I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

Chapter 322: Poseidon and Hera's plan

Chapter 322: Poseidon and Hera's plan

Hera was livid. Her divine essence seethed with an incandescent fury that threatened to shake the very foundations of Olympus itself. The unthinkable had happened—the Greeks had lost the Trojan War. 

It felt like a waking nightmare, a cruel jest woven by the Fates themselves. How could such a thing be possible? The Greeks had been the stronger force, their army vast and composed of the finest warriors to ever walk the earth. More than that, they had been led by the greatest of their kind—mighty kings and warriors who had carved their names into history with blood and steel. 

Agamemnon, the High King, had been slain. Menelaus, who had sought vengeance for his stolen wife, lay dead. Ajax, the indomitable warrior, had fallen. Even Heracles, the son of Zeus himself, had perished. It was inconceivable. 

By all logic, by all divine decree, the Greeks should have triumphed. Their superiority was undeniable. Even the gods themselves had tipped the scales in their favor. Hera herself, alongside Athena—the goddess of wisdom and victory—had stood unwaveringly behind the Greeks. And yet, it had not been enough. Despite their backing, despite their meticulous interference, the Greeks had been utterly and irrevocably defeated. 

The final blow to her expectations, the ultimate betrayal of fate, had come from Achilles. He had been her trump card, the lynchpin of her grand design. Yet, in a turn of events that defied all reason, he had changed sides. The mighty Achilles had abandoned the Greeks, lured away by love, and had even fathered a child. It was incomprehensible. It was infuriating. 

Everything had been set in place for a Greek victory. The Trojans had been vastly outmatched—only Hector, their noble prince, and the Amazonian queen Penthesilea had been worth mentioning. And yet, against all odds, against every law of destiny, Troy had emerged victorious. Both Hector and Penthesilea still lived, standing triumphant amidst the ruins of what should have been their downfall. 

But Hera knew—this unnatural shift in fate had a cause. A single man had tipped the balance of history, reshaping the very fabric of the war itself. 

His name was Heiron, but he was known as the Hero of Darkness. 

Or, as Hera now understood with bitter clarity, his true name—Nathan Parker. 

A man who should not exist. 

He had once been summoned by the Light Emperor, a chosen hero, only to be struck down and slaughtered by the accursed Liphiel. He should have remained dead. And yet, defying death itself, he had returned. Not once, but twice. 

And this time, he had turned the tide of war. 

Nathan Parker—Heiron, Samael, the accursed Hero of Darkness—had slain Ajax. He had slain Heracles. And in the final, crushing moment of victory, he had cut down Agamemnon himself. 

The Greeks had never stood a chance. 

Hera trembled with rage. She had tried—oh, how she had tried—to rid the world of him. Time and time again, she had reached out with her divine might to end him before he could reshape destiny. She had sent assassins, conjured plagues, whispered omens of doom to those who could act against him. And yet, every time, her efforts had been thwarted. 

Apollo, Artemis, Aphrodite, and Ares—those meddling gods—had shielded him at every turn, countering her every move, ensuring his survival. 

And now, it was too late. 

Nathan Parker had won. 

And the last look he had given her before vanishing from the battlefield… it had been a promise. A silent, chilling promise. 

A promise of vengeance. 

Hera clenched her fists, her divine nails digging into her palms hard enough to draw golden ichor. 

Nathan Parker was dangerous. 

And he was coming for her. 

Hera did not know when, nor did she know how. But she was certain of one thing—he would come. The look he had given her after Troy's fall had been more than enough to make her uneasy. It was not the glare of a mere mortal who despised a goddess. No, it was something far worse. It was the look of a man who had already decided her fate. 

She had witnessed ambition, hatred, and revenge countless times over the centuries, but never before had she felt such an ominous foreboding. Nathan was progressing at an alarming rate, far faster than anyone should. His strength, his influence, his very existence were growing into something monstrous, something unnatural. 

At the rate he was advancing, there would come a time when even she—Hera, Queen of the Gods—would not be able to touch him. And that was unacceptable. 

That was why she had made up her mind. 

He had to die. 

The Trojan War was over, which meant Apollo, Artemis, and the others who had protected him would no longer interfere. Their interests had been tied to the war, but now that it was settled, Nathan was nothing more than a loose end—a powerful, unpredictable anomaly that needed to be erased before he became untouchable. 

And now, she had her chance. 

Hera's opportunity came the moment Hermes informed her that Nathan had left Troy and was traveling to Lyrnessus. She did not hesitate. Summoning the mighty sea god, she called upon Poseidon himself. 

She needed no elaborate persuasion—Poseidon was already eager to act. 

Nathan had used Khione's power during the war, unleashing its full force on the battlefield. That had not gone unnoticed. The moment he had done so, Poseidon had sensed her presence. Had it not been for Zeus's command forbidding him from interfering in the war, Poseidon would have struck Nathan down then and there.