The smell of fresh bread, smoked fish, and spiced potatoes filled the air as Lukas, Katrina, and the Kraken found themselves settled among the ranks of the Nozar Navy.
Anriette hadn't been lying. They had arrived just in time for breakfast.
The mess hall wasn't glamorous—it was a long, open stretch of polished wood tables bolted to the deck to keep them from sliding in heavy seas—but it was alive.
Sailors packed the benches, laughing and talking over clattering plates and clinking mugs.
For the most part, they were a rowdy, but surprisingly friendly bunch.
Veterans of dozens of voyages, with sunburned skin and calloused hands, hardened by storms, battle, and boredom.
They treated Katrina and Lukas—or Klein for the time being and his niece—with easy camaraderie, pulling them into their circles with little more than a shove of a plate and a barked laugh.
"So, you're really bounty hunters, huh?" a grizzled sailor asked, tearing into a hunk of bread.
"What's the biggest pirate you've taken down?" another younger sailor pressed, eyes shining with boyish excitement.
"How the hell'd you even tame something like that?" another one added, jerking a thumb toward the Kraken.
The entire table turned slightly to look at him. The Kraken, for his part, ignored them all. He was busy—systematically devouring an entire mountain of salted meat and fried potatoes. He ate with slow, heavy bites, as if the food barely mattered, only the act of fueling a machine built for war.
The stares didn't faze him.
But they did amuse Katrina, who leaned back and whispered loudly enough for the nearby sailors to hear: "He's friendly if you give him snacks. If you choose not to...well...I'm not cleaning up the mess he'll make with all of you chumps."
Laughter rippled around the table.
Even Anriette, seated a few spots down with her legs kicked up and sipping from a steaming mug, cracked a grin.
Then the door at the far end of the mess slammed open hard enough to rattle the overhead lanterns.
The sailors immediately stiffened, some standing, some hastily shoving plates aside.
A tall figure strode in, dressed in a pristine navy coat dripping with gold embellishments, a thick sash of royal blue tied at his waist. His boots clicked loudly with each step, and his sneer was sharp enough to cut glass.
The sailor sitting nearest to Lukas grimaced and his smile soon faded. Recognizing the confusion on Lukas' face, he explained in a hushed voice, laced heavy with sarcasm. "That's…our dear fucking Rear Admiral Alric Ittriki, second youngest son of Nozar."
Another one of the fucking royal bastards, Lukas groaned inwardly. This must be Prince Darren's older brother.
Alric barely glanced at the sailors as he strutted in, his gaze locking instantly onto the trio at the center of the commotion.
His lip curled the moment he saw the Kraken.
"What in the gods' names is that disgusting creature doing at my table?" he shouted, voice dripping with disdain.
Immediately Lukas didn't like him. He had the sort of high pitched voice that only came with years of being coddled with no one in his life slapping some sense into him once in a while.
The Kraken froze mid-bite, slowly turning his head toward the prince.
Lukas's jaw tightened.
"He is my Familiar." Lukas told the Rear Admiral calmly.
A few sailors exchanged glances, trying to keep their heads down.
Alric scoffed. "Should've left the beast chained below deck where he belongs. Probably pisses on the wood just like a dog." He laughed—a sharp, ugly sound—and some of the more timid sailors gave nervous chuckles.
Lukas didn't laugh. Rather he continued to eat, choosing to ignore the brat.
But the young royal wasn't finished.
He swaggered closer, eyeing Katrina lazily, then turning back toward the general room as if giving a speech.
"So bounty hunters…huh? Where do you hail from?"
Lukas met his gaze coolly. "Ilagron."
At that, Alric's smile sharpened, wicked.
"Ah. Ilagron," he said loudly, enough for the whole hall to hear. "The lovely little village where my darling younger brother decided to waste his bloodline on a commonblood whore."
Lukas hadn't known that piece of information. He'd suspected that his wife might not have been of noble descent but he certainly had not known that the woman he had fallen in love with came from Ilagron Village.
Despite their brief interaction, Lukas had genuinely felt respect for Prince Darren. He was a good man. And here was his brother shitting on his fucking name.
The sailors shifted uncomfortably in their seats.
It seemed like not all of the Ittriki bloodline were men of character like Darren. Some were your classic brats.
Anriette lowered her mug with a heavy sigh, already sensing where this was going. It didn't seem like it was the first time her rear admiral was causing a scene.
Alric chuckled darkly. "Ilagron must have good whores. But bounty hunters? What makes you lot so special that our dear Vice Admiral invited you guys on board to fight Rodan with us? What if you end up fucking dying? That would be a damn shame, no? Your blood would be on our hands." He shook his head in mock sadness.
Lukas's hands tightened into fists under the table.
