Chapter 480: Freja disappeared?!

Nathan left Caesar’s chamber with measured steps, the echo of the dictator’s command still lingering in his ears.

Kill Crassus.

Of course, Nathan had no intention of obeying. Caesar’s words were poison wrapped in silk, and Nathan was neither gullible enough nor desperate enough to swallow them whole. The truth was simpler: he had maneuvered Caesar into a corner, forcing his hand against Crassus. A dangerous man had just become an even bigger target. Now, all that remained was to plant the right seeds on Crassus’s side, to steer him toward the reality that Caesar sought his downfall.

Nathan only hoped Crassus would recognize the truth before it was too late. The man clung too tightly to peace, blind to the daggers closing in around him. If he didn’t act, he would be killed—and his daughter’s fate would be even worse.

“Septimius!”

The call broke Nathan’s train of thought. He turned, narrowing his eyes. Elin was running down the marble corridor of the Senate’s castle, her sandals striking sharply against the stone floor. Her frantic expression immediately set him on edge.

Frowning, Nathan caught her by the arm before she could speak further and pulled her into a shadowed corner between two pillars, away from the patrolling guards. He held her still, his voice low and edged with steel.

“I told you never to approach me here,” he hissed. “Caesar’s spies crawl everywhere.”

“S–sorry, but…!” Elin’s composure broke as tears spilled freely down her cheeks. Her voice quivered, heavy with fear. “It’s Freja… She went to fight Alexander, just like you suggested, to win back leadership of the class. But—she never came back. She disappeared! And when I asked Alexander and the others, they just shrugged it off—they all say they don’t know anything!”

Her words tumbled out between sobs, desperation dripping from every syllable.

Nathan’s brows furrowed. He placed a steadying hand on her trembling shoulder.

“Calm down,” he ordered, though his mind was already racing.

It had been his idea. He had told Freja to challenge Alexander—defeat him, reclaim her authority, and lead their classmates back to Alexandria, away from Caesar’s poisonous influence. But now she was missing.

Had Alexander stooped to treachery? Would he go so far as to eliminate Freja entirely?

Nathan’s instincts told him no—or rather, not exactly. Something else was at play here.

“I… it’s my fault,” Elin whispered brokenly, her hands clenching at her dress. “I’m weak. I couldn’t help her. And now she’s gone.”

“Stop.” Nathan’s tone cut through her spiral. “We will find her. I give you my word.”

Elin’s tear-streaked face lifted, her eyes wide with fragile hope.

“I mean it,” Nathan said firmly. “Now—tell me. Did Freja go to meet him first?”

“Y…yes. Alexander accepted her challenge. He told her to meet outside Rome.”

“Then take me there.”

Before she could reply, Nathan swept her up with effortless strength, carrying her against his shoulder. A sharp gust of wind burst around them as he leapt toward the nearest window. Glass panes rattled in their frames as he took flight, soaring into the open sky.

Elin clung desperately to him, her arms wrapped tight around his neck as the city blurred beneath them. Through the rush of wind she gave directions, pointing the way with trembling fingers.

Soon they alighted on one of the high walls of Rome, the sprawling plains stretching out in every direction. Nathan’s sharp gaze picked out the flicker of torchlight several miles away: a makeshift encampment, and gathered around it, the familiar figures of his so-called classmates.

“There,” Elin said, her voice small against the night air.

Nathan’s eyes narrowed. “Why are they camped outside the city?”

Elin swallowed hard. “They… they said the city felt suffocating, so I proposed making a camp here. Everyone agreed. Alexander told Freja to meet him there so the fight would be witnessed by all. But when I came later, he claimed Freja never arrived. But I know she did! She promised me she’d return victorious, with the others at her side. I… I know she was there!”

Her words dissolved again into sobs.

“Enough,” he said, and without hesitation he lifted off again, descending swiftly toward the camp.

They landed a short distance away, close enough for Nathan to see the flickering firelight reflecting off smug faces. Alexander lounged arrogantly at the center, flanked by Isak, Hugo, and a handful of others. Their laughter carried easily across the night, sharp and mocking.

