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

Lukas had honestly not thought this through.

His biggest worry was now Rosalia Elarion herself. She remained unconscious throughout the exchange and honestly Lukas had no idea how she would respond.

Maybe she would refuse to partake in the challenge outright. Maybe she would cry. Maybe she would cling to Celina and beg to stay under her tutelage.

That had been his greatest fear, the one that gnawed at him from the moment the challenge had been approved by the King and Celina herself.

It took her a few hours to awake again and Lukas immediately explained what he had gotten the girl into.

The princess remained silent at first and he honestly thought he'd messed up. But she simply looked up at him, hands still trembling from yesterday's exhaustion, and said—

"I trust you."

There was no hesitation. No fear. Just the bright, innocent trust of a child.

"Because you're my friend," she continued, her voice soft, but steady. "And that's all I need."

Lukas let out a soft laugh.

Their training began the very next day at Rosalia's insistence.

"Alright then, Princess," he said, stepping into the centre of the training yard. There was no Divine Knight to interfere. She kept her word that she would allow Lukas to train Rosalia as he saw fit. "Let's get to work."

She beamed, her excitement lighting up her face, and Lukas found himself smiling despite the year that lay ahead of them. They trained alone now. The yard was theirs. Only the sound of the wind, the distant clang of steel on steel from other training grounds littered around the palace, and the steady rhythm of Lukas' voice.

"Let's start with something simple," he said, hands on his hips. "What do you think is the most important thing in fighting? The foundation of all fighters."

Rosalia tilted her head, thinking hard. "Strength?"

"No."

"Speed?"

"Still wrong."

"Uh…magic?"

Lukas snorted. "Magic won't help you. Nor are you allowed to use it when you go up against Celina. Remember that."

She puffed her cheeks, frustrated, and he knelt so they were eye level.

"It's the eyes," he said quietly.

"The eyes?"

"The ability to observe," Lukas explained, tapping his temple. "No matter how fast you are. No matter how strong you become. The first step to becoming a fighter is in your vision."

Rosalia frowned. "Do I need…glasses?"

Lukas chuckled. "Nothing like that. You already have all the tools at your disposal. You just aren't using them."

He stood and without warning, snapped a punch toward her face. His fist stopped just a hair's breadth from her nose. Rosalia flinched, eyes squeezed shut, breath caught in her throat.

And there it was. The first wall she'd have to break.

Lukas slowly lowered his hand. "How can you ever be ready to fight if you're too afraid to see what's in front of you?"

Her lashes fluttered as she opened her eyes, wide and uncertain.

"You'll never land a blow on me, or anyone else, if you can't keep your eyes open when danger comes. Fighting starts with accepting fear, not running from it."

Rosalia swallowed hard.

"I—I wasn't scared," she whispered.

"Liar," Lukas grinned.

Her lips wobbled into a weak smile. "Okay. Maybe a little."

"We'll fix that," Lukas said, standing tall again. "Our first goal isn't fancy punches or kicks. It's simple."

He raised his hand again, slowly this time, bringing it near her face.

"You're going to learn to how to use your eyes in a fight."

Her eyes widened. "Seeing? That's it?"

"It is everything. It is the foundation to achieve mastery of the fight, Rosalia."

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And so their first lesson began.

"Alright," Lukas said, rolling his shoulders as the afternoon sun warmed the stones beneath their feet. "Next, I want you to focus."

Rosalia straightened up, wiping the sweat from her brow with the sleeve of her tunic. "Focus on what?"

"On me," Lukas said simply. "Just focus on me."

She blinked, then nodded, locking her eyes onto him with a surprising amount of determination. He let her settle into it, let her stare, let the silence stretch out. One heartbeat. Two. A minute passed.

And in that time, she studied him with an almost childish curiosity.

His black hair was messy, longer than most mages kept it, the strands falling just above his sharp, sea-blue eyes that always seemed to be watching something far away. His robes were loose and worn, not the pristine garb of the palace, but something simpler, something that belonged to someone who moved too much to care about creases and stitches.

Her gaze drifted to his right arm, always sleeved and always gloved, the fabric pulled tight as if it were holding something back, concealing it at almost times. She remembered the mass of tentacles that had been attached to his arm and she recalled how cool it had been to see something like that.

And then, just as Rosalia was beginning to wonder if she was doing the exercise right, Lukas broke the silence with a single command, "Close your eyes."

She obeyed without question. A moment of silence passed.

