Chapter 473: The keys of Rome

That night, beneath the vast veil of darkness, Nathan found himself lying on the rooftop of a building in Rome, a city that never truly slept. The murmurs of distant streets, the flicker of torches, and the restless hum of humanity below all seemed to vanish in his awareness, replaced only by the steady rhythm of Medea’s breath beside him.

It was not the intimacy of flesh that bound them at that moment, but the quiet intimacy of souls at rest. Nathan lay flat on his back, his white hair catching faint streaks of starlight, while Medea pressed close against him. One of her slender hands rested delicately upon his chest as though she sought to claim not just his body but the steady heartbeat beneath. A soft, almost childlike smile curved her lips, a rare glimpse of peace for a woman whose very name once inspired dread.

For Medea, this was heaven itself. To lie alone with her beloved Nathan, unbothered by the world’s chaos, unchallenged by rivals, was a joy she had long hungered for. Her heart no longer churned with the poisonous envy that so often consumed her; yet even now, memories of past bitterness whispered through her thoughts.

She had been jealous—terribly so—of her sisters. Charybdis had monopolized Nathan during the tumult of the Trojan War, while Scylla had stolen her time with him at Alexandria. In those days, Medea’s envy had been like a blade lodged in her chest, twisting with each smile he offered another. But right now, he was hers. Entirely hers. The night sky bore witness to that unspoken truth.

“What do you think of Rome, Medea?” Nathan’s voice broke the silence, low and thoughtful as his gaze wandered upward to the stars drowned in darkness.

Medea’s smile faded, replaced by the sharp chill that so often colored her words. “Too many people,” she replied bluntly, her tone as cold as steel. “Too many useless lives clinging to existence. They deserve to die.”

Nathan chuckled softly, not out of mockery but in understanding. Of course Medea would say such a thing. Her cruelty was not born of ignorance but of a clarity few dared to admit. And, truthfully, he did not disagree.

His mind flicked toward the Senate Castle of Rome—its marble walls sheltering men drunk on power, their souls corroded by greed, their nights drowned in debauchery. If that wretched den of corruption were to vanish in a burst of fire and ash, the world might breathe cleaner air. Rome, after all, was bloated with parasites dressed as politicians.

“Then you don’t like Tenebria either?” Nathan asked after a pause, his thoughts shifting to the capital where they had been living. Though not as suffocating as Rome, Tenebria too swarmed with demons—scheming, plotting, whispering in shadows.

Medea’s head tilted slightly, her red and green eyes reflecting the dim glow of moonlight. “As long as I am with you,” she said with tranquil certainty, “I am content anywhere.”

Her words stirred something deep within him. He smiled faintly. That was Medea—possessive, dangerous, but unfaltering in her devotion.

“How about a peaceful world without magic?” Nathan asked quietly, his mind wandering to memories not of this realm, but of Earth. Elin’s words had rekindled his nostalgia, and he found himself picturing it once more.

Earth. A world without dragons, gods, or endless wars. A world of high technology, where comforts came not from spells but from invention. There, life could be simple. There, one could buy a villa, raise a family, and watch children laugh freely in the streets without fear of monsters. It was tempting—achingly so. Yet when he glanced at Medea, a darker thought whispered in the back of his mind: could such women, with their hunger and their power, ever exist quietly in such a fragile world? Or would Earth, too, eventually drown in blood because of them?

“You don’t like this world, Nathan?” Medea asked suddenly, raising her gaze to study his profile.

“It’s not that I dislike it,” Nathan replied, his voice steady but tinged with weariness. “It’s just… there are too many dangers. Too many wars. I want my children to live in safety.”

Her lips curved into a serene smile. “Everyone is safe as long as they are with you.”

He let out a breath, almost a laugh. “Yes,” he admitted, “but that isn’t enough. I want my children to grow up in peace, if such a world exists. To see them run to school, make friends, dream freely without the shadow of war hanging over them… that is what I want most.”

Images drifted through his thoughts—his children scattered across the corners of this world. Nivea, living in isolation, hidden away because she and Khione could not yet appear in the open. Sarah, enduring her days in the most oppressive place of all—the Light Empire. He felt a pang of guilt for them both.

And as a father he wanted them happy and free.

Only his son with Kassandra, and his daughter with Khillea, seemed to enjoy something resembling peace. The thought was a small comfort, though it did little to soothe the weight pressing on his heart.

Nathan pushed the weight of his earlier thoughts aside. Dreams of peace, children, and Earth could wait for another night. Now, there was work to be done.

His eyes hardened as he stood, brushing the dust from his cloak. The stars above Rome shimmered faintly through the veil of darkness, yet for Nathan, they were no comfort—only cold witnesses to what he was about to set in motion.

“Bring me to Pompey,” Nathan said, his voice steady and resolute.

