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

Lukas had wanted to scream. But no sound came, his mouth hung agape at the scene unfolding before his eyes. One moment, the Kraken was there—bickering with Katrina—and the next, he was split in half like meat under a butcher's cleaver. His top half flopped beside Lukas, eyes still wide and twitching, mouth still trying to speak even as blood sprayed in thick, hot waves. His bottom half had been thrown to the other side of the ship, intestines dragging like a grotesque red carpet.

Lukas didn't move. He couldn't. It was at this moment when Lukas was reminded of how fragile life truly was. He might live in a world of magic and mysticism and he might have been a dragon of fearsome power in this world, a dragon that no human could dream to match. But at the end of the day, they were mortal creatures. Flesh and blood. And they could be torn apart despite how powerful they might appear to be.

So Lukas watched, a hollow feeling in his gut as the Kraken was ripped in half; blood splattering across his face and guts flying through the air. He watched as the Kraken fell and he could do nothing at all. For more slashes came and Lukas' instincts screamed for him to move out of the way. So he did, leaping out of the way just in time as the next blasts of force tore through the ship like paper. Even the Robes of the Lord would not save him from an attack of that magnitude.

Something deep and primal screamed inside of him—danger. That simple, silent, suffocating realization: this wasn't a fight he could win. Not as he was right now. His hands trembled—not from grief, but from adrenaline. The kind that didn't keep you on your feet, but told you to run. Get Katrina out. Protect her. The only voice in his head that wasn't drowned in panic. Because this wasn't the ring. This wasn't a title match. There were no rules, no referees. He couldn't just fucking tap out. The man who had just torn this vessel into pieces wasn't using magic. He wasn't glowing with power, didn't wield a divine weapon, didn't chant ancient words.

He had just…swung his blade. Pure, undiluted and simply unfathomable strength. Lukas didn't need to guess. So this was Nozar's strongest weapon. Miles away, in a little fishing boat. And then he wasn't.

The water exploded as the Hero launched himself into the sky, a white blur cutting through the air. But Rodan was prepared, moving just as fast in response to his arrival. In a flash of radiant oceanic light, the Divinity of the Seas answered his call. Rodan soared upward like a comet of tidal force, drawing the sea to him in arcs of glowing blue. He met the Hero mid-air with a booming clash, the sky screaming under the force of their collision.

And Lukas didn't look up. He didn't wait to see who had the upper hand.

"Katrina!" Lukas shouted, wheezing through the smoke and mist. He leapt toward the rising deck, where Katrina had been thrown in the blast, struggling as she shoved debris off of her. He reached her, heart racing.

"I've got you," he grunted as he helped her to her feet—though he wasn't sure who he was trying to convince. Himself, or her. They only had a second before the sea swallowed them whole. The broken halves of the ship plunged beneath the surface, dragged down by weight and ruin. Lukas hit the water with Katrina in his arms, the cold water engulfing the two of the dragons. Splinters and wreckage spiraled around them as the current churned with fury. Katrina coughed, gasping, eyes wide in panic. She clung to him, wrapped tightly around his right arm. And for a second, in the murky blue, Lukas saw something in her gaze that didn't match the fear pounding in his chest: it was courage.

Not just bravery, but defiance. Even now, as chaos raged above and Rodan fought for his life, Katrina Drakos didn't look away. She didn't turn to run. She didn't scream for help. She was scared but she was willing. And that's when Lukas knew. He knew that Katrina couldn't stay. Not because she lacked courage—no, it was because she had too much of it. Katrina wouldn't leave, especially not after just getting her father back---Lukas knew that. She would not leave her father not after spending the last decade searching for Rodan. This was not something that Lukas could convince her of.

If Katrina stayed, she would die. This was not her battle. Her fingers gripped his shoulder. "We need to help him—Lukas, we can't just run, we—!"

"I will help him. I promise."

