I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me
Chapter 170: Siara's guilt

Lyrnessus had fallen.

The sky over the city was a dull gray, heavy with the smoke of destruction. Fires still flickered in the distance, their embers casting an eerie glow on the devastated town. It was Siara's first experience of war on such a massive scale, and the weight of it pressed on her chest like a boulder.

She had never imagined that being part of an assault on an entire city—let alone one as large as Lyrnessus—would feel this overwhelming.

It had all begun when Jason led the attack, his immense strength shattering the city's towering walls with a force that echoed for miles. The defenses of Lyrnessus crumbled like brittle clay beneath his onslaught, paving the way for the Greek soldiers to surge through the breach. The first wave of attackers was relentless, pouring into the city with bloodlust in their eyes.

Siara, along with Gwen, Jason, and the rest of their classmates, had taken up arms to meet the Trojan soldiers head-on. The Trojans were desperate, trying to halt the advancing Greeks, buying time for their families to flee the massacre.

The tide turned when Gwen confronted Mynes, one of the Trojan leaders. With a swift and brutal battle, Gwen had bested him, his fall shaking the morale of the remaining defenders. Once Mynes was defeated, the resistance crumbled. The will of the Trojans shattered like glass beneath the weight of the Greeks' relentless assault.

Yet even in their despair, they fought on—fought for their children, their homes, and the people still hidden behind the battered walls.

Now, it was over. The last defenders had been cut down, and Lyrnessus lay in ruins. The streets that had once been filled with life were now filled with death.

Siara stood on the edge of the broken city, staring at the destruction. From where she stood, she could hear the wails of women and children, the anguished cries of those who had lost everything.

Guilt crashed over her like a tidal wave, making it hard for her to breathe. She clenched her fists until her knuckles turned white. She had known, in the rational part of her mind, that war meant destruction, that it meant lives would be lost. But knowing and witnessing were two very different things.

She had fought to protect her comrades, to survive—but now, standing amidst the devastation, she wondered what kind of monster that made her.

Without a word, she began to walk toward the heart of the city.

"Where are you going?" Gwen asked.

Siara didn't turn around.

"I... I need to see," Siara said.

Gwen's eyes narrowed, watching. She knew what Siara meant—knew that once you saw the aftermath of battle, truly saw it, there was no going back. That was why Gwen had kept her distance, avoiding the heart of the carnage. She didn't need to see the broken bodies, the scorched homes, to understand the cost of war. But Siara was different.

She needed to bear witness, to confront the horror with her own eyes. Gwen thought of stopping her, but in the end, she didn't.

Siara's footsteps were heavy as she passed through the city gates, her breath quickening with each step. The stench hit her first—thick and suffocating. The air was thick with the acrid scent of burning wood and flesh, mingling with the metallic tang of blood. The once lively streets of Lyrnessus were now strewn with debris and corpses.

Buildings that had once housed families, shops, and temples were reduced to rubble, their charred remains looming over the streets like gravestones.

Her stomach twisted violently. Nausea clawed at her throat, but she forced herself to keep walking, even as the bile rose in her chest. She had to see. She had to understand the full extent of what she had been part of.

Everywhere she looked, there was death. Bodies—men, women, children—lay scattered like broken dolls, some still clutching weapons, others holding each other in a final, desperate embrace.

Siara's eyes burned with unshed tears, and she fought the urge to turn away, to run from the devastation. But she couldn't. She wouldn't.

She did her best to avoid looking directly at the bodies, but it was impossible not to see them. The horrors of war were laid bare before her in the most brutal way imaginable. With every step, the weight of her guilt grew heavier, pressing down on her soul like a vice. She had taken part in this—whether by choice or necessity, it didn't matter. The bloodshed was on her hands too.

"No!!! Leave me!"

Siara's ears perked up at the sound of a distressed cry cutting through the eerie silence. Her heart clenched. It came from one of the nearby houses—low, agonized, and filled with terror. Without thinking, she sprinted toward the source, her pulse quickening with each step. The voices grew louder as she approached.

"Stay still!" A man's voice rang out, followed by the sickening sound of flesh meeting flesh.

"Ha!" came a groan of pain, followed by the soft, choking sobs of a young girl.

Siara's steps faltered for a moment, her mind racing. What is this? She heard another man's voice, low and cruel, saying something too obscene to repeat. She didn't need to be a genius to know what was happening inside that house.

