I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

"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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