I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

Nathan stood over him, expression carved from stone, unblinking and merciless. The chill around him seemed to deepen, echoing the frozen spear that had drawn Hugo here.

"Where," Nathan said, each word slow, heavy, and absolute, "is Freja?"

Hugo raised his gaze, his eyes meeting Nathan's cold and unyielding glare. A shiver ran down his spine before he even realized it. His body stiffened, his breath caught in his throat, and for a reason he couldn't comprehend, he felt fear.Why? Why was he trembling before this man?

No… impossible. I am a Hero. I shouldn't be afraid.

He tried to steady his thoughts, reminding himself of his own worth. He was not just any warrior—he had been chosen, summoned, gifted with the power of a Hero. And among his abilities, he bore one of the rarest treasures: an SSS Rank Skill.

Lightning Speed.

That alone should have been enough to dispel this suffocating fear.

Clenching his jaw, Hugo forced himself to stand taller. His hand moved quickly to his belt, fumbling for a vial of shimmering liquid—the kind of healing potion only the wealthiest nobles could afford. But as a Hero, luxuries like this were simply handed to him. He uncorked the glass with trembling fingers and downed its contents in one gulp, feeling the warmth of restoration rush through his body. Strength returned to his limbs, his chest lightened, and his heartbeat slowed to something more manageable.

He staggered back a few paces, trying to put distance between himself and Nathan.

And he looked again at the man called Septimius.

The name struck a chord of recognition. He was supposed to be one of Julius Caesar's men, a loyal officer who had carved his way into Roman legend. Hugo didn't know much about him, but there was one tale that stood out above the rest.

Septimius—the man who had killed Ptolemy, Pharaoh of Egypt.

Hugo had met him, spoken to him even. The boy had been young—barely fifteen years old, awkward in stature yet radiating the pride of someone chosen by the gods. And yet… that boy had been slain. By Nathan.

Hugo felt his stomach twist. He told himself he was a mercenary at heart, that bonds between Heroes shouldn't matter when survival was on the line. And yet, the thought lingered: If Septimius could kill a Pharaoh once, what would stop him from killing him?

No… surely not. He was a Hero. Untouchable. Protected.

And yet the presence of Septimius, a Roman ally, fighting against him made no sense. Were they not supposed to be on the same side? Caesar's men and the Heroes summoned to aid this world—weren't they allies?

Then Nathan's voice cut through his spiraling thoughts, cold enough to freeze his veins.

"I will ask one last time," Nathan said, each word deliberate, unyielding. "Where is Freja?"

Hugo narrowed his eyes and tried to muster defiance. His pride flared, if only to mask his fear.

"Who do you think you are, talking to me like this? I am a Hero!" he shouted, his voice carrying into the air. He prayed his classmates—Alexander, Isak, anyone—might hear the commotion. But they were far off, and he doubted the sound would reach them in time.

Still, with his Lightning Speed, he could close the gap between them quickly. If he regrouped with Alexander and Isak, the three of them together could crush Septimius. Yes, that was the smarter path.

Hugo smirked, confidence rekindling. He activated his skill. Electricity crackled faintly across his skin as the world around him blurred. The air snapped and bent as he dashed forward, moving faster than the human eye could follow. He streaked past Septimius like a bolt of living thunder, already envisioning the victory that would follow.

He wasn't running away—of course not!

He was simply ensuring the odds were stacked in his favor. A Hero didn't gamble recklessly.

Then, without warning—

"Guuh!"

Agony exploded in his gut. The world lurched, and his body came to a halt mid-stride. His eyes dropped in disbelief.

Nathan's fist was buried deep in his stomach.

"I… impossible…" Hugo gasped, his voice broken by pain.

Nathan had stopped him. Not just stopped—he had intercepted Lightning Speed itself, an SSS Rank Skill, as if it were nothing more than a clumsy dash.

Nathan's gaze bore down on him, cold, emotionless, like a predator that had finally tired of its prey's pathetic flailing. He was wasting time, he realized. Every moment spent here risked drawing others' attention, risked unraveling his careful plans. He needed to finish this quickly.

"Medea."

Her name left his lips like a quiet command.

And she came.

From the shadows at his side, Medea appeared, her beauty otherworldly, her presence almost enough to make Hugo forget the searing pain in his gut. Her hair shimmered faintly in the light, her eyes gleamed like polished gems, and her very aura was intoxicating.

Hugo froze, struck dumb by her allure. For a brief moment, the pain in his body dulled beneath a haze of wonder.

Nathan's voice, however, shattered that illusion.

"Take him," he said flatly, his tone devoid of even the faintest mercy. "Torture him until I get my answer."

The word torture sent Hugo into a cold sweat. His body convulsed with a new kind of fear, deeper and sharper than before. If it had been under other circumstances, he might have gladly surrendered himself to Medea's hands—dreaming of her touch, her beauty. But torture? No, not that. Not at her hands.

"W… wait! I'll tell you!" Hugo screamed, desperation cracking his voice.

Nathan's eyes slid toward him, expression unreadable.

"I… I don't know where she is!" Hugo blurted. "But—a woman came! She was asking for Freja in particular… and also Elin! When Freja showed herself, the woman—she just took her! She took her away suddenly!"

Nathan's eyes narrowed. "What woman?"

"She… she said she was with the hooded man!" Hugo stammered.

The hooded man.

Nathan's thoughts turned cold, calculating. That could only mean Logan. If this woman was moving with him, then she was likely tied to the Second Summoning of the Light Empire, and so one of Aaron's chosen companions also classmate.

That meant they had reached Freja already.

This was bad. Very bad.