"Klein…" Anriette warned sharply, her voice cutting across the rising tension. "This isn't worth it." She turned quickly to the Prince and stood from where she sat. "Alric, we're going to need all the help we can get. You know that. Rodan's unlike anything we've faced before. Please show my guests the respect they deserve."
Her tone was clear: Alric was royalty. Higher rank or not, the Vice Admiral wasn't making it clear that she couldn't shield Lukas from the consequences if he made a move here.
Lukas unclenched his fists, breathing slow and deep.
But Alric, sensing blood in the water, only grinned wider.
"What's the matter? No witty retort?" he taunted. "Maybe I should ask you another question, bounty hunter. What pathetic little skills do you think qualify you to sail under Nozar's banner?"
The sailors had started clearing the tables without a word now, giving them space. Everyone could feel it building—the crackle in the air before a storm.
And then Alric stepped forward, placing a hand lightly on his jeweled saber.
"I'll make it simple," he called out, voice cold and clear. " The thing is ever since my brother put his dick in that Ilagron bitch, I don't think I like anybody who comes from that little fishing village. So I challenge you, Klein. Prove your worth—or crawl back to the gutter you came from."
A hush fell over the mess.
Lukas stood slowly, his chair scraping back.
"I accept your challenge. Shall we?"
He was going to enjoy this immensely.
The mess hall transformed into a battlefield in a matter of seconds.
Benches were shoved aside, food trays clattered to the floor, and the sailors, seasoned marines all, cleared a wide circle without needing to be asked.
They lined the perimeter, a wall of expectant faces, some grinning, some grim — but all eager to watch a clash between the two. It was about time that someone put the Ittriki Prince in his place.
Alric stood at the far end, poised, relaxed, the jeweled saber held loosely in his hand like an extension of his will.
Even now, Lukas could feel the Divinity coiling around the blade, a molten river of energy stitched so deeply into it that the air around the saber shimmered faintly. It was a simple blade. Rather flashy but it held no special properties.
It was Alric's magic which turned it into a force to be reckoned with.
The Divinity of the Ittriki Family. There was a reason why their bloodline had been able to claim control and rule over Nozar for thousands of years.
Alric's eyes gleamed with arrogant amusement.
Without warning, he moved.
The saber lashed forward, and as it moved, the air itself seemed to part before it.
Lukas barely dodged to the side, feeling the pressure of the Divinity slash slice past his shoulder.
Where the blade passed, a thin line hung in the air — like a scar, a wound left not in flesh but in the very fabric of reality.
The Divinity of Dissection.
It wasn't just magic. It was a violation of the very nature of Divinity, a ruthless cutting force that sundered what should have been untouchable.
It cut through all, without discrimination. That was how the Ittriki were able to cut down all enemies that stood in their path. Lukas didn't know if his scales were sturdy enough to block such an attack but he sure wasn't foolish enough to find out.
Lukas dropped into a lower stance, breathing carefully through his nose.
His hands moved swiftly, fingers weaving into a quick sigil in the air.
Around him, water leapt from nowhere —spiraling out of the thin moisture in the air, from the puddles of spilled drink, from the condensation clinging to the hull—until it wove into dense, coiling streams around his arms.
The crowd gasped as they finally saw the magic that the bounty hunter Klein was capable of.
But this was the first spell that Lady Kaitlyn had taught him: Generation and Control.
It answered him with the ease of an old companion.
The training—the months of grueling repetition, of sweat and silent frustration—rushed back to him now, not as struggle but as strength.
While Jesse worked on building the Merchant Guild, Lukas had spent hours mastering the Divinity of the Seas. And he was about to see how much that training was going to carry over to a real fight with an opponent who was not to be taken lightly.
Lukas cast the water forward in a twisting arc, a lance of pressure meant to batter Alric back, to disrupt his footing.
But the prince merely laughed.
He flicked the saber with his rest in one elegant motion and the stream of water split down the middle, dissected so cleanly that it fell apart before it even touched his boots.
Alric advanced, quick and graceful as an Olympic Fencing Champion. His speed was alarming but certainly nothing Lukas couldn't keep up with.
Again the saber moved, that Divinity unravelling through the air.
Lukas weaved away from Alric's attack with as little movement as possible. His instincts as a fighter pulled through as he dodged the prince's stab narrowly.
The Divinity of Dissection wasn't something he could simply power through.
He had to be smarter.
He didn't want to win through pure physicality alone. He wanted to see how far his magic could take him.
Ducking under another vicious slash, Lukas slammed his palms against the deck, feeling the humming pull of his second spell come alive.
Water swirled around his fingers, dense and heavy; pulled into existence through his first spell.
The air filled with a strange, almost tangible tension.
