I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

Chapter 437: Nathan vs Logan!

Logan knew too much—and Nathan couldn’t let that knowledge walk away.

He didn’t speak. He simply shifted his stance, his magic beginning to stir, quietly but potently.

There would be no negotiations.

Only one solution remained.

Logan had to die.

“Posing as him? What does that mean?” Freja asked, her eyes narrowing with confusion as she glanced at Nathan. There was a tremor in her voice—barely perceptible, but it was there. She was alert now, all signs of casual curiosity replaced by tense scrutiny.

She was following the flow of the conversation surprisingly well, Nathan noted. Sharp instincts.

The man across from them—Logan—tilted his head slightly, almost in amusement, but there was no warmth in his gaze. His eyes, glinting like steel under moonlight, scanned Nathan with growing suspicion.

“You’re all quite naive, aren’t you?” Logan said with a chuckle, though the humor didn’t touch his expression. “This man… is not Septimius. Or at least, not the Septimius I once knew. He’s an impostor.”

Gasps echoed in the cave.

Freja’s eyes were wide with disbelief. Elin, too, froze in place, her gaze darting between Logan and Nathan, unsure what to believe, her body stiffening with tension.

Nathan remained still.

There was no panic in him—only a growing storm of calculations. That name—Septimius—was more than just a disguise. It was a symbol of mystery and reverence within Alexandria and Rome as well, built on distinctive traits: his white hair, robes, the golden mask with twin vertical slits that never revealed emotion, the silent authority he carried wherever he went.

Logan knew of Septimius. That much was clear. But how? And more importantly—why now?

Nathan’s voice was calm when he spoke.

Measured.

“You seem to know a lot. What else do you know about me?” he asked, careful not to betray the sudden spike of interest that Logan’s familiarity provoked.

Logan’s eyes narrowed slightly, his curiosity sharpening like a blade being drawn.

“Is there something else to know, perhaps?” Logan replied, a thin smile playing on his lips. The flicker in his gaze told Nathan everything—he didn’t know more.

That made things simpler.

Nathan surmised that Logan had kept his suspicions from Caesar, likely calculating that this ’false Septimius’ was no immediate threat. Perhaps Logan saw him as a tool to be used or discarded, nothing more. That arrogance was working in Nathan’s favor—for now.

Still, this could not be left to fester. Logan had seen too much and guessed too well. He would have to be silenced.Preferably not killed—not yet. There were answers Nathan wanted. Names. Connections. Truth.

But Logan wouldn’t come quietly.

Nathan took a step forward, the air around him subtly shifting as the tension between them reached a knife’s edge.

“Are you really planning to fight me?” Logan asked, raising his sword slightly. The steel gleamed in the cave’s dim light. “I regret to inform you, a mere mercenary can’t hope to defeat a Hero.”

“A Hero?” Elin echoed, her brow furrowing. “From which Kingdom?”

Freja, her mind still spinning from the earlier revelation, shifted uneasily. She, too, stared at Logan with renewed wariness—though shock still rippled behind her eyes.

Logan chuckled. “That’s not something you need to know.”

Nathan’s gaze sharpened.

“Interesting,” he said. “I thought the second group of Heroes summoned by the Light Empire were all wiped out by the Demon King… thirty years ago.”

The cave fell into stunned silence.

Freja and Elin both stared at him, unblinking. Elin’s voice cracked when she finally spoke.

“Second group? Thirty years ago?”

But Nathan wasn’t finished. His voice grew colder, words like sharpened icicles in the stale air.

“The official story was that they fought bravely and fell in the final battle. But the truth? There were three groups

. One was slaughtered by the Demon King, another… betrayed the Light Empire and joined the Demon King’s ranks. The third vanished without a trace.”

His eyes met Logan’s—piercing, calm, deadly.

“I wonder which group you belonged to. If I had to guess… You were the coward who sold your honor for survival and chose the Demon King’s side”

A beat of silence.

Then—

BADAAAM!!

The sound was like thunder exploding in a cavern.

Logan’s blade came crashing down in a flash of silver, but Nathan was ready. He raised his sword just in time, steel meeting steel with a deafening clash that sent shockwaves through the cave.

The ground shuddered.

