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

The crowd lost its mind. A roaring tide of disbelief and awe surged through the arena as Rosalia did something no one in the history of Hiraeth had ever done.

Rosalia Elarion had just wielded two Divinities.

It was common knowledge that the princess' Divinity revolved around her control over the waters but now…she was wielding the Divinity of Dissection as well.

It was completely unheard of. For all intents and purposes, what Rosalia had just done and what she was currently still doing was quite literally impossible.

A Divinity was meant to be singular, bound to the soul like a birthmark of fate. Oftentimes, those same Divinities could be inherited through sacred bloodlines; passed down from one generation to the next. Notable examples would the Ittriki Clan and their Divinity of Dissection or House Drakos and their Divinity of the Seas.

But Rosalia had just done the impossible. Not only was she wielding another another Divinity, she was wielding Soren's Divinity; as if she had stolen it and claimed it as her own.

Lukas was speechless. Even he hadn't seen this coming, no one had.

When Rosalia had begun to somehow wield the Divinity of the Seas, the idea of Rosalia wielding different Divinities was always a possibility. She was blessed the rare, hidden talent that made this possible. The gift of being able to communicate with Mana itself. Doing the impossible was possible for somebody like Rosalia Elarion.

Lukas, and all those who were aware of Rosalia's true ability, weren't surprised that she could pull off something like this.

They were surprised that Rosalia had done it right here and now, in front of tens of thousands of people.

The Princess of Easthaven had just torn away the mask she wore for the world. In doing so, she showed them all a glimpse of who she truly was.

A hush fell—brief and sharp—before the crowd erupted once more, this time in a tidal wave of adoration. They didn't run away or scream in terror, instead they roared in approval at this revelation of what the princess was truly capable of. They chanted her name, louder than ever before; wilder and fiercer.

It was not because they understood what they'd seen. Most commoners did not understand the basics of magic. Even the mages of the Magic Tower who had that knowledge could not comprehend how she had been able to do what she did. But they did not need to understand it to know that their princess wasn't going to lose this fight. And right now, that was all they needed to know.

Lukas turned to Magnus, his eyes finding the King of Easthaven in the booth that he had led Maelis to. The old man was laughing, hands cupped to his mouth as he yelled her name with the strength of a man half his age. His eyes gleamed—not just with pride, but with relief.

Rosalia wasn't hiding anymore. She had finally chosen to stop running from who she was. She had stepped into the thick of it, not as that little girl struggling to prove her worth—but as a woman who had already found it and wore it it with pride.

Lukas felt the same pride swelling up within him, he was so proud of her; more than words could even describe.

All of Easthaven was watching. And all of Easthaven was cheering her on.

The girl they had once watched grow up in the streets of this kingdom was now a warrior of a woman.

Whether the world was ready or not, Rosalia was here now and she would not be ignored.

Lukas' eyes flicked to another of the viewing booths—this one gilded in luxury. Filled with Nozari navy, including the Vice Admiral Anriette Vale.

There, in the middle of that booth, King Daerion of Nozar had finally risen from his seat.

Gone was the idle smirk from his face. Gone was the hand around the woman clinging to his arm and gone was the wine glass half-raised in his fingers. His gaze was locked now, sharp and unblinking, entirely focused on the battle unfolding before him.

Focused on not on his own son but instead on Rosalia Elarion.

Daerion looked fascinated, even more so than he had been when he had first seen what Rosalia was capable of during her first spar with Soren. Not just entertained or amused by her but truly and deeply intrigued.

Lukas could see it in Daerion's eyes, the dawning realization that Rosalia was not just some promising talent from Easthaven.

Rosalia was something else entirely, a force Daerion hadn't accounted for.

Lukas grinned and threw his fist in the air, cheering loudly for her from his place among the crowd.

As he turned to glance at Celina, something about her expression made him pause. She wasn't smiling like the others, not quite. There was a strange stillness in her eyes. Not fear—not even surprise—but something harder to read. Something tangled between shock and worry. When Celina caught him watching, she offered a small, half-hearted smile that didn't reach her eyes.

Stolen novel; please report.

Lukas frowned but he could not dwell on it for a second longer.

Because down in the arena, the fight between the two fighters had resumed their battle.

Soren, now wide-eyed and rattled, had finally shaken off the shock of witnessing Rosalia wield the magic that he had trained his whole life to master. He surged forward with a roar, his Divinity crackling around him like a storm barely held back.

