Talent Awakening: Draconic Overlord Of The Apocalypse - Chapter 510: • The Lord of Dragons

Chapter 510: • The Lord of Dragons

Alister let his glowing hand fall—like a divine gavel delivering its final judgment.

A flash of golden light surged forward in a single, razor-sharp arc. It was clean. Swift. Final.

Aiku’s head flew from his shoulders, tumbling through the air in slow motion before landing with a dull, flesh-heavy thud against the broken concrete. His body crumpled beside it a moment later, limbs folding unnaturally like a puppet with its strings severed.

Silence.

The entire city held its breath.

Even the rotor blades seemed quieter in that instant, the floodlights frozen in their focus on the brutal stillness below. Smoke curled in lazy spirals around the Dragon Lord’s feet. Alister stood like a statue carved from light and fury.

“…he did it…” one reporter finally breathed, barely audible.

“…he actually did it. On live broadcast.”

“This was… a public execution.”

“My gods, look at the crowd reactions—pan in on the apartment towers!”

The cameras swung toward the distant buildings, where lights blinked behind windows and silhouettes stood motionless, pressed to the glass. Some were trembling. Others were weeping. But most… just watched. In shock. In awe.

And in a strange, buried corner of their hearts—some felt something else.

Relief.

Down below, Alister turned his head slowly, golden eyes glowing with residual mana.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

The message was clear.

He would not allow chaos to fester and challenge his order. Not while the city stood. Not while he still breathed.

And for those watching who harbored any intentions of repeating Aiku’s crimes… the execution had been more than just punishment.

It had been a warning.

Above him, his wyverns roared once—a loud, shuddering sound that rumbled through the smoke-choked skies like a war horn. The reporters flinched.

“We’re… we’re ending the broadcast now,” one of them whispered hoarsely.

“No,” another replied. “Leave it running. The entire megacity needs to see this.”

Back on the ground, Alister’s gaze drifted to the horizon. The wind blew ash through his hair as he turned and began to descend the rubble.

The silence following the execution lingered like smoke—thick, choking, impossible to ignore.

But it didn’t last.

The reporters’ mics crackled back to life, voices low, tense.

“…what do you think the Union Director is going to say about this?” one reporter asked, clearly rattled. “Alister just took the law into his own hands. That was an inmate, not some mutated monster, so they were still human, yet he killed them.”

“And now?” another chimed in. “Now he’s not just the one protecting us—he’s the one deciding who deserves to live or die?”

“Isn’t that how kings rise? Through force first, then through loyalty?”

“I mean… come on. He executed a man without trial—publicly. Spectacularly. If the Union lets this slide, what’s stopping him from doing it again?”

“Nothing. That’s the point,” someone else muttered.

One of the older correspondents cleared his throat. “We’ve always called him the Dragon Lord. But if this is what’s coming next… that might not be enough.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean titles have weight. ’Dragon Lord’ implies a ruler of dragons—a master of beasts. But if the people start seeing him as the true authority, the arbiter of law, the sword and the scale both…”

He paused dramatically, then concluded, “Then he isn’t just the Dragon Lord anymore. He becomes the Lord of Dragons.”

The others blinked.

“…what’s the difference?”

The veteran leaned forward. “The Dragon Lord commands dragons. The Lord of Dragons commands everything under them. It’s the difference between a general… and a god.”

The conversation quieted again—this time with gravity.

Down below, Alister finally descended the rubble. The mana had faded from his body, but the aura of power still clung to him like a mantle.

Waiting at the base of the ruin was the maid from earlier, her eyes downcast with respect.

She bowed low.

“Your garments, my Lord,” she said softly, presenting them with both arms outstretched.

Alister gave a quiet nod and accepted the suit, pulling it on with practiced ease. The shoulder cape followed, the clasp clicking into place with a clean metallic snap.

As the ash settled and the city held its breath, a small group of Union enforcement officers cautiously approached.

Their uniforms were scorched, faces bloodied from the earlier chaos, but they still moved with duty in their step.

“S-Sir Alister,” one stammered. “On behalf of the Union’s emergency response team… thank you for your swift action tonight. We… we would’ve lost hundreds without your intervention.”

Alister gave them a polite nod, his eyes unreadable. “You’re welcome,” he said simply. “But now, clean this up. Dispose of the body. Sector Three doesn’t need a reminder of chaos rotting in the streets.”

The officers stiffened. “Y-Yes, sir. Right away!” they shouted, saluting before hurrying off toward Aiku’s corpse.

The maid lingered a step behind Alister, brushing ash from his sleeve as he began to walk away.

…

…

The sky over Sector Three was still dim with the lingering smoke of destruction, its clouds dyed orange by the dying fires below.

The air reeked of ozone and ash. At the far end of the cordoned-off zone, behind the ruined Union Detainment Facility, a matte-gray Union van idled in the alley, its back doors swinging open with a mechanical clank-hiss.

Two Union officers emerged from the haze, dragging a black body bag between them.

The bag thudded against the pavement with each step. The material was fireproof, sealed with layers of mana-lock thread—standard protocol for dangerous corpses.

“Man, I still can’t believe it…” one of the officers muttered as they reached the van’s open cargo bay.

The interior was lit only by a flickering overhead light, casting long, stretched shadows.

He grunted as they heaved the bag up together—thump—dropping it onto the steel floor with the sound of dead weight.

“He really did it. Just sliced his head off. Like it was nothin’.”

The other officer climbed halfway into the van, giving the bag a final nudge with his boot before jumping back down.

He wiped his brow, slick with sweat and soot. “Yeah. Aiku, the Fate Gambler. Honestly, I never even knew there were criminals with threat levels above S rank…”

Bang.

The van’s doors slammed shut behind them.

As they began walking away, their boots scraped along the gravel-strewn concrete, the orange lights of the fire-lit skyline reflecting dimly on their worn armor.