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

The arena that Lukas could see from a distance was a colossus of stone, constructed solely for this moment. A moment that all of Hiraeth had been waiting for: the Duel to decide who would be the next Divine Knight of the Church. It was impossible to miss the subtle traces of Khaitishi influence in the towering archways, the tiered stands that curled around the battlefield like the coils of a serpent, or the way the arena's very walls bled an ancient sort of reverence—as if the stones remembered the bloodshed of centuries past.

The arena was Easthaven craftsmanship atop foreign inspiration and it was a thing of beauty. Lukas had watched it being built from the ground up for months and now here it was before him.

The city was overflowing. Every road that led to the capital had been devoured by pilgrims, nobles, merchants, knights, and fishermen, all scrambling for a seat—any seat—to witness this Duel. It wasn't just the rich and wealthy who had mages at their disposal who had made their way to Easthaven. Many others had crossed rough waters to get here, braving the still-turbulent seas that Lukas Drakos had only just calmed. It was a feat whispered through Nozar, thundered across Khaitish, and now etched into history by the very presence of those foreign dignitaries who dared to come.

A large majority who had travelled to Easthaven, not for the thrill of combat, for the cause it represented. They were followers of the Church—true believers—whose faith compelled them across the sea despite the risk. They had not heard from the Titan of Hiraeth since the summoning of the Hero From Another World. If there was any chance he might one day speak again, it would be during events like this.

Among the masses were mostly the locals of Easthaven who had come to support their dear Princess.

The air was crackling with excitement, electric with anticipation; and every cheer, every whispered prayer, fed it.

Lukas walked towards the arena now, steps deliberate, Maelis Elarion by his side. They were escorted by a pair of stewards clad in ceremonial black and silver, silent guides leading them past velvet curtains and golden railings toward the private balcony reserved for Easthaven's elite.

From high above the crowd, the upper booths offered a quieter view of the storm below.

The view was immaculate.

Below them, the arena floor was filled with dirt and dust. Above them, banners of every noble house swayed in the wind.

Rosalia's uncle was already in a great mood, constantly boasting loud enough for all to hear about how proud he was of Rosalia and how well she would do. The Admiral looked like a man prepared to shout himself hoarse in support of his niece.

When they stepped through the final archway to enter the booth that had been reserved for them, Maelis' smile vanished. Standing there, arms folded behind his back and posture a little less straighter than he remembered, was a man Maelis had not seen in years until yesterday.

It was King Magnus Elarion himself, Head Mage of the Magic Tower. When the old man turned to face who had entered the booth, the two locked eyes across the short distance.

The years had carved deeper lines into Magnus' face, but his presence remained as unshakable as ever—a mountain wrapped in royal cloth.

For a moment, the old king seemed equally stunned, his usual mask faltering as recognition struck like lightning.

Maelis' attention immediately turned towards the man who had led him into this trap. The look he shot toward Lukas said everything, it was a look of pure betrayal.

Lukas met it calmly and shrugged. "Wasn't my idea," he told him truthfully. "It was Rosalia's."

Maelis turned away, already shaking his head. He had made up his mind to take his leave and find another place to spectate this Duel but Lukas placed a firm hand on his shoulder before he could walk off.

"He's getting old," Lukas whispered softly. "You may not get another chance to speak to him. He…might not get a chance to right his wrongs. And he will never get that chance if you do not give it to him."

Something flickered in Maelis' eyes—resistance, pain, guilt. Lukas watched Maelis carefully for a few more seconds what remained was resignation. Maelis sighed. Then, with measured steps, the Admiral crossed the booth and greeted the man who had once been his father with a respectful bow.

Lukas watched them exchange nods, but no words were spoken between the two. Not yet. Perhaps, that was more than enough.

A faint smile crossed Lukas' lips as he turned to leave, the roar of the crowd swelling below like a storm cresting on the horizon.

The Duel was about to begin and he had to get to his booth before it did.

Lukas moved through the upper levels of the arena with steady steps, weaving through the corridors carved for kings and commanders, not commoners. Past silken banners and felt the magical energy reinforcing the structure against the sheer magical pressure of what might possibly com, Lukas made his way to the farthest booth near the northern spire of the coliseum.

The announcer's booth. It was quieter here—insulated, distant from the noise of the crowd—but even through the enchanted glass, the pulse of anticipation still thrummed beneath the skin.

The Duel was minutes away now.

When Lukas stepped inside, Celina was the first person he noticed—though she did not hold her usual composed grace.

The Divine Knight of the Church was pacing back and forth across the booth like a lioness trapped in a cage. Her armor, immaculate as always, clinked with every agitated turn, her sword belt rattling softly against her thigh. Celina was muttering under her breath, her fingers twitching with nervous energy.

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At the far end of the booth, seated and unbothered, was the High Septon of the Church. She was dressed similarly as she had been the night before: robes embroidered with golden scripture, a high collar hiding the fragile length of her neck and he noticed that she now bore a circlet of white silver crowning her brow. That same eerie serenity enveloped her like a veil. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap and her expression unreadable.

When the High Septon's eyes found Lukas, she gave a subtle nod of recognition. Lukas returned it with equal measure. Even now the High Septon unsettled him—not with menace, but with mystery. As if she was always three steps ahead of a game no one else realized they were playing.

Lukas turned his attention back to the issue at hand.

