Chapter 309 - I ENSLAVED THE GODDESS WHO SUMMONED ME 1

I ENSLAVED THE GODDESS WHO SUMMONED MEC169: Nathan's Arrived!

"What do you mean?" Artemis asked, her brow furrowed. "What do you see?"

Aphrodite's smile deepened as she gazed at a specific spot near the temple, her eyes gleaming with the certainty of someone who knew far more than she was revealing. Slowly, Apollo and Artemis followed her gaze, their curiosity piqued.

Atop the temple of Apollo, a solitary figure stood, outlined against the sky. His silhouette was sharp, cutting a striking image against the backdrop of the heavens. He gazed down upon the unfolding scene below, with an eerie silence. His cold, ice-blue eyes locked onto Agamemnon and Astynome.

"Who is that?" Apollo narrowed his gaze, his eyes scanning the lone figure on the temple's rooftop. His godly senses strained to uncover something—anything—remarkable about the young man standing silently above the chaos. And yet, to Apollo's confusion, there was nothing immediately extraordinary. No divine aura, no hidden power visible to his immortal eyes.

Still, the sensation of danger emanating from the figure was undeniable, unsettling even to the god of prophecy. It was a strange, inexplicable threat that made Apollo's fingers twitch as if preparing for the worst.

Artemis, standing beside him, remained equally silent, her keen eyes fixed on the mysterious man. The huntress goddess, always vigilant, found herself torn between questions. From which side did this man hail? Was he a Trojan ally, a champion sent by the Greeks, or an outsider entirely, observing the carnage like some dispassionate predator waiting for the perfect moment to strike?

And if he was Trojan, why wasn't he intervening? What could he be waiting for, silently watching Agamemnon with those cold, unfeeling eyes?

Both gods stood in silence, their minds brimming with questions that found no easy answers. Beside them, Aphrodite watched too, but unlike her fellow deities, her expression remained calm, almost serene. Only she understood what was unfolding, and a slight, knowing smile tugged at the corners of her lips as the tension in the air grew.

°°°°°

The journey to Lyrnessus had been long and taxing, with the weight of war looming ever heavier with each passing day. By the time we finally arrived, it was already too late. The city lay in near ruins, its streets littered with the remnants of buildings and lives alike.

"Seems we arrived late," I muttered to myself, surveying the destruction with a detached eye. The city was already ninety percent destroyed, and the outcome of this battle, at least for Lyrnessus, was a foregone conclusion.

To say I cared about the fate of the city would be an exaggeration. I wasn't a hero who fought for justice, nor was I moved by the plight of its people. Still, there were some things even I found unacceptable, some lines that couldn't be crossed without stirring a sliver of moral outrage within me—however small that outrage might be.

My thoughts turned to the reason I had come here in the first place, and I leaned forward, narrowing my gaze toward the commotion below.

"Is she the one?" I whispered, my voice low and careful.

"Yes," Aphrodite's voice echoed in my mind, soft and sultry, answering my telepathic query.

I could feel her presence behind me, the faint shimmer of divine energy that accompanied the goddess wherever she went. Even as I stared down at the devastation below, I could see her out of the corner of my eye, hovering just out of sight. But more than that, I could also sense the presence of the other two gods beside her—Apollo and Artemis.

For most mortals, even heroes, such awareness would be impossible. The gods moved unseen, unheard, their powers beyond the comprehension of men. But I was no longer just a hero. After absorbing Khione's energy and enslaving another goddess—Amaterasu—I had transcended the boundaries of mortal limitations.

I could perceive them, even if they didn't realize it, and in moments like this, that knowledge was both a blessing and a curse.

Of course, I couldn't exactly wave at them or strike up a casual conversation. Drawing the attention of the gods more than necessary was dangerous, especially when they were so focused on the war. I had to stay within certain boundaries, maintaining the illusion of being just another warrior on the battlefield, nothing more extraordinary than the likes of Achilles or Hector.

As long as I didn't overstep, the gods wouldn't pry too much into my presence. Or so I hoped.

Still, my real purpose here went beyond mere participation in the war. My impending death loomed on the horizon, a fate Aphrodite had promised I could avoid if I played my cards right. And to do that, I needed to curry favor with certain gods. Apollo, in particular, was crucial to my survival.

Protecting his city was a start, but it wasn't enough. I had to do more.

My eyes fell upon the scene below.

Agamemnon.

He was the bastard who started the war just for his personal greed.

I didn't believe at all he did it to avenge his stupid brother who got cucked. It could be embarrassing from him to say the least.

Agamemnon stood towering over a bloodied and broken man. The man, his mouth stained with blood and his eyes filled with tears, clung desperately to the king's ankle, his voice hoarse from pleading.

"Please! Please, I beg you!" The man's voice cracked with desperation as he groveled at the feet of the Greek king. "Spare her! She is innocent—my daughter! She is a priestess of Apollo! You cannot take her—"

Chryses, Astynome's father and a devout priest of Apollo, lay broken in the dust. He had done everything a man in his position could do—beg, plead, and even degrade himself before Agamemnon, all for the sake of his daughter. The sight of him, frail and bloodied, trying to save her stirred something in me. Not empathy, not really. I didn't have a daughter, couldn't understand the depths of his pain.

But if I ever did... if I had a daughter in this situation, I knew my response would be far from moral.

"F.....Father... Please... leave…" Astynome's voice wavered, her calm facade finally breaking as she watched her father suffer. Her expression twisted into one of sorrow.

"A-Astynome... no... please..." Chryses gasped, his strength spent, falling backward as his outstretched hand tried to reach for his daughter's fading figure, helpless against the might of Agamemnon's grip.

"Don't worry, old man," Agamemnon sneered, his voice thick with arrogance as he cast one last mocking glance at the defeated priest. "I'll take good care of your daughter." His lips curled into a sickening grin, eyes gleaming with anticipation as he dragged Astynome away, indifferent to her father's suffering.

I could easily imagine what he had in mind. The things he and his men had done to the women of Lyrnessus were visible from my view.

Beasts, the lot of them. And Agamemnon? He was the worst among them. Whatever cruelty lay ahead for Astynome was clear to me. The Greeks—they had no restraint when it came to those they conquered. Innocent women were fair game, their fates decided by the whims of soldiers, their dignity stolen as easily as the spoils of war.

Astynome was no exception. Just a girl, the same age as Sienna, innocent and unprepared for what was to come.

The Greeks… they were unlike any people I had ever known, vastly different from those in the Empire of Light or even Tenebria. They were born and bred for violence, for conquest. Bloodshed was as much a part of their culture as it was their identity, driven by the gods they worshipped—gods whose own lives were filled with chaos and strife.

I didn't care about their background. All of them, whether soldier or commander, were my enemies for the time being.

My gaze followed Astynome, her figure shrinking as Agamemnon dragged her farther away. For a moment, I stood still. My mana was hidden, a skill Amaterasu had taught me—one that made me invisible even to those with keen senses. I followed them, my presence masked, my steps silent.

Agamemnon was strong, that much was clear. He didn't become the commander of the Greek forces by accident. But he was not invincible. If I caught him off guard, I could kill him. A quick strike, a clean blow—his life could end in an instant. Yet, that would mean putting an abrupt end to this war.

And for me, that would be disastrous.

It was far too soon for the war to conclude. I still had much to gain from the chaos. Killing Agamemnon now would rob me of the opportunities I needed, the chaos that could serve me so well.

No. For now, Agamemnon would live.

But Astynome… I had to take her back. The only question was how.

"L...Leave her!"

Just as I was about to act, something caught my attention. My enhanced, picked up on their presence. I knew instantly that Siara and Gwen were nearby as soon as I stepped in Lyrnessus and kept an eye of them since then.

The voice I had heard belonged to Siara. I turned my head towards the place, my ice blue eyes narrowing in coldness as I disappeared from my hiding spot, my movements swift.

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I ENSLAVED THE GODDESS WHO SUMMONED MEC170: Siara's guilt

Lyrnessus had fallen.

The sky over the city was a dull gray, heavy with the smoke of destruction. Fires still flickered in the distance, their embers casting an eerie glow on the devastated town. It was Siara's first experience of war on such a massive scale, and the weight of it pressed on her chest like a boulder.

She had never imagined that being part of an assault on an entire city—let alone one as large as Lyrnessus—would feel this overwhelming.

It had all begun when Jason led the attack, his immense strength shattering the city's towering walls with a force that echoed for miles. The defenses of Lyrnessus crumbled like brittle clay beneath his onslaught, paving the way for the Greek soldiers to surge through the breach. The first wave of attackers was relentless, pouring into the city with bloodlust in their eyes.

Siara, along with Gwen, Jason, and the rest of their classmates, had taken up arms to meet the Trojan soldiers head-on. The Trojans were desperate, trying to halt the advancing Greeks, buying time for their families to flee the massacre.

