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

Magnus Elarion had been furious and rightfully so. His voice had thundered across the courtyard in a way Lukas had never heard before—cold, sharp, biting with a rage that had been born from something far deeper than disappointment.

It had been fear. A raw, trembling fear for his granddaughter's life. For all his wisdom, all his patience, there were lines he would not allow to be crossed, and Celina had blundered across them without pause. She had almost killed Rosalia. That was not something Magnsu Elarion could easily forgive.

But what surprised Lukas was how Celina had accepted it.

The Divine Knight hadn't spoken out against the King. She hadn't protested against every insult the Head Mage of the Tower threw her away. She didn't shield herself with excuses or justifications.

No.

The Divine Knight had simply bowed her head, her voice steady but soft as she offered a sincere apology. She hadn't tried to defend her actions. She didn't try to lessen the weight of what she had done. Because she knew that she had crossed that line.

Lukas had expected resistance, stubbornness, maybe even a spark of defiance. But Celina—Celina had accepted her fault, and that alone had made Lukas respect her just a little more.

It was the right thing to do.

Celina knew it was not her place to linger. She understood that what Rosalia and her family needed now was space. Space to tend to wounds that could not be healed with spells or bandages. Space to process the breathless fear that had clung to the old man's chest.

So, she left. Quietly. Without ceremony. Without argument.

Rosalia had collapsed soon after the adrenaline ebbed away. Her body, now unburdened by the weight of the fight, had finally succumbed to exhaustion. Lukas had stayed by her side, watching her breathing, steady and soft, the rise and fall of her chest as her body mended itself.

Hours had passed since the fight between the princess and the Divine Knight.

The sun had begun its slow descent, stretching long golden rays across the quiet grounds, as if the world itself was trying to ease the weight that still lingered in the air.

The room was quiet when Rosalia stirred.

She blinked slowly, her lashes fluttering against her pale cheeks as the weight of exhaustion tugged at her limbs. When her eyes finally met Lukas', they held a trembling uncertainty, a flicker of fear beneath the layers of joy she always wore so well.

Her lips parted, and what came out wasn't the question he expected. It wasn't about the battle.

"Lukas…am I different?" she whispered.

The words caught him off guard. Not because of the question itself—but because of the quiet, vulnerable weight behind them.

Lukas leaned in, softening his gaze. "What do you mean?"

Her voice quivered. "When Celina saw me....when she saw what I could do. She looked at me like… like I was...different." She clenched the fabric of her blanket in small fists, her throat tightening. "I—I don't want to be weird. I don't want them to think I'm… strange. I don't want them to be scared of me."

The tears came before she could stop them. Silent at first, slipping down her cheeks in fragile streaks. But when the sob escaped her lips, she turned her face into the pillow, ashamed.

Lukas' heart broke at the sight.

He had always thought Rosalia never truly understood the extent of her own powers and that was why he did not ever see her use it on a day to day basis. He'd thought Rosalia felt like her powers were just not that important.

But maybe the reason why the Princess did not usually utilize her connection with Mana was because she knew all too well what she was capable of. And Rosalia knew what others were not. The young girl was scared of what they would think of her when they realized what she could do and they could not.

Lukas didn't speak right away.

Instead, he reached out—slowly, carefully—until his hand rested on her head, his thumb brushing gently through her hair.

"You are different," he murmured softly. "But that's not something to be afraid of."

She sniffled, her voice muffled against the pillow. "But—what if people don't like me because of it? What if they only see me for…for what I can do?"

"I won't lie to you, little one. They might. No. Many probably will." Lukas admitted, his voice steady, honest. "And that's because many people fear what they don't understand. Some people judge what they can't explain. That is the world we live in."

Her sobs quieted, though her body still trembled beneath the blankets.

"But listen to me, Rosalia." He gently turned her face toward him. "What you have is not a curse. It's not something to hide from. It's a gift. A wonder."

She met his gaze, her teary eyes wide, searching.

"You don't need to show the rest of the world what you are. You don't need to prove anything to anyone until you are ready. But when that day comes—when you choose to let them see the truth of who you are—I promise you this…" His voice softened, but every word was etched in certainty.

"While there may be people who judge you. There will also be others who see you. They will marvel at you. They will stand in awe of you."

Her tears spilled again, but this time there was something gentler behind them. A fragile hope. A flicker of courage.

Lukas smiled and ruffled her hair, his thumb wiping a stray tear from her cheek.

"It's okay to be different. I'm different. Your grandfather is too. Your mother was different. And Rosalia, you are different in the best way possible. No one ordinary ever changed the world. It takes courage to be different. And you're going to make a difference because you are different. Remember that, little one."

The young girl finally let herself lean into his hand. And Lukas sat there by her side until she fell asleep, the fatigue from all the day's events finally catching up to her.

The old man had settled into a guarded silence, the edges of his fury dulled by time but not yet gone. For once, Magnus Elarion did not have any words to say. His worry had carved deep lines into his face. After taking care of his Kingly duties, he remained by her bedside.