His words stopped her. I will help him. Not we will help him. Lukaswould be the one to fight alongside her father. Not Katrina. Because he knew if he allowed her to confront the Hero From Another World, the one they call the Dragon Slayer, and she ended up losing her life…then Rodan would never forgive him.

The Lady Kaitlyn Drakos, her grandmother, would not forgive him.

Lukas would not be able to forgive himself.

Her expression cracked just enough for sorrow to bleed through the bravery.

"I'm sorry. You must forgive me, Katrina," he whispered, and grabbed her wrist.

"What are you—Lukas—no—!"

The pearl bracelet was still there. The Tears of the Sea. A final promise, gifted by Lady Kaitlyn herself before their journey began.

"If the way to the portal is lost… if you are stranded, hunted, whatever it is: you must find your way back to the sea. Break the Tear. The ocean will answer, and you will be carried back to our waters, to safety, to us." [ Chapter 21: Departure At Last ]

Lukas broke the pearl between his fingers. A pulse shot through the water, soundless and deep—like the ocean itself had drawn a breath. Light spread from the broken pearl, curling around Katrina's arm like glowing vines of coral.

"No—Lukas, no!" she screamed, trying to pull away. "Don't do this—don't you dare—!"

Her fingers slipped through his. Her skin began to dissolve. It started at her arm, where the bracelet had once been, as if she were melting into the sea itself. A beautiful, terrible unraveling. She thrashed, teeth bared, betrayal flashing through her tear-filled eyes.

"Please—please don't do this—!"

Lukas forced himself to stay still. To let it happen. This was what he needed to do. And then she was gone. No light. No trace. No sound. Just the empty blue of the deep. She would be on her way back to the Seas of Linemall. Safe at home, away from this battle. Lukas remained suspended in that silence, his fists clenched so tightly they bled. And there he was, alone again. Alone with his thoughts and alone with his emotions.

But one emotion stood above it all—fear. Not just fear of the Strongest. Not even fear of failing. It was the fear of dying. He'd been through it before and he had to say that it was not a pleasant experience. It would be the second time he died. To lose his life again? After fighting his whole life as Julien Fronterra, coming this far to be reborn into the world of Hiraeth, and still ending up as nothing more than another body lost to the sea?

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He trembled. Not from the cold, not from the weight of the ocean pressing in—but from the truth. He was scared shitless.

"Fuck. FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!!!" He screamed.

Rodan was up there. Fighting a man who had split the Kraken in two with nothing but a swing of his blade. A man from another world, like him. He clenched his fist. He didn't know who he was right now. He didn't know whether he was still Julien Fronterra or if he was now Lukas Drakos.

But names did not matter. He knew what he was, beyond titles and names. He was a FUCKING fighter. He had fought every day of his life.

For food. For survival. For pride. For purpose. He fought in the ring with his fists and in the streets with his will. He fought when the world left him alone. He fought when fate threw him into a body that was not his own and into a world he didn't understand. Fighting was all he knew.

And right now?

His identity crisis could go fuck itself right now. He would fight. And that was enough.

Lukas kicked toward the surface. Hard. Blood trailing behind him, bubbles rushing past his face. He tore through the water like a missile. Rodan. He was fighting to protect the future of the seas. A future Lukas still wasn't sure he deserved. But he'd be damned if he let him die here. Not like the Kraken. Not like this.

The surface broke. The sea screamed with waves as a shockwave ripped the horizon. Rodan was up ahead, encased in the radiant power of the Divinity of the Seas, clashing against a man whose presence shattered reality with every motion.