The tide turned when Gwen confronted Mynes, one of the Trojan leaders. With a swift and brutal battle, Gwen had bested him, his fall shaking the morale of the remaining defenders. Once Mynes was defeated, the resistance crumbled. The will of the Trojans shattered like glass beneath the weight of the Greeks' relentless assault.

Yet even in their despair, they fought on—fought for their children, their homes, and the people still hidden behind the battered walls.

Now, it was over. The last defenders had been cut down, and Lyrnessus lay in ruins. The streets that had once been filled with life were now filled with death.

Siara stood on the edge of the broken city, staring at the destruction. From where she stood, she could hear the wails of women and children, the anguished cries of those who had lost everything.

Guilt crashed over her like a tidal wave, making it hard for her to breathe. She clenched her fists until her knuckles turned white. She had known, in the rational part of her mind, that war meant destruction, that it meant lives would be lost. But knowing and witnessing were two very different things.

She had fought to protect her comrades, to survive—but now, standing amidst the devastation, she wondered what kind of monster that made her.

Without a word, she began to walk toward the heart of the city.

"Where are you going?" Gwen asked.

Siara didn't turn around.

"I... I need to see," Siara said.

Gwen's eyes narrowed, watching. She knew what Siara meant—knew that once you saw the aftermath of battle, truly saw it, there was no going back. That was why Gwen had kept her distance, avoiding the heart of the carnage. She didn't need to see the broken bodies, the scorched homes, to understand the cost of war. But Siara was different.

She needed to bear witness, to confront the horror with her own eyes. Gwen thought of stopping her, but in the end, she didn't.

Siara's footsteps were heavy as she passed through the city gates, her breath quickening with each step. The stench hit her first—thick and suffocating. The air was thick with the acrid scent of burning wood and flesh, mingling with the metallic tang of blood. The once lively streets of Lyrnessus were now strewn with debris and corpses.

Buildings that had once housed families, shops, and temples were reduced to rubble, their charred remains looming over the streets like gravestones.

Her stomach twisted violently. Nausea clawed at her throat, but she forced herself to keep walking, even as the bile rose in her chest. She had to see. She had to understand the full extent of what she had been part of.

Everywhere she looked, there was death. Bodies—men, women, children—lay scattered like broken dolls, some still clutching weapons, others holding each other in a final, desperate embrace.

Siara's eyes burned with unshed tears, and she fought the urge to turn away, to run from the devastation. But she couldn't. She wouldn't.

She did her best to avoid looking directly at the bodies, but it was impossible not to see them. The horrors of war were laid bare before her in the most brutal way imaginable. With every step, the weight of her guilt grew heavier, pressing down on her soul like a vice. She had taken part in this—whether by choice or necessity, it didn't matter. The bloodshed was on her hands too.

"No!!! Leave me!"

Siara's ears perked up at the sound of a distressed cry cutting through the eerie silence. Her heart clenched. It came from one of the nearby houses—low, agonized, and filled with terror. Without thinking, she sprinted toward the source, her pulse quickening with each step. The voices grew louder as she approached.

"Stay still!" A man's voice rang out, followed by the sickening sound of flesh meeting flesh.

"Ha!" came a groan of pain, followed by the soft, choking sobs of a young girl.

Siara's steps faltered for a moment, her mind racing. What is this? She heard another man's voice, low and cruel, saying something too obscene to repeat. She didn't need to be a genius to know what was happening inside that house.

The realization hit her like a punch to the gut. Rage bubbled up inside her, quick and hot, and she rushed into the crumbling doorway.

The sight that greeted her nearly made her stomach turn.

In the dim light, she saw a girl, barely older than herself, pinned to the ground by two Greek soldiers. The girl's clothes were torn, her arms held tight in the merciless grip of the men. Her face was streaked with tears, her body trembling as she desperately tried to struggle free. Siara's eyes flickered toward the floor, where two lifeless bodies lay—likely the girl's parents.

Their blood had pooled across the stone, staining it deep crimson.

The girl's whimpers filled the room, punctuated by her desperate struggles, but the men only laughed cruelly, their hands wandering.

Siara's entire body recoiled in disgust. Her face twisted, and a surge of fury roared through her veins.

"L—Leave her!!" She shouted, her voice echoing with anger.

The two men stopped for a moment, startled by the sudden interruption. They turned toward Siara, one of them narrowing his eyes.

"Who the hell—?" The other man's face split into a sneer. "Oh, it's one of those 'heroes.'"

Siara's grip tightened around her staff, her knuckles white with the pressure. "What are you doing to her?"

One of the men chuckled darkly, nudging his companion. "What does it look like? We're enjoying our reward. Her city's fallen—she's ours now. Losers give everything to the winners, that's the way it works." He smiled, a lecherous gleam in his eyes. "She's our prize."

"Disgusting," Siara spat, her voice trembling with hatred. "Leave her. Immediately."

The men's eyes flickered with annoyance. They weren't used to being told no, especially not by a girl like her. "Who are you to tell us what to do?" one of them snarled. "This has nothing to do with you. Go away, little hero, before you regret it."

For them, Siara's presence was a nuisance, nothing more. She was just another obstacle standing in the way of what they wanted. In their twisted minds, they believed that as victors, they had earned the right to take whatever they wanted. Morality meant nothing to men like these. The strong ruled, the weak suffered. That was the way of war.

Siara's heart pounded in her chest, her breath ragged with fury. She didn't care about their logic, their entitlement. This was wrong, and she wasn't about to let it happen. Not while she still had breath in her lungs.

"I said," she growled, leveling her staff at them, "leave her. Now."

Her voice dripped with venom. If words wouldn't stop them, she was ready to resort to force. Her fingers twitched, ready to summon magic if necessary. The hypocrisy of her situation wasn't lost on her—after all, she had just helped destroy this city. But it didn't matter. She would not let this happen.

Before she could unleash her magic, one of the men moved faster than she anticipated. With a swift motion, he lunged at her, his rough hand closing around her wrist like a vice, yanking her staff from her grasp.

"Leave me!" Siara shouted, thrashing in his grip, but the man only grinned, his eyes gleaming with a sickening hunger.

"Feisty one, aren't you?" he sneered, yanking her closer. "Look at you. You're really hot, aren't you?" His hand tightened, and he glanced at his companion. "How about this, hero? You come play with us, and maybe we'll let this one go."

Siara's blood ran cold. Her body stiffened in revulsion as she glared at them, her eyes blazing with fury. "Let me go!" she screamed, thrashing harder, but the man only tightened their grip.

"Ha! Don't be so shy about it! Come on, let's have some fun!" one of the men sneered, yanking Siara closer as if she were some kind of prize.

His grin widened as he pulled at her, his fingers digging into her arm with a cruelty that made her skin crawl.

The other man, still clutching the Trojan girl, hesitated, glancing uncertainly at his companion. "Are you sure? She's from that Empire, isn't she?" There was doubt in his voice, a flicker of unease.

The first man laughed, brushing off the concern with an ugly grin. "Who cares? No one will ever know. I'll take this one, and you can finish with the Trojan. They'll just think she was caught by the Trojans. No one's gonna ask questions." His words dripped with malice, his gaze locking onto Siara with a hunger that made her stomach twist in revulsion.

Siara's entire body tensed, a shiver running down her spine. She wasn't strong physically—her strength lay in magic, in her mind. But now, trapped in this nightmare, she couldn't cast anything. The man's grip on her arm was tight enough to crush her bones if she tried.

Her breath quickened as the man's hand reached for her, his rough fingers hovering too close. Siara's expression turned from anger to pure horror as his hand moved closer to her face.

But just as his hand was about to make contact, the air in the room changed.

The temperature plummeted.

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I ENSLAVED THE GODDESS WHO SUMMONED MEC171: Seeing Siara after nine months...

The temperature plummeted.

In an instant, the stifling heat of the war-torn city vanished, replaced by a bone-chilling cold that swept through the house like a wave. The shift was sudden and unnatural, the air itself becoming icy, almost suffocating.

The man's hand froze in mid-air. Both men's eyes widened in confusion, their breath visible in the sudden cold. Siara's own breath came out in short, ragged gasps as the frost crept over the room. It was as if winter itself had descended upon them in the blink of an eye.

The cold crept through the house like a predator, as the walls and floor slowly turned to ice, frost spreading in intricate patterns across every surface. The air grew heavy and biting, each breath visible in the sudden chill. Siara shivered, her breath catching in her throat as the change overcame the room.

"W..what's happening?!" one of the men stammered, his voice trembling as he scanned the room, panic seeping into his words.

"I don't know! I'm not doing anything!" the other man snapped back, his grip tightening around Siara's arm. He glanced around frantically, eyes wide with fear.

"Is that you?!" He demanded, glaring at Siara, who stood still, her attention fixed elsewhere, her gaze drawn upward as if she sensed something they couldn't. Her breath quickened as a presence—cold, distant, and ominous—made itself known from above.

"Where are you looking?" The man growled, yanking Siara closer. His voice dripped with anger, but his bravado wavered.

