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

The only upside of being in Kairos Castle meant that he had time. In fact, he had all the time he needed now. So his training could wait. In fact, it had to wait. Because there were so many things on his mind that he'd been avoiding which could not be held back any longer.

He had to deal with them now. So he did.

Lukas spent days, weeks and even months simply processing all that had happened in the last few months. There were multiple occasions in which the Mistress of Kairos Castle thought he had already gone mad for he would sit in silence for hours at a time without making a single movement.

He thought about the past.

He thought about reuniting with his father, who was now the Hero From Another World, in the worst possible way. And it broke his heart once again to know that his father had been trying to find a way back home all this time. But Lukas also knew that the life of Julien Fronterra had come to an end. It was a life undoubtedly filled with regret but he had been given a second chance. He could no longer allow those regrets from a past life to control him in the life that he had now.

He thought about the future.

He thought about his mother. Selene of Dawn He hoped she was doing well and he remembered the promise he had made to her. A promise that he would return safely to her. It was a promise that he meant to keep.

He thought about Jesse. He knew that the kid was awaiting his return. Lukas saw how much potential Jesse had and he wanted to ensure that Jesse would one day fulfill it.

He thought about Katrina. Lukas hoped that she would forgive him for sending her away, he hoped she knew he had done it to keep her safe. He thought about Lady Kaitlyn too. He knew he had to be the one to tell both of them Rodan's fate. He would tell them that Rodan had fought to the bitter end to keep him alive.

He would be the one to tell them that Rodan had not died for nothing.

He even thought about Velena Ilagron. The old Countess who had made it all possible for the Merchant Guild to find its footing. She had placed her trust in the dragons, renewing a vow that had been made between man and dragon thousands of years ago.

He thought about the Seas of Linemall. He knew now that he would have to be the one to sit on that throne. They were counting on him. They all were.

Lukas remembered all the reasons why he could not fail this Trial. It did not matter if he was going on the wrong path. If he made mistakes, then they would be lessons for him to learn from. He wanted to get stronger. He had to. There was no point in worrying whether or not he would one day "be worthy" of being their Lord.

He would BECOME worthy to be named Linemall's Lord of the Seas.

It was the third day of the seventh month when Lukas finally rose from where he sat. Something had changed. His eyes were no longer filled with desperation or uncertainty. It was determination. The undying flame of perseverance that would not be put out, even in the face of time.

And the Mistress watched on, a small smile playing across her lips. Though she would never admit it, she was glad that Lukas Drakos had not yet lost his mind.

Instead of focusing on the Divinity of the Seas, he would return to his roots. His entire life as Julien Fronterra had been spent mastering the movements of the human body. So now it was time to learn how to master his draconic one. And until he mastered how to move within his new body, he would not transform back into his humanoid form.

The first decade was agony.

He hadn't known just how foreign his draconic form truly was—how unnatural the weight of his own wings felt, how sluggish his tail moved, how rigid his spine locked when he turned too quickly. Just a few months had been nowhere near enough experience to teach him how to use his body as a dragon to its full capabilities.

He crashed into walls. Toppled pillars. Ripped through the open sky above the dome only to spiral out of control and slam back down into the earth of the training courtyard below.

Over and over again. But every fall taught him something new. Every crash refined his movements

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By the fifth year, he could glide from one tower to another without thinking.

By the tenth, he no longer needed to rely on instinct. He knew the shape of his wings, the pressure of air when caught beneath their curve, the perfect moment to fold, to dive, to rise again. Lukas hunted illusions of prey he created with his Divinity, great phantoms made of liquid water. He fought against beasts with claws like daggers and fangs like blades. He learnt how to use his jaws in battle and how to fight like a true dragon.

This was his foundation. This was the only thing he'd ever truly known. Movement. Combat. Precision. Endurance. The body.

By Year Twenty Five, he had trained himself to fight blind. No eyes. No sound. Only the wind. The tremble of the floor. The scent of danger in the air. He moved as if each limb remembered something his mind didn't. He danced through whirlwinds of water he summoned himself, simulating what it would be like to fly through terrible weather. He built endless armies of reflections and faced them in single combat, their tactics changing with every battle.

He mastered claw, fang, wing, and flame. But it wasn't enough to just be strong. He needed to flow. Flow with Purpose. And flow with Symmetry.

And so, by the fortieth year, he shifted between his forms mid-flight, mid-strike, mid-fall—human to dragon, dragon to human—again and again until the transformation became seamless, like a breath.

By Year Fifty, there was no awkwardness. There was only fluidity and grace. No delay. No resistance between form and motion. No divide between dragon and man.

Lukas Drakos was whole.

He stood beneath the sky of Kairos, wings spread wide, tail poised with balance, dark blue scales gleaming beneath a conjured sun—not a beast, not a man, but something in between. Something more.

And in the silence of that moment, the hourglass ticked on behind him.

Fifty years into the Trial and Kairos castle had become more than just his prison. It had become his home. The walls were marked with his claws. The floors cracked from his landings. The sky above had seen more of his blood than the battlefield ever had. Where once he had fought with brute force, now every step carried meaning. Every strike flowed with intention. Every shift in weight spoke of strategy.

It was art.

A new Martial Art.

He had drawn from the past. From Julien Fronterra, the man who fought in back alleys and in the octagon, who wrestled the greatest grapplers without magic, who survived with grit, muscle, and instinct.

Julien had been a brawler, yes, but he had also been precise. He had known how to read the body. Predict movement. Counter before his opponent even struck. Grappled with his enemies till he submitted them. Then he used what he had now as Lukas Drakos. Lukas took those instincts and refined them. Combined them with the Draconic Flow which allowed him to shift seamlessly from human to dragon.

And slowly, the new martial art was born. He did not name it. It needed no name. Because there would be no one else who would ever learn it. No one who could ever replicate it.

This Martial Art had come from the culmination of two lifetimes—of human tenacity and draconic might. A dance of force and grace. Claws struck in patterns no dragon had ever imagined. Wings propelled jabs that could split the stone. Tails spun like spears. His feet, once clumsy in dragon form, now moved with the balance of a master acrobat. No dragon before him had ever embraced the humanoid form this deeply.

To the dragons, it would always be a compromise. A shell. In some ways, the Kraken had been right. One of the greatest flaws of the draconic race was their pride. Pride in knowing that their strength was far beyond anything humanity could muster.

But Lukas? He used his past life to forge a weapon. A weapon that only he could wield. A weapon that was born from what he had learnt as Julien Fronterra and what he had been given as Lukas Drakos.

The first fifty years had passed. And now, there were fifty more to go until the First Flip of the Hourglass would come to an end.