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

Rodan's warhammer came crashing down like a falling mountain, like father like daughter. Lukas didn't move. At least not until the last second. In one seamless gesture, he twisted his fingers and the water beneath him surged. Instead of manipulating the water to defend him, the liquid burst into motion, twisting behind Rodan's weapon and latching onto it. The hammerhead ballooned like a sail catching wind and in an instant, it transformed.

Snap.

A brilliant flash of force exploded outward as the weapon contorted mid-swing into a parachute! His opponent's own momentum betrayed him. The very force he exerted was used as parachute caught Rodan's swing and dragged him back, his feet skidding across the stone floor.

The former Dragon Lord's eyes widened. "You little—!"

But Lukas was already moving, for Rodan had already begun his counterstrike. In their battles, a single second could decide who the victor would be. Tendrils of water slithered across the battlefield toward Lukas. They darted like vipers, attempting to wind around his limbs, his torso, aiming to crush him where he stood.

Yet Lukas still didn't flinch. He slammed both palms together and summoned two circular shields from the water—discs with sharp solid ridges carved into their edges, like the blades of a turbine. The blades along the shields' edge began to spin. A deafening whir filled the air as the edges became a blur of slicing motion. The tendrils struck and were shredded apart before they ever touched him.

Rodan steadied himself, skidding to a halt across the cracked tiles. He stared at Lukas from across the yard. Not with disdain. Not with casual dismissal. But with something dangerously close to awe. Lukas stood there—shoulders squared, breathing steady, his hands drenched in water and light.

Around him, remnants of his constructs slowly unravelled, spiralling back into droplets that hovered in the air like stardust. Lukas had not just mastered Rodan's fighting style, a style which its foundation lay in creations of the mind. Lukas had evolved it to become something more. Something greater.

"Your shields," Rodan pointed out, slowly tilting his head to one side as he studied them. "They're spinning?"

"Yeah I know, imagination right? It's a beautiful thing." Lukas replied with a grin. He had gotten idea from something back home. Chainsaws. Industrial cutters. Technology from another world. There was no point in trying to explain that to Rodan even if he wanted to.

Rodan shook his head, trying to hide the fact that he was impressed but he was doing a terrible job. "And you think constructs like that is going to give you the win?"

"No," Lukas laughed. He cracked his knuckles. "I don't just think it's going to give me the win, brother. I know it will."

They circled each other. Rodan had lost count how many times he had stood in front of his younger brother, forgotten how many times he had faced Lukas in combat. But along the way, the dynamic between the two had begun to shift. Truthfully, the shift had already happened. In fact, it had happened a few months ago. Rodan could feel it.

Two years had passed since Lukas' first victory over Rodan. Lukas had not grown complacent because of the win, in fact he'd become relentless. No longer did Lukas fight like a student. No longer was there hesitation. There was nothing but fluidity now, no second-guessing, no waiting for permission. They clashed again now, giving all the power they could muster against one another. But Rodan was not surprised by the results that came of this fight.

The water around them stilled. What was once a battlefield of roaring waves, blades, and tidal constructs had quieted into silence—as if the very sea held its breath.

Rodan lay on his back, sprawled across the sandy shores of this imaginary battlefield within he Crest. His warhammer—now a warped crescent of drifting water—had already dissolved into a small puddle, disarmed and undone by Lukas' last, devastating combination of attacks. Lukas stood above him. Chest rising and falling. Shoulders slick with sweat. Arms trembling—not from weakness, but from that feeling of of triumph. Lukas relished in it.

"I'll be damned," Rodan said. "I thought…it would happen one day. Maybe in another hundred years, you'd get close. But this?" The former Dragon Lord of the Seas sat up, groaning slightly as he cradled his ribs. His grin didn't falter. He looked up at Lukas with a strange mix of admiration and disbelief.

"You're stronger than me now, Lukas. I know you are."

Lukas swallowed, throat tight. "I-"

"You know, I never would have imagined it." Rodan chuckled again, but softer this time; a bittersweet chuckle—almost laughing to himself. "You used to be that awkward little brat flailing his arms every time I threw a wave at him. And now look at you. I've done what you've asked me to do. I have nothing left to teach you."