Rocks tumbled from the ceiling. Dust filled the air in a choking cloud. Freja and Elin stumbled backward, shielding their faces from the debris.

Sparks danced between the blades as the two men held their ground, swords locked in a violent embrace.

Logan’s face was stone-cold now. The playful smirk had vanished. Only silence remained—raw, smoldering silence.

“Who are you?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

There was no more banter. No more pretending. Logan could tell—Nathan wasn’t some fraud pretending to be a legend.

He was something worse. Someone who knew too much.

And knowledge, in this world, was often deadlier than swords.

Nathan didn’t answer.

Obviously he wouldn’t reveal that it was Khione, the Goddess who summoned both of them who said that to him.

“How about you tell me what your little group is planning,” Nathan said, voice laced with cold confidence, “and I might consider returning the favor.”

Logan’s expression shifted, a twisted grin stretching across his face as a gleam of malice danced in his eyes. He let out a short laugh, amused by the offer.

“Fine then,” he said mockingly. “I’ll just get the answers out of you instead with force.”

The air around him ignited in an instant.

A violent blaze burst forth from Logan’s body, swirling in chaotic patterns like a living inferno. The flames roared, surging toward Nathan in a ravenous wave. The entire cavern lit up in a blinding orange glow, shadows fleeing from the scorching light.

But Nathan didn’t move.

In a heartbeat, crystalline frost spread across the space around him. Sheets of glimmering ice erupted from the ground and air, meeting the fire with a hiss loud enough to deafen.

The two elements collided—fire and ice—engaging in a volatile dance of destruction. Steam billowed outward as magic surged between the clashing forces.

Logan’s eyes narrowed.

His instincts screamed at him. Something was wrong.

He leapt back instinctively, his boots skidding across the stone floor. As he glanced at his right arm, his breath hitched—ice had crawled across it, freezing his skin solid. A creeping numbness pulsed through his veins.

“What the hell…?” he muttered, horrified.

He summoned fire again, intense and focused, to burn away the frost. Yet the flames sputtered. The ice melted—but too slowly. Unnaturally so.

Nathan stepped forward through the mist, his expression unreadable, eyes gleaming with dangerous calm.

“How about I return the offer?” he said coolly. “But I’ll give you a choice.”

The mist around him parted like a curtain, revealing his figure cloaked in steam and silence.

“Answer me willingly… or I’ll extract the truth myself.” His tone grew darker, colder. “And believe me—by the time I’m done, you’ll be begging for death. A hundred deaths would be a mercy compared to what I have in mind.”

He didn’t bother explaining what he meant. He didn’t have to.

The image of Scylla

flashed in his mind—his loyal monstrosity who delighted in agony. Scylla, whose torture methods were so cruel, so grotesque, that even Nathan, who had seen and done far more than most mortals, felt a flicker of pity for anyone on her table.

If he so much as asked, Scylla would flay Logan’s soul into ribbons just to entertain her master.

And yet, Logan scoffed.

“Don’t underestimate me,” he growled, fire surging through his veins again.

He exploded with mana, releasing a powerful wave that rattled the entire cavern. His aura, now fully unleashed, radiated like a collapsing star—hot, oppressive, alive with power.

This was no ordinary mage.

This was the strength of a Hero. A summoned one.

Nathan’s eyes narrowed. That familiar tingle in his chest—he recognized it well. He had felt it in himself. Logan was one of the summoned.

And now he was unleashing it in full.

Cracks spiderwebbed across the ceiling. With a thunderous rumble, the roof of the cavern began to collapse.

“Elin! Stay close to me!” Freja shouted, gripping Elin’s wrist tightly.

Freja raised her sword and, in a single swift motion, slashed the air with all her strength. A brilliant arc of energy cleaved through the falling debris, reducing boulders to dust and stone with terrifying ease. Even the larger chunks shattered like brittle glass before her strikes.

She stole a glance at Nathan, her heart pounding.

And froze.

“W-What… is that?” Elin whispered, stunned.

Nathan stood beneath the collapsing roof, completely untouched.

His entire body was engulfed in a searing light, a divine flame so radiant it outshone the fires of Logan himself. It didn’t burn—it shone, like the blazing heart of the sun. The cave’s debris didn’t even reach him. Stones disintegrated mid-air, melting into ash before they could touch his skin.