The streams of water on the floor thickened, darkened — the water itself seemed to resist gravity, clinging together like a living organism.
And then he cast it.
The Second Spell of the Divinity of the Seas: Tension of the Waters
It manipulated the cohesiveness, the very molecular bonds within the water, until it behaved more like sludge than liquid.
Alric noticed the shift immediately. His stride faltered for the briefest moment as his boots sank half an inch into the pseudo-solid surface
The prince slashed downward without hesitation — his saber flaring — and once again, the Dissect Divinity carved a wound through the water, tearing it apart and freeing him from the sludge.
He slashed downward again as the sludge rose up once more upon Lukas' orders; a violent, angry motion.
The blade tore through the thickened water with a shriek of displaced magic, carving a gash—but the water simply folded inward, the semi-solid bonds knitting back together almost immediately.
It was like Lukas had breathed life into the waters and now it responded to Lukas' will — moving, hardening, flexing where needed.
Alric grimaced, trying to tear free, but the sludge clung to his boots, then to his knees, rising higher, pulling at him like a thousand grasping hands.
The more he struggled, the deeper he sank.
Lukas stood at the center of it all, shoulders loose, hands steady at his sides, his Divinity pulsing outward like the slow, crushing pressure of the deep ocean.
He didn't need to move.
With a thought, Lukas commanded the sludge to rise.
It obeyed instantly, flowing up Alric's body like molten tar, sliding over his arms, encasing his torso, crawling up his shoulders.
The prince thrashed, saber flashing wildly, but the movements were clumsy now, desperate.
One thing that Lukas had noticed about the prince's usage of his family's Divinity was that he required his blade to Dissect. He couldn't cast the Ittriki's Divinity like Lukas would with the Divinity of the Seas.
If he wanted to free himself, he would have to carve through the water which his own body was entrapped in. To free himself, Alric would have to swing his saber through his own flesh.
Lukas could see the calculation flash across Alric's face.
The young prince wasn't a fool.
No title, no pride was worth losing a limb.
He hesitated for a breath — and that was all Lukas needed.
The sludge surged up, swallowing Alric's sword hand, locking it tight against his body.
The jeweled saber slipped from his grasp and sank with a dull clunk into the thickened mass at his feet.
The water closed over his chest, then his shoulders, then finally his throat — until only Alric's furious, wide eyes remained visible, staring out from a prison of shimmering, viscous blue.
And just like that, the duel was over.
Lukas held him there, suspended in the semi-solid water, like an insect trapped in amber.
He could feel Alric's Divinity thrumming against the bonds, could feel the prince's strength pressing against the confines of the spell — but it wasn't enough.
Perhaps the prince would have been a far more formidable opponent if he learnt how to actually make use of his family's Divinity.
But without his sword, he was nothing more than just another human who was incapable of even using magic.
With a flick of his fingers, Lukas loosened the spell just enough for Alric to breathe, but not enough for him to move.
The sailors around them stared in stunned silence, the weight of the moment sinking in. It had all happened so fast, it took them a few more seconds for reality to finally hit them.
One by one, heads began to nod. Whispers broke out. A few smirks.
Then applause — low at first, then louder, rough and honest.
Lukas allowed himself a slow, controlled exhale.
His Divinity ebbed back toward him, the water rippling in acknowledgment, waiting for his next command.
Anriette was laughing, hard. So were Katrina and the Kraken.
The sailors' cheers were still echoing when it happened.
The ship groaned—a low, deep moan from the very bones of the vessel, almost like a wounded animal. Then came the crack — wood splitting, iron bolts shrieking loose — and a heartbeat later, a roar of water smashed in from all sides.
Anriette's smile, so smug just a moment ago, flickered and died. She whirled to face Lukas, cloak snapping around her, and shouted over the chaos, "Klein! Enough! You've made your point—! The battle's over!"
Lukas staggered, the taste of salt heavy in his mouth, the sudden pressure of Divinity whirling mad around him like a hurricane.
But it wasn't his Divinity
He reached instinctively for the waters still bound to his will and felt them wrench from his grasp like a fish torn from a line.
His gut twisted in immediate alarm.
Something was wrong.
They were in fucking danger.
"This isn't me!" Lukas roared, voice nearly drowned out by the howling, shrieking ship around them.
Panic surged hot through his chest.
He bolted, boots hammering slick wood, making straight for Katrina and the Kraken, who were already rising, their instincts screaming of the wrongness.
He grabbed tightly onto them, ensuring that he was able to keep them close.
It happened in an instant.
The sludge-wrapped prince, still trapped in Lukas' conjured water, suddenly convulsed…and then the water compressed.
A sickening crack-crack-crack rang out across the mess hall, sharper than any gunfire.
