rose back to Lilia, unshaken. “You aren’t bad,” he admitted evenly, voice calm despite the sting of blood. “As one should expect… from a Hero of the Second Summoning of the Light Empire.”

Freja’s heart skipped.

Her head snapped toward Lilia, disbelief written across her face.

A… Hero?

The words struck her harder than the explosions. She had heard of the Second Summoning—it had happened more than thirty years ago. Heroes summoned long before her generation ever set foot in this world. And yet, Lilia stood before them, not aged, but resplendent, still wielding unimaginable strength.

Her breath quickened. How could this be?

Lilia’s eyes narrowed into sharp slits. His words had struck her too, but in a different way. How much did Nathan know? How could he possibly be aware of such details? His knowledge was… dangerous.

Her voice cut through the steam rising around them. “Who are you?” she demanded, her guard raised higher than before.

Nathan’s reply was calm, cold, and precise. “Tell me Aaron’s full name… and I will tell you.”

Lilia’s lips curled into a snarl. “Then I will tear my answers from you instead!”

She thrust her hand skyward.

The very air seemed to shudder as torrents of mana surged around her, gathering with a force that made the ground quake. Her aura flared like a tidal wave, violent and vast, threatening to drown everything in its wake.

Nathan’s eyes sharpened. The density of her magic was staggering. So much power… She wasn’t just strong—she was monstrous. Her affinity was undeniable. At least she had a S-Rank Water skill, her control absolute.

The desert quaked as her spell took shape. From the seething torrents, a colossal figure of water rose, towering five meters high. Its form was a giant, its bulk shimmering with crushing weight, every droplet of its being bound by Lilia’s will.

The watery titan raised its arm, each movement like an avalanche preparing to fall. With a resounding crash, she unleashed it.

The giant surged forward, crashing toward Nathan like the wrath of a tsunami made flesh.

Nathan raised his sword. The golden blade glinted, the edge unwavering as he whispered, low and dangerous:

“Amaterasu.”

At first, only a flicker of light appeared—a small sphere of flame dancing at the sword’s tip. But in the next heartbeat, it swelled, ballooning outward, the heat rippling like molten breath. It grew, and grew, until a searing fireball as large and blinding as the sun itself roared across the desert sky.

Lilia’s eyes widened. “W…what—?!”

This was no ordinary flame. It was a god’s inferno.

The blazing sphere collided with the giant of water. The explosion shook the world.

KABOOOOOM!

Scalding mist erupted, engulfing the battlefield in a storm of steam. The air warped under the sudden heat, burning and suffocating. Lilia groaned, her skin prickling, the atmosphere itself turning hostile.

Her instincts screamed—danger.

She spun on her heel, sword slashing behind her.

BADOOOM!

The force of the clash sent her sliding back across the sand, grit tearing at her heels. And there he was—Nathan, emerging from the dissipating mist like a phantom, golden blade raised, eyes gleaming with merciless intent.

“You…” she hissed, her chest heaving. She had barely reacted in time.

Nathan’s frown deepened. “Your senses are sharper than I expected. You shouldn’t have been able to react to that.”

A pause. Then, realization struck him.

“You’ve awakened a second time, haven’t you?”

The words hung in the heavy air.

For most Heroes, the first awakening occurred upon their summoning into this world, granting them their skills and blessings. But for a select few—the chosen, the prodigies—a second awakening was possible. It was rare, rarer than miracles, but when it happened, it elevated them to a new existence. A second skill. Heightened senses.

That was the only explanation. It was why Lilia, despite standing against someone who bore the strength of a Demigod, could still see him. Could still react.

Lilia’s chest heaved, her breaths ragged and shallow. Sweat rolled down her temples, mingling with the sting of steam that still hung in the air. Her hand clenched tighter around her sword, knuckles white, as her thoughts raced.

That fire—that cursed fire—had completely obliterated her water giant, reducing one of her finest techniques to nothing more than vapor. She had prided herself on the destructive force of that skill, one that had broken armies and crushed Heroes in the past. And yet, in front of Nathan, it had been nothing but a spark extinguished by the sun.

The threat he posed had multiplied a hundredfold in her mind.

Her lips curled back in defiance, but the unease in her heart only grew heavier. Gritting her teeth, she called forth another ability, her sword humming with power as shimmering ripples coalesced around her.

Then she charged.

Nathan moved to meet her, his golden blade sweeping downward with crushing intent. But in the instant before the strike could land, the world shimmered. A mirror of water materialized in front of her, its surface glinting like liquid glass.

The sword that should have cleaved into her neck instead turned back against its wielder. Nathan’s eyes narrowed. His instincts screamed. With a sudden twist, his body snapped aside, narrowly dodging the redirected blow. Even so, the edge grazed across his forehead, drawing a sharp line of crimson that trickled down into his white hair.

The sight froze Lilia in place.

“What kind of monster is this…?”

Her mind reeled. She had unleashed an S-Rank Skill, a technique designed to trap her foes into their own demise. It was quick, merciless, and almost impossible to escape once sprung. Yet Nathan had done the unthinkable—dodged it at the final moment, as though guided by something beyond human reflex. A cut, not a kill. His life remained his own.

For the first time in decades, fear slithered down her spine. Real, paralyzing fear.

And then—her blood ran cold.

Because when she turned her head, she saw her.

Medea.

The woman stood at the edge of the battlefield, her lips parted ever so slightly, her gaze locked on Lilia with a terrifying intensity. It was not rage in her eyes, nor hatred, but something darker. Something hungry. A silent threat that promised a thousand torments without needing a single word.

Lilia’s chest tightened. This was the second time Nathan’s blood had been drawn before Medea’s eyes. The first time, she had been merciful—almost gleeful, in fact, as though the sight of his struggle had pleased her. But this wound… thisattack… against his face—

It was unforgivable.

“No…” Lilia breathed, panic clawing at her throat.

And in that heartbeat of distraction—Nathan struck.

His leg crashed into her ribs with bone-shattering force. The impact thundered through her body, sending her hurtling across the sand. She hit the ground hard, rolling, coughing, pain blazing along her side. Something inside her cracked—she knew it. Broken bones.

Still, she forced herself to rise. Groaning through the agony, she raised her sword once more. Water burst from the ground at her command, exploding upward into a torrent that surged toward Nathan. Snakes, spears, claws—her element bent into every form she could conjure to push him back.

But Nathan was relentless. His golden blade carved through the water, splitting each attack with careful precision, his movements a blur of cold efficiency. He ducked, dodged, his footwork flowing like a predator circling its prey.

And then—he stomped.

The ground quaked beneath his heel, a crack of power rippling outward. Sand and mist swirled violently as his presence bore down upon her. Lilia rolled desperately aside, her sword ready to counter—but then she felt it.

Cold.

An unnatural chill seized her legs. She looked down—and her breath caught in her throat.

Her limbs were frozen solid. Both legs encased in crystalline ice that glistened mercilessly beneath the desert sun.

“W…what?!” Her voice cracked with disbelief. She struggled, the water around her trembling under her command, but it was useless. She could not move.

Nathan’s shadow fell over her.

Slowly, he stepped forward, his form towering above, every movement exuding authority and inevitability. His crimson eyes glowed with a light that was not human—something colder, sharper, merciless.

“I’ve had enough of you,” he said, voice low and steady, a razor pressed against her soul. The words cut sharper than any blade.

His sword lowered, its golden edge glinting dangerously. “Now… you’d better prove yourself useful to me.”