I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

After several hours of travel, the carriage finally began to slow as the city came into view. Nathan, who had been resting quietly inside, stirred at the subtle change in pace. Driven by massive, swift horses clad in ornate harnesses of polished bronze and crimson cloth, the carriage rumbled steadily along the stone-paved road. The rhythmic clatter of hooves echoed through the air, mingling with the faint murmur of distant crowds.

Curious, Nathan leaned slightly to the side and pulled back the silk curtain. His white hair caught a glint of sunlight as he peered outside. His breath caught for a moment—not from the speed or motion of the carriage, but from the awe-inspiring sight that met his gaze.

Rising ahead of them like a monument carved into the very sky were the colossal walls of Rome.

They were taller than he had imagined—far taller than anything he had seen in his life. Constructed from pale, silvery-white stone that shimmered faintly under the sun, the walls seemed less like fortifications and more like divine partitions meant to shield the city from mortal eyes. There was an aura to them, a presence so imposing that it demanded reverence.

Nathan could feel it—magic, vast and ancient, threaded deeply into the very bones of the wall. Layer upon layer of enchantments had been woven over centuries, each spell reinforcing the next until the structure felt less like stone and more like a living entity, humming with protective power. But even beyond that—there was something else, something elusive, perhaps divine, that he couldn’t name but instinctively respected.

It made the barrier protecting the famed Pharos of Alexandria seem like mere child’s play.

Nathan narrowed his eyes, calculating. If he truly wished to bring down a wall such as this—a wall touched by hundreds of mages, perhaps even gods—it would cost him dearly. It would require nearly all of his mana reserves, and even then, success was not guaranteed. That, in itself, was a testament to Rome’s grandeur.

As the royal procession approached the gates, the road ahead had already been swept clean. The cobblestone path gleamed, unblemished and ready, lined on both sides by disciplined Roman soldiers who stood like statues. Beyond them, the crowd gathered—thousands upon thousands of citizens pressing eagerly toward the edges, held back only by the shields of the legionnaires. Cheers erupted in waves, a wall of sound rolling down the avenue like a storm.

“The Emperor has arrived! Open the gates!” a commanding voice bellowed from atop the wall, cutting cleanly through the roar of the masses.

In immediate response, a series of titanic iron-bound gates began to groan open, their hinges creaking with slow, deliberate strength. Not one, but ten enormous doors began to rise, guided by unseen mechanisms. With every inch the gate lifted, the heart of Rome revealed itself, little by little.

Nathan watched in silence, the wind brushing gently across his face. And then—suddenly—the city lay before him.

A city of marble, gold, and flame. Gleaming domes crowned the skyline. Banners fluttered from every rooftop. Arched aqueducts and towering columns loomed across the horizon. The scent of roasted meats, spices, and burning incense drifted through the air like a welcoming spell. And above all, the roar of the people—an unrelenting cacophony of devotion and pride—shook the very ground.

It was then that Caesar made his move.

Before stepping into the city, he descended from his enclosed carriage and climbed into another vehicle—an open-roofed chariot carved from obsidian and gold, drawn by four white stallions whose manes had been braided with ribbons of crimson and royal purple. The chariot gleamed under the midday sun, as did the man who stood tall upon it. Draped in imperial garments, a golden laurel resting upon his brow, Caesar lifted his hand with regal calm, and the crowd’s cheers surged to a fevered pitch.

Then came the prisoners.

Pompey and Arsinoe were dragged from their transport. Their once-noble appearances were now in shambles. Shackles bound their wrists, ankles, and even their necks. Their clothes, once pristine, were stained from travel. Disheveled hair clung to tired, sweat-slick skin. Their eyes, heavy with defeat, flickered with shame and bitterness as the hoods concealing their faces were removed under the unforgiving gaze of the Roman sun.

“Walk,” Marcus commanded coldly, shoving them forward with the butt of his spear.

The meaning was clear. They were to lead the procession—symbols of Rome’s dominance, paraded before the people like trophies.

Caesar’s chariot rolled forward, and the prisoners, with no other choice, began to walk. Step by agonizing step, they entered the heart of Rome through the towering gates, swallowed by the thunderous roar of a triumphant empire.

Nathan remained silent as he watched it all unfold. The power, the spectacle, the cruelty masked as glory—this was not just a parade. It was a statement to the world.

Rome had won.

And Caesar was the main reason.

“Traitor!!”

“Die!”

“Whore!”

“Hail Caesar!”

“Emperor!!”

The air quaked with a torrent of voices—raw, unfiltered emotion pouring from the thousands lining the streets. The procession’s passage through the mighty gates of Rome was met with a cacophony of cries, some reverent, others venomous. The crowd, fevered and alive, erupted into a storm of contrasting declarations. Flowers were tossed from balconies for Caesar, while curses and rotting fruit were hurled at the prisoners walking ahead.

Pompey and Arsinoe, their chains glinting beneath the sun, bore the brunt of the hatred. The jeers of “traitor” and “whore” rang out louder and sharper with every step they took.

Pompey clenched his teeth, his jaw tight enough to snap. Rage simmered beneath his skin, a silent inferno of betrayal and humiliation. He had given everything for Rome—his strategies, his victories, his loyalty. And now, these people, whose lives he had once defended, spat venom at his feet as if he were the lowest of criminals.

