I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

Chapter 419: Fulvius

“Then heal her,” Nathan said, stepping aside so she could see.

Elin slowly turned her gaze—and froze.

There, lying atop the sheets, was Fulvia.

Fulvia offered a faint, wry smile toward Elin, whose expression was etched with bewilderment and hesitation.

“Heal her?” Elin asked, glancing toward Nathan with uncertainty clouding her usually composed face.

“Yes,” Nathan replied, folding his arms as his brow furrowed slightly in irritation. “That’s why I brought you here. What else did you think I was going to ask you to do?”

Elin’s lips parted, but no coherent words came out. Her eyes widened. A flush bloomed across her cheeks, then deepened rapidly until her entire face was beet red. She jerked her head away, mortified, unable to meet his gaze. Her body trembled ever so slightly—not out of fear, but from sheer embarrassment.

Of course, she had thought he brought her here for something else. Something far more intimate. Something inappropriate. Something… she’d never admit aloud.

In her mind, the image had played vividly—Nathan’s intense gaze, the silent room, his commanding tone. She thought he was going to take her, right then and there.

How stupid. How humiliating.

She buried the thought before it could take shape again.

“Is she the one you brought to heal me, Septimius?” Fulvia asked lazily, reclining back against the soft mound of pillows, her voice touched with dry amusement. Her eyes narrowed slightly, studying Elin.

“She is,” Nathan affirmed with confidence. “She is a Hero. Her Skill is SSS-Rank in Healing. There’s no one better.”

He turned toward Elin with a cool glance, his tone sharpening. “I helped you back then. It’s time you repaid that favor.”

Elin, still a little shaken from her earlier thoughts, took a steadying breath and nodded. She stepped forward with renewed poise, lifting her chin to meet Fulvia’s gaze.

“May I see the wound?” she asked, her voice more formal now.

Fulvia stiffened slightly at the request, a shadow of unease flickering across her face. Her lips parted, then closed again, before she muttered, “Do you really need to see it to heal it?”

She wasn’t being coy. She genuinely didn’t want anyone to see that area. Not after what had just happened. Her body was still aching, still raw, still reeling from the act that had changed her. Her virginity had been taken not long ago—willingly, but it was still fresh and she didn’t want anyone to make the connection right now between her and Septimius.

“I… I can try without seeing it,” Elin said, her brow knitting slightly at Fulvia’s reluctance. She didn’t understand why the woman was so unwilling, but she wasn’t about to push. She simply raised her hand and let her magic flow.

A soft golden glow shimmered to life around her palm, warm and radiant like sunlight at dawn. The light spilled outwards in graceful tendrils, wrapping around Fulvia’s body like a gentle cocoon. It was beautiful—ethereal. The kind of magic that felt sacred to witness.

Fulvia inhaled sharply. “Haah…”

A sound slipped from her lips, breathy and involuntary, as the healing magic seeped into her flesh. Her body tingled, and a wave of unfamiliar pleasure bloomed deep within her, dull pain and soreness being swept away like leaves in the wind. The tension in her hips vanished. The ache, the numbness, the raw discomfort—all melted under Elin’s spell.

Nathan watched silently, arms crossed. He had seen many Skills in his time, but few as smooth, as flawless, as purely effective as Elin’s healing. It wasn’t just powerful—it was soothing, comforting, intimate in a way most magic wasn’t.

A girl like her could be an invaluable asset to Tenebria, to him. But he already knew that was a lost cause. Elin wasn’t the kind to betray her country or abandon her ideals. She was loyal to a fault.

A full minute passed in warm silence before the light began to dim and fade. Elin exhaled, shoulders relaxing, the glow in her hand vanishing into thin air.

“How do you feel?” Nathan asked, stepping closer to Fulvia.

Fulvia opened her eyes, and for the first time since the act, she looked truly at peace. She smiled, slow and sweet, and nodded.

“I feel… good,” she said softly. “Really good.”

“Perfect,” Nathan replied with a nod. Then, without turning, he added curtly, “You can leave now.”

Elin blinked. “Leave…?”

