The Lord of the Seas - An Isekai Progression Fantasy [ Currently on Volume 2 ]

Rodan Drakos stood still. All around him, the battlefield fell into an eerie silence, interrupted only by the crackle of still-burning wreckage and the soft, endless churn of the waves. The constructs of water had dissolved. The fleet had been shattered. And now, in the center of the wreckage, stood the man who was responsible for all of it—blinking like someone newly awakened from a terrible dream.

But Rodan wasn't looking at the devastation. Not at the ships. Not at Lukas. His eyes were locked directly onto the Kraken. And his body shifted, barely perceptible—his stance tightening, hands twitching at his sides like a violinist preparing to draw blood instead of song.

"You," Rodan said, voice low, hoarse, and dangerous. There was no roar. No shout. It was like the sound of the edge of a blade being drawn across old stone.

"You dared..." Rodan's voice trembled with fury as the realization sunk in, spreading like a poison through his veins. "You dared to use your magic on me. To take my mind. My will. I saw you as my friend. You made me do this—

His hand raised. The waters behind him rose with it, a tower forming like a jagged spear: no artistry, no grace, just murderous intent in raw, heaving form. He wanted to destroy the Kraken, rip him into shreds. The Kraken barely moved, but his jaw tensed, preparing for it.

And that was when Lukas acted.

The Crown of the Lord flared to life—a pulse of light not seen, but felt. A surge of connection that reached across the bond Lukas now wielded with mastery. It was more than just thoughts, it was pure raw emotion that Lukas sent through the connection; just praying that it would reach Rodan before he killed the Kraken.

Lukas reached into Rodan's mind and spoke. "Stop. Please."

The word didn't echo aloud. It didn't need to. Rodan froze. The wave halted, trembling in mid-air, bucking like a beast held back by its reigns. This time the foreign presence in Rodan's mind was not there to give commands he was forced to obey, but rather a voice of clarity.

"We are not your enemies. We are family."

And Rodan turned. Out of the water, rising with vulnerability and desperation in every step, came Katrina Drakos. She no longer carried her hammer, she'd left it behind her. It no longer mattered. She was just a daughter who had finally found her father after ten long years of his absence. She ran without hesitation and when she reached him, she didn't stop to speak.

Katrina crashed into Rodan's arms, clutching him so tightly her knuckles went white. "Papa—" she choked out, and then she couldn't say anything more.

Rodan's arms slowly came down, wrapping around her with a trembling that betrayed the tears already forming in his eyes. And then the man broke. Rodan sobbed. Sharp and unrestrained. His hands tangled in her hair, his face pressed to the crown of her head as he whispered her name like a prayer, like a sin, like something he'd buried centuries ago and thought he'd never be able to see again.

"Katrina," he murmured again and again, "you've grown so much... gods, what have I done... I wasn't there... I wasn't there—"

She shook her head, clutching him tighter, crying harder.

"I looked for you," she whispered. "Every day."

And still, neither of them let go.

Lukas watched from a short distance, the sea now calm beneath his feet, and felt something shift deep inside. He had seen Rodan as a monster, a myth, a storm cloaked in human skin.

But this…

This was the Dragon Lord the Seas had fallen in love with. This was the man who gave hope when Linemall had none. A son. A father. A lost soul whose grief had twisted into wrath and a soul who was finally remembering who he truly was. This was the man who had a heart of gold. Lukas stepped lightly onto the deck of Rodan's ship. Salt stung the air, and the sky above was a pale, smoke-streaked blue, ash drifting like snow.

Lukas took a breath—deep and slow—as if it might delay the inevitable just a little longer. But there was no more time. He let the father and daughter have their moment, said nothing as Katrina continued to sob into Rodan's coat, her fingers still balled into fists at his back. She hadn't let go. Rodan hadn't asked her to. And he hated to ruin their reunion but they were sitting ducks out here.

He turned toward the sea. In the far distance, past shattered hulls and burning masts, they were coming.

The Nozar Fleet.

Bigger warships now. Sleeker, reinforced hulls. Engines built for brute force, reinforced with arcane seals that glowed even in the morning light. Dozens of them—more organized than before, clearly part of a second wave. They weren't coming to investigate.They were coming to kill Rodan. And they weren't going to leave without a corpse. The Leviathan of the Deep had tortured the seas for a decade now and the Kingdom of Nozar would not allow this disrespect to continue. They were going to eliminate the greatest pirate Hiraeth had seen in living history for they were the ones who ruled the seas.

