I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

At the center stood a tall, striking woman who instantly drew the eye.

Her hair was a cascade of pale gold, tied into elegant braids that draped over her shoulders like threads of sunlight. Her eyes, a piercing sky-blue, burned with defiance and outrage. She wore a regal tunic of foreign make, trimmed with gold and embroidered with beautiful patterns that spoke of distant lands.

She was not Roman.

And that was obvious at a glance.

She was Elin Berg, one of the Heroes summoned by the Amun-Ra Empire.

Nathan didn’t recognize the girl, not even slightly. Her face was unfamiliar, yet there was something in her bearing—the sharp glint in her eyes, the unmistakable confidence in her stance—that caught his attention. Despite never having seen her before, Nathan’s instincts whispered hints. From the way she dressed—sturdy boots dusted with foreign dirt, a cloak draped over broad shoulders in a fashion unlike the Romans, a sword strapped to her side that bore no imperial sigil—he made an educated guess.

She wasn’t from here. Not from Rome.

Most likely, she was from Earth. Her features—high cheekbones, icy blue eyes, golden-blonde hair tied tightly behind her head—evoked the North. Perhaps she hailed from Scandinavia. Which means likely a Hero of the Amun Ra Empire, he didn’t think he would meet one this soon.

Despite his curiosity, Nathan said nothing. He simply followed the direction of her gaze.

Her attention was fixed on a scene unfolding just down the lavish corridor of the Senate Castle—a place gilded with marble, sensual murals, and the decadent stench of wine, incense, and flesh. There, in a side alcove partially concealed by red drapes, two Roman senators were engaged in a disturbing spectacle. One of them, a portly man with a well-oiled beard and the arrogance of someone born into unchecked power, was hunched behind a slave girl. She was naked, save for a leather collar clamped around her throat, marking her ownership.

They were using her.

The girl—young, frail, and silent—was on all fours, her body trembling slightly with each thrust. Her eyes were vacant, her mouth closed as if permanently silenced by fear or resignation. Though no tears ran down her cheeks, the anguish in her expression was unmistakable. Her soul looked shattered—her body little more than a vessel to be filled with others’ pleasure. There were no cries of protest, no attempt to resist. Perhaps she had long since learned that resistance only made things worse.

The Romans laughed. The one behind her sneered down at her back, gripping her hips harder, his thrusts growing more brutal by the second. His companion, lounging nearby with a goblet of wine in hand, offered no intervention—only amusement.

Nathan watched from the side. It disgusted him, but this was the norm here. In this twisted echo of Rome, where decadence and cruelty were sewn into the very bricks of the castle, such acts were not only tolerated but celebrated.

But the foreign girl—Elin—was different. He could see the fury rising in her clenched fists, the fire in her eyes as she stared at the broken slave and the grinning men abusing her. She took a step forward, her hand twitching the hilt of her blade.

The man inside the slave—Senator Fanius—finally noticed her.

“Well now… who’s this lovely creature?” he drawled, halting his movement mid-thrust as he licked his lips with a serpentine smile. His gaze drank her in, lingering on her armor, her posture, and most of all, her beauty—a stark contrast to the battered woman beneath him.

“Come to join us, girl?” he asked with a mocking purr. “There’s always room for another pretty toy in our games.”

Elin’s face twisted in disgust.

Another senator—leaner and slightly more composed—glanced over and narrowed his eyes in recognition. “Careful, Fanius. She’s not one of the brothel stock. That’s a Hero. One of the chosen of the Amun Ra Empire.”

Fanius paused, blinking once in surprise. Then he scoffed, barely suppressing a sneer. “Amun Ra?” he muttered dismissively. “They can keep their gods. Out here, power belongs to those who take it.”

Then, as if to prove his point, he gripped the slave girl’s hips tighter, fingers digging into bruised flesh, and moved to continue his assault.

Elin stepped forward sharply, her voice ringing out like a thunderclap.

