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

The days that followed were more than just eventful.

Preparing for a journey across the sea to Nozar was no small task.

Supplies had to be gathered not just for their crew member but for the dragons that they had been able to save from their captors. Dragons weren't picky eaters but they certainly needed more food than the average man.

Lukas oversaw the cargo manifests with Velena, taking inventory of everything from salted meats to thick pelts for the colder northern climate. Easthaven, with its endless sun and golden fields, had no need for such heavy attire, but Nozar's climate was far harsher.

They packed spare blankets and heavy boots.

The Guild Members spent hours bottling fire salts and fermenting dragon balm; to be sold to the people of Nozar.

Jesse worked tirelessly through it all, wracking his brain over last-minute logistics. He rarely slept, bouncing between meetings with Velena and checking up on the dragons.

Lukas admired his stamina—though it usually took a mug of bitter Easthaven coffee to jumpstart the boy's mornings. He drank enough caffeine fit for ten men.

Traders from distant towns poured into the Guild headquarters to finalize deals, cancel others, settle debts. Farewells were spoken in quiet corners of the city.

Finally, the day came.

The sun was only beginning to rise when the Merchant Guild's members began to stir, the creaking of wood and the hum of sails filling the harbour. The ship—a massive, elegant thing painted in the soft blue and gold of the Guild's emblem—rocked gently in the morning tide.

The King of Nozar's fleet had already sailed ahead an hour earlier, their dark banners cutting through the sea like a warning and a promise.

Now it was their turn to follow suit.

On the docks, the townspeople of Easthaven had gathered in droves. Some stood on crates, others on balconies. Children sat on their parents' shoulders, waving cloth flags and cheering loud enough to shake the birds from the trees. But it was not the Guild they had come to see off.

It was their Princess.

Rosalia was everywhere. Hugging shopkeepers, handing out hand-drawn maps of Nozar she'd made herself in her free time, tripping over her own luggage as she darted back into the crowd for one last goodbye.

The young girl laughed, cheeks flushed with excitement, her cloak fluttering behind her as she ran from one familiar face to another. She promised trinkets. She promised stories and she promised to return with treats so delicious that it would make them all forget what real sweets tasted like.

Beside her stood Celina, quiet and composed, smiling as she watched the young girl say her goodbyes.

The Divine Knight of the Church would not be travelling with them to Nozar for her responsibility lay in the Kingdom of Easthaven. She too was seeing the Princess off just like everybody else who had gathered at the dock.

Lukas stood a few steps back, arms crossed loosely as he took it all in.

Rosalia had grown up in these streets. She had escaped the palace countless times, sneaking into bakeries, running through alleyways with street urchins, slipping into libraries she wasn't supposed to be in. And the people had embraced her—not as royalty, but as one of their own.

Rosalia's mother was somebody who the people of Easthaven had loved fiercely.

A woman who walked barefoot in orphanages and called fishmongers by name and a woman who had burned bridges with the nobility if it meant building roads for the weak.

And they saw her kindness in Rosalia everywhere she went.

Lukas caught Jesse watching her, just as she hugged an old woman who dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. It was only a moment. A brief thing. But Jesse's expression softened.

Lukas said nothing. He didn't need to.

The horns sounded shortly after. The call to board. One by one, the merchants and dragons and companions began to climb the ramps into the vessels, their boots echoing against the wooden planks.

As wholesome as the sendoff was—waves, cheers, and tearful farewells—Lukas couldn't get his mind off the letter he'd read that very morning.

It was a letter regarding Varian. One of the Five Archmages of the Magic Tower, the esteemed Master of Potions. And according to Magnus' letter, he was now also Lukas' new travel companion for the voyage to Nozar.

The Archmage Varian had been chosen as the Representative of the Magic Tower. The only issue was that the Tower didn't have a fleet of its own, which was why Magnus had made a personal request that Varian would accompany the Merchant Guild as they travelled to Nozar. And it was not a request that Lukas could refuse.

He remembered the name, vaguely. During his early weeks at the Tower, one of Varian's apprentices had extended him an invitation to dine with the Archmage. He'd turned it down back then. But now, there was no avoiding him.

What troubled Lukas the most wasn't Varian's status, or even his affiliation with the Tower—it was the fact that Varian had been under the Church's payroll for years. Decades, even. The Church of Oceanus had backed his research, funded his potions, and in return, Varian's concoctions had helped fuel their campaigns, both literal and political.

Yet in the letter, Magnus had been clear: "You do not have to worry about Varian. I trust him."

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Those words should have been enough to bring comfort to him but Lukas had learnt that trust was a luxury often paid for in blood.

So, when the Archmage finally arrived on the docks—just moments before departure—Lukas turned to get a glimpse of the man the Magic Tower and Magnus himself held in such high esteem.

When he did, the only thing he could think was that Magnus was fucking with him.

The man before him looked less like an Archmage and more like the punchline of an old tavern joke.

A goblin-looking thing in layers of mismatched robes, each more threadbare than the last. His boots didn't match. His shirt was halfway untucked, and he carried a bag that looked like it might weigh more than he did. His walking cane creaked as he leaned on it, and every other step seemed like it could be his last.

He reeked of booze, strong and pungent. There was no trace of elegance, no gravitas, not a trace of quiet wisdom or an intimidating aura that most imagined when they thought of the Archmages of the Magic Tower.

