Chapter 464: Entering the Gladiator Tournament!

Even though both Khione and Aphrodite had warned him—more than once—and urged him in the gentlest yet firmest ways not to take part in the upcoming tournament, Nathan had already made up his mind. Their words carried weight, especially coming from two women he deeply cared for, women whose counsel he respected without question. But this time, his decision had nothing to do with Pandora, nor was it swayed by their worries.

He had his own reasons.

Taking part in that tournament would open doors for him—doors no whispered plan or subtle maneuver could force open otherwise. He just needed an opportunity, the right moment to slip through without raising suspicion, and everything would fall into place.

The perfect chance had already presented itself.

The Pope himself was the one introducing men to Athena—men he considered worthy enough to be evaluated as potential suitors. And Athena, of course, would never personally go down to mingle with mortals for such a matter. She was a Goddess, aloof and radiant in her divinity, she wouldn’t lower herself this much.

And that was exactly what Nathan intended to exploit.

Among the rows of gladiators, there would also be men of notable potential—soldiers, mercenaries, adventurers—paraded before her. At Athena’s request, the Pope would oversee it all. To most, this was merely an honor for the chosen few. To Nathan, it was a path that led dangerously close to the Pope himself.

It was risky—extraordinarily so. But it was also the least suspicious way to get within arm’s reach of that man. Any other approach would set alarm bells ringing.

"You... want to take part in the tournament?"

Caesar’s voice carried surprise, the kind that made him pause mid-thought. His sharp eyes flickered over Nathan as if trying to decide whether this was a jest or a serious declaration.

Even Octavius, standing beside him, raised a brow. His expression remained calm, but Nathan could practically hear the gears turning in the man’s head. Octavius was calculating, always watching for hidden motives. Yet, for all his suspicion, even he couldn’t decipher what purpose Nathan might have in stepping into an arena filled with blades and blood.

Nathan met their looks with an easy smile, one corner of his mouth lifting in quiet confidence.

"Yes," he said, his tone unshaken. "Today’s tournament stirred something in me. A lot of those fighters are... unimpressive. I’m confident I could make it into the top ten survivors of any group fighting tomorrow."

There was no hesitation in his voice, no hint of doubt—only that calm self-assurance that often made people underestimate just how deliberate he truly was.

Caesar chuckled, the sound low and knowing. "I’d call you arrogant if I hadn’t seen what you were capable of back in Alexandria. But..." His eyes narrowed slightly. "...is the desire to fight the

only

reason?"

Nathan didn’t blink. He gave a small shake of his head, as though answering a question far less dangerous than it truly was.

"I want a chance at Pandora," he said evenly. "And perhaps... to impress the Goddess."

The silence that followed was brief but telling. Caesar looked momentarily dumbfounded, taken off guard by the sheer simplicity of the answer.

Nathan knew it would have that effect.

It was too ordinary, too human, to be the work of a man hiding schemes. And in that instant, Nathan could almost

see

the suspicion in both Caesar and Octavius ebb away. They had been circling him like wolves, certain there was some deeper, darker ambition beneath his surface. Now, they were beginning to believe he was nothing more than a mercenary with ordinary desires—a man moved by beauty and the thrill of competition, nothing more.

Exactly as Nathan intended.

Caesar’s laugh broke the moment. "I should have known. Here I thought you Septimius were immune to the charms of women. You’ve been avoiding Roman beauties since you arrived... and now I see even you aren’t entirely made of stone."

Nathan didn’t answer Caesar immediately.Instead, he let the Emperor’s assumption hang in the air, almost inviting him to believe it.

If only Caesar knew the truth—that Nathan had already fucked Fulvia, and that both Fulvia and Caesar’s own daughter, Julia, had fallen under his spell—then the Emperor’s smug composure would have surely cracked. The revelation would have been delicious to watch.

Still, Caesar’s misjudgment was understandable. Nathan had deliberately kept himself apart from Roman women, letting the world see him as a man disinterested in beauty, even immune to feminine charms. It made the mask of the stoic Septimius all the more believable.

"Pandora is not an ordinary woman," Nathan said at last, his tone calm but carrying a weight that made the name linger in the air. "I want such a woman."

"I see..." Caesar’s lips curved into a knowing chuckle. "Fine, I will give you a seat."

Only Caesar had the authority to enter a new name into a tournament that had already begun and been decided. He was Emperor; his word could rewrite the rules.

"You’ll fight under my banner, then," Caesar said, smiling faintly, as if this arrangement were an act of personal favor.

"With pleasure," Nathan replied smoothly, though the smirk he kept inward was anything but friendly.