The girls, however, painted a different picture. Most sat silently on the edges of the group, their expressions strained and uneasy. Without Freja’s steadying presence, they seemed adrift, isolated, their gazes averted from the boys’ brash confidence.

Nathan’s jaw tightened.

“Go,” he murmured to Elin, his voice calm. “Ask them again—where is Freja.”

“But…” Her voice wavered.

“Trust me,” he said, eyes locked on the camp.

Elin met his gaze, hesitated, then nodded. Wiping her tears with the back of her hand, she steeled herself and stepped forward.

Nathan’s eyes followed her for a moment, his expression unreadable. But as she drew closer to Alexander and his pack, his own gaze darkened.

These fools… Nathan’s eyes lingered on Alexander, Isak, and Hugo, their laughter cutting through the night air like the screeching of crows. He was reminded all too vividly of Jason and Aidan—his former classmates who had been granted powers beyond reason, yet wasted them on idiocy and self-indulgence. Power in the hands of brainless men was no gift; it was a plague.

Every class seemed cursed to have them—loud, arrogant weights dragging everyone else down. Kastoria had been no different, though its leader, Ryuuki, at least was different but he was misguided by his “hero’s complex.” Foolish, perhaps, but not malicious. Jason, on the other hand, had lived only for himself, deluded into thinking the world revolved around him.

And Alexander… Alexander was worse. A red flag waving in the middle of Rome. The very thought of such a man orbiting around Cleopatra was intolerable. Nathan could almost laugh at the absurdity of it. Cleopatra was no naive queen swayed by titles or empty strength. She was ruthless, colder than marble, and sharper than any blade. She hadn’t hesitated to have her own brother executed when he became inconvenient. What, then, was Alexander to her? A boastful Hero who thought his power made him untouchable?

No—Cleopatra would crush him herself when the time came. Nathan had no doubt.

But for now, his attention returned to Elin, who had stepped forward, fragile yet unyielding, to confront them.

“I looked everywhere,” she said, her voice trembling but loud enough to silence the laughter. “I didn’t find Freja.”

“Elin!” one of the girls cried, rushing to her side. Several of them moved quickly to stand behind her, as though instinctively pulled by her grief.

But Elin did not turn. Her eyes locked onto Alexander.

“And what do you want us to do about it?” Isak’s laugh split the silence, booming and cruel. He leaned back with exaggerated arrogance, brushing a hand through his hair. “Alexander called her out for a fight, and it looks like she ran off with her tail between her legs.”

“F…Freja would never run away!” Elin’s reply came out sharp, her hands curling into fists. “She promised me she’d come back after beating Alexander. She wouldn’t—she couldn’t—just leave!”

Isak’s grin widened, malicious amusement glinting in his eyes. He slapped his knee and laughed louder, taunting her misery.

“Then maybe she should’ve started by proving herself against those pathetic girls hiding behind you,” he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. “Then, if she managed to pass that little warm-up, she could come and face a real man.” His smirk twisted further, his tongue darting across his lips. “Fight or bed—it makes no difference. I’ll take her on however she wants.”

Elin’s body jolted as though struck. Her face went pale, and her tears returned in a sudden rush. “S…stop it…” she cried, her voice cracking. The raw pain in her tone startled even the boys.

For the first time, the laughter died. Uneasy glances passed between them.

Freja had been Elin’s rock since the day they were summoned two years ago. Protector, confidant, sister in all but blood. With her gone, Elin looked as if the earth itself had vanished beneath her feet. Her sobs clawed at the silence, making even the crueler boys shift uncomfortably.

“P…please,” she begged, her knees nearly giving way as she clasped her hands together. “Just give her back. Please. We’ll leave… we’ll leave if you want, just give Freja back!”

Isak’s momentary discomfort curdled back into anger. His lips curled into a snarl.

