I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

Chapter 519: Caesar’s trust obtained?

After concluding his discussion with Crassus and the others, Nathan departed without lingering, rising into the sky and gliding back toward the heart of Rome. His destination was clear: the Senate Castle, where Julius Caesar awaited him with calculated patience.

Nathan descended smoothly before the towering edifice. The Senate Castle, ringed with polished stone columns and adorned with imperial banners, looked more like a fortress of authority than a hall of politics as always. Stationed around its gates were dozens of Roman legionaries, their polished armor gleaming in the light, shields pressed firmly to their sides, and spears aligned in disciplined rows.

The moment they caught sight of him, a ripple moved through their formation. Helmets dipped. Shoulders straightened. Many of them nodded in solemn respect, acknowledging his presence not as a foreigner, but as someone they had come to admire. The gesture reminded Nathan of the reverence shown toward Marcus Antonius, one of Caesar’s two lions, and to his own surprise, he realized he was now receiving the same treatment.

It was strange, almost surreal, yet not unpleasant. Caesar’s schemes of “buttering him up” were working more effectively than the dictator likely imagined. But Nathan also knew the truth: much of this reverence had less to do with Caesar’s flattery and more with the gladiatorial games. The soldiers had seen him fight in the arena, had heard the roar of the crowd chanting his name. To them, Nathan wasn’t merely Caesar’s ally—he was becoming Caesar’s new right hand, a warrior of Rome, perhaps even a figure of legend.

Stepping past the soldiers, Nathan entered the Senate Castle. The echo of his boots against the marble floor carried him through the long corridors lined with torches and mosaics, each depicting victories of the Republic. He made his way unhurriedly to Caesar’s private quarters, the seat of Rome’s most dangerous man.

When he pushed open the heavy door, the sight that greeted him gave him pause.

Caesar sat behind his grand table, papers and maps spread before him like the pieces of a great game board. His face lit up with a wide, confident smile at Nathan’s arrival. Octavius was present too, standing near his adoptive father, his sharp eyes calm and calculating as ever. But they were not alone.

Johanna sat casually on the edge of Caesar’s table, her smile faint but noticeable, as though she belonged there by right. Her presence struck Nathan immediately as odd. And then there was Aaron, lounging arrogantly in a cushioned armchair, his hood casting half his face in shadow. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes flicked briefly to Nathan as he entered, carrying a glint of recognition—or perhaps rivalry.

Nathan’s thoughts sharpened. So this is Caesar’s new circle, he mused. A strange mix of allies, a patchwork court of dangerous individuals. But what unsettled him most was Johanna’s inclusion.

Why was she here? In Nathan’s mind, she was nothing more than a woman Caesar had taken into his bed—an indulgence, perhaps, but not someone to keep at one’s side in matters of state. She was a Hero, true, but that hardly explained it. Caesar was no fool; he was prudent to the point of paranoia, a man who regarded women as ornamental at best, utterly dismissing them in matters of war and politics. He considered them incapable of true decision-making, valuable only for pleasure.

And yet here she was, sitting at his table.

Before Nathan could unravel that puzzle further, Caesar rose to his feet, his voice booming with practiced warmth.

“Septimius,” he greeted, his tone rich with satisfaction.

Nathan nodded slightly.

“Well?” Caesar pressed, his eyes gleaming. “What became of them?”

“They fled,” Nathan replied calmly. “Cowardly, at that. Crassus has likely already slipped away from Rome with Pompey and his family.”

Caesar’s laugh filled the chamber, sharp and triumphant. “Cowards indeed! You’ve done well, Septimius. Though…” His grin turned sly. “It is a shame you didn’t kill Pompey when you had the chance.”

The words hung in the air like a challenge. Nathan’s mind flickered back to the moment he had wrested the Key from Pompey. He could have ended the man’s life with a single strike—cut his head clean instead of sparing him. But he hadn’t.

“You wanted him alive for your own games, didn’t you?” Nathan countered smoothly, his tone calm but pointed, as if suggesting he had only obeyed Caesar’s earlier intentions.

For a heartbeat, Caesar was caught off guard. Then, bursting into roaring laughter, he clapped his hands together. “Hahaha! Right! Right! You see through me, Septimius. That is why you are excellent—an excellent mercenary indeed.”

His eyes glowed with satisfaction, pleased to see Nathan not only follow his orders but also seemingly align himself with Caesar’s cunning.

“Regardless, you secured the Key,” Caesar said, voice low and pleased as he leaned forward and let his hand rest atop the table. The gesture drew Nathan’s eyes, and for a moment the table itself seemed the center of the room’s gravity. There, arranged like cold relics of a bygone age, lay the three Keys of Rome—iron and gold filigree, etched with runes that hummed faintly in the dim light. They seemed almost alive, as if the metal remembered the hands that had forged them and the voices that had sworn by them. With them, the two greatest divine weapons that guarded the city could be commanded.

Nathan stared at the trio for a long heartbeat. The Keys looked small enough to hide, but their power felt enormous—an ancient promise waiting to be fulfilled.

“What are they for?” he asked, adopting an air of casual ignorance. It was a pose, an old tactic: ask simply and let others reveal more than they might intend.

If it had been before, Caesar might have waved the question aside with a condescending chuckle. Now, however, the smile that crossed the Emperor’s face had a sharpened edge of triumph.