"Lukas!" Celina nearly shouted his name when she saw him, closing the distance between them in three long strides. "Is she ready? Did she sleep well? Was she calm this morning? Did she eat? Please tell me she ate enough, she needs all the energy she can get!"

Lukas raised a brow, taking half a step back at the onslaught of questions.

The High Septon sighed, almost annoyed. "She's been like this all morning."

Celina whipped around, eyes wide. "Because I wasn't allowed to see her, and she is going into this fight without me checking her stance, or adjusting her footwork, or—"

"She's not a child, Celina," Lukas interrupted gently.

"That does not mean she is not my responsibility," Celina shot back, turning to pace the room again. "She's still Rosalia."

"She'll be fine." Lukas assured her, an assurance that fell on deaf ears.

Celina wasn't listening to him anymore. Her words had dissolved into low mutterings, her hands now clasped tightly together, forming the shape of a prayer. "Oh Oceanus," the Divine Knight whispered, "grant her clarity. Grant her courage. Grant her strength and wisdom. Let her see through Soren's wicked plans. Let her heart burn brighter than his fire, let her magic strike true—"

Lukas reached up and, with a single sharp motion, clapped his hands firmly over hers. The sound echoed through the booth like a small thunderclap.

Celina froze.

She blinked, clearly still reeling from the sudden clap, before shooting daggers with her glaring eyes at him; voice tight with indignation. "What in the world was that for?"

"You're being very stupid right now," Lukas stated bluntly, matter-of-fact.

The Divine Knight recoiled as if he'd slapped her. "Excuse me?"

Lukas didn't give her the time to unleash whatever self-righteous tirade was bubbling on her tongue.

"Rosalia's not nervous," he told her. "So why are you?"

Celina opened her mouth, then hesitated, her brow furrowing. She didn't have an answer.

Lukas continued. "Do you really think she doesn't know how much you've done for her? Do you think she's standing out there doubting everything you taught her?"

He gave her an honest look now.

"We have already done our part Celina," he went on. "We trained her, every damn day. We have corrected every misstep. We have ensured that she is in the best position possible to win this fight. How many years has she trained under your stead, under our stead? How many sleepless nights have you had trying create and rework lesson plans for Rosalia?"

Countless. Celina had spent countless nights fussing over Rosalia's training.

"She's ready because of your training. Because of my training. There's nothing more we can do for her. And now—" Lukas gestured toward the arena below, where the Duel would soon take place, "—now it's up to her."

Lukas let the words hang there because no more words were needed, he had gotten his point across.

Celina took in a slow sharp breath, her shoulders eased and her hands, still clasped in front of her, slowly released. When she finally looked back at him, there was a tired but genuine smile there.

"She's stronger than I ever was at her age," she murmured. "Stronger than I thought she'd be."

Lukas nodded. "Then we do the only thing we can."

Celina tilted her head slightly, as if to ask what that thing was.

"We watch," Lukas said with a smile. "And we cheer her on every step of the way."

Then, a deep bell tolled through the arena like the roar of an ancient beast awakening from slumber. The arena erupted in applause.

Cheers shook the stands and chants began to rise.

It was time for the Duel to begin.

Celina snapped into focus. They were in the announcer's booth for a reason after all. The Divine Knight reached forward, grabbing the crystal mounted atop the announcement pedestal. The moment she spoke, her voice boomed across the stadium; amplified by magic.

"People of Hiraeth. Whether you are from Eathaven, from Nozar or even from Khaitish. I, Celina the Divine Knight of the Church, welcome you. Today marks a fight that you have all been waiting for. A fight that has been years in the making."

The crowd roared back, deafening.

Celina stood tall now, her voice clear, strong, and ringing with ceremonial authority. Some even waved towards the booth, noticing the blonde giant of a woman through the glass. Gone was the nervous woman pacing in circles. This was the holy warrior of the Church, a hero among heroes.

"The use of magic will be permitted in this fight. Weapons will not. This will be a test of true personal strength and nothing else."

She paused, letting the silence stretch for just a second longer than expected.

"In one corner we have Soren of the Ittriki Clan, son to King Daerion of Nozar."

One gate opened below and Soren emerged, a towering presence, broad-shouldered and heavy with muscle, but moving like a fighter half his weight. He was growing to become more like his father with each passing day, inheriting Daerion's immense size and frame. Despite his enormous build, the kid had the gait of a predator—light on his feet, calculating with each step. Even from this height, Lukas could tell: Soren had grown into something dangerous, both physically and mentally.

The crowd, unsure whether to cheer or tremble, gave him a muted, uneasy applause. Soren was the favorite to win but most of them here wanted Rosalia to take home the victory.

Then Celina lifted her voice again. "In the opposite corner, Easthaven's own—Rosalia Elarion, Princess of Easthaven and beloved by many."

The stadium exploded into cheers. Lukas didn't even need to look to know the entire arena was on its feet. The noise from below echoed like thunder, banners rippled in the sky, and for a moment, all of Easthaven seemed to be shouting her name.

Another gate opened on the opposite side of the arena and Rosalia stepped into the light with a quiet grace while her face betrayed nothing—calm, serious, focused. The princess looked up at the crowd and gave them wave. Then she looked directly across the arena at Soren, giving him a big smile, betraying not even a hint of nervousness.

Celina held her breath, then raised her arm before shouting into the crystal.

"Let the Duel—begin!"