“Are you stupid?!” he barked, stepping forward. “We told you—we don’t know where that bitch is! And even if I did know, why the hell would I waste my time on her? I’ve got bigger things to focus on.” He puffed out his chest, flashing a grin at the mention of his ambition. “The gladiator tournament. That’s where my eyes are set.” His gaze flicked almost hungrily toward Pandora as if he could see her in the sky.

Alexander, for his part, remained silent. The faint curl of a smile tugged at his lips, an observer basking in the scene rather than a participant. His silence was almost worse than Isak’s words—it made him unreadable. Calculating.

Hugo exhaled loudly and finally rose, brushing off his knees as though bored. He approached Elin, hands raised in a mock gesture of peace.

“Look,” he said, tone more casual than kind, “maybe you should consider the possibility she just… ran. Got scared. Left. Why is that so hard to accept?”

“She would never!” Elin snapped, her eyes blazing even through her tears. “She promised me she’d come back! She swore it!”

Hugo only shrugged, the corners of his mouth twitching into a lazy smirk. “Then maybe she lied.”

Badam!

The ground trembled faintly with a sound in the distance, deep and sharp, like the echo of thunder. Everyone froze, turning their heads instinctively toward the horizon. The night air seemed to shift, carrying the faint hum of power from somewhere a mile away.

“What the hell was that?” Isak muttered, straightening immediately.

“Someone fighting?” one of the girls whispered nervously.

“I don’t know,” another boy said, eyes darting.

Alexander’s calm voice cut through the uncertainty. “Hugo. Go check it out.”

Hugo smirked, as though the prospect of leaving was more amusing than the situation itself. “Yeah, yeah. Fine.”

The air crackled with a sharp snap as arcs of lightning surged across his skin. His body blurred, then vanished in a thunderous flash, streaking into the distance with inhuman speed.

Hugo’s blurred figure reappeared in a clearing, the distant roar having led him to a strange sight. The ground before him was cracked and frosted, white frost creeping outward in jagged veins across the earth. At its center stood an enormous spear of ice, embedded upright in the soil as though it had fallen from the heavens.

Hugo’s brow furrowed. “What the hell is this?”

He crouched and reached out a hand, curiosity overriding caution. The instant his fingers brushed the icy surface, searing pain shot through him like fire. He yanked his hand back with a curse, shaking it furiously. Steam rose from his reddened skin.

“Cold!” he spat, blowing on his palm as if the frostbite had burned instead of frozen him. “Damn it—what kind of magic is this?”

“Where is Freja?”

The voice cut through the night, sharp and heavy with menace.

Hugo froze. Slowly, he turned, eyes widening as he caught sight of the figure standing just behind him, the moonlight catching the pale white of his hair. Recognition struck like a blade.

“Y…you…” Hugo stammered. “Septimius?”

He had seen that face before. The first time was only in passing, but more recently—yes, during the gladiator tournament. The silent man who had dominated without effort. What was he doing here?

“Where is Freja,” Nathan repeated, his tone as cold and sharp as the frozen spear lodged in the ground.

Hugo blinked, then let out a shaky laugh to cover his unease. “Freja? Why are you asking me? You think I keep tabs on her?” He smirked, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Maybe she’s hiding, maybe she ran away. What, you think she’s my problem?”

Nathan’s eyes narrowed. He took a single step forward. Then, in the blink of an eye, he was gone—reappearing directly before Hugo. Before the boy could even react, Nathan’s fist slammed into his stomach with the force of a sledgehammer.

“Guhhh!”

The impact drove the air from Hugo’s lungs. His eyes bulged as blood spattered from his mouth. He collapsed to his knees, clutching his abdomen in agony. Every muscle screamed, every organ felt as though it had been torn loose. The taste of iron filled his throat as bile threatened to rise.

Never. Never in his life had he been struck with such sheer, unrelenting power.

Nathan stood over him, expression carved from stone, unblinking and merciless. The chill around him seemed to deepen, echoing the frozen spear that had drawn Hugo here.

“Where,” Nathan said, each word slow, heavy, and absolute, “is Freja?”