Is this how they repay a lifetime of service?

Arsinoe, by contrast, kept her eyes cast downward, her delicate frame trembling slightly with each hateful cry. She did not dare look up—she didn’t want to see the faces of the masses that now cheered for her captor. Deep within, she understood the truth: her reign, her freedom, her future… were all over. What awaited her now was a life not of royalty, but of servitude under the iron will of the Roman Senate.

Still, in the sea of hatred, she found one sliver of comfort.

Her eyes, hesitant and unsure, flicked to the figure walking silently behind them.

Nathan.

His white hair shimmered like moonlight beneath the golden Roman sun, and his red eyes—cool and unreadable—surveyed the city with dispassion. He showed no emotion, no pride, no pity. He was like a ghost moving through a world of marble and fire, untouched by the cries around him.

Yet for Arsinoe, his mere presence was a balm. Even if he could do nothing, even if he was powerless to change her fate—he was there. And in that, she found a fragile sense of peace.

Nathan, for his part, paid no attention to the parade or the outrage echoing across the colonnades. Instead, his gaze wandered to the city that had opened itself before him—a city that felt less like a collection of buildings and more like a living, breathing god.

Rome.

It stretched out endlessly in all directions, a marvel of symmetrical beauty and calculated dominance. Tall columns lined the streets like rows of spears. Marble fountains erupted with crystalline water, their statues depicting scenes of conquest and divinity. Dozens of temples crowned the plazas—shrines to Jupiter, Mars, Venus, and others whose myths breathed life into the stones of the capital.

Every citizen was clad in the dignified drapery of Roman gowns, many embroidered with golden threads or family crests. As the Emperor’s chariot rolled by, they raised their fists and shouted in unison, their eyes alight with reverence and national pride. The roads were paved with stone polished so smooth it reflected the sunlight like water. In that moment, Nathan felt as if he had stepped into another world entirely—a realm shaped not by magic alone, but by iron discipline and grand design.

Was this how Rome truly appeared two thousand years ago on Earth? he wondered. Or had this version grown even more magnificent across timelines and histories unknown?

Regardless, Nathan had to admit: it was the most awe-inspiring city he had ever seen. Not even the floating metropolises of the Elven Lords or the citadel towers of the Arcane Kingdoms could rival this overwhelming display of unity, opulence, and raw imperial power.

Rome didn’t just look rich. It felt rich. It radiated the weight of a thousand victories.

Every soul that walked these streets was either powerful or privileged—nobles, commanders, senators, and citizens who had carved their place in the hierarchy of the mightiest empire in the world. Yet even among them, there were those who stood above the rest.

And Nathan could see it.

In the distance, far beyond the cheering masses and the soaring domes, a towering structure rose like a crown upon the city’s brow.

The Senate Palace.

Unlike the crumbling ruins of the coliseum he remembered from books, this structure stood immaculate and alive. Its circular design mirrored the legendary amphitheater, but this was no place for gladiators. It was a fortress of politics and power, where the wealthiest and most influential nobles gathered not to fight—but to rule, to conspire, to dine in excess and shape the fate of nations with a word.

Gilded eagles circled its highest terraces. Statues of gods and emperors adorned every ledge. Light glinted off its dome as though the heavens themselves bowed to its presence.

That, Nathan thought, is where the true heart of Rome beats. Not in the streets. Not even with Caesar. But there… in that tower of ambition.

“Are Ameriah and Auria in that palace?” Nathan wondered, his gaze lingering on the towering Senate Palace that loomed in the distance like a divine monument. “And whose hands are they in now?”

One was a royal princess of considerable lineage, and the other a noblewoman of high rank, born into privilege and political influence. By all logic, their status should have earned them decent treatment—even as captives. But logic had little place in war, and even less in a city that thrived on manipulation and power.

Still, Nathan couldn’t muster much concern. He told himself he didn’t care, not truly. What mattered wasn’t how they were treated—it was why they were brought here.

Why did that Hero from the Light Empire’s previous summoning take Ameriah and Arsinoe and bring them to Rome?What was his endgame?

Who in Rome was working with those old Heroes?

The name at the top of the list was as impossible as it was obvious.

Caesar? Could the Emperor himself be involved in the schemes of summoned warriors from a bygone age? That man exuded power and charisma, but behind his calm gaze Nathan could sense a darkness too deliberate to be dismissed.

And what of the previous Heroes? Had they all survived against the Demon King? Were they all here—gathered in Rome, hidden among its nobility and shadows?

What did they want?

Nathan’s eyes narrowed slightly, the crimson in his irises flickering as though echoing the firestorm of thoughts churning in his mind.

And above all else… beyond his questions, suspicions, and doubts—there was one undeniable objective.

He had to bring down the Roman Empire.

He didn’t yet know how, or when.

And it wasn’t just Rome that stirred with foreign powers.

The Heroes of the Amun-Ra Empire were here too—other summoned beings from Earth, just like him.

The ancient heroes… the Light Empire… Amun-Ra… Rome…Caesar… Ameriah… Auria…

Was it all connected somehow?

Was he already dancing on strings too fine to see?

Nathan sighed heavily, a deep exhale that tasted of dust, sun, and fatigue.

So many questions.

So many enemies.

And so little time.

The road ahead looked exhausting.

But he was ready.

Or, at the very least, he had no choice but to be.

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