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

The crowd watched with rapt attention as the water rose from the stone floor, twisting into long, serpentine tendrils that shimmered in the sunlight. In an instant, those tendrils snapped into motion. They struck out like whips, forcing Soren to dodge. He evaded the first few with practiced agility, but one lashed across his chest, and he stumbled back, breath hitching from the impact.

With a growl, the King's bastard slashed at the tendrils, tearing through them as the Divinity of Dissection flared in his fingertips. His hands now resembled clawed blades, each swipe slicing cleanly through the watery limbs.

It took only seconds for him to shred through several of them, the red aura around his hands hissing as it made contact with the water. Then he lunged. Soren surged forward, claws gleaming, aiming to close the distance and turn the tide with brute force. But Rosalia was ready.

One tendril, coiled like a trap beneath the dirt, burst forth just beneath his feet.

It wrapped tightly around his legs and yanked them out from under him.

The boy fell forward. Before he could hit the ground, Rosalia was there—rushing in, eyes locked, timing perfect. She delivered a vicious front kick to the side of his face. The sound of the impact echoed across the training yard, a sharp crack followed by the heavy thud of the boy hitting the ground. The crowd winced but a majority of them would not understand that what she had done had been no easy feat, physically and magically. It had taken incredible timing, coordination, and nerve.

The entire combination, from the trap to the execution, had been seamless.

The boy groaned and rolled slightly, a hand clutching the side of his face. He didn't rise immediately, but Lukas could tell that Soren was one tough bastard. But it was clear that Soren was beginning to realize that Rosalia...she was a force to be reckoned with.

Rosalia's eyes remained locked on the boy, tracking every movement, every twitch of muscle, like a seasoned predator watching prey.

The king watched with great fascination, a hearty laugh escaping his lips as he leaned forward.

"I had no idea Magnus had such a remarkable granddaughter," Daerion noted, eyes gleaming. "And she wields a Divinity of Water. That was not the elemental Divinity I'd expect from an Elarion."

Around him, Nozar's mages murmured in disbelief. None of them had expected such refined control over the element from someone so young. Most of them hadn't reached that level of mastery until well into their twenties—and even then, few of them had such elegant control over their own Divinities.

Lukas watched as King Daerion's eyes narrowed slightly, not out of suspicion, but curiosity—trying to measure the full extent of Rosalia's power, to see what kind of force she might become if left to grow.

The fight wasn't over. Not quite yet.

The boy rose slowly, his breathing ragged. He slashed at the tendril tied up around his legs with one hand, slicing it apart with the red-glowing claws of his Divinity. With the other, he lunged at Rosalia, desperation and pride etched into his face.

She weaved and dodged the boy's wild strikes, each swing reckless, brutal—far beyond the bounds of a proper spar.

This wasn't just a match anymore. It was a real fight, and the bastard son of the king looked ready to tear her apart if even one of his attacks landed. But not a single one did. Rosalia's footwork was sharp, deliberate, every step measured with precision. She widened the distance between them with ease, forcing him to chase, to overextend.

Soren lunged again, desperate to close the gap, and she sent more tendrils of water slithering toward his legs. But the imprint of Rosalia's kick on his face was a clear indicator that he'd learnt his lesson.

Soren swiped down, tearing through the water before it could bind him. And that was when Rosalia knew—she had him.

The boy surged forward, finally close enough to swing a decisive blow. His claws carved the air, aimed directly at her chest.

Instead of retreating and creating more distance between them, Rosalia rushed in. She stepped forward, ducking into the space between them and slammed into his chest shoulder-first with all her weight behind it. The move caught him entirely off guard—his momentum now working against him.

Behind him, a horizontal pillar of water had formed midair, hovering perfectly at waist height. The boy crashed backward into the solidified pillar, the impact flipping him clean over—his legs flying up, his balance shattered. And then gravity took over.

Soren hit the ground face-first with a heavy, unforgiving thud. The fall was brutal, the boy clearly jarred by the impact.

Daerion's bastard son groaned, dazed and disoriented, trying to rise from where he lay—but he didn't get the chance.

Rosalia was already on him.

She leapt onto his back, her knee pressing down between his shoulder blades with force, pinning him to the floor with a weight far greater than her size would suggest. In an instant, water lashed out in whips of cold blue light—tendrils coiling tightly around his wrists, slamming his arms down against the courtyard floor.

The moment that the princess had seen Soren swipe down to cut off the tendril she had aimed at his legs, Rosalia knew:

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She had won.

Not because of the damage she dealt.

Not because of brute strength, Soren had the advantage in that aspect.

But because of the very first lesson Lukas had ever taught her: it's all in the eyes.

Even before the fight began—starting from when he gave her those three gashes on her arm—she had been watching.

Rosalia had taken everything in, storing every detail away like pieces of a puzzle. Now, that puzzle was complete.

