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

His vision was blurred with tears, tears that now rolled down in his face without restraint. Lukas took in a shaky breath, watching the pride that his people carried themselves with. He barely registered the King's voice in his mind anymore—Daerion's calm command to "remain composed" felt distant and hollow, like a faint echo lost beneath the roar of defiance still thrumming through the Citadel.

Then, suddenly, the thunderous roar of the dragonborn who had begun it all was cut short.

Serenya of the Morningeyes Clan crashed down onto the dragonborn's head with a crushing force, pinning the massive, gaunt creature to the cold marble floor.

It was a cruel sight—this dragonborn, once proud and strong, now little more than skin and bone after years of starvation and brutal punishment, yet still writhing with desperate strength that required not just the Admiral herself but several of her own men to hold him down.

The King of Nozar himself, towering and imposing, watched from the dais he stood on with a grim, unsettled expression. His eyes burned not with blind rage, but with something colder—a calculating fire that knew exactly what this spectacle meant. Daerion was unprepared for this uprising, and worse, he understood clearly that this was a disaster for his image.

This was not the display of control that he was used to, the display of control that King Daerion demanded of himself and from those around him.

Lukas saw the tension coil tight in the King's jaw.

The weight of this moment pressed heavily upon Daerion's shoulders.

How would the nobility see him now? How would the rich and powerful remember the day their mighty King failed to suppress a broken, starving dragonborn's roar?

The stain on his credibility would run deep—and that was a stain that Daerion could not ignore.

Once more, the King's voice spilled through the crystal, calm and commanding: urging order, demanding that the crowd regain control of their fear and panic.

Slowly, the nobles ceased their scrambling; the murmurs quieted, though the tension remained like a low hum. But the King knew the defiance could not go unanswered.

His gaze flicked to Serenya. She remained knelt beside the struggling dragonborn, restraining him.

"You must end this foolishness, great beast! You stand to gain nothing from it!" Her voice was firm, but not cruel—there was a touch of empathy in it that Lukas recognized immediately.

The Beastkin themselves had known the yoke of slavery. In some regions of Khaitish, the slavery of her people still continued.

The Admiral did not want to inflict more suffering on the dragonborn than necessary. But the dragonborn would not yield.

The defiance, the fire in those eyes, the raw strength of a people battered and broken but refusing to submit—they were the reason Lukas had endured the Trials of Kairos Castle. In those eyes was the spark that would ignite the flame of freedom once again.

Lukas watched as the King's cold, calculating gaze met the eyes of his Beastkin Admiral. Maelis stood ready by the King's side, himself prepared to do Daerion's bidding. There was no verbal command that came from Daerion—only a sharp nod, heavy with silent expectation.

Serenya hesitated but only for a moment. Her hands trembled at her sides, jaw clenched as the weight of the order sank in. She didn't want this. Lukas could see it plainly—the flicker of conflict, the quiet war behind her eyes. But duty was a chain of its own, and she had been trained to wear it tightly around her neck.

The Beastkin Admiral turned, her voice quiet but firm as she called out to her men.

"Bring me my weapon."

Three of her soldiers came forward, carrying it together: a massive battle axe, nearly as tall as a man, thick-bladed and etched with old Khaitish markings.

A weapon forged not just for battle, but for execution.

Serenya took it into her hands as though it weighed nothing at all. Lukas saw the unspoken apology on her face, soft and broken, as she whispered something only the dragonborn could hear. It must have been a sorrowful farewell. Then, Serenya of the Morningeyes Clan gripped her axe tight, readying herself to deliver the killing blow.

Some gasped. Others—crueller ones and there were many of them—cheered.

Lukas took a step forward, his heart pounding, magic already beginning to coil in his veins like a beast being stirred awake.

The dragonborn's eyes met his—wide, afraid, and accepting. Yet the moment he met Lukas' eyes, he recognized his Lord, a true Dragon Lord of Linemall. Somehow even the dragonborn knew what was coming. Even with Lukas there, nothing could prevent the inevitable.

There was no struggle now. No roar of defiance. Only the silent truth of what lay ahead.

But it wasn't inevitable.

This could be prevented.

Lukas' body moved before his thoughts could form.

His magic flared hot in his chest, rising like the waves of the Seas; roaring to life.

He couldn't let it happen.

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He would not watch another of his kind be executed before him, not when he had the power to stop it. Not when he had been chosen—when he had chosen to lead the dragons of Linemall as their Lord. Because if he did nothing at all, if he simply stood to the side and watched this execution play out, what kind of Lord would that make him?

Lukas' voice caught in his throat, grief and fury battling behind his eyes.

He took another step forward, and then—

"Do you trust me?" It was Jesse's voice.

Lukas blinked, his thoughts scattering for the briefest second. He turned to Jesse, confused, breath ragged.

"What?"

"Do you trust me?" The young dragonborn asked again.

And Lukas didn't even think before answering. Because he didn't need to. "Of course I do."

Jesse nodded. "Good. Now it's time to prove it."