Rodan pushed himself up, slowly rising to his feet. Lukas made no move to stop him. They stood face to face now, eye to eye. Equals. No. Lukas had surpassed Rodan. The older dragon stepped forward, placing a hand on Lukas' shoulder.

"I am always going to be watching over you. But it is time to go, brother. They are waiting for you on the other side. Our people need their Lord."

For the first time, Lukas felt the weight of the title settle on him fully—not as a burden, but as like a mantle that he would carry with pride. Lukas had done it. He'd finally fucking done it. After six centuries of being here in Kairos Castle, all the years of blood, sweat, tears, failure, and pain—Lukas had crossed the chasm. He had crossed the chasm that stood between Lukas and Rodan, the dragon who had been able to make the Hero From Another World bleed.

Lukas had risen not just to meet Rodan, but to surpass him. He was no longer just the next in line.

Lukas stood at the center of the collapsing ocean, the world of water and war he'd shaped with Rodan over six centuries now beginning to fade into drifting mist and unravelling sky. The Crest of the Lord pulsed faintly within him—no longer wild and searing, but calm, disciplined. Obedient. Lukas had gotten better at using it, lasting days at a time but it was time for him to return to Kairos Castle. To return to the real world.

He'd done what he'd set out to do here.

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Lukas turned, one last time, to face the man who had been his greatest rival, his mentor, his brother. Rodan stood with his hands behind his back, the ruined battlefield laid out before them like a graveyard of memories.

"I have one last question," Lukas said quietly, his voice tight as he began to unravel the Crest—the lines of glowing scripture pulling away from his skin like unravelling threads of fate. "As I am now…"

Rodan didn't speak. He didn't try to guess what Lukas had to ask. He just watched him. Lukas' hands curled into fists.

"Do you think I'll be able to beat him?"

Rodan's brow furrowed. Lukas didn't need to clarify who. The Hero From Another World. The man who had split the Kraken in half, nearly killing Lukas' familiar. The man who had killed their father, Lord Jaren. The man who led the Kingdoms of Humanity to victory during the Great War. The man backed by Oceanus himself.

Rodan didn't say a single word. It was that silence that struck Lukas harder than any blow in their six centuries of battle. He looked down at the ground—no, at the sea of doubt swelling in his chest. Deep down he had known the answer but Rodan's confirmation had brought it to reality.

Even after everything…

Even now…

There was no certainty. Rodan's lips finally parted, his voice low. "I believe in you. But belief won't stop a god, brother."

Lukas nodded once. No anger. No frustration. Just quiet acceptance. He knew the weight of those words. He knew Rodan wouldn't lie to him. Would never give him false hope. So he did the only thing he could. He turned away and allowed himself to return to the real world. And as he did, the oceanic world within the Crest dissolved. The sound of waves fell silent. The glimmering sea-life faded into darkness. His footsteps echoed across the void—until he was once again within the heart of Kairos Castle, the training yard cold and real beneath his feet.

Six hundred years had come to pass. The final grain of sand teetered at the top of the hourglass, ready to fall. Lukas took a long breath, grounding himself. But the ache in his chest didn't vanish. It was worse here in the real world. Because Styx was not beside him. Not anymore.

She had kept her word. Every time the Crest dragged him too far into memory, too deep into battle, she had been there. She had anchored him. She had pulled him out, murmuring his name as her fingers touched his brow, asking nothing of him except that he return safely to the Castle.

But when Lukas awoke…she was gone. No lingering words. No warmth. Just the sound of the training yard wind whistling through empty stone. He couldn't blame her. In fact, Lukas understood why she had decided to distance herself from him. That didn't make it hurt any less, though.

Now, on the final day of the Third Flip, Lukas stood beneath the towering stained glass of Kairos Castle's dome, watching as the last sands slipped through the massive hourglass that had counted down the years of his trial. Six hundred years. Lukas had entered this place as a soldier with a mission six hundred years ago. Now, he would leave it as a Lord. A Lord worthy enough to lead his people.