If Lukas hadn't spotted the apprentice trailing loyally behind him—the same apprentice who had tried inviting him to dinner—he would've assumed the old man had wandered in from a bar by mistake.

Then there was his face.

Lukas prided himself on being a decent judge of people and to never judge a book by its cover. He was himself by no means the best-looking man, decent at best.

But Varian?

His face was the stuff of nightmares.

He had a bulbous, broken-veined nose. His face was covered with red warts like swollen grapes, wrinkles carved so deep into his face that it looked like someone had crumpled parchment and forgotten to smooth it out. His beard was patchy and his breath, even from a distance, smelled like it could sterilize surgical equipment.

But then…

Then his eyes met Lukas' and that was when everything changed.

Those eyes—sunken, tired, surrounded by folds of flesh—should've been dull, bleary, lost in drink. But they weren't.

They were razor sharp and piercing. They were startlingly alive in a way that unnerved even Lukas. Eyes that had seen too much and remembered it all, eyes that dissected people like ingredients for a potential potion he was to make, calculating their uses, their flaws, their boiling points.

For a second, he felt like he was the one being studied. Lukas must've been staring harder than he realized, because when the old man finally hobbled to a stop in front of him, Varian squinted up with one rheumy eye and barked out, "What in the world are you looking at, you tree trunk?"

He pointed at Lukas with a crooked finger that wagged around with such intensity that he worried it'd fly off his hand.

Before Lukas could say anything, the younger man beside him—his apprentice, the same one who had invited Lukas when he'd first begun climbing the Tower—stepped forward quickly and whispered, "Master, that's him. That's Klein. The Head Mage's former apprentice."

Varian blinked. Then he laughed. Loudly. And then—mid-laugh—he took a long, unapologetic swig from a bottle that he pulled straight out of his pocket. The scent of liquor hit immediately—something bitter, with a metallic finish.

The Archmage was evidentially an alcoholic. Whether he was a functioning one remained to be seen.

"Ah. So you are that young upstart everyone's been talking about. Been wanting to meet you for a while now, Klein." Varian , the smile on his face far too loose for Lukas' liking. "It's a shame that you couldn't dine with me when I invited you over all those months ago. I cook a mean stew, y'know? We would've had a grand ol' time. But turns out the dinner wasn't needed after all."

Lukas frowned. It wasn't needed? What did that mean?

"You picked the right offer, my boy. The right one indeed! Good thing you signed on with the Merchant Guild instead of bending your knee to Daerion."

That surprised Lukas, it surprised him enough that he straightened up slightly; brows knitting together. This wasn't what he expected from one of the Church's top dogs.

The Church that the King of Nozar controlled.

Lukas would've thought the Archmage would have encouraged him to accept the King's offer rather than turn it down.

"Wait, hold on, what-"

He didn't even get to finish his sentence before the old man made a gagging sound deep in his throat. Lukas immediately stepped back on instinct and it was a good thing that he did. Because Varian proceed to throw up across the docks like he was uncorking a cursed cauldron.

It was mostly liquid.

Mostly.

Then he began to fall forward.

"Oh my days..." Lukas groaned, disgusted, but he was already lunging forward out of reflex, arms reaching out to stop the old man from faceplanting on the edge of the pier.

Varian had gone completely limp.

The apprentice rushed to his side. "I'm so sorry about this, Klein. He drank an entire bottle of dragonroot whiskey this morning. I told him not to—"

Lukas held up a hand, cutting him off from trying to excuse his master's behavior. "It's fine."

With a grunt, he hauled Varian's unconscious, surprisingly bony body onto his back, the man flopping like a ragdoll with every step. Lukas began making his way toward the boarding ramp, the apprentice trailing nervously beside him with both hands full of luggage and laboratory equipment.

After a long pause, the apprentice finally spoke. "Thank you."

Lukas gave a tired nod. "No problem."

The apprentice glanced up at him. "My name is Ellion, by the way. Ellion Haever. Junior Researcher of the Alchemical Division. First Apprentice to Master Varian and as you can see, full-time cleaner whenever my master throws up."

Lukas snorted softly. "Ellion, huh. Guess we got off on the wrong foot. You're alright, kid."

"And I guess you're not as terrifying as they say. And also kid? Aren't you my age?" Ellion asked with a laugh.

Lukas didn't answer. If only Ellion knew how long he had truly lived and that wasn't even counting the years he'd spent in Kairos Castle. All Lukas could really do was chuckle under his breath as they reached the top of the ramp and deposited the passed-out Archmage onto a pile of cloth sacks with as much grace as a sack of potatoes.

As Ellion scrambled to cover his master with a cloak and fan his face, Lukas turned to leave.

He paused, casting one last glance back at the chaotic mess of an Archmage who was now snoring, one arm twitching as if still stirring an imaginary cauldron.

Once he awoke, Lukas meant to continue their conversation that had been cut short.

What did Varian mean when he said that it was good that he hadn't bent the knee to Daerion?

That question would remain unanswered for the time being.

Lukas stepped back and felt the gust of wind on his face, the sails rising behind him as the fleet prepared to pull from port.

Their journey to Nozar had just begun and Lukas had a feeling that it was going to be a wild one.