Medea rose in silence, her golden hair catching the moonlight like strands of fire. She nodded once, no questions, no hesitation. Together, they took to the skies, their silhouettes vanishing into the night wind as they soared above Rome’s ancient sprawl.

Pompey. The man once celebrated, once feared. Now a ghost of his former self, hidden away in chains by Caesar’s command. Nathan had asked Medea to uncover his whereabouts, and where subtlety failed, Medea’s cruelty triumphed.

For a time, Pompey had lingered with Arsinoe, but Caesar—ever suspicious, ever calculating—had faked his death and locked him away in an underground prison, guarded zealously by loyal men. To most, his location would be impossible to find. To Medea, it had only been a matter of tearing answers from the throats of Caesar’s confidants. Their screams had carried through Rome’s alleys before dissolving into silence.

Nathan and Medea descended upon a nondescript structure tucked between abandoned villas. A single door led into what seemed to be nothing more than a modest outbuilding, but the faint draft that carried from within told another story. Below it, a staircase spiraled into the earth.

“Medea,” Nathan murmured.

Before the word had fully left his lips, she vanished into the shadows. A heartbeat later, two guards crumpled to the ground, their throats slit in a single elegant motion. Blood darkened the stones at the threshold.

Nathan followed without a flicker of hesitation, his footsteps deliberate, calm. The staircase wound downward into suffocating darkness, the air damp with the stench of mildew and unwashed flesh. Echoes of agony rolled up from below—screams, raw and panicked, cut short by gurgles of blood.

Medea’s work.

When Nathan reached the bottom, the passage was littered with corpses. Their faces were twisted into grotesque masks of terror, eyes wide, mouths frozen mid-scream. Some had been burned, others torn open, but all of them bore the delicate signature of Medea’s merciless hand.

At the far end of the corridor, she waited with her arms folded, standing before the last occupied cell.

A voice rang out from within, cracked with suspicion and bitterness.”Who are you? Did Caesar finally grow tired of keeping me alive?”

Medea said nothing. Her silence was sharper than any blade.

Then Nathan stepped forward, his pale features illuminated by the faint torchlight along the wall.

Pompey’s eyes widened. For a moment, disbelief paralyzed him—then rage surged.”Y… you…”

“I see Caesar is treating you very well,” Nathan said coolly, his eyes taking in the chains at Pompey’s wrists, the bruises that marred his skin.

“You filthy traitor,” Pompey spat, his voice echoing against the stone walls.

Medea’s eyes could have killed Pompey a hundred times already.

Nathan tilted his head slightly, unbothered. “It isn’t betrayal when I was never truly with you. I’ve come here for something else. A deal.”

Pompey barked out a harsh laugh, one part anger, one part hysteria. “A deal, is it? Hah! You want to betray Caesar now as well? I warned him about you.”

But beneath the sneer, Nathan caught the glimmer of satisfaction in Pompey’s eyes.

He despised Caesar too deeply to resist the thought of revenge.

“I will release you,” Nathan said evenly. “But in return, I want you to tell me what Caesar is using you for.”

For a long moment, Pompey stared at him. Then his lips curled into a bitter grin, and he laughed again, louder this time. “So… in the end, Caesar’s perfect pawn turns his blade. I should have known. Hah! Yes, I will tell you. Because I would watch Rome burn if it meant Caesar choking on the smoke.”

Nathan folded his arms, his tone calm but edged. “You always wanted his downfall. Since Alexandria, you played at being his ally just to sink a knife into his back. Now I am offering you a choice: die chained in this hole like a dog—or rise, and help bring Caesar to ruin.”

Pompey’s expression hardened, but his eyes gleamed with renewed fire. “If you truly mean it, then listen carefully. Caesar seeks one thing from me. My key.”

Nathan’s brows drew together slightly. “What key?”

“The key to release Romulus and Remus,” Pompey said, his voice low, almost reverent. “The founders and eternal protectors of Rome.”

Nathan’s eyes narrowed. “Release them… for what purpose?”

“You don’t understand.” Pompey’s voice carried a note of grim pride. “They are Rome’s most lethal weapons. The reason no empire dares to lay siege upon our walls. But they obey only the Three Keys. I hold one. The Pope holds another. And Caesar… Caesar holds the last. The Pope is already in his grip. If he takes mine, the beasts will rise under his command. He will unleash them upon Rome, slaughtering every rival and painting the streets red with the blood of his enemies.”

Nathan fell silent, the weight of Pompey’s words pressing upon him. Caesar’s ambition stretched far beyond mortal measures. First Athena, through Pandora. Now Romulus and Remus—the primal weapons of Rome itself.

For the first time that night, Nathan allowed himself a flicker of genuine surprise.

How far was going Caesar’s arrogance?

“Give me the key,” Nathan said immediately.