“These,” Caesar said, spreading his fingers so that his palm brushed the nearest Key, “open the gates that guard the Weapons the Gods themselves crafted to defend Rome.” He spoke with the slow assurance of a man who had spent a lifetime learning how to make words into power. “Until now, one Key rested with the Pope of Athena, the other two with the Emperor. But the balance has shifted. I hold all three.” He paused, letting the weight of that declaration settle like dust in the candlelight. “With them, we can finally face Athena.”

Nathan’s expression slid into bafflement so convincingly it might have been real. “Fight Athena?” he repeated showing a dumbfounded look. “Is that a manner of speaking, or are you serious, Emperor?”

A muffled snicker escaped Caesar’s lips, but he said nothing. The air tightened with expectation; it was Aaron who filled the silence.

Aaron rose from his chair with the languid arrogance that seemed to belong exclusively to him. He moved like a predator taking up a favored perch—slow, deliberate, and entirely self-aware. “Fool,” he said, mocking the incredulity. His voice carried the sort of certainty that comes from having seen the world through different, colder eyes. “These Beasts cannot slay Athena outright. They were crafted by her hand; she protects them in some measure. But we do not aim to kill her. We need merely to occupy her—keep her attention focused elsewhere.”

He let that thought hang, then continued with a slick smile that never reached his eyes. “She was the one who touched these Beasts to life. Therefore, while they live, she will tend to them. While she is busy with them, we will seize Pandora and use her.”

“So the tournament was a ruse,” Nathan said slowly. “Is that why you seemed so intent on staging it?”

Caesar chuckled, a sound without warmth. “You think quickly, Septimius.” He tapped the surface of the table once, a small percussion that underscored the point. “Originally, we intended Benjamin to be our instrument. He was the perfect candidate. We planned to have him emerge victorious so that he might become the partner Athena would recognize as Pandora’s mate. As her partner, or even husband, he would gain direct access to Pandora.”

“But things… changed,” Aaron said, his smile curdling into something darker. “We didn’t foresee you growing as strong as you did, Septimius. Nor that you would encounter Pandora on your own accord.” His gaze fixed on Nathan with an intensity that felt like a measuring. “You have met her before, haven’t you?”

“I have,” Nathan admitted, keeping his face a mask.

“There is a change of plan, then.” Aaron folded his hands, and in the precise way he spoke, the room felt colder. “You will be the one to win the tournament. You will be the one to gain Pandora’s hand.”

Nathan cocked his head, weighing the words as if they were a blade held against his throat. “And after I take her? What do you expect me to do with her?”

Caesar’s smile returned, softer now but edged with something like hunger. “Earn her trust,” he said. “Bring her over to our side. If you can, guide her to ally with us. If you fail—” He spread his hands, palms up, as though offering an explanation and a threat in the same gesture. “If persuasion does not work, then force will. We will compel the power of her Box to manifest. We will wrest control of it from wherever it hides and bend it to our command.”

“The Box of Pandora…” Nathan let the words roll slowly off his tongue, feigning hesitation as though the thought alone unsettled him. His eyes lingered on the Keys glittering faintly in the dim chamber light. “I’ve heard of it. The stories say it nearly brought humanity to ruin thousands of years ago. Are you certain it is wise to gamble with such a weapon?”

The question hung between them like smoke—innocent enough on the surface, but in truth a calculated probe. Nathan wanted to know what method Caesar had devised to harness something so catastrophic.

Caesar leaned back in his chair, lips parting as though he meant to answer. His eyes glinted with the anticipation of a teacher revealing a secret to a pupil. But before he could speak, Aaron’s voice cut sharply through the tension.

“That doesn’t concern you.”

Aaron’s tone was curt, final, the edge of command unmistakable. Rising slightly in his chair, he cast Nathan a dismissive glance from beneath his hood, as though the very act of questioning was presumptuous. “Your role is simple: win the tournament. Nothing else.” He paused, his voice dropping into something almost mocking. “Benjamin will continue to compete, of course, but should you meet him in the duels, I will see to it that he forfeits. You needn’t worry about him obstructing you.”

Nathan’s eyes narrowed faintly, though he allowed no more than a curt nod. “Understood.”

But inside, gears turned.

Now, at last, the shape of Caesar’s ambition had become clear. The three Keys would unleash the divine Beasts of Rome, whose presence would bind Athena’s hands, forcing her into defense rather than offense. While she struggled to preserve what she had once created, Caesar and his allies would seize Pandora. With her body—or more precisely, with the Box bound to her—they would wield a force powerful enough to enslave even a goddess.

Enslave Athena, one of the pillar Goddesses of the Olympus Pantheon.

It was staggering in its audacity. Even by Caesar’s standards, the plan dripped with hubris.

Nathan lowered his gaze, not in submission but in thought. His fingers flexed against his thigh, restless. He had spoken with Athena many times now—spoken to her not as Rome’s general or as a goddess of Olympus, but as a being burdened by the weight of eternity. He remembered her face in flashes: the stern mask she wore before mortals, the unyielding steel of her voice when she addressed rulers and soldiers. Yet beneath that façade lay something else.

A gentleness. A warmth. A woman who cared too deeply for mankind despite their endless failings. A goddess who carried worry in her eyes even as she spoke with calm detachment.

He closed his eyes briefly, and her expression rose unbidden in his memory. The way she softened, if only slightly, when she thought no one noticed. The way her concern for humanity bled through the armor of her pride.

Yes… she might fall for such a trap.

Not because she was weak, but because her compassion left her vulnerable. If the Beasts were unleashed, if Pandora was threatened, Athena would never strike to destroy. She would protect, she would preserve—just as Caesar and Aaron predicted. And that, Nathan realized grimly, was what made her most dangerous.

Or perhaps… what made her most precious.