This time, Rosalia didn't move to evade. She stepped forward to meet him.

Magical energy crashed against magical energy, sparks flying as their limbs turned blades collided. Soren still held the advantage in brute strength—his strikes were heavier, his movements more forceful—but this was never a test of pure physicality.

This was a battle of power, technique and will.

Rosalia's movement continued with calm fluidity, her footwork in perfect tempo. Every time Soren brought his arm crashing down, she redirected it with the flat side of her blade-like limb, turning his force aside without needing to meet it head-on.

It was simply a matter of redirection. A subtle yet brutal skill in swordplay that Celina had forced her to master—using an opponent's momentum against them. Winning the clash of blades not through strength but through timing and technique. Rosalia had become a master at it.

The Divinity of Dissection flared in Soren's hands—a blade that did not merely cut flesh, but tore through energy, magic, even air itself. Yet now, it did not cut through Rosalia but instead clashed with a mirrored echo of itself; Soren's magic had met one of equal opposition.

When Dissection met Dissection, it did not dissect. It crashed and fought, like any sword would clash against another.

In that razor-thin space between the two Divinities, victory would go to the first who could land a single, perfect blow.

It was no longer a contest of overwhelming force. It was a dance on the edge of a blade.

The issue for Soren was that the Divinity of Dissection was not the only Divinity that Rosalia was able to wield.

Even as their blade-like limbs clashed in a flurry of magical sparks, the edge she carried didn't come from raw strength or technique alone. With most of her stamina focused on holding back Soren's own Divinity—matching and mirroring its intensity—Rosalia used the Divinity of the Seas with startling simplicity.

She wasn't conjuring waves or whirlpools. She was not sending tidal strikes his way or even elegant constructs of water.

Rosalia was, quite literally, splashing water in his face.

The spheres of water came in quick bursts, sudden sprays that caught him in the eyes, blurred his vision and broke his rhythm. These small but impactful interruptions were enough to make him stumble and enough to slow that momentum that Soren relied on.

It reminded Lukas of the first few months of the One Year Challenge where he had forced her to not flinch in the face of an incoming blow by sending those same spheres of water splashing into her face.

Lukas could not have been prouder.

Strength meant nothing if not used right and Rosalia used her power to give her that edge over Soren.

Finally, there came an opening.

Rosalia twisted past Soren's guard and slammed her boot straight into his gut, a brutal front kick that lifted the larger boy off his feet. Soren crashed to the ground in a thunderous cloud of dust.

The arena held its breath as it cleared and there she stood.

Rosalia Elarion standing before her fallen opponent, one hand raised as she summoned the full force of the Divinity of the Seas. Ten spears of seawater hovered in the air above Soren, their forms gleaming like polished glass, deadly and sharp.

The outcome of this Duel had been decided.

Everyone could see it—even Soren, who struggled to rise, arms trembling, lips bloodied.

He had been defeated.

The crowd erupted in a deafening roar.

Their princess had won. Yet…Rosalia did not move to finish it. She did not deliver a final blow nor did she demand Soren to surrender.

To the shock of everyone watching—the spears dissolved, splashing harmlessly into the earth and mixing with the dust into pools of mud.

Silence rippled through the arena. Even Soren looked up, stunned, his body tensed in confusion.

Rosalia simply stepped forward and extended a hand to him. There was no trick or trap this time around.

Soren blinked at her, lost in the moment, unable to react. He didn't even lift his arms in defense.

The look on Rosalia's face wasn't one of victory. It was something gentler and kinder. It was a look of compassion.

Lukas furrowed his brow, trying to make sense of what she was doing.

Why wasn't she ending this? What was she—

Then, before anyone could guess her next move, Rosalia raised her hand once more and she called upon the force of nature that was Mana itself in a language that only she knew.

Magical energy in its purest form flowed all around her and before Celina could react, the magical crystal in her hands flew out of her hands and through the glass; without even shattering it.

Celina gasped, lunging forward, but it was too late. The crystal floated downward, carried gently by unseen mystical forces until it settled into Rosalia's waiting palm.

At last, she raised it to her lips. Her voice rang out across the arena, steady, clear, and strong.

"This Duel," Rosalia announced, "is over." The crowd was deathly silent.

"I surrender." The princess declared.