It was all in the eyes, just like Lukas had taught her on the very first day the One Year Challenge had begun.

Yes, the boy was strong. Soren had inherited the Divinity of Dissection, and unlike his older brother who had needed a blade to channel that magic, he could summon it directly through his own body.

Through his hands. And only through his hands.

Of course, that had just been a hypothesis. So Rosalia made sure to test it. Every time she sent tendrils of water at his legs, his torso, his back—it had been a deliberate probe. A way to test the boundaries of his magic. Now, it was clear.

Despite all his potential, all his fury, his Divinity had limits.

Rosalia had confirmed that hypothesis with evidence to back it up.

With his wrists now bound and pressed flat against the earth, his power was useless. There was no way he could tear his way out of this one with his wrists lashed to the ground by more tendrils of water.

Soren's body tensed beneath her. He tried to squirm. Tried to resist.

But it was over.

The boy thrashed beneath her, arms pinned, face burning with fury and humiliation as Rosalia calmly leaned down and spoke right in Soren's ear.

"Yield."

Her voice was firm, but not cruel. It wasn't gloating.

The princess had no desire to embarrass him—only to win.

But he refused.

Lukas could see it—the boy was on the verge of surrendering, his body trembling, his chest heaving with laboured breaths. The magic around his hands was sputtering now, the strain catching up. Soren had been beaten and he knew it.

Yet…he chose not to yield.

Lukas followed his gaze—and understood. The boy's eyes weren't focused on Rosalia or the ground beneath him.

They were locked on someone far more distant.

The King Of Nozar.

Daerion sat with his chin resting against his knuckles, gaze fixed not on his son, but on Rosalia. Not a trace of concern or disappointment lingered in his expression. Only fascination. The curiosity of a man who had just discovered something far more valuable than he'd expected to find. And that made it worse.

Because all the boy had ever wanted was for his father to look at him the way he now looked at Rosalia.

To be the one his father admired.

Now, here he was—bested, pinned, defeated—while his father's attention drifted elsewhere. To a girl. To the princess of a foreign kingdom who had stolen his thunder in mere minutes.

To Rosalia Elarion, the one who stood in his way from becoming a Divine Knight of the Church.

The boy clenched his jaw, blinking back the sting of tears that had nothing to do with pain.

Before Soren himself could say the words, before pride could fully lose to shame, King Daerion rose from his seat with a booming voice.

"That's enough," he declared. "I declare Rosalia Elarion the clear victor of this fight."

It was final. The crowd murmured, then clapped. The gathered mages and guards relaxed, and Rosalia stood, releasing the bindings and stepping back, her face flushed with the thrill of victory.

She raised her arms in celebration, grinning ear to ear.

Lukas gave her a firm nod of approval, pride swelling in his chest. She had done it! A cheer erupted from nearby, and Jesse clapped excitedly—just in time for Rosalia to rush over and throw herself into his arms. Her momentum caught him off-guard, and she wrapped him in a tight, crushing hug.

"Did you see that!?" Rosalia beamed.

Jesse laughed, a little breathless. "I sure as hell did! You were amazing, Rosalia!"

Lukas smiled as he watched them, warmth stirring behind his stern expression. He couldn't help but wonder—how would Valkari react if she saw this right now? The three of them had some love triangle dynamic that had begun to form and Lukas had to admit he wanted to see where it would lead.

Jesse had a lot of his headaches coming his way, that Lukas knew.

Watching Rosalia and Jesse made him think of Styx. The thought of her made his smile linger a little longer. The letter he'd write her tonight would be a long one, considering how eventful of a day this had been.

Then Daerion spoke again, louder this time, his voice carrying across the training yard.

"She is a remarkable child," Daerion told him, making sure all gathered could hear what he had to say. "If this is the level of talent Easthaven has been cultivating…then you and Celina have done a fine job of training the Princess indeed."

He glanced at his son, who was now being helped up by a pair of mages, and added, almost dismissively, "Right now, it is clear that Soren is nowhere close to matching her capabilities."

There was no venom in his voice. Just fact. Somehow, that made it sting more.

One thing was sure, though. Lukas knew that this defeat was not a clear preview of the future.

This defeat would add fuel to the fire that already burnt within the King's bastard son.

Soren did not seem like the type to allow defeat to discourage him.

In fact, this defeat may have just made Soren an opponent that they would have to be even more wary of in the coming years.

Lukas would have to ensure that Rosalia's training continued to go well. For he knew for a fact that this kid was going to work harder than ever to make he did not lose again.

Just as Daerion seemed ready to depart and return to his quarters, he turned to Velena; meeting her eyes.

"Do not forget my proposal, Countess. I will await your response. You have until the end of the month to make a choice."

With that said, King Daerion left the training yard; leaving them with much to think about.