Suddenly, a deafening crash echoed through the house.

BADOOM!

The ceiling above them split and shattered, sending debris raining down in a cloud of dust and stone. The force of the explosion sent Siara and the two men stumbling, instinctively shielding their eyes from the sudden burst of chaos. When they finally looked up, the dust was still swirling in the air like a curtain, veiling the figure that had just landed before them.

A young man stood in the clearing dust.. His black hair fell neatly over sharp, ice-blue eyes that glowed faintly, cold. He appeared unremarkable in appearance—an ordinary man in his early twenties—but there was something about him that made the very air around him feel dangerous. A chilling aura radiated from him.

"Thi...this guy is bad news..." the man holding the Trojan girl muttered under his breath, his grip slackening as fear began to gnaw at his nerves. His hand trembled as he released her, pushing her toward the stranger as if offering her up could save him from whatever fate awaited.

"What? You want them too?" The other man asked, his voice shaky as he tried to keep the situation under control, but it was clear he was grasping at straws. He laughed nervously, dragging Siara forward by the arm. "Let's share them if you want that much?"

But even as he spoke, there was an unspoken understanding between the two men—they were standing in front of something far more dangerous than they had anticipated. The cold that gripped the room wasn't just from the ice creeping across the floor; it came from him, this man whose presence froze the very air.

Yet, clinging to the hope that he was an ally, the man tried to offer Siara like some sort of twisted bribe, desperate to avoid the conflict brewing in the pit of his stomach.

Unfortunately for him, Nathan was not with them, greeks. And his attempt to bargain was made even more foolish by the fact that the woman he was gripping so tightly was Nathan's stepsister.

"No! Look!" the first man hissed, his voice rising in panic as he pointed to the golden emblem gleaming on Nathan's chest. "It's the Trojan emblem! He's a fucking enemy, idiot!"

The emblem was unmistakable, a symbol given to Trojan mercenaries to distinguish them from the Greeks. It shone coldly on Nathan's chest, marking him as one of the Trojan fighters. Understanding dawned too late for the two men, and they stumbled backward, dragging Siara with them in their haste to create distance.

For the Trojan girl, the sight of that emblem was salvation. Tears welled in her eyes as relief washed over her. "A Trojan..." she whispered, her voice trembling with gratitude. She quickly retreated behind Nathan, seeking protection.

"What do you want, coward Trojan?!" one of the Greek men shouted but his body betrayed him. The words he spat were laced with anger, yet the tremor in his limbs revealed his growing fear. The temperature in the room continued to plummet, and his breath emerged in ragged clouds of condensation. Every inch of him shivered from the unnatural cold that radiated from Nathan's presence.

Nathan remained silent, his ice-blue eyes unmoving, fixated not on the man's outburst but on the hand gripping Siara's arm.

"Help me! We can take him down if we..what?!" The man holding Siara turned to his companion, his words faltering as he saw what had become of him. His blood turned to ice at the sight: his comrade stood frozen, his face twisted in an expression of pure terror, as if death had claimed him mid-scream. His skin was encased in frost, his body completely immobilized like a statue carved from ice.

"Fuck! I have to get out of here!" the remaining man stammered, his voice breaking with desperation. He tried to pull away, dragging Siara along, but something was wrong—something felt wrong. A creeping chill ran up his arm, cold enough to numb his fingers instantly. His eyes darted down in horror to see his hand—still gripping Siara—was frozen solid.

"What the—" his voice faltered, his disbelief barely audible. He watched, helpless, as the ice snaked its way from his fingers, spreading up his arm at an agonizingly slow pace. His skin crackled as it froze, the icy tendrils winding like cruel chains over his flesh.

"GUAARRGH!" His scream shattered the silence, a horrified, animalistic cry of pain and fear. Siara flinched, the sound chilling her to her core, as she watched the man succumb to the same fate as his companion. The ice engulfed him completely, freezing him where he stood, his features twisted in terror until his body stood motionless—another frozen figure in the icy tomb Nathan had created.

Nathan moved forward with an eerie calm, each step deliberate and without hurry. Reaching the man, now a frozen monument of fear, Nathan raised his leg and delivered a single, powerful kick. The frozen man shattered upon impact, fragments of ice cascading across the floor, mingling with the remains of his already frozen comrade.

The room fell eerily silent once again, no blood, no flesh—just broken shards of ice where two men had stood moments before.

Siara took a step back, her legs trembling as she struggled to comprehend the horrifying spectacle she had just witnessed. Her breath came in shallow gasps, fear clenching her chest tightly. She couldn't speak—her voice was trapped somewhere between shock and terror. This man, this stranger in front of her, had just destroyed two people effortlessly, as if they were nothing more than brittle statues.

He was the strongest person she had ever seen in her life, and the fear that gripped her heart now told her that she might be next. Her mind raced, wondering if he would turn on her. She had been with the Greeks, after all—maybe he saw her as an enemy too.

"S-she tried to help me… please, spare her..." the Trojan girl who had been seized earlier whispered, stepping forward cautiously. She could see Nathan's eyes had shifted toward Siara, but she misunderstood his gaze. She thought he was going to kill her too, just as he had done with the two men. Desperation rang in her voice as she pleaded for Siara's life.

But Nathan wasn't thinking about slaughtering his stepsister. He was simply looking at her, his ice-blue eyes softened just slightly with recognition. It had been months—too many months—since he had last seen Siara. And now, here she was, standing before him, but she was different. She didn't carry the same vibrance he remembered.

Her face was pale, her expression dark and haunted, as though she hadn't slept in weeks. The joy that once radiated from her had dimmed, and Nathan couldn't help but wonder if she still remembered him, if she still thought of him the way she once had.

He wanted to speak, to tell her something, but words escaped him, leaving only silence between them. Siara seemed scared. Of course Nathan was wearing another face to leave Tenebria out of troubles so for Siara he was just a dangerous and scary stranger but maybe he thought Siara could recognize him.

Siara was looking back at Nathan scared but something felt strange inside her. She didn't recognise him, she had no idea who he was yet that cold gaze, she had seen once or twice years ago when she was getting adopted...but she didn't remember where exactly...

Suddenly, a wave of instinct washed over Nathan. Without hesitation, he grabbed the Trojan girl and pulled her close, his arm wrapping around her. In a single fluid motion, he leapt, just as something tore through the air behind them.

A powerful gust followed, whipping through the house with devastating force. The house crumbled under the pressure, the walls disintegrating in a violent gust of wind. Debris exploded outward, shattered wood and stone flying in all directions, destroying what little remained of the structure.

But despite the destruction, Siara remained unharmed, sheltered by a protective barrier of wind that enveloped her.

Nathan landed outside the now-demolished building, holding the Trojan girl securely in his arms. His sharp eyes darted upward, scanning the sky for the source of the attack. And then, he saw her.

Floating above the ruins of the house was a figure of great beauty. Her long blonde hair billowed in the wind, and her piercing green eyes locked onto Nathan with a cold, familiar intensity. She hovered gracefully.

It had been a while since he had last seen her as well.

Gwen Lawrence.

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I ENSLAVED THE GODDESS WHO SUMMONED MEC172: Nathan vs Gwen

Floating above the ruins of the house was a figure of great beauty. Her long blonde hair billowed in the wind, and her piercing green eyes locked onto Nathan with a cold, familiar intensity. She hovered gracefully.

It had been a while since he had last seen her as well.

Gwen Lawrence.

Beside her was a small, green-haired creature, flitting about like a fairy, her wings shimmering faintly in the dim light. I recognized her from long ago, though her presence was still somewhat foreign to me.

Iphlea, her name was. Gwen's little companion, likely born of her SS rank skill. Since Gwen had obtained that power, it seemed she had gained more than just strength—this tiny, whimsical creature had appeared at her side. The delicate figure of Iphlea floated closer, her wide eyes narrowing in my direction before they widened in astonishment.

"I… I can't believe it, Gwen... he can see me..." Iphlea's voice trembled, barely a whisper, but the shock was clear in her tone. Her gaze darted back and forth between Gwen and me, her expression a mix of disbelief and fear.

I wasn't supposed to see her?

"Really?" Gwen's voice was calm, yet even she raised an eyebrow in surprise. Her usual composure was momentarily disturbed, her brow furrowing as she glanced from me to her nervous companion.

"This guy... he's bad news. You can't beat him, Gwen. Let's retreat," Iphlea urged, her voice strained with apprehension. The little creature's eyes were filled with dread as she turned to Gwen, practically begging her to leave.

She wasn't wrong. Gwen couldn't defeat me—not here, not now.

And I hoped she will retreat instead of fighting me.

I was no longer a classmate. I was a mercenary for Troy, bound to its cause. If it came to a fight, I wouldn't be able to completely hold back.

I didn't want to fight her, though. Gwen had always been different—aloof, yes, but in her own way, she had helped me before. She didn't seek recognition for her actions, but I had noticed. I always had. In class, she was one of the few who had somewhat helped me, even if only indirectly. I respected her for that.