Her voice was barely audible. She stood rooted in place, her hands clenched at her sides, lips trembling with something between confusion and quiet hurt.

She wasn’t sure what she expected—but being dismissed so bluntly after being dragged here and used for her Skill… it stung.

She looked at Nathan and Fulvia again, her eyes flickering with an unreadable mix of curiosity and something deeper.

Nathan raised an eyebrow. “Do you want something?”

“N-No,” she murmured, lowering her gaze.

Nathan then stepped forward toward her. “Or maybe… you wanted me to do what you thought I was going to do when I brought you here?”

Elin’s breath caught in her throat. Her whole body froze. Then the heat returned—fierce and immediate, spreading across her face and down her neck. Her heart raced. She spun on her heel and practically bolted from the room, the sound of her retreating footsteps echoing down the hallway.

Only silence remained.

“Well,” Fulvia murmured, watching the doorway with mild amusement, “you really do know how to handle women, Septimius.”

“Sometimes,” Nathan murmured, the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips.

He stepped toward her, crimson eyes gleaming under the flicker of torchlight. Without hesitation, he extended his hand.

“As promised,” he said calmly, his voice low and commanding. “You bring me to your father.”

Fulvia didn’t hesitate. She took his hand, but instead of merely accepting the gesture, she moved swiftly—throwing her arms around his neck in a sudden, tight embrace. Her body pressed against his, warm and eager.

Nathan’s hands instinctively slid down, gripping her firmly beneath her thighs before lifting her off the floor. His palms settled on the soft curve of her backside, supporting her as she wrapped her legs around his waist. Her touch was hungry, but her gaze—her gaze was reverent.

“You are… so unique, Septimius,” Fulvia whispered, her breath brushing against his cheek as she leaned forward. Her eyes shimmered with emotion, fascination, and a desire that went deeper than lust.

She closed the distance between them, her lips capturing his in a slow, searching kiss.

Nathan responded, his movements controlled yet tender. He returned her kiss with equal softness, biting gently at her lower lip before deepening it just slightly. One hand slid up her back while the other remained firm, holding her against him.

“Mmm…” Fulvia moaned softly into his mouth, savoring the sensation. His touch was electric, and every nerve in her body responded to it. Her fingers curled into his white hair as he groped her shapely ass cheeks, drawing another breathy whimper from her lips.

Nathan pulled back just enough to whisper into her ear, his voice deep and intimate.

“Are you ready?”

“I am,” she whispered back, her voice trembling with excitement.

With her still in his arms, Nathan turned toward the large arched window. He walked without pause, approaching the edge as wind stirred the folds of her nightgown.

With a swift kick, he threw the window open, letting the cold night air pour in like a rushing tide.

They were high—at least a hundred meters above the ancient city of Rome. The sprawling city lights flickered below like scattered stars, revealing the grandeur and chaos of a civilization constantly teetering between glory and collapse.

Fulvia gasped as her hair whipped wildly around her face. “Wait, Septimius—I need to change clothes!”

She was still barefoot, clad only in a sheer nightgown that clung tightly to her skin, leaving little to the imagination.

But Nathan only gave her a sideways glance.

“No need. Just hold on tight.”

Before she could protest, he stepped out onto the stone ledge—and jumped.

Fulvia cried out, her arms tightening like a vice around his neck as the wind roared past them. Her heart leapt into her throat, and for a moment, she forgot how to breathe.

Nathan soared through the night like a phantom. He landed briefly on a nearby rooftop, his boots hitting the tiles with practiced grace before leaping again—each bound propelling them higher, faster.

They weren’t flying exactly—not with wings or spells—but his leaps defied gravity with a frightening beauty. With each movement, the world blurred beneath them, shrinking away as the sky opened above.

“Give me the direction, Fulvia!” Nathan shouted against the wind.

Fulvia’s eyes fluttered open, adrenaline surging through her veins. The fear was melting—transforming into something wild and exhilarating.

“There! South Rome!” she yelled, pointing with a trembling hand toward the distant rooftops. “That’s where my family’s estate is!”