The Hero From Another World. The one Nozar had summoned. The monster who could cleave a ship in half without blinking. But Lukas didn't falter. The Draconic Flow ignited deep within his chest—not a calm ripple this time, but a detonation. It surged like molten lightning through every nerve, every bone, every drop of blood. His body rebelled against it. Tendons snapped, reformed. Bones cracked, grew, twisted, realigned. His spine stretched with a sickening sound, vertebrae multiplying. His jaw split, expanding outward into a snout as rows of fangs pushed through his gums like daggers. Muscles burst beneath his skin. His arms widened, fingers stretching into wicked talons. His legs cracked backward into draconic angles, his feet splitting into clawed pillars. Wings tore through his back in a geyser of blood and membrane, their span casting a shadow over the churning sea.

Lukas roared. From the depths of the sea rose something ancient—something terrifying. For the first time since the Great War, Hiraeth saw the true might of the Dragons once again. Not chained in shackles, not reduced to beasts enslaved by humanity. Lukas was larger than most dragons ever dared to be. Not elegant. Not beautiful.

Primordial.

For once, Lukas had a clear view of the Hero. His armor was a joke: shoulder plates of rusted metal, barely hanging on, nothing else but thick leather straps crossing his chest. But his body—his body was a weapon. Every muscle bulged, sculpted by battle and brutal repetition, his veins alive with tension. A massive greatsword rested in his hand—jagged, battered, yet undeniably crafted with mastery.That sword had history. That sword had ended lives. The lives of hundreds, if not thousands of dragons during the Great War. And somehow, even under the pressure of Rodan's Divinity of the Seas, even while standing waist-deep in wreckage and waves, the Hero was pushing Rodan back. Blow for blow. With raw strength.

Long, filthy hair hung past his jawline, matted with salt and sweat. His beard was patchy, flecked with dried blood and grime. His face was chiseled, sharp, yet sunken — like a man who hadn't known sleep in weeks. His eyes…they were not one that boasted a sound mind.

There was something familiar about the man. But Lukas didn't have the time to get better look at his face.

Why? Because Lukas hit him like a comet, slamming into his chest with insane amounts of momentum and force. The Hero was launched backward, blasted clean off his feet and thrown across the shattered deck of a drifting hull. The air cracked from the impact, water erupting around them in a tidal ring.

Rodan landed hard on his feet.

"…You—"

Lukas didn't look back. His tail swung, snapping through wood and debris, and his wings stretched wide, water rolling off them like thunderclouds breaking. The Hero coughed, pulling himself to his knees, and stared. A grin formed on his face. It wasn't joy. It was recognition. Recognition of the ones who he'd battled so long ago.

But Lukas recognized him as well.

No.

Julien Fronterra did. His wings faltered. His claws trembled. All the fury, all the adrenaline coursing through his draconic veins evaporated in an instant. Time didn't slow—it stopped. His heart thudded against his chest, painfully. The man stood there, steadying himself, dragging that massive sword behind him. His expression was hard, cold. The glare of a killer. But behind the blood and salt and ruin, he saw it. He saw him.

That scar near his eye—one that he'd gotten from pushing Julien out of the way from a falling bookshelf. That nose, slightly crooked from too many fights with other fishermen on the docks. That look of grim determination. That cheshire grin.

Lukas's breath hitched. His mind screamed against the impossibility. No. No. That's not him. It can't be him.

But it was. He had seen that face a thousand times before. He knew it well. He had heard that voice echoing in memories and bedtime stories. He had carried the weight of that man's death like a stone inside his chest every day since the ocean had claimed him.

They'd told him he had died at sea. They told him that he had died.

But here he was. Alive.

Here. Here In Hiraeth. They had summoned him from another world. His world. Lukas's knees buckled under the weight of realization. His tail splashed violently into the sea, and the sky above them grew still. Even the waves seemed to hesitate. Rodan turned, confused at Lukas' sudden hesitation.

"Lukas?"

But Lukas didn't hear him. He didn't hear anything. He'd drowned it all out, everything around him. He'd always dreamed of reuniting with this man. But not like this. Not with him ready to cut him down. Not with his sword raised against him.

The man that stood before him was none other than Jakob Fronterra.

"..D-dad?"

The Hero From Another World was…his father.