I met Gwen's eyes, coldly.

Run.

Don't make me do this.

For a brief moment, she seemed to waver, as if considering Iphlea's advice. But then, a voice shattered the tension.

"Gwen!" Siara's voice rang out as she emerged from the wreckage of the house, her face alight with relief at the sight of the floating blonde girl.

Siara and Gwen, closer than I had imagined.

It seemed in the nine months that had passed since the last time I saw them, something had changed between the two. Whether it was mere friendship or something deeper, I couldn't say. Though, if I was being honest with myself, I had half-wondered if something had also happened between Siara and Jason during this time.

The possibility gnawed at the back of my mind, but it was a question for another time.

"Gwen... he's with Troy, but..." Siara's voice faltered, her eyes shifting between us as if searching for the right words. She wanted to say more, but hesitation held her back, fear and confusion mingling in her expression. She didn't finish her sentence.

Gwen's gaze didn't leave mine, her face unreadable as she slowly raised her hand, the air around her rippling with the faint shimmer of magic. Iphlea's eyes widened in disbelief.

"Gwen! What are you doing? Take your friend and run away now!" Iphlea cried, her tiny form darting toward Gwen in a frantic attempt to stop her. "This isn't a fight you can win!"

Before anything more could happen, another voice called out—this time from behind me.

"Heiron! What are you doing?"

I turned my head slightly, catching a glimpse of Aeneas in the midst of the battlefield. His face was marked with a mix of confusion and concern, his body tense with the weight of the situation.

"I'm doing my job," I replied calmly, pointing toward the Trojan girl standing behind me, trembling in fear. "Take this girl to safety. I'll hold them back."

Aeneas hesitated, his gaze darting between me, the girl, and the flames consuming the distant horizon. His eyes lingered on Gwen and Siara, both of whom stood ready, the weight of impending conflict hanging in the air.

"Are you sure it's fine?" he asked, his tone laced with genuine concern.

I couldn't help but notice the sincerity in his voice. Despite everything, despite me being nothing more than a mercenary, he showed compassion. I almost forgot—he was Aphrodite's son. Her gentle request echoed in my mind: "Look out for him if possible."

"Yes, it's fine," I assured him. "Take care of her. You need to focus on getting the survivors out of Lyrnessus. That's your mission. We mercenaries are here to buy you time. Do your job, and let us do ours."

Aeneas blinked, surprised by my words, but the brief flicker of hesitation faded into a grateful smile. He gave me a quick nod. "Thank you, Heiron."

Without wasting another second, he gently took the Trojan girl's arm and hurried off, leaving me alone with Gwen and Siara as the shadows of the city pressed in.

The wind howled softly in the distance, carrying with it the scent of burning wood and the distant cries of war. Gwen's gaze, sharp, was locked on me. Her stance was tense, her body brimming with untapped power.

"Gwen!" Iphlea had enough of Gwen trying to pick fight with me.

"Why run?" Gwen shot back angrily. "If he's with Troy, it means we'll meet him in battle eventually. I might as well take my chances now."

She wasn't wrong. Conflict was inevitable. The tides of fate would eventually pit us against each other. Still, I had no desire to fight my classmates. Avoiding them completely honestly seemed impossible but I wanted to keep my identity secret at least to the Divine Knights. Liphiel might be there after all.

Iphlea remained silent for a moment, clearly conflicted. Then, with a resigned sigh, she relented. "Fine. I will help you."

The air around Iphlea shimmered with a sudden surge of mana. Her small frame trembled slightly as immense power radiated from her. The energy flowed like a river, spiraling outward before converging into Gwen's body. The ground beneath us quivered with the sheer magnitude of the magic, and I felt the wind shift, growing colder, sharper.

"Eight-rank Wind Magic," Gwen whispered, her voice barely audible over the roaring wind.

Before my eyes, she conjured a lance of swirling wind, long and deadly, its edges cutting through the air with a ferocious speed. The force of it whipped through my hair, sending loose strands flying.

"Get back, Siara!" Gwen ordered.

Siara nodded, retreating quickly to a safer distance, her face pale. I kept my focus on Gwen, watching her closely. Her strength had grown—remarkably so. An eighth-rank spell wasn't something to take lightly, and the fact she wielded it so effortlessly was proof of her power. But I wasn't surprised. I always knew Gwen was strong.

From just one glance, I could tell she stood on par with Ayaka, though Akane's power still seemed greater.

I exhaled, steadying myself as Gwen's eyes narrowed, her focus intense.

"Now!" Iphlea's voice echoed through the space, giving Gwen the signal.

The swirling lance of wind shot toward me with incredible speed, the air around it crackling with raw power.

I didn't try to defend myself.

BADOOOOM!

The explosion rippled through the air, sending shockwaves across all of Lyrnessus. Houses behind me were split apart, their walls crumbling under the force of the blast. Dust and debris filled the sky as I was flung backward, skidding across the ground until my momentum was stopped by a single remaining wall, hundreds of meters away.

Through the haze of dust, I could hear the faint murmur of voices—Gwen and Iphlea, floating cautiously toward me.

"Did we get him?!" Iphlea's voice trembled with nervous energy, her tiny frame taut with anticipation.

The dust swirled around them, obscuring their view, but Gwen wasted no time. With a flick of her hand, she summoned a gust of wind, clearing the air around me. When her eyes finally fell on me, her expression shifted from confidence to shock.

I was still standing.

My arm, raised protectively, had taken the full brunt of the attack. The sleeve of my shirt was shredded, but instead of torn flesh, an icy armor encased my arm—gleaming and cold, like a second skin. Beneath that icy surface, my true skin remained untouched, protected by the magic I had long learned to wield.

A crack ran through the ice on my arm—from the power of Gwen's eighth-rank spell—but that was the extent of the damage.

"Impossible!" Iphlea gasped, her face pale with disbelief. "He barely took any damage from an eighth-rank magic!"

Gwen remained silent, but the urgency in her eyes spoke volumes. She hadn't expected me to withstand her attack so easily. Her fingers trembled slightly, though she tried to hide it.

I lowered my arm, allowing the ice to glimmer in the fading sunlight. A smirk played on my lips. "My turn now."

The atmosphere around me shifted as my body emitted an icy aura, colder than any wind Gwen could summon. It wasn't exactly like Khione's, but there was an unmistakable similarity—an aura that felt almost divine, reminiscent of a Goddess's power.

Iphlea's face went ghostly white as she sensed it, fear radiating from her tiny frame.

"Gwen! RUN! NOW!" Iphlea screamed, her voice shrill with panic.

Gwen hesitated only for a second before propelling herself backward with a burst of wind, shooting away from me with astonishing speed. She had no choice but to retreat, but I had no intention of letting her go so easily.

This was my little payback.

I extended my arm, icy energy swirling at my fingertips. "Celestial Rank Magic," I murmured, my voice low but brimming with power. My mana condensed in the air, forming a lance of pure ice, far more potent than Gwen's wind-based weapon.

"Celestial Frozen Lance."

The lance shot forward, a blur of icy blue streaking through the air at a speed that dwarfed Gwen's earlier attack. The wind around it howled in protest, ripped apart by the sheer force of the magic. In less than two seconds, it closed the distance between us, hurtling toward Gwen with deadly precision.

She wouldn't die from it since she was a Hero but she will definitely took quite the damages if she took the attack head-on. It would tear through her defenses like paper. But I wasn't trying to kill her—I knew Iphlea would intervene. She had to.

"Iphlea!" Gwen called concerned for her little friend.

"I will take care of it!" Iphlea cried, darting in front of Gwen. Her tiny hands stretched forward, a barrier of mana forming between them just as the lance reached her.

CRAK!

BADOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

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I ENSLAVED THE GODDESS WHO SUMMONED MEC173: Athena and Hera witness

Lyrnessus was attacked.

The Greeks had attacked Trojan soil, a decisive strike signaling the dawn of the Trojan War. With that single blow, the world stood at the precipice of an unprecedented conflict—one that would capture the attention of not only men, but also the gods.

The skies above Olympus stirred, their vast pantheon watching the war unfold. Gods, whose existence stretched across millennia, found themselves intrigued by the carnage below. For centuries, they had lived through the rise and fall of civilizations, the ebb and flow of empires, but recently, the world had been disappointingly quiet. Mundane.

Yet, here in Troy, something different was happening—something that had piqued their interest.

The war was not just between men. Divinity itself was split. On one side stood Athena and Hera, aligned against their fellow Olympians, Apollo, Aphrodite, and Artemis. Their squabble over the fates of mortals had drawn sharp battle lines, even in the heavens. This, too, promised intrigue.

From his seat atop Olympus, Zeus looked down upon the battlefield, his expression unreadable. Beside him, Hermes shifted his gaze between the warriors, while Ares leaned forward, thirsting for the bloodshed to come. Dionysus sipped wine casually, but even his eyes gleamed with interest. Each god had their own reasons for watching, and the tension among them mirrored the growing chaos below.

