I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

But Isak?

He had jumped at the opportunity.

”I’m gonna win this tournament,” he declared, a gleam of mischief in his eyes. ”And I’m gonna get that hot chick everyone’s raving about.”

There was a moment of stunned silence.

He was talking, of course, about Pandora.

Some of the others groaned. Others laughed under their breath or shook their heads. No one was truly surprised. Isak had always been a bit of a woman-chaser, and the idea of winning the hand of a divine woman—perhaps the most beautiful and powerful in existence—was all the motivation he needed.

”Stay focused, or you might die.”

Alexander’s voice rang clear and serious across the chamber. The usual glint of charm in his expression was absent, replaced by a hardened gaze and the weight of leadership. His words cut through the air like a blade, silencing the low murmurs that had been drifting among the gathered heroes.

Isak scoffed and leaned lazily against a pillar, arms crossed over his ornate chestplate. He gave a lopsided grin that did little to hide his arrogance.

”Pfft. You worry too much, Alexander. I’m a Hero, remember? Ain’t no one out there who can beat me.” His voice dripped with confidence—reckless, youthful confidence that had once inspired but now grated on the nerves of his peers.

Alexander didn’t respond immediately, but his jaw clenched ever so slightly.

”You don’t know that,” Hugo said. ”People from all over the world are coming to Rome for this tournament. Warriors, monsters, maybe even demigods. There will definitely be strong opponents. Stronger than us.”

Isak waved the concern off with a lazy flick of his hand.

”Hmph. Whatever. I’m still the strongest.” He then threw a cocky smirk in the direction of a fair-haired girl who had been silent until now. ”Besides, I’ve got a cheat code with me.” His grin widened. ”My very own healing maiden.”

Elin, the target of the remark, blinked. Her expression remained carefully neutral, but a faint discomfort flickered in her eyes.

”She’ll patch me up every night while the others limp around with broken ribs. I’ll be fresh as the morning sun.”

”Elin isn’t yours to treat like a tool, Isak,” came a sharp, ice-edged voice from the other side of the chamber.

It was Freja.

She stood tall and proud, arms folded across her chest, her posture radiating controlled fury. Her voice didn’t rise—if anything, it grew softer, colder, more dangerous. ”And if you die out there, no one is obligated to save you. Especially not her.”

The room fell tense, the laughter vanishing as if someone had snuffed a candle.

Isak clicked his tongue in irritation, turning his head away. ”Tch. You’re always on my case, Freja. Chill, will you?”

But Freja’s gaze didn’t move. Her stare was as sharp as a blade unsheathed, unmoved by his deflection.

Seeing the tension rise, Johanna stepped forward, her soft smile attempting to cut through the tension like sunlight through a storm. She lifted a hand slightly, trying to ease the mood.

”Let’s not fight amongst ourselves,” she said gently, her voice like honey laced with subtle exhaustion. ”We’re on the same side, aren’t we? There’s no need to quarrel before something so important.”

But if she expected to calm the waters, she failed.

Freja’s expression twisted—an unspoken storm tightening behind her eyes. Nathan’s words from days earlier echoed in her mind like a curse. The secret he had uncovered, whispered to her in bitter disgust, now felt like a dagger twisting in her gut.

Johanna had sold them.

Their teacher. Their mentor. The woman they trusted.

She had offered them up to Caesar like political currency... and then, as if mocking them, she spent her nights in the Emperor’s bed, wrapped in silk and power while her students were tossed like pawns onto a divine battlefield.

Freja couldn’t bear to look at her any longer.

”Come on, Elin,” she said curtly, not sparing another glance for anyone else. Her voice held no warmth. It wasn’t a request—it was an order.

Elin hesitated for a second, glancing toward Johanna, then at the others. But whatever answer she might have given faded as she followed Freja wordlessly, her expression unreadable.

Several other students, mostly girls, exchanged silent looks. Some nodded to each other before rising from their seats and walking after Freja and Elin—quiet but firm in their rejection. They, too, were tired of the way the class was shifting. The arrogance of the boys. The blind loyalty to Caesar. The betrayal of trust.