“I told you to stop!” she shouted, her tone sharp with fury. “Can’t you see you’re hurting her?!”

Fanius turned to her, laughing openly now. “And what of it?” he said, voice thick with wine and cruelty. “She’s a slave. Her pain isn’t hers anymore—it’s ours to command. She was bought for pleasure, and soon enough, she’ll enjoy it too.”

With that, he drove his hips forward again.

The slave girl whimpered, a weak, muffled sound that barely escaped her lips—but it was unmistakably a cry of pain. Her eyes clenched shut. Perhaps she prayed for it to end. Perhaps she had long since stopped praying at all.

Nathan could feel Elin’s fury boiling over.

Elin’s entire body trembled—but it wasn’t the kind of shaking that came before drawing a sword or unleashing a spell. No. This was a different kind of trembling. Raw. Vulnerable. The kind that came when anger collided with helplessness, when indignation could no longer be channeled into action.

It was the tremble of a woman on the edge of tears.

Her fists clenched at her sides, not in preparation to fight, but in a desperate effort to hold herself together. Her throat ached from the words she couldn’t scream, and her chest felt tight, like she was suffocating on her own restraint.

She wanted to scream at them. She wanted to hurl herself at those beasts and rip them apart for what they were doing. But she couldn’t. Not here. Not in Rome.

This wasn’t a battlefield where righteousness gave strength to your blade. This was the capital of sin wrapped in marble and golden laurels. Here, the rules were different.

Senators—these lecherous, cruel men—were at the top of the social pyramid. Revered. Protected. And slaves? Slaves were nothing. Property. Toys to be used and discarded.

Elin knew all that. She had known it from the moment she arrived three days ago. Every corridor of this decadent city whispered cruelty. Every shadow hid another act of injustice. She had bit her tongue until it bled, convincing herself not to act, not to make an enemy of the Empire so soon.

But this? This woman—this poor soul with dead eyes and torn dignity—was clearly in agony, clearly suffering. And Elin stood there, paralyzed. Powerless. Her pride as a Hero, her strength, her sacred duty—it all felt so hollow now.

Her vision blurred. Her icy blue eyes shimmered, the unshed tears threatening to fall and expose her breaking heart.

I’m pathetic, she thought bitterly, biting down on her lower lip so hard she tasted blood.

If only Freja were here…

The name echoed in her mind like a prayer.

Freja. The ever-strong. The ever-brave. The one who never hesitated.

Even though Elin had also been granted a SSS-ranked skill—just like Freja—it never felt like she was her equal. Where Freja would charge in, fearless and blazing like a storm, Elin always hesitated. She always second-guessed herself.

Since that day two years ago when they both arrived in Alexandria, the difference had only grown more apparent. Freja had stood tall. Elin… always in her shadow.

If Freja were here now, she would’ve acted already. She would’ve put an end to this depravity without a second thought.

Elin’s lip trembled again. She looked away, ashamed of her inaction.

But then—something happened.

Without warning, a loud, wet crack rang out, silencing the laughter of the fat senator in an instant. The man’s chuckle was cut off mid-breath as his large body was hurled backward through the air like a sack of meat, crashing violently into his companions seated behind him. A wine goblet shattered. A tray of grapes tumbled to the floor. A groan of confusion and pain followed.

“Gyaaha!” one of them whimpered pitifully, clutching his ribs.

Elin blinked, momentarily stunned. She hadn’t seen the attack. It had happened so fast that even her sharp senses hadn’t registered it.

Her head turned sharply, scanning the hall.

Then she saw him.

A figure approached with quiet, deadly calm. A tall man, clad in dark Roman armor—but he was no senator, no slave, no typical soldier. His presence was unlike anything she’d ever encountered. His hair was white as winter frost, cascading in wild strands that contrasted starkly against the deep crimson of his eyes. Those eyes… they weren’t human. They burned, cold and ancient. And there was something in his expression—an emotionless chill, a silence more terrifying than rage.

Elin felt her breath catch.