Most of their focus lay on two names whispered among mortals—Achilles and Agamemnon—the so-called stars of the Greek army. Their feats were anticipated, their glory a foregone conclusion in the eyes of the gods. But Zeus's attention, like that of many others, was also drawn to a different group—Khione's Heroes. A band whose reputation had been scorned, often called the weakest of the summoned Heroes.

Khione herself had endured ridicule from the other gods for her perceived weakness.

Yet Jason, one of her chosen, had shattered expectations in a single moment.

His attack had leveled the walls of Lyrnessus in one swift blow, an act of such power that even the gods blinked in surprise. For a fleeting moment, Olympus itself seemed to pause as whispers rippled through the ranks of the Gods. This was no minor feat. A murmur spread among them, disbelief tinged with curiosity. Could the so-called weakest Heroes be stronger than they appeared?

As the hours passed, the sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a crimson glow over the smoking ruins of Lyrnessus. From the heights of Olympus and the realms beyond, the gods bore witness to the devastation. The once-proud city lay in tatters, its gates shattered, its streets littered with the bodies of soldiers and innocents alike.

The wails of the wounded and the cries of the fleeing echoed like a mournful chorus.

But the gods, for all their power, could do nothing. They watched in silence, some uncaring, others filled with a fleeting sense of pity. Yet none moved to intervene. Such was the delicate balance of divine power—if one god acted, others would follow, and the chain of retaliation would spiral out of control.

The earth could not bear the full force of all Gods' might on Earth ground, which is why they dwelled in the heavens, in a dimension beyond the reach of mortals.

The gods watched from above, eyes glittering with a mixture of disinterest and vague curiosity. Far below, Lyrnessus was ablaze, plumes of smoke curling into the sky as the final throes of battle ebbed away. Most of the gods floating in the heavens did not bother to intervene—they watched the scene like a staged play, impassive observers as human lives crumbled beneath the blades of warriors.

Yet there was a stir in the air, a ripple of interest when the Trojans finally arrived. Among them, two figures stood out, their presence like boulders amidst a stream—Hector and Aeneas, the demigod warrior with the blood of gods in his veins. There was a quiet murmur among the onlookers. What they craved most was a confrontation between these two champions and Achilles.

The thought of their clash stirred a certain anticipation, even among those who had seen countless wars.

But that moment of excitement quickly fizzled as Achilles, having already dispatched the Trojan King, strode away from the battlefield with Briseis, his prize, by his side. His part in the slaughter was over. Achilles had no interest in prolonging a battle already won, nor in facing Hector or Aeneas when his victory was already certain.

As for Hector and Aeneas, their intent was clear—they were not there for glory, but to shepherd the survivors out of the city. Stealthily, they moved through the chaos, cutting down the weaker Greek soldiers who crossed their path. But their efforts went largely unnoticed, the brief skirmishes hardly enough to catch the attention of the gods above.

"It seems it's over," Athena muttered. She floated high above the ground, several meters away from the ruins of Lyrnessus. Beside her, Hera stood, her regal form unmoved by the spectacle below.

From their vantage point, they watched the last remnants of Lyrnessus fall. Smoke rose in thick black tendrils, the cries of the dying and wounded growing fainter with each passing second until only the eerie silence of conquest remained.

"Yes," Hera replied, her gold eyes gleaming. "Lyrnessus has fallen, just as it was destined."

Neither goddess seemed particularly pleased by the outcome—it had been inevitable. Yet Hera couldn't conceal a flicker of satisfaction. Aphrodite had failed to protect one of her cities. That alone was enough to bring a smirk to Hera's lips. She cast a glance toward the trio of gods floating within the burning city—Apollo, Artemis, and, most satisfyingly, Aphrodite.

Apollo and Artemis wore somber expressions, their divine features etched with displeasure at the fall of Lyrnessus. Hera relished the sight of their bitterness, but her eyes were drawn to Aphrodite. To Hera's ire, the goddess of love met her gaze with a radiant smile, her face unbothered by the ruin around her. She even had the gall to wave.

"This arrogant bitch," Hera muttered, her hands curling into fists at her side. She could never stand Aphrodite, even in defeat.

Athena, sensing her companion's irritation, began to turn away. "Let's go," she said, her voice calm and composed. But before they could depart, both goddesses halted, their eyes widening in unison.

"Did you feel that?" Athena's voice, usually controlled, was edged with shock.

"Yes," Hera replied, her tone equally unsettled.

A presence—powerful, ancient, and overwhelmingly inhuman—had appeared in Lyrnessus out of nowhere.

Then, a moment later, the sky trembled as a massive explosion shook the earth.

BADOOOOM!

The sound echoed through the heavens, and the shockwave blasted through the air, reaching even the heights where Hera and Athena floated. The force whipped their hair wildly.

"W-what in the world?" Athena's voice trembled, unable to conceal her shock. Her wide eyes turned toward Hera, hoping for an answer. "Who...?"

"I'm searching," Hera replied, her gold irises glowing with divine power as she scanned Lyrnessus below. She had already begun to probe the ruins, trying to identify the source of the overwhelming energy that had erupted from the city. Her mind raced through the possibilities—Hector, Penthesilea, Agamemnon, Aeneas—none of them could have been responsible.

Achilles had already left the battlefield, his business with Lyrnessus concluded. And while the others were strong, Hera knew their power well. None of them could generate such a presence.

This new energy was something entirely different. Something more dangerous.

Her eyes swept across every corner of Lyrnessus, focusing on any potential clues, and finally, she spotted a familiar figure. A blonde-haired beauty lay collapsed on the ground, her breaths shallow, her body visibly trembling with exhaustion. Sweat gleamed on her pale face, and her clothes were now torn and bloodied. Hera recognized her—Gwen, one of Khione's Heroes.

The girl had clearly spent all her mana, drained from whatever encounter had just transpired. In her arms, she cradled Iphlea, a powerful fairy known for her vast reservoirs of magical energy. Yet, Iphlea was unconscious, blood trailing from a wound on her head.

Hera's frown deepened. Whoever had done this was far more dangerous than she had anticipated.

A cold realization settled over her. This had to be the work of someone from the Trojan side. But who? Hector, Penthesilea and Aeneas were the strongest, and yet, this attack didn't seem to match their typical methods.

Her eyes flickered with frustration. "Impossible," Hera muttered, her face darkening with displeasure. For there to be another powerful figure among the Trojans, someone who had remained hidden until now—it was a threat she had not accounted for.

"Who!!" Hera's voice cracked with fury as she scoured the battlefield, her senses reaching out for the intruder. But it was as if the presence had vanished, dissolved into the air like a mirage. No trace. No pulse of power. Nothing.

Frustrated, she shifted her approach. Instead of trying to sense the powerful presence, she followed the trajectory of the ice lance that had pierced the air moments before the explosion. Her divine eyes traced it to its origin, a secluded corner of the ruined city.

And then, she saw them.

Two figures stood in the shadows of the crumbling ruins. One was a young man, dressed in dark, unremarkable clothing. His black hair was wind-tossed, and his ice-blue eyes gleamed faintly in the dim light. He looked ordinary, like a mercenary plucked from the masses. Yet, Hera's eyes lingered on him for a moment longer, something about his presence—his aura—felt... off.

He seemed too calm, too composed in the midst of the chaos.

But her gaze soon shifted to the second figure, and her breath caught in her throat.

"This..." Hera murmured, her voice tight with disbelief.

Standing beside the man was a woman with deep ocean-blue hair that cascaded down her back, her eyes the same mesmerizing shade. There was something familiar about her, as if Hera had seen her before, or perhaps felt her presence from afar. But this woman wasn't ordinary—Hera could tell that much.

She was concealing the true extent of her abilities, but her power was undeniable, at least equal to that of Aeneas. Yet, there was something deeply unsettling.

Why would a woman of such strength stand by the side of an ordinary-looking man? More than that—why did she seem to obey him?

Hera's eyes narrowed, her gold irises sharpening as she watched the pair from a distance. There was no mistaking it. The woman, though powerful, deferred to the man. Her posture, her body language, it all pointed to a strange dynamic where the stronger bowed to the weaker.

Suddenly, the man's ice-blue eyes flickered. For the briefest moment, they darted toward Hera's direction, piercing through the distance as if he could see her.

"What...?" Hera's breath hitched, an unexpected chill creeping down her spine. She faltered, losing her focus for the first time in centuries. For just a split second, she felt as though he had seen her—not merely sensed her presence, but actually laid eyes on her.

She quickly looked back and he was speaking to the woman normally as if nothing happened.

"It must have been my imagination..." Hera mumbled, shaking off the unease that clung to her.

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I ENSLAVED THE GODDESS WHO SUMMONED MEC174: New plan to Save Astynome

After releasing my Celestial Rank attack, I swiftly erased all traces of divine mana and vanished from the scene, my movements quick and deliberate. The chaos I left behind might have drawn the attention of many, but I had no intention of sticking around to deal with the aftermath.