Freja didn’t understand it. Elin didn’t either.

But Nathan did.

It was the flame of Amaterasu, a godly technique he had learned. A fire born not of magic, but of celestial origin—absolute, pure, and unyielding.

And now, he used it without hesitation.

As the ceiling crumbled entirely, Nathan leapt from the collapsing cavern, fire trailing behind him like the tail of a comet. He landed gracefully on the surface above, standing face to face with Logan once more.

“You should’ve run when you had the chance,” Nathan said, canceling the divine flame with a flick of his wrist.

Logan grinned in return, unfazed.

“Why would I run,” he replied, raising his hand and revealing a small black sphere, “when I can even the odds?”

He hurled the orb into the ground. The instant it made contact—

BADOOM!!

A black shockwave burst outward as tendrils of dark mana coiled into the sky. The ground split open with a sickening groan. From within that abyssal wound rose a monstrous figure—twisted, massive, horned, oozing corruption.

Its flesh bubbled with blight, and a tar-like substance dripped from its jaws.

Nathan’s expression darkened.

That stench… That corruption…

It was identical to what he had seen before—on Paris, on Agamemnon—men touched by an unknown darkness masquerading as divine. The corrupted gods, or whatever they were, had returned.

“Again with these twisted gods…” Nathan thought grimly. Just what are they? And what the hell do they want?

As the creature roared, Logan turned sharply and darted into the distance, disappearing into the shadows of the forest beyond.

Nathan saw it immediately.

“Running, are we?” he muttered, and in a flash, he sprang forward.

But the monster moved to intercept, lunging between him and its fleeing master. Its claws raked the earth, black sludge spraying with every motion. Nathan didn’t waste time—he vaulted over its massive head mid-leap.

Behind him, Freja and Elin had just surfaced from the ruins below.

“Take care of it.” Nathan shouted mid-air, not even slowing down.

He didn’t look back.

He trusted them.

Freja cursed inwardly Nathan who gave them a gift they didn’t need!

“Elin, with me!” she commanded, her sword already glowing with light.

Meanwhile, Nathan’s figure became a blur as he chased after Logan.

Logan, glancing back, cursed under his breath.

It wasn’t fear that drove his steps, but calculation. A chill had settled in his bones—the kind of dread that couldn’t be explained. Something about this false Septimius made the hairs on his neck stand.

A single piece of information—one fragment of knowledge—was all it had taken to make Logan question everything.

If he had this much knowledge, this much power, then he could ruin everything.

He had to warn Aaron and Caesar.

Before it was too late.

Nathan’s sharp eyes caught the subtle glint of white light.

Logan, panting as he ran, fumbled with something from his belt pouch. A polished, rune-carved stone, softly glowing with radiant white light, pulsed in his grasp. The magic hummed through the air, ancient and precise. Nathan’s breath hitched—just slightly.

A teleportation stone.

His expression darkened instantly.

There was no more time to waste.

Nathan’s hand reached behind his back, gripping the hilt of his Demonic Sword. As he drew it, the black blade shrieked against the air, its edge glowing with faint red veins, alive with wrath and hunger.

In one fluid motion, he swung.

BADOOOOOM!!

The sheer force of the strike tore through the earth like a divine judgment. The ground beneath him split open in a thunderous quake, a deep ravine cracking its way toward Logan in a trail of devastation. Trees nearby bent from the shockwave, and the wind howled with rage.

The sword’s energy surged forward, chasing the glowing white light—and found its mark.

In a heartbeat, it severed Logan’s right hand clean from his wrist.

SHLICK!

The hand hit the ground with a wet slap, still clutching the teleportation stone.

The white glow blinked erratically, then died out completely—its magic broken, interrupted before the spell could activate. All at once, the surge of energy dissipated into the wind like mist, leaving only silence in its place.

Logan dropped to one knee, letting out an animalistic scream that echoed through the forest like a wounded beast.

“GAAARRHHH!!”

He clutched the bleeding stump of his wrist, blood gushing through his fingers. His face twisted in agony—teeth gritted, sweat pouring down his temple, eyes wild with panic.

Nathan slowly approached, his sword still humming with residual dark energy, eyes like chips of ice.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he said coldly.