He was beautiful, in a way that seemed unreal. Ethereal. Unnatural. And yet… terrifying.

She couldn’t look away.

The remaining senator, still stunned, pointed a trembling hand at the man. “Y-You! A mere soldier?!” he shouted, his voice laced with disbelief and fury. “Do you know what you’ve just done?! You’ll be executed for this! Beaten and hung in the square!”

He didn’t recognize him. He couldn’t. To the senator, the man was just another Roman soldier. The armor he wore bore the insignia of the Empire—symbols that gleamed with the authority of conquest and legacy.

But those markings hadn’t been earned in the barracks. They had been bestowed by Caesar himself.

Nathan—stared the senator down with a calm, unblinking gaze. His voice, when it came, was cold, clipped, and devoid of any fear.

“The Emperor—Julius Caesar—has returned to Rome,” he said, his tone as sharp as a blade in the dark. “He arrives triumphant from a foreign campaign, and here you are… indulging in your filth while he walks through his capital unwelcomed.”

The senator’s face went pale.

Nathan stepped forward, his boots echoing in the suddenly silent chamber.

“He sent me,” he continued, “to uncover which senators have grown too bloated on power. Which of them have grown arrogant… disloyal.”

He tilted his head slightly, crimson eyes narrowing.

“I suppose I’ll begin with you, Fanius, wasn’t it?”

The fat senator—Fanius—froze.

His face lost all its color. Panic bloomed in his eyes like a drowning man seeing the water rise.

To earn Caesar’s ire was worse than death. It was to lose everything—title, estate, wealth, dignity. He would be stripped, humiliated, exiled… or worse. Caesar was ruthless to his enemies. Even Pompey, once his greatest rival, had fallen beneath his ambition.

And now—Fanius had earned his gaze.

Elin stood still, heart racing, watching Nathan with awe and disbelief.

She had shouted herself hoarse. She had pleaded, trembled, and stood her ground in righteous fury—but in all that time, not one of the senators had flinched. Not once had they paused their depraved actions or acknowledged her presence with anything but lecherous mockery.

Her voice, her power, her very existence had meant nothing to them.

And yet… this man—Nathan—had spoken only a few words. He hadn’t raised his voice. He hadn’t drawn his sword. But in less than a heartbeat, he had shattered their illusion of invulnerability.

He stared at them now with the same cold, unflinching gaze.

“Get out.”

The tone was not a request. It was a command.

The senators froze, wide-eyed and pale as corpses. Even the ever-arrogant Fanius, who moments ago had barked laughter with his pants down and his ego up, now looked like a whipped dog. He let out a pitiful whimper as he stumbled backward, hastily tugging his robes around his bloated frame.

Without a word, without daring a glance back, the group of them fled the chamber—half-dressed, stumbling over each other, stripped of all dignity. The scent of wine and perfume lingered where their presence once polluted the air.

And just like that… the silence returned.

Elin blinked, still in disbelief. Her heart pounded in her ears. She opened her mouth to speak—to thank him, perhaps, or to ask who he truly was—but before she could find the words, a soft, broken sound drew her attention.

The slave girl.

She was crumpling to the floor, her limbs finally giving out now that the torment had ended. A weak, pained groan escaped her lips, and her body trembled uncontrollably.

Elin’s breath hitched.

Without hesitation, she dropped to her knees beside the girl, reaching out both hands. Her movements were tender, almost reverent, as though afraid that even her touch might inflict more pain.

As her fingers brushed the slave’s bare back, a soft, golden light began to glow from Elin’s palms—gentle and warm, like sunlight filtering through leaves. It spread slowly across the girl’s bruised skin, weaving through the air with a subtle shimmer. The light began to sink into her flesh, mending wounds, soothing torn muscles, easing pain that no one else had bothered to acknowledge.

Nathan’s eyes widened ever so slightly, his usually stoic expression faltering.

That light…

He recognized it.

SSS-Rank Skill. Healing class.

Not just rare—legendary.

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