The truth was simple: Caesar had just handed Nathan the perfect weapon to use against him. The greater Septimius’s fame rose beneath Caesar’s banner, the more devastating the eventual betrayal would be. And by now, everyone knew how close the Emperor kept Septimius at his side. When the fall came, it would be personal, undeniable, and complete.

Nathan had no intention of letting that opportunity slip.

Once their brief exchange ended, he left the hall with unhurried steps, heading toward his quarters. There, Fulvius was waiting. Nathan had already laid out the entirety of his plan to him, and Fulvius understood exactly how much was at stake.

Nathan had no plans of releasing him from his service just yet. Fulvius still had a role to play in this grand design—whether he liked it or not. If he truly desired Caesar’s downfall as much as he claimed, then he would follow Nathan’s orders without question.

But for tonight, Nathan had another matter to attend to.

Erasing his presence until even the guards’ instincts lay dormant, he slipped into the shadows and vanished toward the upper floors of the Senate Castle. His steps were soundless against the marble, a ghost gliding through torchlight and darkness.

He crossed into the quarters belonging to the Amun Ra Empire’s delegation. It was a bold move—brazen, even—for a man to enter this place at night. But under cover of darkness, when the castle’s heartbeat slowed and even the most vigilant eyes grew heavy, it was also the safest time.

He moved with purpose until he found a particular room—one that matched the quiet, peculiar energy he had been searching for. He pushed the door open with the slow precision of a thief and stepped inside.

The room smelled faintly of jasmine and desert incense. Two steady patterns of breathing reached his ears, soft but distinct.

One belonged to Elin—the woman he had come for. The other was Freja, predictably clinging to Elin like a shadow. They lay on the same bed, Freja’s arm draped protectively across her companion.

Nathan moved forward in silence, his steps careful enough to leave the floorboards undisturbed. When he reached Elin’s side, he knelt and brushed a loose strand of blond hair from her face.

Her eyelids fluttered at the touch. "Hmnn?" she murmured, voice thick with sleep. But when her gaze sharpened just enough to recognize the face before her, her eyes widened in alarm.

She drew in a breath to cry out, but Nathan’s hand was already over her mouth, cutting off the sound.

Her muffled protest came out in a panicked hum. "Hmpffh!" Tears welled in her eyes, her body stiffening with fear.

Nathan’s gaze didn’t soften. He ignored her silent plea, slid an arm beneath her, and with the strength and precision of a predator, lifted her onto his shoulder.

Without a sound, he crossed to the window, the night air spilling in to greet him. One last glance to ensure they remained undetected—and then he stepped into the darkness, vanishing into the sky with his prize.

"S... Septimius! N... no!"

The cry tore from Elin’s throat the moment they broke into the open night sky. The cool wind rushed past them, carrying her voice into the darkness, but Nathan’s grip remained unyielding.

"Don’t scream," he warned, his voice low and edged with steel. "Stay still."

The cold weight of his stare cut into her more than the night air ever could. She flinched against his shoulder, instinctively shrinking from that glacial gaze.

Her thoughts began to spiral. Why her? Why at night? Why alone? He had left Freja untouched and taken only her. The implications twisted in her mind, each one darker than the last.

A hot flush of embarrassment bloomed across her cheeks despite herself. She didn’t want this—at least... she told herself she didn’t. Her heart pounded with a confusing mix of fear and something else she couldn’t name, something she refused to acknowledge. Nathan didn’t strike her as the sort of man to abduct women under moonlight...to then assault them...and yet here she was, clutched in his arms like stolen treasure.

"P... please... Septimius... I... I can’t!" she stammered, forcing the words past the lump in her throat.

Nathan glanced at her, brow faintly furrowed.

Can’t?

What did she mean by that?

He wasn’t here to... do what she clearly thought he was planning. Her mind was in the wrong place entirely. He needed her—needed her for a purpose that had nothing to do with her body and everything to do with the pain etched into Ameriah’s face. He couldn’t forget that look, couldn’t stand to leave it unanswered.

"You can," he said firmly, his gaze narrowing. This wasn’t a request—it was almost an order.

Elin’s eyes widened. To her, that insistence only confirmed the terrifying conclusion she’d jumped to.

Did he want to have sex with her that much?

"I... I can’t! I don’t want!" she said again, this time her voice trembling not only with fear but with bewilderment.

She began thrashing on his shoulder her bare feet kicking in frantic resistance. But Nathan didn’t slow, didn’t loosen his grip. His stride remained steady, his course fixed.

The city lights slid beneath them, the marble rooftops of Rome fading into the distance as he carried her toward Servilia’s estate—where Ameriah and Auria were being held.