Serenya raised her axe high, muscles tensing as the blade reached its apex—seconds from falling and severing the dragonborn's neck. Just before she could bring it down, however, a sudden gust of wind tore through the Citadel like a razor through silk.

A whirlwind surged to life around Jesse Sterling as his Divinity ignited, his silhouette caught in a flash of silver and stormlight. The wind struck the Beastkin Admiral with enough force to knock her clean off her feet, sending her crashing flat onto her back, the axe clattering to the ground with her.

Gasps erupted from the crowd once more. The guards didn't hesitate—they surged forward with swords drawn and spells crackling at their fingertips, rushing toward Jesse with fury in their eyes.

"Stop!" Jesse shouted, arms raised, voice cutting through the chaos with the sharpness of a blade. "Everyone stop right there!"

Silence followed. Deafening, suffocating silence. Even the chained dragons fell still, as if sensing that something irreversible had just happened.

All eyes turned to Jesse, the boy who had just attacked the King's Admiral.

The boy who now stood at the centre of it all.

Lukas froze, heart hammering as he watched.

For a second, he had no idea what Jesse was doing. No plan, no reasoning—just shock. But Jesse turned to look at him and the smile on his face reassured him in ways words never could.

Lukas hesitated before he gave Jesse a nod. He meant it when he said that he trusted Jesse. And he would prove it, right here and now. He trusted Jesse knew what he was doing.

The wind spun again, lashing through the Citadel like a playful breeze. Jesse raised his hand, and the magic crystal—the same one the King had used to speak into every noble's mind—lifted off into the air from the dais and zipped into Jesse's waiting palm.

The King's eyes blazed with fury as his eyes turned to Velena.

What on Hiraeth was her grandson thinking?

Jesse turned to the crowd, bringing the crystal close to his mouth. His voice rang clear in every mind present in the Citadel.

"Hope you all enjoyed the show."

A ripple of stunned silence followed.

"I'll admit, it got a little too lively at the end there, but hey—nothing like a bit of drama to spice up a day of tradition, right? The last few years have gotten quite repetitive if I do say so myself."

The shift in the room was immediate.

Confused murmurs turned to surprised chuckles. The nobles who had been ready to flee now blinked in disbelief. The tension bent, it even wavered.

Jesse smiled wider. "I know some of you got a bit of a fright—and listen, I get it. You came here to see dragons, not nearly be eaten by one."

Laughter. Still hesitant, but it was growing now.

"Allow me to make it up to everyone here. Drinks on me tonight. Just don't go too crazy or my grandmother won't let me hear the end of it."

Now the laughter was real and readily given.

The King, furious at first, slowly realized the opportunity Jesse was giving him, to spin the narrative to his favour.

All of this had simply been a theatrical show that had intended to happen, a show that had been under Daerion's control all along.

The King of Nozar's jaw unclenched. He leaned back slightly. It was clear that Daerion was not yet convinced of what Jesse was up to yet he wanted to see where he would go with this. Thus, he allowed Velena's grandson to continue.

"My point is that," Jesse continued, slowing his pacing a little now, getting more comfortable with each passing second, "this sort of thing happens more often than we like. All of you know that. Dragons breaking from their chains, accidents during transport, the usual growing pains of trying to keep literal titans of fire and scale locked up. No one can blame you!"

The young dragonborn was improvising all of it, but it didn't feel like he was.

Because Jesse spoke with a mix of confidence, warmth, wit that could charm even the most cold-hearted individuals.

The nobles muttered among themselves but Lukas saw many of them nod, agreeing with what Jesse was saying.

Jesse Sterling was a natural performer and he turned towards the dragonborn that had almost been executed before their eyes, and then back to the crowd with a glimmer in his eye.

"But that raises a question, doesn't it? How do we solve this? How do we prevent these little mishaps like this in the future?"

He paused and let the question hang in the air.

No one had an answer for him.

So he gave them one.

"And that, ladies and gentlemen, is where we, the Merchant Guild comes in. We've been working closely with one man in particular, and together we are here to present the results of our work."

Jesse turned toward Lukas, extending a hand.

"Allow me to introduce someone who frankly needs no introduction. You've heard the name. You've seen the rise. Klein, the Representative of the Magic Tower!"

Lukas stepped forward right on cue, his boots clicking against the marble floor as he moved to Jesse's side.

Hundreds of eyes gathered there in the Citadel bore into him, but he felt no fear. Only purpose.

As Lukas came to a stop beside Jesse, the young dragonborn leaned in and whispered so only he could hear: "Follow my lead."

Lukas grinned, tears still lingering in the corners of his eyes—but no longer from sorrow or rage. He gave Jesse a now, he could see that the kid's wonderful mind was overtime because right now he was forming an idea of a lifetime.

This was Jesse Sterling's world. And right now, Lukas was just here to make sure that his world came to life. It was time to give these human bastards a show, a show that they were not going to forget.

"Without further ado, lend me your eyes as I show you the answer to all those problems. Allow me to present to you...the Shard of Obedience!"