For once, his research was not the priority.

Rosalia was.

Knowing that, Lukas was certain Rosalia would be fine. She was in safe hands. There was something that still weighed upon him. Something that had not been resolved.

What would Celina do with what she now knew? What would she do now that she had seen the truth?

Rosalia's secret was no longer her own.

Celina had witnessed it—the impossible phenomenon, the one thing that set Rosalia apart from all others. She had seen the gift that Rosalia had hidden so carefully, a gift that could alter the delicate balance of power in this world if revealed. There was a reason why the Head Mage had kept him even from his own Magic Tower, let alone the rest of Hiraeth.

Lukas couldn't ignore that. So, as the night began to fall and the warmth of the day slipped away, Lukas set out to find her. He didn't know where she could be but he did know that she would still be in the Kingdom of Easthaven. For it was her duty as the Divine Knight to protect it.

And as he scoured the streets, Lukas wondered—

Would Celina see Rosalia as a threat? Would she stay silent? What would happen if the Church knew of what Rosalia was capable of? What would the world do if they knew?

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Lukas quickened his pace, the cold wind of the night biting at his skin.

Celina found Lukas first.

Perched atop one of the research towers, she sat at the very edge of the rooftop, her silver armor gleaming beneath the soft caress of moonlight. The steel plates shimmered faintly, like still water catching the distant light of stars. She looked entirely at ease, legs dangling over the side as though the height meant nothing to her.

When Lukas glanced up and saw her waiting there, he realized she had likely known he would come searching. He had thought getting a bird's eye view of the Kingdom would be a good place to start.

Perhaps she had been waiting for him all along.

Without a word, she lifted a small bottle in the air, the amber liquid within catching the light.

A bottle of whiskey.

"Care for a drink?" Celina asked, her voice light though there was a weariness sitting just behind her eyes.

Lukas, still unsure, still turning over a dozen questions in his head, could only nod. He didn't sense any malice in her, no thread of hostility woven into her presence. Whatever this was—it wasn't a trap. And even if it was, Lukas would be ready for it.

They drank in silence, passing the bottle between them with a quiet, unspoken rhythm.

After a few minutes, Celina rose, light on her feet despite the weight of her armour. "Walk with me," she said.

So they descended from the rooftops, slipping into the quiet streets of Easthaven, their footsteps echoing softly on stone pathways. Celina led the way, and Lukas followed, the weight of unspoken thoughts hanging heavy between them.

Lukas watched her from the corner of his eye—her long strides, the easy confidence in her pace, the way the night breeze toyed with strands of her hair where her helmet had been removed. He wondered where she was taking them.

They wandered through the winding streets, past shuttered market stalls and flickering lanterns. Easthaven at night felt like another world—a place of hushed reverence, where even the most hardened guards spoke in lowered voices.

It was only when they turned a final corner that Lukas understood where she had been taking him.

Before him rose a cathedral unlike any he had ever seen.

It dominated the skyline, its towering spires piercing the heavens, its stained-glass windows shimmering like frozen seas under the pale light of the moon. The air seemed to hum around it, heavy with the weight of devotion and ancient prayers. Though it was not as tall as the Magic Tower, it was bigger than any cathedral he had seen back on Earth.

It wasn't just a church, Lukas realized.

It was the Church. The Church of Oceanus.

And even now, late at night, there were still people gathered at its grand steps—pilgrims, knights, merchants, commoners—all offering their quiet prayers to the God of the Seas. Some knelt in the courtyards, some lit small candles that flickered against the breeze, and others simply stood in silence, their heads bowed.

Lukas stared at it, unsettled by its size, by its majesty, by its presence. There was power here, though not the kind that could be swung like a blade. This was the quiet kind of power—the kind of power that bound people, that shaped kingdoms.

Celina came to stand beside him, her gaze distant as she watched the faithful gather.

Her voice, when it came, was soft. "The Church of Oceanus. The heart of our faith. The one place where even the strong must tread carefully. For this is the place of worship. It is a place where one realizes that strength matters not compared to a deity."

Lukas glanced at her, his unease sharpening. "Why did you bring me here, Celina?"

A small smile curved at the corner of her mouth, though it was laced with something else—bitterness, perhaps.

"You must think my faith is blind. You think me a loyal servant of the Church, a blade that swings down on anybody the Church decrees deserving of punishment. But I am the warrior of the god, not this intuition. And I want you to remember that."

Celina tilted her head back, staring at the cathedral's highest spire, as though it could offer her some clarity. "I am not a fool, Klein. Despite our disagreements, I hope you can understand that. I know what the Church has become. I know what they would do to her if they knew. They would deem her gift a threat. They would turn her into a weapon of their own biding."

She lowered her gaze to him, her eyes searching his face, reading him like an open book.

Celina's gaze softened. "I won't tell the Church. I'll keep her secret. I swear it on the River Styx. It is Rosalia's right to decide when she wants that truth to come to light."

