I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

"KILL THEM ALL!!"

The Greek soldiers, already inflamed with anger, charged forward with renewed ferocity, their weapons raised and their cries echoing their leader's command.

The fragile peace shattered in an instant, replaced by the deafening roar of war.

Nathan stood frozen, his fists clenched as the chaos unfolded before him. His heart sank, knowing the bloodshed that was to come. Athena's gaze flickered toward him briefly, her expression unreadable, before she vanished into the ether.

Above it all, Hera smirked in satisfaction. The war would continue, and Troy's fate was sealed.

"The war won't stop until Troy is reduced to ashes," Hera declared, her voice cutting through the heavens like a blade. Her words were loud enough for the gods protecting Troy to hear—and pointedly aimed at the mortal who dared see her.

Nathan's gaze turned sharp as ice. He no longer cared to hide his abnormal ability to perceive the divine. Not now. His white hair swayed in the breeze as his cold, piercing eyes locked onto Hera.

Clenching his fists tightly, he silently vowed, Not now, but soon. He would deal with her—and not just Hera. His eyes flicked to Athena, who stood nearby with her usual cool, calculating expression.

"Athena," Nathan muttered.

He would definitely take care of both of them later.

"Enough of this," Artemis snarled, her teeth gritted in righteous fury. Unlike Hera and Athena, her loyalty to Troy made her bristle at the Greeks' dominance on the battlefield.

"Calm yourself, Artemis," Aphrodite murmured, her expression a mix of worry and disdain. She watched the slaughter below as Greeks and Trojans clashed with renewed violence. The once-fragile truce was now a distant memory, replaced by the bloodthirsty cries of war.

It was as if the hatred and anger of both sides had reached their peak. Swords clashed, spears thrust, and arrows rained down as the battlefield devolved into chaos.

It looked like the war could go on for hundreds of years without any sides getting tired at all.

Amid the madness, Hector barked orders to his soldiers. "Get back! Form up! Quickly, before they overwhelm us!" His voice carried over the battlefield, urging the Trojans to regroup. Yet even Hector struggled to rally his forces; the Greeks, fueled by divine intervention and bloodlust, were relentless.

But then, something changed.

A sudden, chilling wave of frost erupted across the battlefield, radiating outward like a winter storm. Hundreds of Greek soldiers froze in place, their bodies encased in ice, their war cries silenced mid-scream. The Trojans stopped in their tracks, stunned, before turning to see the source of the frigid power.

There stood Nathan, his hand outstretched, his eyes blazing with an otherworldly light.

"It's HEIRON!!" the Trojans shouted, their voices filled with hope and renewed vigor.

The Greeks, however, were paralyzed with fear.

"Kill him! Kill that monster!" one Greek soldier yelled, though his voice trembled.

Nathan moved like a force of nature, leaping toward the icy wave. With a single, powerful swing of his leg, he shattered the frozen figures.

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The force was so immense that the icy statues of Greek soldiers crumbled into shards, their shattered remains littering the battlefield. The sound was deafening, and the Greeks fell silent, their confidence replaced by sheer terror.

Nathan paid no mind to their fear. His focus was singular. He surged forward, weaving through the chaos with ruthless precision. His target was clear: Menelaus, King of Sparta.

Hector, standing at the rear to reorganize the Trojan forces, watched Nathan in alarm. The young warrior's fury was palpable, and Hector knew he couldn't stop him. Yet he wasn't about to let Nathan face the Greeks alone.

"Atalanta!" Hector called out, his voice firm. "Cover Heiron! I can't leave my position."

Atalanta nodded without hesitation. "I'm on it!" she replied, drawing her bow and falling in step behind Nathan.

Nathan charged, his eyes locked onto Menelaus, who was retreating amidst a cluster of Greek soldiers. Beside him, Odysseus struggled to shield the Spartan king, his clever mind already working on a way to turn the tides.

It was perilous for Nathan to reveal his Demonic Sword under the watchful eyes of the Goddesses who loomed overhead like silent judges. They were even more wary than him than the he faced Ajax. He knew their interference could spell disaster, so he opted for a less conspicuous weapon—a lance scavenged from the battlefield. With a feral resolve, he charged into the fray, his movements a whirlwind of calculated fury.

The lance became an extension of his will, slicing through the air with such ferocity that it left a trail of crimson in its wake. Greek soldiers fell one after another, their cries of pain swallowed by the chaos of battle. Nathan's strikes were relentless, cutting down anyone who dared to block his path toward his target: Menelaus.

"MENELAUS!" Nathan's voice thundered above the cacophony, laced with both disdain and challenge. "Face me! Are you like Paris? A COWARD?!"

The insult hit its mark. Menelaus, clutching his weapon with trembling hands, visibly bristled. The king's face contorted in anger, and he barked back, "WHAT?!" His glare was venomous, his pride wounded.

But before Menelaus could act, a steadying voice broke through. "Don't listen to him! In your condition, you can't do much. Rest, and fight another day!" Odysseus's sharp tone carried both authority and reason. His eyes flickered to Nathan, assessing the situation with the cunning of a seasoned tactician.