Good thing Amaterasu taught me that trick, I mused silently, grateful for the foresight. Even now, I could feel the weight of numerous gazes sweeping the area, searching for the source of the devastation. Some were curious, others suspicious, but I was confident none of them would find me easily.

Of course, Apollo and Artemis likely already knew, that had their attention on me for a moment now. Their senses were sharp, sharper than most. But I felt a quiet assurance that they wouldn't reveal my identity. From their point of view, I could be a valuable asset in the looming war against the Greeks. To out me now would draw unwanted attention and potential threats.

Gods—even minor ones—might feel threatened and try to eliminate me. That wasn't a risk they'd take lightly.

And even if they harbored some doubts, Aphrodite was my insurance. She had promised to cover my back in this war. As long as she played her part, my identity would remain shrouded in mystery. No one could afford to move against me without proper information.

"Samael."

The voice snapped me from my thoughts. Charybdis landed beside me in a graceful arc, her expression as calm and neutral as ever, though I could sense the undercurrent of worry in her actions. I had tasked her with keeping an eye on Agamemnon and Astynome, but it seemed my earlier surge of true mana had caught her attention, prompting her return.

Even though she was careful not to show it, the worry was there.

"Something happened?" she asked, her gaze flicking toward the aftermath of my attack.

The ground where my lance had struck was a desolate path of ice and frost, the remnants of destruction stretching far ahead, a frozen scar upon the battlefield. It radiated cold, the air itself heavy with the lingering power I had unleashed.

I shook my head slightly, more to myself than to her. "No, nothing serious," I replied, eyes narrowing as I surveyed the damage. I hadn't wanted to get involved in this war—it wasn't my fight—but there were certain people that I wanted to test and see how much growth they had grown through. Gwen had been one of them.

Her presence here had been unexpected, but seeing her again stirred something within me. She hadn't changed much, still stubborn, still fierce, but there was a newfound maturity about her. She had grown, in ways I hadn't anticipated.

Siara, too. She seemed to be faring well, though I remained cautious. The Empire of Light wasn't to be trusted. But for now, it looked like they were safe.

My mind turned to the others—Sienna, Amelia, Courtney, Aisha. They hadn't been part of this battle at Lyrnessus, or at least I hadn't sensed them. But I would find them soon. I had to make sure they were alright, especially with everything moving so fast. There was little time for doubt.

Suddenly, a feeling washed over me, a piercing sensation that sent a chill down my spine. I glanced to my right, my eyes narrowing as I searched for the source. Someone was watching me—closely. I couldn't tell who it was, but the presence was undeniable. Divine, distant, but powerful.

I quickly looked away.

Athena? Hera? It was hard to say, though my instincts leaned toward the latter. Hera had always been more a pain to Khione from what I heard. Her gaze weighed heavy, even from afar.

Khione had warned me about her, telling me to beware of her watchful eyes. Now, I understood why.

"Let's move," I muttered to Charybdis, keeping my voice low. The fewer eyes on us, the better. "We've drawn enough attention here."

She nodded in agreement, and together, we disappeared into the shadows, leaving the frozen wasteland behind.

"Where are Agamemnon and Astynome?" I asked.

"They're leaving Lyrnessus," Charybdis replied, her tone measured. "Do we follow them?"

A difficult question. My original plan had been to take Astynome before Agamemnon could even see her, to slip her away from under his nose without him noticing. But I had hesitated too long, and now he was already on his way out of the city with her in tow.

There was still a chance—an opportunity to steal her away before they reached their camp—but the weight of several gazes lingered on me, pressing like a heavy shroud. I could feel them—Apollo and Artemis among them, but their attention didn't concern me. What troubled me were the other two goddesses, whose watchful eyes I could sense.

From the Greeks' side, they had the most to lose if they figured out my true intentions too early.

It was too soon for them to suspect me fully, too soon for them to grow wary. As long as they were still uncertain, as long as doubt clouded their judgment, I could maneuver in the shadows. Time—that's what I needed, and the longer I kept them guessing, the better.

But the window was closing fast. Apollo's priestess was still with Agamemnon, and if I didn't act soon, I'd lose my leverage with him. His full attention was crucial to my plans. But more than that, time was something I didn't have much of.

I glanced down at my arm. The skin had darkened, spreading like ink over a page, a reminder of the price I had paid.

Two weeks, maybe three at best.

I wasn't surprised. I had known this would happen when I sacrificed a portion of my lifespan to claim Khione. I didn't regret it for a single moment; it had been necessary. Still, when I made that deal, I had been confident that I would find a way out of this predicament. I hadn't lost that confidence, not yet.

I took a moment to weigh my options. There was no time to waste, and nothing would change if I didn't take the risks needed.

"Charybdis," I began, "you should go back. Return to the Trojans."

Her expression shifted, a deep frown pulling at her lips. "No. I won't leave your side."

I met her gaze, coldly. "It's an order, Charys." My tone was sharp, leaving no room for argument.

She didn't back down. "If Medea or Scylla were here, they wouldn't leave you alone," she countered, her voice firm with quiet opposition.

Her concern for me was genuine, and it showed in the way she stood. I had taken both her and Scylla from their imprisoned lives beneath the sea, after defeating them in combat. Since then, they had both become fiercely attached to me, their loyalty nearly suffocating.

Along with Medea, the three of them had become knights in my service, my people in the coming war against the Divine Knights—my Divine Knights.

But this time wasn't one I could afford to have compromised by sentimentality or extra company.

"I have to get back Astynome, and I have to do it alone." My voice softened slightly as I sighed. "I'll infiltrate their camp, get Astynome, and return to Troy as quickly as I can. You don't need to worry."

It was the fastest way, and the only way to avoid further complication.

Charybdis lowered her gaze, her entire demeanor shifting in an instant. The air around her grew colder as her murderous aura leaked out, and her skin began to turn a deep, menacing blue. Her voice, once steady, now dripped with cold fury.

"If you want her back, just kill all of them and take her."

"Charys." I stopped in my tracks, turning to face her. Without hesitation, I pulled her into my arms, pressing her body close to mine. My lips found hers, and I kissed her deeply, pouring all my warmth into the kiss as if to melt the frost that had begun to envelop her.

"Mmmnn~" A soft, involuntary sound escaped Charybdis as her entire body shivered beneath my touch. Her lips, soft and moist, tasted of salt and the sea, but more than that—they were filled with the intensity of her emotions.

As I held her close, my hands found their way to her hips, resting on her curvy figure. I could feel her chest pressed against me, her heartbeat fast and unsteady. My lips brushed against her ear as I whispered softly, "Tell Aeneas that I'll be back soon."

Her breath hitched, and she let out another faint moan, "Y-Yes... hmmnnn~~" Her body, once tense and brimming with murderous intent, relaxed in my arms. The cold, dangerous energy that had been leaking from her vanished as though it had never existed in the first place. In its place was a quiet surrender.

"You don't have to worry," I reassured her as I pulled back, leaving a thin thread of saliva between our parted lips. Her face remained expressionless, but I could see the subtle blush on her cheeks, a rare and fleeting display of vulnerability.

Whether it was Charybdis, Medea, or Scylla, all three of them were obsessed with me in a way that was both flattering and frightening. Their devotion had crossed into obsession, and if I were to die… I didn't even want to think about the consequences. They would lose themselves entirely, and the world would undoubtedly suffer for it.

The thought of them, of what they might do in my death, was yet another reason I couldn't afford to die. I had left too deep of an impression on them. A world without me would be meaningless in their eyes, and they would tear it apart in their grief and rage.

With one last glance at Charybdis, who still stood there with her stoic face and blushing cheeks, I gave a nod. She knew what needed to be done, and soon she turned and disappeared into the shadows, heading back to the Trojans.

Now, I could focus on the task ahead. My attention shifted back toward the Greek side. The two goddesses—whose gazes I had felt earlier—seemed to have retreated back to their realm, leaving me free to act.

Pulling a scarf from my belongings, I wrapped it around my mouth, concealing my face. The time for subtlety had come. I scanned the battlefield, quickly finding the body of a fallen Spartan soldier. Stripping the corpse of its armor, I removed my own and donned his in its place. The blood-stained bronze plate and battered helmet would allow me to blend in among the Greeks for the time being.

"Let's do this."

I will just infiltrate their camp, get Astynome back and leave right away.

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I ENSLAVED THE GODDESS WHO SUMMONED MEC175: A powerful unknown Card

"Did you see that, brother?" Artemis asked, her voice tinged with disbelief, her mind still reeling from what had just transpired. Her eyes, usually calm and unshakable, now reflected the shock that coursed through her.

"I saw it clearly," Apollo replied, his tone measured, but even he couldn't hide the flicker of awe in his voice. His gaze remained fixed on the empty space where Nathan had stood mere moments ago, a spectacle of overwhelming might that defied even their divine senses.