The tension in Lukas' chest loosened, just a fraction.

"Which is why I am telling you that you may put your worries to rest." The Divine Knight took another sip, her voice turning quiet, honest. "I love the Princess. I love her like she is my own. Today I saw a girl who wanted to win on her own terms. Who fought with everything she had until her body failed her. I saw someone brave. If she is not worthy to become a Divine Knight Candidate, then I do not know who is."

They continued walking, weaving through the quiet courtyards and shadowed halls that surrounded the Church of Oceanus.

The soft tap of Celina's armoured boots echoed against the stone, Lukas' steps trailing a beat behind her as he took in the towering murals and statues that lined the pathways like silent sentinels.

It was the murals that first caught his attention.

Stretching across entire walls, they painted grand, sweeping scenes of the Great War.

Dragons—towering, monstrous, their wings blotting out the skies—descended upon cities of stone and fire. Human armies clashed against them in desperate ranks, their weapons glowing with sacred light. And at the centre of it all stood a man, always the same man, his sword raised high as the tide of battle surged around him.

The Hero From Another World.

The man Lukas once knew as Jakob Fronterra. His face was carved in detail upon every stone pillar, captured in the tilt of his chin, the set of his jaw, the fierce determination that had once turned the tide of war.

Lukas' steps slowed as they passed a statue of him—larger than life, blade in hand, cloak frozen in an eternal billow behind him.

Beside the statue, etched into the marble base, were the names of the Divine Knights who had inherited the Hero's legacy. A lineage of Holy Warriors who had all defended the Kingdoms of Humanity ever since the end of the Great War.

A legacy that Celina now bore upon her shoulders.

She paused ahead of him, her gaze lingering on the murals. A faint sigh slipped from her lips.

"You know…" she began softly, as if speaking a private thought aloud, "You're just like him in some ways, Klein."

Lukas blinked, surprised by the sudden comparison. "Of the Hero?"

She gave a small nod, arms folded as she studied the painted battlefields. "You aren't from Hiraeth, are you?"

Lukas frowned. "What do you mean?"

A panic began to rise within him. Did she somehow know of his reincarnation? His past life? That before he was Lukas Drakos, he was Julien Fronterra?

"What do I mean? In a single year, you have climbed the Tower faster than anyone before you. You became the first mage the Head of the Arcane Council ever took as an apprentice. And that fighting style of yours…the one you taught Rosalia...I've never seen anything like it." She tilted her head, thoughtful. But it didn't seem like an accusation. More like an amusing afterthought.

"It's like...you're not from this world. Not any world that I know of." Her words lingered, unsettling in their certainty.

Lukas tucked the thought away, unsure what to make of it just yet. But what struck him more was what she said next.

"Which surprises me, even when I say this," she continued, her voice softening, "But I realize that...Rosalia is going to be just fine. Whoever you are, Klein. You...you are going to do a better job than I ever could have in training her. She's in your hands now."

Lukas' brow lifted slightly.

Celina smiled, a quiet, tired smile. She glanced over her shoulder at him, her piercing eyes steady. "I'll abide by the rules of the challenge. She beat me fair and square. I won't interfere any longer. I'll leave her training to you."

That surprised him. Truly. For all their disagreements, all their clashes, Celina cared deeply—fiercely—for Rosalia. Enough to let go of her own pride. Which meant that he should let go of his as well.

"Rosalia is like family to me, Celina. And it is her dream that she becomes the next Divine Knight. Maybe...together we can make sure of that." He finally stated.

And she smiled, grateful for the message behind Lukas' words. They would train her together. They would allow her to grow into perhaps the greatest warrior Hiraeth had ever seen.

The weight between them seemed to lift then, something unspoken finally understood. They walked on, the vast cathedral slowly emptying behind them as the night deepened.

Just as they neared the outer steps, Lukas' gaze drifted—drawn to a statue standing quietly beneath an archway, partially veiled by ivy. The moonlight caught the edges of her face, her serene expression, the flowing robes, the intricate carvings of the five rivers etched at her feet.

His heart stilled. His breath caught.

"…Styx," he whispered.

Celina paused, turning to follow his gaze. "You...would be right."

Lukas nodded slowly, his throat suddenly dry. "It's her."

Celina's brows lifted, mildly surprised at Lukas' recognition of the Goddess. "That is indeed Styx. You are quite knowledgeable for an unbeliever. Not many people know what the Goddess actually looks like. Ironic, especially with the endless oaths they swear upon her name."

His voice came low, hesitant. "Why is there a statue of her here? In the Church of Oceanus?"

At that, Celina's laughter echoed lightly through the stone halls, bright and amused as if he had just asked the most obvious question in the world.

"Isn't it obvious?" she replied, resting a hand on her hip. "She belongs here."

Lukas turned to her, confused.

"She is the Goddess of Unbreakable Oaths. The embodiment of one of the Five Rivers of the Afterlife. She is Styx, the eldest daughter of Oceanus."