Chapter 474: Septimius meets Athena

The dawn after the second day of the tournament crept gently into the Senate Castle, spilling golden light across the marble floors and high vaulted ceilings. Within one of the guest chambers, Nathan stirred awake. The weight of fatigue still clung to his body, but his mind was sharper than ever, restless with thoughts that refused to leave him.

As he sat up in bed, he extended his hand into the quiet air. With a faint shimmer, a golden key materialized in his palm, gleaming faintly in the morning light. Its surface glowed as though alive, ancient power humming through its form.

One of the Keys… Nathan thought, his eyes narrowing as he traced the intricate engravings. The Key that holds Romulus and Remus. And now—Julius Caesar himself.

The realization settled on him like a heavy cloak. At last, Nathan understood Caesar’s true ambition.

He wasn’t simply meddling in politics or manipulating the Senate for control of Rome. No—he was after a goddess.

Athena.

The mere thought of it drew a sharp exhale from Nathan, part disbelief, part amusement. The audacity of the plan was staggering, even to him. To bind a goddess—especially one as proud and cunning as Athena—was something that bordered on madness. And yet, Caesar was pursuing it with unwavering intent.

Of course, he wasn’t foolish enough to announce such a thing openly. If word reached Olympus, Zeus and the other gods would descend upon him in wrath. No, Caesar’s methods were subtler. He was going to force Athena’s hand, corner her using Pandora’s power.

Nathan let out a quiet chuckle, running a hand through his white hair.”Who would’ve thought… he had the same idea as me?”

It was almost laughable—two men, separated by centuries of legacy, converging on the same ambition: enslaving the goddess of wisdom herself. Nathan had the advantage of a Forbidden Skill, a weapon of secrecy and unimaginable strength. Caesar, on the other hand, relied on an array of artifacts, schemes, and alliances. The paths were different, but the destination was the same.

Still, questions gnawed at Nathan. How exactly does he plan to bind her? What chains strong enough could hold a goddess? What bargain would he strike, and with whom? He wasn’t certain, but he knew one thing without doubt—Caesar would never dare attempt such blasphemy without support.

And that support came from the so-called Heroes of the Second Summoning of the Light Empire.

Nathan’s expression darkened at the thought. He muttered under his breath, the name tasting bitter on his tongue.”Aaron…”

That man. The one whose face mirrored his father’s so eerily it sent a chill through him every time they met. Nathan’s chest tightened as the memory replayed. No… it couldn’t be coincidence. Not just some stranger wearing my father’s face. There has to be something more.

The next time their paths crossed, Nathan swore he would tear the truth from him—no matter the cost.

“Lord Septimius.”

The voice snapped him from his spiraling thoughts. A Roman soldier stood at the threshold, armored in polished steel, his posture crisp with discipline.

Nathan raised an eyebrow. Lord. Not Septimius spat like an insult, not mercenary spoken with disdain. Now, he was addressed with respect. With weight. The shift was not lost on him. Status was a fickle thing in Rome, but clearly, his presence was carving its mark.

“What is it?” Nathan asked, his tone deliberately flat, uninterested. A part of him already suspected Caesar was summoning him again.

But he was wrong.

“The Pope requests your presence.”

Nathan’s hand froze mid-motion, still hovering above the golden key. Slowly, he closed his fist, the relic vanishing into the air once more.

For a heartbeat, silence stretched between them. Then, Nathan’s lips curled into a smirk.

So… Athena wants to meet me already.

The thought was almost intoxicating. The goddess was making her move sooner than he expected. That meant the game was beginning, and Nathan was more than ready to play.

He rose from the bed. Without another word, he followed the soldier through the corridors of the Senate Castle, his mind alive with anticipation.

Nathan’s steps echoed lightly against the polished stone floors as he ascended higher and higher through the Senate Castle. The soldier guided him without a word, and soon enough, Nathan realized they were climbing toward the most secluded reaches of the fortress. It was the first time he had ever ventured this far.

When the doors finally opened before him, he was greeted by an unexpected sight.

A garden—hidden at the castle’s highest point, far above the noise of the Senate chambers and training grounds below. The morning sun fell gently upon manicured hedges and vibrant blossoms, their fragrance carried by the cool breeze. A fountain whispered in the center, its waters glistening like liquid glass. It was serene, almost otherworldly, a sharp contrast to the schemes and blood that filled the lower halls.

And there, standing at the edge of the garden with a staff in hand, was the Pope. His robes shimmered faintly in the sunlight, and his eyes, sharp and calculating, turned to Nathan the moment he entered.

“Lucius Septimius,” the Pope called.

Nathan approached calmly, his expression unreadable. “You summoned me?”

“Indeed.” The Pope’s voice carried both warmth and command, as though every word was weighed and measured. “Your performance yesterday was extraordinary. But tell me—why did you refrain from killing?”

Nathan’s gaze flickered, but his reply came without hesitation. “I saw no purpose in slaughter. I am no mindless beast.”

The Pope tilted his head, lips curling into something between a smile and a smirk. “That is quite the mature answer… especially from a mercenary, wouldn’t you say?”

Nathan couldn’t retort anything to that.