"I'm sorry but we need to get out of here. They're coming back for round two and it seems like they're bringing a lot more firepower with them than last time." Lukas told Katrina and Rodan, gesturing towards the fleet of ships coming right at them in the distance.

The words seemed to float for a moment. Katrina looked up, finally pulling away with a sniff. Rodan stared at the horizon—at the spears of ships breaching the mist like a wall of blades.

Lukas took a step closer. "We need to leave. Now."

In the corner of the deck, the Kraken stood alone. He wasn't moving, not really—just staring down at the boards beneath his feet like they might open up and swallow him. Maybe he hoped they would. He hadn't said a word since Rodan's return. He didn't dare. The Kraken knew that he'd done wrong and even though he had undone the spell, he had not undone all the pain he had caused Rodan Drakos.

How could he ever give Rodan back the past ten years that he'd stolen away from him?

Lukas could tell that Rodan was still mad at the Kraken but for the time being, there were bigger things to worry about. Rodan finally turned toward Lukas, and for a brief second, his eyes softened again. Not the watery emotion from moments before—this was older, more weathered.

He studied Lukas for a long beat and then nodded slowly. Lukas was taller than Rodan now and he was built like an absolute powerhouse. He was no longer the boy that he'd cared for so deeply.

"It's good to see you again, brother. You look real good for somebody who's been in a coma for most of his life," Rodan chuckled, voice low but clearer now, like steel that had been tempered. "I thought I'd never get the chance."

Lukas swallowed, emotions swelling, but forced himself to stay focused. "There'll be time to talk. Later."

Those emotions? It was guilt. It was shame. Because he…wasn't Lukas. At least not the Lukas that Rodan had learned to call his own brother.

Rodan glanced back at Katrina, brushed a hand over her damp hair, and took a steadying breath. When he looked back at Lukas, there was no trace of hesitation.

"You're right. We need to move," he said. "But… I'll need your help."

Lukas raised a brow. "With what?"

"That little show back there took more out of me than I'd like to admit. My Mana Pool isn't anywhere depleted but this spell requires all of my power when I'm at my best and perhaps even more."

Lukas nodded slowly. "What kind of spell are we talking?"

"It's a portal. One that will bring us far from this place, away from those Nozar bastards. Will you help me?"

He looked back at Lukas again, and for the first time since they'd laid eyes on each other, there was no trace of bravado. No legend. No myth. Just a tired, powerful man—asking his brother for help.

Lukas replied without hesitation. "Of course."

Rodan raised his hand, drawing sigils in the air with fluid grace. Faint trails of light etched themselves across the sky, glowing runes slowly forming a portal array, large enough to swallow the entire ship. This was different from the Divinity of the Seas. It was nothing like he'd seen before. This was not magic of Draconic Origins. He would definitely want to ask Rodan about this if they got out of here alive.

Lukas' eyes widened. "Wait… You're not just opening a gate for us. You're taking the whole ship?"

Rodan smirked. "Of course. All this treasure that I've spent the last ten years collecting. You think I'm just leaving it here?"

For a heartbeat, Lukas was almost lost in it—the sheer scale, the casual mastery. Rodan wasn't just strong. It was like he was the sea itself, not just its Lord, its wrath and its will. Lukas didn't even need to see the mana surging through him; he could feel it in his bones, hear it whisper in the crashing tides.

Lukas blinked. "This is fucking insane. Are you sure we can pull this off?"

Rodan gave a short laugh. "Well…whether we succeed ultimately is up to you, Lukas."

Lukas squared his shoulders. "You still haven't told me what I need to do."

Rodan didn't answer right away. He just smiled, a knowing smile. As if he was referencing a secret only the two of them were aware of.

"The Crest of the Lord," Rodan said, voice deeper now, reverent. "You have it. I know you do."

Lukas stiffened. The air felt heavier suddenly, like the ocean itself had pressed inward. One of the Three Legacies of a Dragon Lord. This was perhaps one of the most elusive Legacies of them all. There were only a few Lords of Linemall in recorded history who were said to be capable of properly using the Legacy when they truly needed it. And there were plenty who fell, believing that they did have the Third and final Legacy of the Dragon Lords.