Thus, the final grain of sand fell. The hourglass stood empty, its final grain having dropped to the bottom in solemn silence. He lowered his head as the light of the hourglass faded.

The Third Flip was over. He could feel his body begin to lift up from the ground, marking the end of these Trials; for the hourglass remained unflipped. The powers that be, the powers that had been anchoring him here to Kairos Castle began to unwind. He was returning to the living world now.

Lukas remained still. The Trials of Kairos Castle were complete. He was ready to return to the living world. Back to Hiraeth. Back to Linemall Back to his people. It broke his heart that Styx would not appear before him now, not even during his final departure from Kairos Castle. He wondered if he would ever see her again.

And then Lukas heard it. A whisper. Low. Ancient.

"Leaving already, little Lordling?"

The Crest pulsed. Lukas froze. He knew that voice. It was the voice of the same being that had once torn through his flesh with monstrous teeth, that had reduced him to a lifeless husk beneath the sea, that had spat on his worth and called him nothing. The one who had watched as Lukas bled out in an underground cave—a test, he had called it. A test to determine who would be next-in-line to lead the Drakos Household and the Seas of Linemall.

The one who had later chosen him, not because of his strength, but because of his defiance. Because Lukas never stopped fighting. He was the one who had put him in a century long coma, leaving Rodan to take his place for fear of his brother's safety.

The Monarch of the Seas. Father to Lord Jaren. The Dragon Lord so terrifying, even his name had been erased from memory. The Lord who had ensured the Drakos Household's dominance among the Great Houses when they had previously been reduced to a laughing stock.

The Crest burned as the voice pushed through, forcing Lukas to listen to every word the Monarch had to say.

"You've grown," the voice crooned, smooth and mocking. "But strength alone won't save you. Not from what's coming. You think mastering Rodan means you're ready? He was your brother. He wanted you to win. I do not. You've allowed yourself to grow soft, your heart broken over that River whore? A damn shame, I tell you, what has become of my seed."

Lukas' heart thundered. Styx was gone. Rodan's farewell still echoed in his mind. And now this bastard had come crawling from the depths of his soul, baiting him, daring him to retaliate.

"Come now, little Lordling," the Monarch whispered, his voice coiling like a serpent. "If you want to be more than just another number on the Hero's hitlist, you'll have to kill a monster first."

Lukas didn't think. He did not care. With a savage roar, he reached forward, seized the giant hourglass with both hands—and flipped it.

Thus, the Fourth Flip began.

Styx threw open the doors to the training yard, watching just in time as Lukas flipped the hourglass for the fourth time; extending his stay in Kairos Castle for four hundred more years and continuing the Trials of Kairos Castle. The world twisted around him. The air around him shattered like glass. Through the cracks, blue and black surges of pure energy surged through as Lukas willed the Crest of the Lord back to life. And as Lukas was dragged into the Crest—as memory and magic swallowed him whole — he screamed:

"MONARCH!"

Somewhere in the deep crevices in the world of memories that the Crest of the Lords held, that ancient beast stood for Lukas' arrival. It did not take long for the young dragon to find the old one.

Lukas landed hard on jagged stone. It was night—or what passed for night in this twisted realm where the former Lord resided. The water hung like fog, suspended above a battlefield of coral and bone. And there he was. The Monarch of the Seas. He stood with four giant limbs, his scales cracked by years of fighting on the battlefield. His eyes were pits of cold ocean—eternal, unreadable.

Lukas stepped forward. There were no words spoken between the two. No pleasantries needed. No lectures to give or receive. Lukas could only feel RAGE. All the feelings that he'd bottled up from the past few months burst out and Lukas unleashed it all in a scream that shook the depths of the world within his mind. Lukas did not how strong the Monarch was. Lukas did not care if he was stronger than him.

Lukas could see the future. The Monarch would not live to see another day.

Fuck needing the former Lords, Lukas would erase this one in particular from the Crest if it was the last thing he did!