Prince Alric's body was crushed in an instant, his ribs imploding, blood erupting from his mouth and nose like a broken fountain.
The rear admiral's arms snapped at grotesque angles, bones slicing through skin.
His eyes bulged, then ruptured under the impossible pressure.
The jeweled saber he once carried clattered lifelessly to the deck, now slick with gore and pulped flesh.
The sailors screamed. Some stumbled back; others vomited on the spot.
Anriette paled to a deathly white, her lips parted in horror, her command forgotten in her throat.
The ship buckled again — and then it truly began.
BOOM.
BOOM.
BOOM.
Torrents of seawater exploded through the hull like spears, ripping apart planks and rivets, tearing cannons from their mounts.
The once-proud warship shrieked as it was torn apart, a deafening, animal sound of death and destruction.
Metal twisted like paper. Wood shattered into splinters.
Entire sections of the ship simply disintegrated under the pressure, the tendrils of water whipping and tearing through the ship with mindless fury.
The sailors barely had time to scream before they were swept away — crushed, flung into the air like broken dolls, or dragged screaming into the maelstrom.
He ordered the Kraken to grab onto Katrina, knowing that if they stuck together, they would be fine for the time being.
Lukas gritted his teeth, diving through the splintered wreckage, his arms locking around Anriette and yanking her close.
The Kraken barreled through the smoke and chaos, Katrina on his massive back, their eyes wide and desperate.
Above the ruin, through the spraying mist and shattered beams, the sky itself seemed to boil—dark clouds spinning, water rising into monstrous pillars that writhed like living things.
This wasn't human magic.
This was the Divinity of the Seas.
Lukas' blood went cold as he looked out across the shattered waters.
He could feel it — the vast, terrible will that commanded the sea now, heavy and crushing against his own.
A will like an endless abyss, cold and pitiless and ancient.
He knew without being told:
It was Rodan. It was the Leviathan of the Seas.
Anriette, coughing through the splinters and smoke, met his eyes, grimacing against the weight of magic pressing down on them. For the first time, she didn't look sure of herself. She looked scared. Terrified. And Lukas couldn't even blame her.
A shudder rolled through the ruins of the ship — the last gasp before it sank completely into the hungry, roaring sea.
Lukas tightened his grip on his companions, feeling the ancient pulse of his own Divinity roar to life in answer. He raised his hand, veins burning with effort as he wrestled a small section of the raging water under his control, forcing it upward, shaping it into a broad, trembling platform.
The sea thrashed violently beneath them, the ocean itself rioting under Rodan's command, but by sheer willpower Lukas managed to forge a tenuous foothold for himself, Anriette, Katrina, and the Kraken to cling to.
The moment their boots hit the slick, trembling surface, Lukas allowed himself a breath — and then he looked up, finally able to take in the full extent of the battlefield stretched before him.
The sight punched the air from his lungs. The ship had been forcibly pulled into war, wrenched out of the ocean to enter this battlefield before their eyes.
Across the endless heaving expanse, the Nozar fleet—dozens upon dozens of warships— were being torn to pieces.
Massive torrents of water in the shapes of monstrous serpents and leviathans rose from the deep, slamming into the proud steel hulls, crumpling them like paper.
Lukas could even see ships ENTIRELY made of water surged across the ocean's surface, their translucent crews of liquid warriors clashing with human sailors in brutal, hopeless combat. Holy fucking shit. Constructs controlled through the Divinity of the Seas.
Cannon fire was drowned before it even left the barrels.
Magical barriers shattered against giant fists that rose up from the Seas.
The strongest military force that Hiraeth had to offer was being annihilated, swallowed up without mercy.
Lukas felt his own Divinity shudder inside him, as if some instinctive part of his magic recognized the sheer, monstrous difference between what he was and what Rodan had become.
For the first time, the distant worry of the "Hero from Another World" seemed like a faint, unimportant memory. How could any man even compare to this?
Anriette had been right. Their confidence had been horribly misplaced.
Lukas' gaze swept across the devastation, heart hammering.
He couldn't see Rodan yet, not directly — the man was somewhere deep in the heart of the chaos — but Lukas could feel him, an unmistakable, suffocating pressure pulsing like a heartbeat from the center of the maelstrom.
The source of the great magical power.
If they stayed here, they would be swept away like the rest — torn limb from limb by the same Divinity that crushed fleets without effort.
He ground his teeth together, forcing his mind to work through the terror, and already — already — a plan began to form in his mind, reckless and insane, the only thread they might have to cling to.
Because somehow, some way, they had to reach Rodan for his plan to work.
He turned to the Kraken and roared. "You! Me! It's time to make things right!" The Kraken nodded, awaiting his orders.
This was a reunion long time in the making. It was time to come face-to-face with Rodan Drakos, his older brother.