In contrast to her siblings, Aphrodite remained silent, though a faint, knowing smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She might not have voiced her thoughts, but inwardly, her heart brimmed with joy, amusement even. How she longed to witness the expressions on Hera's and Athena's faces right now.

The gods of wisdom and power, so accustomed to control and superiority, must have been seething in frustration as they watched Nathan's overwhelming display—one they never saw coming.

It was obvious that in the end, neither of them had been able to pinpoint Nathan's exact location. He had vanished, as if erased from existence itself.

"He's gone," Artemis muttered, frustration creeping into her voice as she scanned the city of Lyrnessus from their divine vantage point. Her keen huntress eyes searched desperately, but Nathan had disappeared.

"I've lost track of his presence as well," Apollo admitted, though his eyes held a gleam of curiosity rather than irritation.

For the briefest of moments, both Apollo and Artemis had let their attention slip. Just a minute—less, even—and that was all it took for Nathan to vanish completely from their sights. They could no longer sense him anywhere in Lyrnessus. A feat that even gods would struggle to achieve.

Aphrodite suppressed a laugh, her thoughts swirling with satisfaction. "I should really thank Amaterasu for that," she mused to herself, recalling how the Sun Goddess had taught Nathan the secret art of erasing one's presence. But Nathan, like a prodigy, had mastered the technique in mere days—a week, at most. The boy was a monster in his own right.

His swift progression had only accelerated since he'd enslaved Amaterasu, drawing from her divine energy, and further bolstered by Khione's power, his strength was growing at a terrifying pace.

Despite her inner glee, Aphrodite kept her expression neutral. Now wasn't the time to reveal her connection to Nathan, let alone her role in giving the Princess of Tenebria the ability to summon a Hero. She had already gathered more enemies than she cared for. Best to play the part of an oblivious observer for now.

"I didn't realize there was someone so powerful on our side," Aphrodite remarked casually, glancing at Apollo with a sly, satisfied smile. "Did you, dear Apollo?"

"No," Apollo replied, though his eyes narrowed as he turned his gaze on Aphrodite, suspicion flickering behind his serene façade. "But I feel like you know more than you're letting on, Aphrodite."

"What are you hiding?" Artemis added, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, eyes narrowing as she regarded the goddess of love. "We're all on the same side here, Aphrodite."

Aphrodite waved her hand dismissively, her laughter light and melodic, as though the idea were utterly ridiculous. "Oh, please. I don't know much more than you two," she lied smoothly, "but shouldn't we just be glad that he's on our side? We could use another strong warrior, especially with Hector as our only other trump card."

Apollo and Artemis exchanged glances, clearly not fully convinced, but neither could refute her logic. Nathan's strength was undeniable, and at the moment, they needed every advantage they could get in the war that loomed ahead.

"Perhaps," Apollo murmured, though his suspicions lingered.

"But if we truly want to win this war," Aphrodite continued, her voice dropping into a more serious tone, "we need to use every advantage we have. You should meet with him in person, Apollo. I'm sure he would be quite flattered if the great god of the sun were to approach him directly with praise."

Apollo regarded her carefully, the edges of his suspicion dulling at the thought. "Perhaps I will," he said, nodding slowly, though he was still wary of the goddess's motives. "When the time is right."

°°°°°

In the grand halls of Olympus, within the towering marble walls of Zeus's castle, the gods were gathered, their attention fixated on the aftermath of the battle in Lyrnessus. The air buzzed with a mixture of excitement and tension, their divine senses still tingling from the spectacle they had just witnessed.

"That was quite something, wasn't it?!" Hermes exclaimed, his voice brimming with enthusiasm. His winged sandals barely touched the ground as he paced, his eyes bright with the thrill of it all. The messenger god had always loved action, and the chaotic battle they had just observed, thanks to the great vision magic cast over the mortal realm, had not disappointed.

The start of the war had been far more exhilarating than any of them had anticipated.

"Amazing? Don't overstate it," Ares interjected with a low chuckle, though his fiery eyes gleamed with a mad intensity that betrayed his excitement. His broad frame seemed to vibrate with barely contained energy, his hands flexing as if already gripping an unseen weapon. "It's just a war, after all. Nothing out of the ordinary.

But I won't deny—seeing that much bloodshed, those glorious fights… It makes my blood burn! I'm itching for battle!"

Zeus, seated on his throne, sighed deeply. His usually commanding presence seemed somewhat burdened. He ran a hand through his thick beard, already feeling the strain of the conflict that had only just begun.

"There's no fighting against humans, Ares," Zeus said, his voice carrying both command and exhaustion. His piercing eyes momentarily flashed with frustration. The war had barely started, and already it was causing headaches. The devastation in Lyrnessus was staggering. The city was reduced to rubble, and nearly ninety percent of its people had been slaughtered in the chaos.

"Hades is going to be quite busy", Zeus thought grimly. His brother would be overwhelmed by the surge of souls flooding into the Underworld, and with the war escalating, the number of the dead would only rise. The fields of Elysium and the banks of the Styx would be filled for centuries to come.

"It was impressive, though," Dionysus chimed in, lounging lazily on a golden couch, swirling a goblet of wine in his hand. His lips curled into a playful yet sly smile as if he were already concocting a mischievous plan. "But I have to wonder… who was the one who cast that ice lance? The magic it wielded... that was no ordinary spell. Celestial rank magic?

How could a human possibly command such power?"

At his words, the air in the room shifted, tension settling like a thick cloud. Dionysus's question hung in the air, drawing the attention of every god present. His playful demeanor belied the seriousness of the matter.

The gods were well aware of the ranks of mortal magic—humans measured their spells by numbers, from the simplest first-rank magic to the strongest cast twelfth-rank magic, for example Gwen used a 8th rank wind magic against Nathan.

But Celestial rank magic? That was a different realm entirely.

Celestial magic was the domain of demigods and gods. It was a force far more potent than anything the mortals could normally comprehend, let alone wield. The fact that a human had invoked such power was nothing short of astonishing.

Silence fell across the room. The gods exchanged uneasy glances. Dionysus was right to bring it up. Something about this war was far from ordinary.

"Perhaps a god taught him," a calm voice cut through the stillness.

The gathered deities turned toward the entrance of the chamber. Athena strode in, her armor gleaming under the soft glow of Olympus's eternal light. Her expression was sharp. Walking beside her was Hera, the queen of the gods, in an extremely bad mood.

"A god?" Ares scoffed, though there was a flicker of disbelief in his voice. "What god would teach a human celestial magic?"

But Athena's words rang with truth.

Khione—the Goddess of Ice—was the one who had bestowed Nathan with such knowledge. She had taught him the arcane secrets of celestial magic, magic that was typically reserved for the chosen few, demigods and gods alike.

Of course, no one in Olympus truly understood the full extent of what was happening, save for one—Aphrodite. The goddess of love had long suspected the connection between Nathan and Khione, having caught glimpses of their strange and growing bond well before anyone else had even considered it.

"I bet it's that bitch Aphrodite," Hera spat, her voice seething with anger as she reclined on her throne next to Zeus. Her eyes blazed with fury, her mind churning with suspicion. "That's why she seems so confident, so smug."

It was highly possible, Hermes thought.

He smirked silently. Aphrodite had always been more involved in the affairs of mortals than most of the gods realized. But what Hera didn't know—and what Hermes wasn't about to reveal—was that Aphrodite had been the one to orchestrate the summoning of the Hero of Darkness. She had helped pull the strings that brought Samael into the fold, though few could connect the dots.

Hermes chuckled inwardly. He was the only god aware that the mysterious figure known as Heiron was none other than Samael—the Hero of Darkness himself. But keeping secrets was his specialty. He reveled in it. Besides, Hermes had no allegiance in this war. He was for no one, and everyone.

All that interested him was the spectacle, the entertainment, and Nathan was providing plenty of that.

In fact, if anyone in Olympus was truly enthralled by the chaos unfolding, it was Hermes. His attention was even more captivated than Ares's, who lived for battle and bloodshed. But while Ares was driven by rage and the lust for combat, Hermes was fascinated by the game—the strategies, the twists, the unpredictable outcomes.

The Trojan War had become a divine chessboard, and Nathan was a piece no one had anticipated.

The gods had already chosen sides, though. On one hand, the Greeks were amassing a fearsome force, with legends like Agamemnon, Achilles, and the cunning Odysseus, all bolstered by the might of the two most powerful goddesses in Olympus—Hera and Athena. Their side carried the strength of Olympus itself, and on paper, they seemed unstoppable.

On the other hand, the Trojans were gathering their own heroes: Hector, Aeneas, Aphrodite's son, favored by the gods; and Penthesilea, Amazonian queen. They had the backing of Aphrodite, Apollo, and Artemis. And, of course, they had Samael, the Hero of Darkness.

Hermes smirk only grew.