"Now tell me," Lukas said, his voice calm but firm, "what colour was the palace guard's hair? The one who just walked behind me."

Rosalia's face twisted in disbelief, her eyes still shut. "That's not fair! You told me to focus on you!"

"I did," Lukas said, his voice holding back a laugh. "I told you to use me as the focal point of your vision. I never said to ignore everything else."

Her eyes shot open in protest, but he was already walking past her, hands in his pockets, as if the lesson were done.

"You were looking," he continued, "but you weren't seeing."

She frowned, trailing behind him. "What's the difference?"

"The eyes are wasteful," he said, glancing over his shoulder. "They take in too much, so your brain filters most of it out. When people fight, they focus only on the enemy's movement. They tunnel in. And that's when they forget about their surroundings. That can make or break a fight."

His words were cold, but they carried the weight of something lived—a memory, a warning.

"You've got to learn to see it all," Lukas said, turning back to her. "Not just me. Not just what's in front of you. The whole picture. Even the things you think don't matter."

Her brows furrowed in concentration. "That… that sounds really hard."

"It is," he agreed. "But it's what is going to separates you from the rest."

Rosalia bit her lip, glancing down at her hands.

"Relax your eyes," Lukas instructed, kneeling again to meet her. "Don't stare so hard you burn a hole in me. Just…let it all come to you. Feel the space around you. Take it all in. And then learn how to keep it there. For not just a minute. Not just a fight. Always."

She looked up at him, something shining in her gaze—a mixture of understanding and budding excitement.

"I can do that," she said quietly.

Lukas smiled, standing once more.

"Good," he said, turning to face the next wave of lessons. "Because this is where the real training begins."

The days settled into a consistent schedule for Rosalia and Lukas.

Mornings began with the sound of rope whipping against stone, Rosalia's feet tapping quick, steady beats as she jumped, stumbled, and jumped again. It was monotonous work. It burned in her calves and ached in her shoulders, but Lukas told her to keep going.

"Build the rhythm," he said. "Build your stamina."

Most children would have balked at the repetition, at the simplicity of it, but Rosalia didn't. She complained, sure. She scowled and whined and grumbled about how boring it was—but she never quit.

The footwork, the rope, the running—these were things she could push through.

It was the training of her eyes that nearly broke her. They ached constantly, burned like fire after every session. She would rub them raw, struggling to keep them open as sweat trickled into them, begging for just a moment to close them.

But Lukas never let her off easily.

"You'll get used to it," he promised her as he threw another punch, stopping just short of her nose. She didn't flinch as violently anymore, but she still blinked.

Over the weeks, he threw more. Faster. Lower. From behind her. He didn't tell her when they were coming. Her only task was to see—and to keep seeing.

Random spheres of water would crash toward her out of nowhere as they trained, Lukas manipulating them without warning. Sometimes they splashed harmlessly on her face and drenched her completely, but he never apologized for she would close her eyes shut when they did splash against her.

"Your eyes aren't glass," he would remind her. "They won't shatter. Trust them."

There were days she wanted to scream at him, but she kept going. Because there was something quietly satisfying about the moments when she did see the strike coming, when she could move her head just enough, when her feet found their rhythm before she even realized she was stepping.

It slowly began to click for Rosalia.

Her eyes stopped hurting. Her breathing steadied even as the rope sang faster beneath her feet.

It didn't just stop at the hours spent in the training yard. Because Lukas had knowledge from a past life, knowledge that Celina never had.

No matter how hard one trained, none of it would matter if her recovery and diet was not in check. It was the work you put in outside of training which would determine how much results you saw from it.

Her sleep, he made sure was long, consistent, and undisturbed.

Her food, which Lukas adjusted meticulously with the palace cooks, making sure she ate real meals—meals that fed her muscles and sharpened her recovery, not the sugar-laden feasts she used to sneak in between her training sessions. Unlike Julien's fights, there was no weight to cut which meant that Rosalia could get all the food she required to support both her training and her growth.

It took Rosalia a while to get used to the change in diet but she knew sacrifices had to be made if she were to succeed in this challenge. In this way, she was mature beyond her years.

And, most importantly, her rest days.

Lukas taught her that rest wasn't weakness. It was necessary. Because this wasn't a race to burn out. Consistency would always beat out short bursts of intensity which fizzle out before you reach the finish line.

Consistency was the reason why Julien Fronterra had cemented his legacy in the history of professional fighting.

And he was about to make Rosalia Elarion into a fighter of champion caliber, one who could not be denied a shot at the title of the Divine Knight.