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Rodan stepped forward, placing a hand over Lukas' chest, just above his heart.

"When you are given this Legacy, it is not just a reminder of the title you hold. Not just a symbol of power. It's who we are. Every single Dragon Lord before us, they are never truly gone. They live within us, etched into our soul like fire into stone."

Lukas felt it then—a flicker deep inside, like something ancient had stirred in response to Rodan's words. Not just power, but presence. A whisper in his blood. Rodan continued, "Call upon your Crest, and our forefathers will answer. They always do. It will let you draw from the Divinity without toll, strengthen the portal, anchor it."

Lukas wasn't sure. He had read the stories of the few Lords who possessed the Legacy, the one that allowed themselves to draw upon history itself to give them the strength they needed to overcome their enemies. But those stories always ended miserably. Those same Lords ended up losing their sense of self the longer they channeled, their heritage through themselves. Using the Crest had broken their minds. And they ended up becomingnaught but mindless beasts, acting on instinct alone.

"But—what if I lose myself?" Lukas asked.

"I'm sure you have been told it's dangerous," Rodan cut in, quiet but firm. "And it is. Stay in that state too long, and you'll drown in the tide of voices. But we're not asking for forever, Lukas. Just now. Just for this."

Lukas swallowed hard. His heart was thundering now—not from fear, but from something deeper. From the roaring voices that had begun to stir.

Rodan stepped back and spread his arms toward the sea, the spell circle glowing brighter with each breath. "You don't need to summon all of them. Just one Lord before you. Just me. That's all we need."

Lukas closed his eyes. And he reached inward. Into the Crest. Into the bloodline of Drakos. And the world within his mind cracked open. It started with a heat in his chest—not a warmth, but a rising, like a tide surging against a dam. Then came the voices. Not whispers. Not echoes. Roars. Screams. Cries. A hundred. A thousand. Countless souls shouting all at once, not at him, but through him.

The Crest of the Lord had awoken. For a heartbeat, it was ecstasy. Lukas felt limitless. His veins sang with power, thrumming with divine energy that made even Rodan's power feel like a mere trickle. His vision burst into light and color, like he could see the mana, taste the aether around him. His body lifted slightly from the ground, feet no longer needing it. Every part of him shone.

And then, came the weight.

It was like a tidal wave of memory. Each voice didn't just speak—they showed him everything. Their lives. Lukas was forced to watch as flashes of battlefields and kingdoms was forced into his mind. Wives. Sons. Cities burning. Lovers embracing in fiery passion. Betrayals by ones they never expected. Coronations. Deaths. A thousand lives collapsing in on his own. Time had no meaning. He lived, loved, killed and died all at once. His mind reeled.

This was what it meant to use the Crest of the Lord.

Lukas staggered forward, gasping, as the power within him threatened to swallow him. His Mana Pool, once carefully honed and managed through the past few months, now surged like a storm-split dam. And it wasn't being emptied—it was filling. Filling with far too much. Too much that Lukas could actually handle. Mana burst from his fingertips in shimmering threads, feeding the glowing glyphs of Rodan's teleportation spell, yet his reserves only grew.

Lukas had quite literally spent the last months of this new life learning to conserve energy, to push mana into greater spells through strain and control. But this—this was the opposite. The Crest was force-feeding him magic. Divine essence. The power of those who came before. And they were all watching.

"Too much," he muttered, clutching at his chest and his skin felt hot to the touch. "It's… too much."

His muscles trembled, not from weakness but from the pressure building beneath his skin. It was like trying to hold back a river of Mana with a paper wall. Lukas' thoughts threatened to splinter, frayed at the edges by voices demanding to be heard.

But then—

Rodan.

Lukas found it, like a lighthouse in the storm. A singular voice among the sea of chaos, calm and assured. "Focus, brother." But it wasn't him exactly. Rather it was the memory of Rodan that spoke to him—not the man beside him, but the echo of him that lived inside the Crest. "You know me. Focus on me. Focus on this. I know you can do this."

