NOVEL NEXT Chapter 59: In Pursuit of More
Lord Jaren Drakos had never been the strongest. Though he fought bravely during the Great War, he was never well-known for his skill in battle. So Lukas had not been expecting much from the former Lord but his fighting style was near absolute. Everything about him screamed precision—his movements a study in controlled violence, his strikes calculated to the breath. Lord Jaren did not waste energy. He did not overextend. Speed, for him, was not simply about moving fast, but about moving at the exact moment.
It was terrifying.
Lukas was not holding back either, calling his constructs forth in rapid succession—blades of solidified sea-water, coiling serpents which lashed out at him—but Jaren was already gone before the strike even began. Not just dodging, but pre-empting every single move that Lukas made before he enacted it.
That was mastery over the Domain of Fortitude, Jaren's signature spell. In Jaren's hands, the Domain of Fortitude bent time—perhaps not in the literal sense, but in how it read his opponent's intention. Every twitch of Lukas' muscle, every breath before a spell was cast, was noted. Jaren responded before the attack had fully formed. It was quite literally like fighting somebody who could see into the future.
Lukas felt frustration build up within him for nothing he did seemed to matter. Nothing connected. He didn't even graze the Dragon Lord, not even once.
And yet—Lukas learned. In the rapid exchanges, through exhaustion and strain, he began to see the rhythm. Not Jaren's, but his own. How telegraphed his attacks were. How slow, not in magic, but in mind. He saw how Jaren moved not faster than him, but more efficiently. How he used movement as a blade, and breath as a blade's edge.
Lukas stopped trying to act as a dominant whirlwind of force that had allowed him to defeat the Monarch because that would not get him anywhere with Jaren. Instead, he focused. Focused on removing the meaningless theatrics from his strikes. His constructs—once brutish in force—became leaner, sharper, faster.
Where there was once delay, now there was instinct. The sea within him churned not only with rage, but with clarity.
And then for the first time in what seemed like maybe years of endless battle, Lukas acted faster than Lord Jaren could react. It was only for only a single movement. Yet his blow had struck true. From Lord Jaren, Lukas learnt the importance of speed, the art of stillness within motion, the value of precision behind immense force.
With speed came precision. With precision came lethality. And with lethality, his magic—the constructs of the sea—began to evolve. What once struck with brute force, now struck with purpose.
If Jaren danced across the battlefield like wind over the peaks, Vaelrion Drakos came crashing down like a tempest, displaying the great destructive potential of the Divinity they all wielded. It was no wonder the mysterious Dragon Lord resembled the Monarch in that sense, for Lukas would come to learn that this Dragon Lord was his father. Which would essentially make Valerion his great grandpa.
Valerion Drakos was never the most honourable of the Dragon Lords. Nor the most loved. But he was the first to step beyond the veil of Linemall and walk among humanity without disguise. It was he who flew to Ilagron Kingdom, where no dragon had ever dared land. Not in conquest—but in curiosity. In the time before betrayal, he broke bread with the past kings of Ilagron and formed what would eventually become a friendship between the two races that would last for thousands of years to come.
This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.
Though his reign was short-lived, it did not take away what he had accomplished in his time. Valerion Drakos was the Bane of the Cthulu, exterminating their race till their numbers became far and between. For he had pushed beyond the laws of nature.
Water boiled at 100°C. It turned to ice at 0°C. These were truths at least up until Vaelrion made them obsolete. By mastering molecular cohesion through tension, Vaelrion discovered he could hold water in a liquid state far beyond its natural thresholds:
Valerion could raise the temperature of the Seas hundreds of degrees—without it evaporating—then unleash it in jets of superheated water that flayed dragonhide and melted steel. He could drop its temperature below freezing, while keeping it fluid—then lock it in an instant, turning entire waves into bladed crystal prisons mid-motion.
His control wasn't simply elemental—it was surgical. A war-spear of liquid flame one moment. A coffin of solid ice the next. The enemies of Valerion Drakos perished before they understood what had struck them. A battlefield touched by Valerion looked like it had been the result of a song of ice and fire. He was molding the very potential of water, not simply its form. Not reacting to nature—but commanding its threshold.
Where Jaren had taught him speed, Vaelrion taught him control under duress. How to bend precision into elemental devastation. How to strike with a tide that could burn or freeze at a thought's edge. The battlefield became a maelstrom—shifting temperatures, slicing currents, and ripples of compressed death. Yet through it all, Lukas did not flinch against the two legends of the Drakos Bloodline.
Lukas learned. Adapted. Innovated. Just like he had against Rodan. Just like he had against the Monarch. He continued to grow stronger, relentless in his pursuit for more.
The world around them had become nothing but broken air and boiling mist. Steam curled through the air like spirits fleeing the flesh. Frost-glass shattered beneath Lukas' steps. The ocean itself trembled underfoot, torn between boiling rage and freezing submission—echoes of Vaelrion's will that had once commanded its depths. Nearby, the wind still spun from the wake of Lord Jaren's final lunge, his Domain of Fortitude fading like a dying heartbeat.
And yet, in the center of that elemental chaos, Lukas stood—head bowed, fists clenched, steam rising from his body like smoke from tempered steel.
Jaren lay to the side, chest rising and falling in sharp gasps, his eyes wide not with pain but awe. For the first time in centuries, another had broken through his perfect defence. His speed—rendered useless. His predictions—outpaced. Lukas had not just caught up to him. He had grown faster mid-battle, matching motion with motion, feint with feint, until the final blow wasn't power—it was understanding.
Vaelrion, kneeling, one arm scorched and the other frozen solid by his own counter-spell, offered no words. Only a nod of grim approval. In Lukas, he was shown what else was capable through the manipulation of temperature. Lukas hadn't just survived Valerion's molten jets or freezing tides. He had absorbed them—learned from them—and brought them to greater heights.
The sea fell silent. Two Dragon Lords had risen to test the heir of the seas. And they had been defeated—not by arrogance or brute strength, but by a force they had long forgotten: Hunger.
The dragons had always sat atop of the food chain. There was no need to worry about their survival. Not until it was far too late. But Lukas knew there was more out there. He was exposed to the upper limits of what was possible, he knew how much more he needed to grow. He was once a human before he came to wield the draconic might all these Lords before him were born with.
Lukas turned from them, his breath even, his heart steady. He did not roar in triumph. He did not demand titles or praise. He simply moved forward—his eyes locked on the distant horizon, where another storm brewed.
"There must be more," Lukas whispered to himself. "There must always be more."
Lukas was not done. Defeating Rodan, the Monarch and now Valerion and Jaren were worthy feats that showed him how far he had come since the start of these Trials.
But still, it was not enough. Not for Lukas Drakos, the man who now stood as the successor to all the Lords before him. And so, with the shattered remains of myth behind him, Lukas walked on—relentless, unyielding, and still searching for others to test his strength against.