I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me-Chapter 302 Nathan’s goal

"Must be quite convenient… to have gods on your side," he sneered, his voice dripping with venom.

Without waiting for a response, he spun on his heel and stormed off, his rage barely contained.

Nathan, however, remained utterly indifferent, as though Paris had never spoken at all. Whether he had truly acknowledged Paris's presence or simply deemed him irrelevant was a question left unanswered.

Priam released a weary sigh, his gaze following the figure of his son as Paris stormed away in silent fury.

"Forgive him for his behavior," the Trojan king murmured, shaking his head. "Paris has always been... headstrong."

Nathan merely nodded, his expression unreadable. In truth, he couldn't have cared less about Paris's tantrum. A year ago, perhaps, he might have retaliated with pettiness, just as he had with Jason and the others. But he had changed since then. He had learned, he had grown. Such trivial grievances no longer mattered to him.

A lighthearted chuckle suddenly broke the lingering tension. "Kassandra, my dear, don't you think you've embraced him long enough?" Queen Hecuba teased, her warm gaze settling upon her daughter.

Kassandra flinched as if struck, immediately stepping back with an embarrassed flush coloring her cheeks. It was unbecoming of a princess to act so freely, yet neither Priam nor Hecuba seemed to mind. On the contrary, they both bore gentle, knowing smiles. Their daughter, once burdened by sorrow and plagued by her cursed visions, now stood before them with renewed light in her eyes—a light that hinted at something deeper.

Affection? Love?

Hecuba wondered, but she did not voice her thoughts.

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"We are delighted to see you alive once more, Heiron," Priam spoke again, his tone laced with genuine relief. Then, with an amused chuckle, he added, "Or should I call you Lord Commander? Perhaps Nathan or Samael?"

Nathan allowed a ghost of a smile to cross his lips before it faded just as quickly. "No, you may continue to call me Heiron," he answered. "I revealed my real names to you because I find it exhausting to continue lying. However, I would prefer if my true identity did not reach other ears."

Though his words carried a note of caution, his voice was so cold, so eerily composed, that it seemed as if he did not truly care whether the gods uncovered his identity or not. There was an unsettling indifference in his tone, a quiet defiance that sent a shiver through those who listened.

Priam studied him for a long moment before nodding. "Then we shall honor your wishes and continue calling you Heiron."

But despite the relief of his return, one question lingered in the king's mind, a question that troubled him deeply.

"But... are you still willing to fight for us?" he asked, his voice betraying his uncertainty. "You gave your life for the Trojans once. Are you truly prepared to risk it again?"

Nathan met Priam's gaze evenly. He knew what the king was truly asking. Was this loyalty? Was this obligation? Or was there something else?

For a brief moment, silence stretched between them. And then, at last, Nathan spoke.

"Achilles," he said, his voice unwavering. "Khillea. I want to save her."

The words fell like thunder upon the gathered crowd.

Shock rippled through those present. Wide eyes, hushed whispers, and stunned disbelief filled the room.

Helen, in particular, reacted the most. Her breath hitched, and she clenched her fists. Khillea—the very warrior who had slain her brother, Castor. And yet, Nathan wanted to save her?

"She gave birth to my child," Nathan continued, his tone as steady as ever. "And I refuse to let her die. Let me deal with her. I will fight her and bring her down myself."

Queen Hecuba's eyes widened in surprise, her expression a mixture of disbelief and intrigue. "She is one of your women?" she asked, her voice laced with both curiosity and astonishment.

The room fell into a contemplative silence as the weight of her words settled over them. It was nothing short of shocking—Khillea, a Greek leader and a warrior Queen, bound by the blood and honor of her people. How, then, had he managed not only to get close to her but to the point where she carried his child? The mere thought defied reason, a notion too surreal to grasp easily.

Nathan exhaled slowly, his gaze steady as he addressed the unspoken doubts in the air. "Not yet," he admitted, his tone composed yet firm. "It's… complicated." He paused, as if searching for the right words to encapsulate the turmoil that had consumed Khillea since the death of Patroclus. "She lost herself after he died. Since then, she fights only to kill… or to be killed. A warrior without a purpose, waiting for death to claim her. But I refuse to let her throw her life away. I will take care of her."

A heavy silence followed his declaration. The flickering torchlight cast elongated shadows across the marble walls, the solemn expressions of the gathered nobles betraying the conflict within their hearts.

King Priam, ever the wise ruler, finally broke the silence, his voice calm but resolute. "Achilles has slain many Trojans," he acknowledged, his gaze steady upon Nathan. "And if we could rid ourselves of her, it would undoubtedly bring some measure of reassurance. But…" He allowed a pause, measuring his words. "You have saved far more Trojan lives than we can count. You have even spared my own son's life on more than one occasion." He turned his palms outward in a gesture of acceptance. "If you swear to take responsibility for her, then we will not stand in your way."

