I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me - Chapter 175: 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 ev he couldn’t hide the flicker of awe in his voice. His gaze remained fixed on the empty space where Nathan had stood mere momts ago, a spectacle of overwhelming might that defied ev their divine sses.

In contrast to her siblings, Aphrodite remained silt, 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, amusemt ev. How she longed to witness the expressions on Hera’s and Atha’s faces right now.

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

It was obvious that in the d, neither of them had be able to pinpoint Nathan’s exact location. He had vanished, as if erased from existce itself.

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

“I’ve lost track of his presce as well,” Apollo admitted, though his eyes held a gleam of curiosity rather than irritation.

For the briefest of momts, both Apollo and Artemis had let their atttion slip. Just a minute—less, ev—and that was all it took for Nathan to vanish completely from their sights. They could no longer sse him anywhere in Lyrnessus. A feat that ev 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 presce. 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 slaved Amaterasu, drawing from her divine ergy, and further bolstered by Khione’s power, his strgth 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 Tebria the ability to summon a Hero. She had already gathered more emies 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 sere 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 strgth was undiable, and at the momt, 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. “Wh the time is right.”

°°°°°

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

“That was quite something, wasn’t it?!” Hermes exclaimed, his voice brimming with thusiasm. His winged sandals barely touched the g as he paced, his eyes bright with the thrill of it all. The messger 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 be 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 intsity that betrayed his excitemt. His broad frame seemed to vibrate with barely contained ergy, his hands flexing as if already gripping an unse weapon. “It’s just a war, after all. Nothing out of the ordinary.

But I won’t dy—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 presce seemed somewhat burded. 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 momtarily 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 perct of its people had be 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 cturies to come.

“It was impressive, though,” Dionysus chimed in, lounging lazily on a gold 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, tsion settling like a thick cloud. Dionysus’s question hung in the air, drawing the atttion of every god prest. 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 Gw used a 8th rank wind magic against Nathan.

But Celestial rank magic? That was a differt realm tirely.

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

Silce 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 trance of the chamber. Atha strode in, her armor gleaming under the soft glow of Olympus’s eternal light. Her expression was sharp. Walking beside her was Hera, the que 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 Atha’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 chos few, demigods and gods alike.

Of course, no one in Olympus truly understood the full extt of what was happing, save for one—Aphrodite. The goddess of love had long suspected the connection betwe Nathan and Khione, having caught glimpses of their strange and growing bond well before anyone else had ev 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 confidt, so smug.”

It was highly possible, Hermes thought.

He smirked siltly. Aphrodite had always be 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 be 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 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 tertainmt, and Nathan was providing plty of that.

In fact, if anyone in Olympus was truly thralled by the chaos unfolding, it was Hermes. His atttion was ev more captivated than Ares’s, who lived for battle and bloodshed. But while Ares was driv 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 chos sides, though. On one hand, the Greeks were amassing a fearsome force, with legds like Agamemnon, Achilles, and the cunning Odysseus, all bolstered by the might of the two most powerful goddesses in Olympus—Hera and Atha. Their side carried the strgth of Olympus itself, and on paper, they seemed unstoppable.

On the other hand, the Trojans were gathering their own heroes: Hector, Aeas, Aphrodite’s son, favored by the gods; and Pthesilea, Amazonian que. 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 betwe the expected champions—Achilles or Hector, Agamemnon or Odysseus. No, what captivated his atttion was Nathan. On the very first day of the Trojan War, the human had unknowingly become the focus of the gods’ atttion, overshadowing ev the greatest warriors of legd.

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