Menelaus hesitated, his grip faltering.

"ODYSSEUS! WHAT ABOUT YOU?!" Nathan roared, his words dripping with venom and contempt. His fury surged, and with a wave of his hand, an eruption of ice surged forward. The frozen shockwave tore through another group of Greeks, freezing their bodies mid-scream. The battlefield grew eerily silent as the frost settled, a stark reminder of Nathan's overwhelming power.

Odysseus's gaze remained unflinching, though a flicker of admiration broke through his otherwise calm demeanor. "You never die, do you?" he said, almost chuckling despite the grim circumstances.

Nathan's eyes darkened as an ominous energy coiled around him, his mana radiating like a storm barely held in check. "Celestial Rank Magic," he muttered, his voice a chilling whisper. The mana condensed around his lance, transforming it. The weapon elongated, its shaft turning a pale frosty blue, and it hovered just above the ground, vibrating with deadly intent.

The soldiers who had dared to advance now stumbled back, fear writ large on their faces. The air grew frigid, and frost began to creep across the battlefield, consuming the earth itself.

Odysseus's expression hardened, his calm resolve unwavering. Menelaus, however, began to panic, his eyes darting between Nathan and the growing power in his lance. "Odysseus! Do something! In my state, I can't stop this!" Menelaus's voice cracked with desperation.

"Stay calm," Odysseus replied tersely, raising a hand to signal restraint. His eyes locked with Nathan's.

Nathan's gaze turned colder still. "I will blow you both away," he snarled. With a flick of his wrist, the massive frosty lance launched forward, tearing through the air with an ear-splitting shriek.

The attack barreled toward its target, promising nothing short of annihilation. But as it neared Odysseus, a radiant barrier shimmered into existence. The divine shield materialized with a golden glow, halting the lance in its tracks. The impact sent shockwaves rippling outward, but the barrier held firm.

Nathan's eyes narrowed as he spotted the source. Athena floated above the battlefield, her divine presence undeniable. Her gaze met Nathan's, cool and unyielding, a silent declaration of her intent to protect the Greek leaders.

"Again and fucking again," Nathan muttered, his frustration mounting. "These Goddesses won't let me finish this."

Odysseus lowered his hand, his expression unreadable but tinged with relief. He stepped forward, his voice calm but carrying an edge of genuine curiosity. "Abandon this, Heiron. You're just a mercenary. Why give so much for a country that doesn't care about you?"

"They are far more honorable than pathetic men like you all," Nathan spat, his tone carrying a weight that seemed to still the chaos around him. He gestured to the bodies littering the ground, his expression a mask of righteous fury. "You didn't spare the innocent. You enslaved innocent women and children—people who asked for nothing, did nothing to deserve this cruelty. You destroyed their lives without hesitation. Tell me, Odysseus, how many have died because of you? How many have suffered because of your trash king's ambitions?"

Odysseus stood silent, though his clenched fists betrayed the turmoil within him. Nathan pressed on, his voice growing colder. "You're a father, aren't you? A husband to a beautiful wife. A king to your people. You, of all men, should understand the weight of those roles. And yet, you've abandoned that understanding. Deep down, I know you see it too. The Greeks—your people—are the ones who deserve to lose this war."

Odysseus's composure faltered, but he remained silent. The tension in the air was palpable as Nathan's accusations struck home.

Nathan turned his fiery gaze to the gathering crowd of Greeks, his voice rising with righteous indignation. "Your so-called King of Kings, Agamemnon, is the worst of you all. The man sacrificed his own daughter for a war—for his own glory! Tell me, how old was she? Six years old, wasn't she?" His words dripped with contempt as he recalled Clytemnestra's heart-wrenching cries for vengeance. "Is that normal for you Greeks?! Is that the kind of man you follow into battle?!"

A ripple of unease spread through the Greek ranks. Soldiers shifted uncomfortably, their expressions ranging from shame to anger. Even Agamemnon, standing amidst the crowd, glared furiously at Nathan, but the latter was undeterred. His words carried the weight of truth, and he refused to falter.

As Nathan's words carried across the battlefield, amplified by the DEEP VOICE SKILL, they reached not only the soldiers but even the walls of Troy.

On the walls, Clytemnestra stood, her hands covering her mouth as tears streamed down her face. Nathan's words had pierced her heart, as he shared her grief and her anger. She sobbed openly, her shoulders shaking as she felt, for the first time in years, doing something for her.

"That is your king?!" Nathan continued, his voice unyielding. "No wonder you're all trash!"

Menelaus, his pride stung, couldn't hold back. "What could a brat like you possibly understand?!" he shouted, his face red with fury.

Nathan laughed, a sound filled with contempt and pity. "What I understand?" he echoed, his tone dripping with derision. "I've known King Priam for only a few months, but in that short time, he has proven himself a better king than any of your so-called rulers. He is willing to risk his entire city to protect an innocent woman. That speaks volumes about his character. He may not be remembered for grand conquests or endless wars, but he will be remembered fondly by the people of this era."