What truly intrigued him, however, wasn't the battles between the expected champions—Achilles or Hector, Agamemnon or Odysseus. No, what captivated his attention was Nathan. On the very first day of the Trojan War, the human had unknowingly become the focus of the gods' attention, overshadowing even the greatest warriors of legend.

Despite himself, Nathan had emerged as a central figure in this unfolding drama, drawing the eyes of both mortals and immortals alike.

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I ENSLAVED THE GODDESS WHO SUMMONED MEC176: Aeneas's Trust

"So boring!" Penthesilea huffed, her voice sharp with frustration. She paced back and forth, her fists clenched, her impatience growing by the minute. "I didn't see any Achilles, Agamemnon, Menelaus, or Ajax! None of the true warriors were here. Just weaklings! Is this what the great Lyrnessus had to offer?

I'm disappointed—I wanted to fight real men, warriors worthy of my strength!"

The Amazonian queen's anger simmered beneath her calm exterior, but those who knew her well could see it in the tense set of her jaw, the way her spear twitched in her grip. She had come to Lyrnessus with high expectations, eager to test herself against the legendary heroes of the Achaeans, the so-called strongest fighters of the Greek world.

After all, she wasn't just any warrior—she was the queen of the Amazons, a title she had earned by constantly pushing herself beyond her limits. She lived for battle, for the thrill of facing a foe who could challenge her.

But instead of worthy adversaries, all she had found was a ruined city, its once-proud streets now littered with corpses and the remains of homes burned to ash. The Greeks who had laid siege to Lyrnessus were no better than scavengers, plundering like wild beasts, too cowardly or too complacent to stand and fight her.

"This is pathetic," she muttered under her breath, glaring at the smoldering ruins around her. "A real disappointment."

Hector, standing nearby with a sword resting against his shoulder, exhaled in exasperation. "We aren't here for a fight, Penthesilea," he reminded her, his voice level but tired. "Our mission was to evacuate the survivors, not seek glory in battle."

Penthesilea shot him a look, rolling her eyes. "Whatever. So why are we still hanging around? We've rescued the survivors, haven't we? What's the point in waiting? The longer we stay, the higher the risk of getting caught." Her voice was laced with impatience, and the twitch in her hand suggested she was ready to leave this miserable place behind.

The Amazons and Trojans had done what they came to do—rescued the few who survived the Greek onslaught and spirited them away in carriages hidden on the outskirts of the city. The survivors were already on their way to the Trojan capital, safe and out of harm's reach. Now, they were simply lingering, disguised as soldiers of Lyrnessus amidst the rubble, waiting for...something.

Hector, ever the calm and steady leader, shook his head. "We're still missing two people," he explained, keeping his eyes on the horizon, as if expecting trouble at any moment.

Penthesilea raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Who?" she demanded.

"Heiron and his companion," came the answer from Aeneas, who had been standing quietly near the edge of the group. His gaze was distant, thoughtful, as if recalling something important.

"Probably dead by now," Penthesilea replied bluntly, with a dismissive shrug. "Let's just leave. I don't care about some random fighters, especially not ones foolish enough to stay behind in this wasteland."

Aeneas frowned, clearly not swayed by her indifference. "No, they aren't dead," he said firmly, shaking his head. "I'm sure of it."

Hector, though trusting Aeneas, shared a sliver of Penthesilea's doubt. "Are you certain, Aeneas? With the chaos that's unfolded here, it's not impossible."

Aeneas met Hector's gaze, his expression serious. "Yes, I'm certain. I saw Heiron in the heat of battle—he was fighting one of the Empire's Heroes."

Penthesilea's interest piqued for a moment, her eyes narrowing. "One of those Heroes? Then he's probably dead after all. I've heard those Empire warriors are strong—stronger than most."

But Aeneas wasn't convinced. "No," he said again, his voice steady with conviction. "Heiron was confident, far too confident to be reckless. He told me to leave and take care of the survivors while he handled things here. If he wasn't sure he could hold his own, he wouldn't have stayed behind."

Penthesilea let out a short laugh. "Confident, you say? Sometimes confidence gets you killed, Aeneas."

"Perhaps," Aeneas conceded. "But it wasn't Heiron who seemed nervous in that fight—it was the two girls he was facing. They were the ones uncertain, not him."

Hector exchanged a thoughtful glance with Aeneas, weighing the words carefully. If Heiron had faced one of the Empire's Heroes and lived, or perhaps even triumphed, that would make him an invaluable ally, one worth waiting for. But waiting in a war zone came with its own dangers, and time was running thin.

"Alright," Hector said finally, his decision made. "We wait a little longer. But not too long. If Heiron and his companion don't make it soon, we'll have no choice but to leave without them."

Penthesilea grunted, still dissatisfied. She didn't care much for waiting around, especially for someone she barely knew, but she respected Hector's judgment enough not to argue further. For now.

Fortunately, she didn't have to wait long for the information she was seeking. A familiar figure approached them, her presence unmistakable from a distance. Her long, deep ocean color hair glistened under the light, flowing like a serene river. It was Charybdis.

She was a sight that no one could forget or confuse with anyone else. Her mere arrival seemed to still the air around them, drawing attention effortlessly. Hector, Penthesilea, and Aeneas stood there, mouths slightly agape, unable to disguise their awe. For a brief moment, none of them spoke, their minds captivated by her presence.

Charybdis was breathtaking.

Her beauty wasn't the kind one could easily describe; it was ethereal, almost otherworldly. While they had caught glimpses of her before, none of them had been prepared for the sight that now confronted them.

Penthesilea let out a low, amused laugh, breaking the silence. "That bastard Heiron hid quite the beauty for himself, didn't he?" she said with a smirk, her tone light but tinged with admiration.

Hector, still shaken by Charybdis' appearance, recovered quickly. After all, he had seen Helen, whose beauty was fabled to be even more divine, though even he silently acknowledged that Charybdis had a charm of her own—something raw, something untamed.

Aeneas, shaking off his own trance, was the first to speak with purpose. "Where is Heiron?" He asked urgently.

Charybdis' response was swift and cold. "He's not coming," she said bluntly, her voice flat and detached.

The trio exchanged glances, a mix of surprise and concern flashing across their faces. It wasn't just her words that unsettled them—it was the way she spoke, as if interacting with humans was beneath her. Charybdis radiated a disdain she barely bothered to conceal. Speaking to these mortals seemed almost like a chore for her.

To her, they were insignificant. Fragile. Fleeting.

The only human she had ever tolerated was Medea, and even then, it was because of the witch's power and cunning. As for Nathan... Nathan was a different story entirely. In Charybdis' eyes, he transcended humanity. He was not simply a mortal; he was something divine—no, more than divine. Nathan was something even greater than the gods themselves, a force that stood beyond their understanding.

Hector frowned, breaking the silence that had stretched too long. "What do you mean he's not coming?"

"He said he was going to spy on the Greek camp to gather information." Charybdis said casually.

But it was as if she had tossed a bomb at their feet. The reaction was immediate.

Aeneas' eyes widened in disbelief. "What? Has he gone mad?" He almost shouted, unable to comprehend how reckless Heiron could be. Charybdis' nonchalant tone only made it worse. She said it as though Heiron was merely taking a stroll through a peaceful meadow instead of infiltrating a heavily fortified enemy camp.

Penthesilea's lips curled into a smirk, ever the cynic. "Perhaps he's betrayed us," she suggested, her voice laced with amusement. "Wouldn't that be something? Especially since he could know the layout of Troy so well."

Hector's expression hardened. The possibility of betrayal weighed heavily on him. If Heiron had truly turned against them, it would be catastrophic. The information he carried could spell their doom.

But Aeneas shook his head, his voice firm. "No. He didn't betray us."

Hector narrowed his eyes, unsure how Aeneas could be so certain. "How do you know that?" he asked, suspicion creeping into his tone.

Aeneas hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. "I can't be certain, but I trust my instincts. Something about Heiron... he doesn't strike me as the type to betray those he fights alongside."

He thought back to the brief interactions he had with Heiron. Though they didn't know each other well, there was something about him that inspired trust, something honest and unspoken that Aeneas had sensed during their exchanges.

"And besides," Aeneas added, "if he were truly planning to betray us, would he have sent his companion back to us?"

Hector considered this for a moment, nodding slowly. "You're right. Maybe... Let's just hope he comes back with good information—and alive."

But Aeneas, still troubled, glanced at Charybdis. Her calm demeanor unnerved him. He couldn't understand how she wasn't worried, how she could be so indifferent when Heiron was taking such a dangerous risk.

"Aren't you worried about him at all?" Aeneas asked, genuinely surprised by her composure.

Charybdis turned her gaze on him, her expression one of disdain and disbelief, as though she had just heard the most absurd question imaginable.

"The ones who should be worried," she said icily, "are the Greeks."

With that, she walked away, her ocean-blue hair swaying gently with each step, leaving the trio behind in silence.

Hector, Penthesilea, and Aeneas exchanged glances. They said nothing as they followed her out of Lyrnessus,

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