Nathan gave a firm nod and shifted course without hesitation.

Fulvia laughed—pure, delighted laughter that echoed in the night sky. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkling with excitement. She had never felt anything like this. The rush, the freedom, the sheer thrill of being carried through the air in the arms of a man like Nathan—it was intoxicating.

She screamed joyfully, arms tight around him as she surrendered fully to the moment.

Below, Rome glimmered like a sleeping giant, unaware of the two figures soaring above its ancient streets.

Eventually, Nathan’s descent slowed as they approached a sprawling compound—an opulent mansion that resembled a miniature fortress. Thick stone walls, tall towers, marble statues lining the courtyard. It was a small castle in all but name.

The Fulvii estate.

Nathan landed gracefully at the front steps, knees bending to absorb the impact before setting Fulvia gently down on the stone floor.

She staggered slightly as her feet touched the ground, her body still trembling from the journey.

“Wait for me here,” she said breathlessly, brushing hair from her face as she regained composure.

Nathan gave a curt nod and leaned back against a pillar, arms crossed, as she disappeared through the grand entrance.

Ten minutes later, Fulvia emerged once more, transformed.

She was now dressed in a flowing gown of deep crimson and gold, the fabric hugging her curves while still exuding dignity. Her hair had been combed and tied with elegant ribbons, her appearance restored to that of a true Roman aristocrat. Only the lingering flush on her cheeks betrayed what she’d just experienced.

“My father is waiting,” she said softly. “He agreed to see you.”

Nathan met her gaze with calm, unreadable eyes. Then he nodded, and without a word, stepped forward, following Fulvia into the depths of the Fulvii estate.

As Nathan stepped into the heart of the Fulvii estate, his keen eyes immediately took in the surroundings. The interior was grand, as expected of one of Rome’s most influential families—tall marble columns stretched toward arched ceilings, adorned with gold-leaf trim and ancient tapestries depicting the family’s lineage and heroic deeds of old. The faint scent of incense lingered in the air, mixed with freshly polished wood and roses from the garden outside.

Servants moved about with practiced grace, their soft footsteps nearly silent against the stone floors. Nathan noted them, their tunics embroidered with the Fulvii crest. They weren’t slaves, as far as he could tell—at least not in the formal sense. That in itself was somewhat surprising. In Rome, it was rare for a household of such power to function without at least a few indentured souls.

Still, the staff gave him looks—curious, cautious, some even suspicious. They didn’t speak, but their gazes followed him like silent whispers. A foreigner? A mercenary? A commoner in fine clothes? Whatever they were thinking, they didn’t hide it well.

Nathan ignored them all.

His stride was steady, his expression composed, as he followed closely behind Fulvia through the winding halls. Eventually, the narrow corridors opened into a wide and elegantly furnished chamber—more akin to a private court than a mere reception room.

And there, Fulvia suddenly stopped.

Nathan’s crimson eyes followed her gaze.

At the far end of the room, seated on a raised dais, was a man whose presence immediately dominated the space. Middle-aged, tall, and broad-shouldered despite the years weighing on him, he carried himself with the air of a hardened general. His tunic was deep purple—reserved for those of the highest rank—and a heavy gold torque rested on his shoulders like a badge of command.

This was Marcus Fulvius Bambalio—Fulvia’s father.

He sat with calm authority, speaking to a small cluster of other Roman nobles, each of them draped in elegant garb and marked by the pomp of wealth. Yet it was clear—none of them held the same presence as he did. While they nodded and smiled politely, their body language betrayed deference. They listened, not as equals, but as subordinates.

Nathan watched carefully, absorbing every detail.

And then, Fulvius noticed them.

With a single flick of his wrist, he dismissed the others. The conversation ended in an instant, and the nobles bowed lightly before backing away and disappearing into adjoining rooms like shadows at sunset.

The space fell into silence.

Fulvius’s gaze turned fully toward Nathan now—sharp, assessing.

He did not smile.

Nathan stepped forward, his boots tapping lightly on the polished stone floor as he approached Fulvius.

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