Hypocrisy, he thought. He calls me a mercenary, but I am not Lucius Septimius. Not truly. Of course, that truth could never be spoken aloud. So he kept his silence, letting the weight of the accusation hang in the air.

The Pope only chuckled softly, as if amused by Nathan’s restraint. Then, with a deliberate step, he moved aside.

And Nathan’s eyes fell upon her.

Athena.

The goddess of wisdom sat gracefully in an armchair at the edge of the garden, sunlight catching in her hair, which shone like threads of burnished gold. In her hand was a delicate cup, from which she sipped slowly, as though savoring the taste of tea—or perhaps simply the act of calm in a world constantly at war.

Nathan bowed his head respectfully. “Goddess Athena. It is an honor.”

Her gaze sharpened. She noted the formality, the courtesy… yet there was something peculiar. He was respectful, but not overwhelmed. His voice was steady, his posture unwavering. No trembling hands, no awestruck reverence, no desperate submission. It was rare—almost unheard of—for a mortal to stand so unshaken in the presence of a god.

And for that very reason, Athena’s curiosity was piqued. Interesting. A man who does not collapse under pressure is a man who might not easily break beneath Pandora’s shadow.

“Tell me, Septimius,” Athena began, her voice even and measured. “Why did you enter the tournament willingly?”

She already knew from Caesar that this man had not been forced, that he had chosen his path. Yet what kind of man entered such a deadly contest, only to stay his blade when victory was within reach?

Nathan’s reply was simple, almost curt. “The rewards.”

Athena arched a brow, swirling her cup. “Not Pandora?”

“Anyone who uses their head,” Nathan answered, his tone carrying a hint of edge, “would know better than to bind themselves willingly to Pandora.”

Athena’s eyes lingered on him. Sharp. Defiant. Yet logical. “And yet… should you win the tournament, you would inevitably be chosen.”

“I have no intention of winning,” Nathan cut across her smoothly, his words flowing faster than hers.

For the first time, Athena’s lips curved into a faint smile. So rare it almost looked out of place upon her divine features. He truly is fascinating. The more he denies Pandora, the more he proves himself capable of carrying the burden.

She leaned forward slightly, her gaze narrowing in keen appraisal. “Then answer me this. If I were to order you to become Pandora’s partner… what would you do?”

The response came instantly, without hesitation. “I would accept.”

Her eyes softened, though her voice remained sharp. “Because I am a goddess?”

Nathan inclined his head. “No man in his right mind would reject the word of a goddess.”

The truth in his tone, the absence of hesitation, only deepened Athena’s intrigue. She studied him carefully, watching the calm precision in his posture, the unwavering certainty in his voice. On the surface, he appeared too perfect, too composed—yet there was no doubt that this man carried layers she had yet to uncover.

Finally, she spoke again, her words laced with quiet warning. “Understand this, Septimius. I will not force you. But know this as well: if Pandora is left unchecked, she is not a danger to us gods.” Her voice lowered, and her gaze sharpened. “She is a danger to humanity itself.”

The weight of her words pressed against Nathan, and for once, he allowed himself a moment of silence. He could not deny it. For all his schemes and plans, he knew she was right.

Pandora was no mere prize. She was a calamity.

But did that role truly belong to him?

Nathan’s thoughts churned in silence. Surely, there must be someone else—someone better suited, someone willing. His hands were already full, burdened with plans, secrets, and ambitions he barely managed to balance. The very idea of adding Pandora to his list felt absurd. She wasn’t just another artifact or tool—she was a weapon of mass destruction, a calamity wrapped in human form.

And yet…

What if he refused? What if, by choosing not to involve himself now, Pandora spiraled out of control in the future—becoming a danger that even he could not contain? Would he not regret standing idle when he had the chance to seize her fate in his hands? The thought gnawed at him like a quiet whisper of inevitability.

Finally, Nathan inclined his head, voice even but not without a trace of resistance.”I understand. But surely there are better men suited for this task.”

Athena’s gaze sharpened, the faintest curl of a smile tugging at her lips. “Perhaps. And yet, I think you might be the one. But I will not decide blindly. I intend to confirm it for myself.”

With that, she rose from her chair, her movements as fluid and commanding as the shifting of tides. The very air seemed to acknowledge her, as if bowing to her presence.

“So you will accompany me now,” she declared.

Nathan’s composure wavered just slightly, his unease slipping into his voice. “Accompany you…? Where, if I may ask?”

Athena’s answer was short, almost casual—yet it carried the weight of a thunderclap.”To the realm of Olympus.”

For the first time, Nathan’s carefully maintained calm cracked. His eyes widened, just a fraction, but enough to betray the storm within him.

Olympus? The realm of the gods?

A place surrounded on all sides by beings whose very presence could shatter his disguise. One misstep, one careless slip of the tongue, and his cover would crumble to dust. To walk into Olympus was to walk into the lion’s den blindfolded.

His mouth opened, words half-formed—protests, calculations, perhaps even excuses. But Athena gave him no chance.

Without so much as a pause, she reached out, her divine aura flaring like the dawn itself. In an instant, light swallowed them both—radiant, overwhelming, absolute. The garden, the Pope, the mortal world—it all vanished.

And Nathan felt himself being pulled upward, carried by a force far greater than his own will, into the very heart of divinity itself.