Beside him, Queen Hecuba nodded in agreement, though the lines of worry had yet to fade from her expression. "She has killed many of our people," she admitted, her gaze holding Nathan's intently. "But this is war. Death is inevitable." Her lips curved into a faint, weary smile. "And besides, you are not bound to Troy. If you can stop her from spilling more blood, then for that alone, we are grateful."

Andromache, standing close to Hecuba, lowered her head slightly before speaking. "My husband fought Achilles in a fair battle to the death," she murmured, her voice tinged with sorrow. "He knew the risks. He was prepared." She raised her gaze to meet Nathan's. "But I was not ready to lose him. And I cannot bear to see more senseless death, not when it can be prevented. Please… stop her."

Nathan inclined his head in acknowledgment, understanding the weight of their requests. However, from the corner of his eye, he noticed Helen slipping quietly out of the chamber, her posture tense, her expression unreadable. He knew why she was leaving—he could only imagine the thoughts racing through her mind. He would have to speak with her soon.

Meanwhile, Clytemnestra remained composed, her features unreadable. Unlike the others, she did not seem shaken by the situation. Instead, she regarded Nathan with a level gaze, her demeanor reflecting a wisdom far beyond her years. She understood the nature of war—that it was not a matter of good versus evil but a clash of ambition, power, and pride. There were, of course, exceptions—men like Agamemnon, who had ignited the flames of war through arrogance, or a certain Trojan prince whose selfish actions had led to the downfall of so many. But in the grand scheme of battle, morality was often blurred.

Nathan finally spoke, his voice unwavering. "I will," he affirmed. "Once I have settled matters with Khillea, only Agamemnon will remain." His gaze hardened. "And when he falls… this war will end."

"We all wish for that outcome," Priam admitted with a weary sigh, the weight of years and war pressing heavily upon his shoulders. His once-proud frame seemed burdened by exhaustion, his voice carrying the quiet fatigue of a man who had witnessed too much suffering. He studied Nathan for a moment, his gaze lingering on the young warrior's expression—distant, unreadable, as if his mind were elsewhere. Something about him felt different, though Priam could not quite place what it was.

With growing concern, he asked, "Heiron, do you have something prepared to eat? You should regain your strength before concerning yourself with anything else."

Nathan turned his gaze toward the Trojan King and offered a small nod. "If you could have it sent directly to my room, that would be best." His voice was steady but detached, as though the physical world held little significance to him at the moment.

Priam nodded in understanding. There was something strange about the young man before him—he seemed almost ethereal, like a figure that had walked the line between life and death and returned changed. Yet, whatever had happened, he owed him too much to pry. Instead, he simply bowed his head slightly in gratitude.

"Once again, Heiron, I must thank you for saving my son," Priam said solemnly. "He is the future of Troy. Without him, our people would have lost all hope."

Nathan gave him a slight nod in acknowledgment, then turned without another word, making his way toward the exit.

Aeneas, who had been standing near Hector, took a final glance at the wounded prince before quickly following after Nathan. His footsteps were light but eager, his curiosity evident in the way he studied the man beside him.

"How are you feeling?" Aeneas finally asked as they walked.

Nathan's fingers curled into a fist, flexing instinctively. A surge of raw energy coursed through him—his body no longer felt broken, no longer weak or hindered by past wounds. Instead, he felt renewed, almost as if he had been reborn into something stronger, something more powerful than ever before.

"Good," Nathan replied, his grip tightening briefly as he tested the strength within him. His muscles felt denser, his body more responsive. Every movement carried an effortless precision, a stark contrast to the pain and exhaustion he had once endured.

Aeneas chuckled, though there was a hint of unease behind his laughter. "Man, you look different," he admitted, shaking his head in mild disbelief. "Just looking at you gives me chills."

Nathan glanced at him, a faint smile playing at the edges of his lips. "You've changed a lot too. You seem much stronger than before."

Aeneas exhaled sharply, crossing his arms as his expression turned more serious. "I had to," he admitted. His gaze darkened, memories flashing through his mind. "After you… died, everything changed. Hector, Atalanta, Penthesilea, Helen's brothers—we did what we could. We held the line, somehow. But it was difficult." His fingers curled into fists, as if recalling battles fought in desperation, moments when they had been on the brink of collapse.

Nathan reached the door to his chambers and stepped inside. Before closing it, he turned back to Aeneas, his gaze steady and filled with quiet certainty. Find your next adventure on novelbuddy

"Don't worry," he said, his voice carrying an unmistakable sense of finality. "I'm here now."

Then, without another word, he shut the door behind him.