The realization hit her like a punch to the gut. Rage bubbled up inside her, quick and hot, and she rushed into the crumbling doorway.

The sight that greeted her nearly made her stomach turn.

In the dim light, she saw a girl, barely older than herself, pinned to the ground by two Greek soldiers. The girl's clothes were torn, her arms held tight in the merciless grip of the men. Her face was streaked with tears, her body trembling as she desperately tried to struggle free. Siara's eyes flickered toward the floor, where two lifeless bodies lay—likely the girl's parents.

Their blood had pooled across the stone, staining it deep crimson.

The girl's whimpers filled the room, punctuated by her desperate struggles, but the men only laughed cruelly, their hands wandering.

Siara's entire body recoiled in disgust. Her face twisted, and a surge of fury roared through her veins.

"L—Leave her!!" She shouted, her voice echoing with anger.

The two men stopped for a moment, startled by the sudden interruption. They turned toward Siara, one of them narrowing his eyes.

"Who the hell—?" The other man's face split into a sneer. "Oh, it's one of those 'heroes.'"

Siara's grip tightened around her staff, her knuckles white with the pressure. "What are you doing to her?"

One of the men chuckled darkly, nudging his companion. "What does it look like? We're enjoying our reward. Her city's fallen—she's ours now. Losers give everything to the winners, that's the way it works." He smiled, a lecherous gleam in his eyes. "She's our prize."

"Disgusting," Siara spat, her voice trembling with hatred. "Leave her. Immediately."

The men's eyes flickered with annoyance. They weren't used to being told no, especially not by a girl like her. "Who are you to tell us what to do?" one of them snarled. "This has nothing to do with you. Go away, little hero, before you regret it."

For them, Siara's presence was a nuisance, nothing more. She was just another obstacle standing in the way of what they wanted. In their twisted minds, they believed that as victors, they had earned the right to take whatever they wanted. Morality meant nothing to men like these. The strong ruled, the weak suffered. That was the way of war.

Siara's heart pounded in her chest, her breath ragged with fury. She didn't care about their logic, their entitlement. This was wrong, and she wasn't about to let it happen. Not while she still had breath in her lungs.

"I said," she growled, leveling her staff at them, "leave her. Now."

Her voice dripped with venom. If words wouldn't stop them, she was ready to resort to force. Her fingers twitched, ready to summon magic if necessary. The hypocrisy of her situation wasn't lost on her—after all, she had just helped destroy this city. But it didn't matter. She would not let this happen.

Before she could unleash her magic, one of the men moved faster than she anticipated. With a swift motion, he lunged at her, his rough hand closing around her wrist like a vice, yanking her staff from her grasp.

"Leave me!" Siara shouted, thrashing in his grip, but the man only grinned, his eyes gleaming with a sickening hunger.

"Feisty one, aren't you?" he sneered, yanking her closer. "Look at you. You're really hot, aren't you?" His hand tightened, and he glanced at his companion. "How about this, hero? You come play with us, and maybe we'll let this one go."

Siara's blood ran cold. Her body stiffened in revulsion as she glared at them, her eyes blazing with fury. "Let me go!" she screamed, thrashing harder, but the man only tightened their grip.

"Ha! Don't be so shy about it! Come on, let's have some fun!" one of the men sneered, yanking Siara closer as if she were some kind of prize.

His grin widened as he pulled at her, his fingers digging into her arm with a cruelty that made her skin crawl.

The other man, still clutching the Trojan girl, hesitated, glancing uncertainly at his companion. "Are you sure? She's from that Empire, isn't she?" There was doubt in his voice, a flicker of unease.

The first man laughed, brushing off the concern with an ugly grin. "Who cares? No one will ever know. I'll take this one, and you can finish with the Trojan. They'll just think she was caught by the Trojans. No one's gonna ask questions." His words dripped with malice, his gaze locking onto Siara with a hunger that made her stomach twist in revulsion.

Siara's entire body tensed, a shiver running down her spine. She wasn't strong physically—her strength lay in magic, in her mind. But now, trapped in this nightmare, she couldn't cast anything. The man's grip on her arm was tight enough to crush her bones if she tried.

Her breath quickened as the man's hand reached for her, his rough fingers hovering too close. Siara's expression turned from anger to pure horror as his hand moved closer to her face.

But just as his hand was about to make contact, the air in the room changed.

The temperature plummeted.