Lukas gritted his teeth, anchoring onto that voice like a drowning man clawing to the shore. And then he felt another. A different being. Old. Wounded… but vast. A presence that didn't push or pull but simply watched. Was it pride that Lukas could feel emanating from him?

He dared not look too closely. Not yet.

Every ounce of his focus and attention needed to be put into getting them out of here. The light around his body grew blinding, his silhouette consumed in radiant, deep-blue flame. The spell beneath them began to respond, growing more complex, more alive. Rodan turned to glance at him, his eyes widening in brief surprise—but he said nothing. Katrina shouted something that Lukas could barely make out as she grabbed the Kraken by his arm, perhaps telling him to get up.

Lukas stood now not just as a man, not just as a dragon—but as a Lord. His body a conduit for all those who came before him. His will the only thing keeping him from being ripped apart. The Crest of the Lord was not meant for the unworthy. And Lukas Drakos was worthy. The ship trembled as the last of the glyphs flared to life beneath it, runes rippling with blinding, pure-blue draconic light; empowered by the magic that came from Lukas and all the Lords before him.

The skies above shrieked with wind and pressure, the sea below folding in on itself like reality had been peeled open. The portal—a swirling vortex of mirrored water and refracted starlight—loomed just ahead of the ship's bow, and it was no longer a question of if it would work. It was already happening.

Lukas staggered as the vessel began to tilt forward. Gravity bent toward the open maw of the portal, and so too did the energy—air, mana, sound—all warping into a vacuum-like pull. The spell was staggering in its scale. He could feel the weight of it. The continent-sized strain it placed on the fabric of the world. This wasn't just teleportation. This was a spell of mass relocation. Rodan had created a miracle, with Lukas acting as the engine.

Mana blazed through Lukas' veins like molten gold. His body radiated with light. Somehow, he was still alive. For now at least. Every second dragged on as if it were eternity. Every heartbeat thundered like war drums. He could see it all: the portal, the sea, the stars, the deck—and the swirling storm of ancestral memories. All the Dragon Lords within him, echoing their wills and fury and sorrow and pride across the tapestry of his soul.

"Now!" Rodan shouted, stumbling toward him and grabbing his arm just as the deck shuddered and pitched forward. "Hold on, brother!"

Lukas grabbed the rail just in time, both men clutching each other as the great ship began its descent into the portal. Behind them, the sky burned with fire as Nozar warships appeared on the horizon—just too late. Their cannons were charging, their sails furious. But the portal had already begun consuming the ship, foot by foot. Lukas' eyes flickered, shimmering with golden-blue flame as the power within him reached its zenith. And then—just before he was pulled into the portal with the rest of the ship—he heard it again.

The presence.

It had always been there, watching quietly. Not guiding. Not intruding. Simply waiting. Lukas turned inward one last time, and within the storm of voices and ancient power—he found him. A tall man stood in a field of starlight, his features hazy, but familiar. His posture was regal, his eyes warm, but stormy. His hair was tousled and dark-gold, not quite Rodan's, not quite Katrina's—but close. And then he smiled.

It was Lord Jaren Drakos.

Father to both Lukas and Rodan. The Lady Kaitlyn's husband. The man Lukas' mother, Selene of Dawn, had fallen in love with. Lukas had never met him. But in that instant, through the Crest, through the flood of inherited memory—he knew him. And Jaren knew him.

"I see now," Jaren whispered, his voice like distant thunder and morning mist, "why the world gave you a second chance."

Lukas didn't speak. He couldn't. Not with his throat tight and his soul shaking.

"I can rest, knowing Linemall is in your hands," Jaren said, stepping forward, resting a ghostly hand on Lukas' shoulder. "You will do what...we could not. You will save our people. You will bring glory to the dragons."

The late Lord Jaren smiled again.

"I am proud of you, my son."

And then—

He was gone. The portal swallowed them whole. The final pull by Rodan yanked Lukas out of the Crest and back into his body. Lukas' knees slammed against the deck. The ship groaned with impossible weight as it folded through reality. Rodan clutched him, steadying him.

"Lukas!" Rodan's voice was sharp, real, here. "Let go! You've done enough. Come back to us."

Lukas gasped, his breath ragged, his eyes wide—then slowly, he nodded. The voices faded. The Crest receded, the light dimming from his skin.

And the moment he released the connection—

The world went black.