If they managed to torture Freja, if they forced her to speak, if she revealed even a fraction of Nathan's involvement… the consequences would be catastrophic. The mere mention of Septimius's name would alert Caesar. And once Caesar knew, Nathan would be hunted down without mercy.

The balance he had been trying to maintain, the fragile path toward forging Rome into an ally—it would all collapse into ruin. And Nathan would be forced into pure violence, something he had hoped to avoid.

But now…

Time was slipping away.

"Where are they now?" Nathan's voice cut through the air, sharp and merciless.

"I… I don't know…" Hugo stammered, his throat dry. Panic clawed at his chest until, as if grasping at salvation, he remembered something. His trembling hand fumbled inside his pouch before pulling out a shimmering blue gem. "Here! She—she told us to use this, to contact her once we had Elin alone!"

His words spilled out desperately, like a man clinging to the last rope above an abyss.

Nathan plucked the stone from Hugo's hand with calm precision, his expression unreadable. He held the gem aloft, its faint glow reflecting in his crimson eyes.

"D… do you want me to call her?" Hugo asked in a quivering whisper. Gone was the Hero's pride, gone was his bluster. Now, he was nothing but a groveling boy, stripped of all pretense.

But his fear was not of Nathan alone. His gaze kept straying toward Medea, whose beauty was so exquisite it defied reason—and yet that very perfection terrified him more than anything else. She was a vision of divine allure cloaked in an aura of dread. How could someone be so breathtaking and so horrifying at the same time?

Nathan turned the stone over in his hand, then narrowed his eyes. With Odin's Eye, he probed its secrets. Threads of faint energy curled around it—it was indeed a communication stone. A tether meant to reach the woman who had stolen Freja.

Calling her directly was tempting, but Nathan's instincts warned him against such a gamble. Whoever that woman was, she would never reveal anything willingly. To draw information from her would require force, patience, and torture. And Nathan had no intention of wasting time.

"Medea," he said at last, tossing the gem toward her. She caught it delicately, as if plucking a rose from the air. "Can you reverse track it?"

The sorceress turned the gem in her slender fingers, studying it. Her lips curved into the faintest, confident smile. "If this is meant to reach her, then she must possess its twin. I can follow the thread back."

Nathan inclined his head slightly. "Good."

Of course. She was Medea—the greatest sorceress of her age. There was nothing she could not do.

"Five minutes," she murmured.

Nathan lowered himself onto a nearby rock, folding his arms as he waited in silence.

Meanwhile, Hugo remained on his knees in the dirt, sweat dripping down his temples. Every second dragged like an eternity. His thoughts raced in circles, colliding with each other, none offering comfort.

What now? What's going to happen to me? He'll release me, won't he? Surely he doesn't intend to…

His eyes darted toward the distant camp. No movement. No classmates rushing to his aid. The others probably thought he was still wandering nearby, scouting or sulking. No cries, no sounds of battle reached them. They had no reason to suspect danger.

Should I scream? The idea flashed in his mind, tempting and terrifying all at once. His lips parted slightly, but when his gaze rose again—he found Nathan's crimson eyes fixed on him. That piercing look turned his blood to ice. A pitiful squeak escaped his throat as he snapped his head down, trembling like a beaten dog.

If he screamed, Nathan would kill him instantly. There was no doubt.

The minutes stretched unbearably long until, at last, Medea's voice broke the silence.

"Done."

She rose gracefully, her eyes gleaming with the satisfaction of completion.

"Thank you, Medea." Nathan's expression softened for the first time, his hand brushing her cheek with a fleeting gentleness.

A blush bloomed across Medea's porcelain face, her lips parting with a quiet sigh of happiness. For a heartbeat, the cold sorceress looked almost shy, almost human.

Hugo's breath caught. The sight struck him like a spear—her beauty in that moment was beyond anything he had imagined. He felt himself falling, hopelessly, into that allure—before terror yanked him back. How could such a lovely expression belong to a woman so utterly terrifying?

"I am going," Nathan said firmly. "Medea, you are coming with me. You focus in securing Freja."

"Yes." Her reply was almost girlish, laced with joy. But then her eyes turned toward Hugo. The warmth vanished, replaced by a glacial stare that stripped him bare. She looked at him not as a man, not even as prey—merely as an insect. "What about this thing?" she asked with casual disdain.

Nathan's gaze followed hers. His expression hardened.

The urge to kill was there—palpable, suffocating. And yet Nathan was not reckless. Not merciless without reason. Even now, he weighed judgment.

"Freja and Elin," Nathan said quietly, his voice like the toll of a bell. "When you chose to sell them out… would you have done it if you knew it meant their deaths?"

Hugo flinched as if struck. His lips trembled. "W… what…? N-no! I didn't! I swear, I didn't mean for that!"

He looked at Nathan desperately, eyes wide, praying that his words would be enough. That they would spare him.

But before Nathan could answer, Medea spoke.

"Lie."

The single word fell like a blade. Cold. Final.

So...he didn't care whether they died or not.

Nathan rose slowly from the rock, his shadow stretching long across the ground.

"WAIT! I didn't lie!" Hugo screamed, his voice breaking into sobs. Tears spilled down his cheeks as he clawed at the dirt, prostrating himself. "Please! I didn't!"

But Nathan spared him no glance.

A bastard willing to betray one of the most genuine classmates among them had no place in his future. Such filth could not be allowed to stand with Cleopatra in Alexandria either. To let him live would be to invite further treachery.

His death would serve a purpose.

A warning.

An example for the other so-called Heroes who chose to follow Alexander and betray Cleopatra.