Talent Awakening: Draconic Overlord Of The Apocalypse - Chapter 437

Chapter 437: • No Cure, No Mercy
The female reporter’s voice rang out, clear and dramatic, as the cameraman zoomed in on the scene of how Mar’Garet had closed the dungeon portal.

“Perhaps this is the rise of an era where dungeon raiding becomes obsolete. If dragons can close portals, will awakened even have a place in this world?”

Alister sighed as he stepped past an overturned car, his boots splashing through puddles of blood that had yet to dry. The cracked asphalt beneath him still radiated residual heat from the portal’s collapse. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a familiar chime rang out.

⫷『Congratulations. You have leveled up. Current Level: 72』⫸

Well. That was unexpected.

He had assumed leveling up would slow down significantly now that his dragons were in the thousands and he usually splitt the experience gains. But before he could even entertain that line of thought, the system helpfully clarified:

⫷『Due to your last awakening, experience is no longer shared with your dragons. Instead, they now contribute 50% of all XP they gain directly to you. Leveling efficiency increased.』⫸

Alister blinked. Then, a slow grin crept onto his face.

“Well, now. That’s efficient.”

He liked it. A lot.

Approaching the union officers gathered around their transport vans, he quickly picked out the man in charge.

Stocky, mid-forties, salt-and-pepper hair cropped short. Eyes the kind of blue that belonged in a recruitment poster, but the heavy lines beneath them said he’d seen enough horror to regret signing up. He was still gaping, awestruck, at the now-empty space where the portal had been.

“You really did it,” the officer muttered, shaking his head. “I mean, I knew your dragons were powerful, but that was…” He let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Hell, my entire unit would’ve been annihilated if you hadn’t shown up.”

He reached up as if to pull down his mask, but Alister lifted a hand sharply.

“Don’t.”

The officer hesitated. “What?”

“There might still be traces of the mist. You don’t want to inhale that.”

A beat of silence. Then, the officer exhaled through his nose. “Right. Because that’d turn us into those things, wouldn’t it?” His jaw clenched, and he looked away. “Damn it. I figured, but I didn’t want to believe it. Something like that…” His voice dropped lower. “That’d be too hard to fight against.”

Before Alister could reply, a ragged gasp cut through the air. One of the union officers collapsed to his knees, clutching his throat.

“Shit—Gareth!” The commander turned sharply, eyes wide with alarm. “Are you alright?”

Alister narrowed his eyes.

His pupils shrank into slits, a faint glow flickering in his irises. Almost immediately, the system responded:

⫷『Warning: Subject infected.』⫸

Alister’s expression darkened.

“He’s been infected.”

The air was suffocatingly tense.

“Shit,” the officer muttered, running a hand through his hair, voice tight with panic. “What do we do? The Union still hasn’t figured out a cure for this thing.”

Alister didn’t hesitate. “We’re going to have to kill him.”

A sharp inhale came from the back. The reporter, wide-eyed, turned toward the camera. “Did I hear that right? Did the famous Dragon Lord just suggest killing someone?”

The commander recoiled. “How can you just say that?”

Alister gave him a long, unimpressed look. “Would you rather we restrain him? Tie him to a chair and wait for him to grow extra limbs and a taste for human flesh?” He gestured toward the infected officer, who was now clutching his head, his breathing ragged. “The moment he inhaled that mist, it was over.”

“But—” The commander’s voice cracked. His brow furrowed. “We all wore masks. How the hell did he inhale it?”

Gareth let out a shuddering breath, his body trembling violently. “In all the chaos… when those monsters came through, and we were fighting them off…” His hands clenched into shaking fists. “A chunk of debris from one of their attacks—hit me. Cracked my mask.”

The commander paled. “Shit.”

Another officer, shifting uncomfortably, called out, “Dragon Lord, don’t you have a dragon that specializes in healing? You must have something that can fix this, right?”

Alister shook his head. “No. This isn’t just an injury—it’s a mutation. Healing magic won’t reverse something like this.”

The commander’s voice was raw with desperation. “Really? Please—there has to be a way.”

A choked sound escaped Gareth. His veins darkened, muscles twitching beneath his uniform. He groaned, half in pain, half in something else. His voice came out strained, barely human.

“He has a point…” Gareth rasped. “It’s too late for me.”

“No,” the commander snapped. “We’ll find another way.”

But Gareth smiled—a tired, broken thing. “I can’t let myself turn into a monster and attack my team.” He reached for the pistol at his side and exhaled, steadying his trembling hands.

“Gareth, don’t—”

He lifted the gun, placed the barrel in his mouth, and closed his eyes. His final words came out as a muffled whisper around the cold metal.

“Tell my daughter… I love her.”

“You fool, what are you—”

Bang.

The shot rang through the air, sharply.

Gareth’s body crumpled to the floor, a pool of blood spreading beneath him.

Mar’Garet let out a slow exhale and tilted her head. “Well… that was unfortunate.”

The commander stood there, dazed, his jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might crack. Then, without warning, he slammed his palm against the side of the van with a heavy thud.

“Shit.”

A bitter understatement.

The reporter, still clutching the mic as if it were the only thing keeping her grounded, forced a deep breath. “It’s… tragic,” she said, her voice a little unsteady. “One of the officers—bravely, but unfortunately—took his own life before the infection could take him. I’m not sure how much more of this I can stomach…”

Alister took a slow glance around, his pupils narrowing slightly as he scanned the remaining officers. His expression darkened.

More of them were infected.

He clicked his tongue, crossing his arms. “It looks like several of you are going to have to be quarantined.”

The reaction was instant.

“What?” one of the officers sputtered. “Why?”

Alister sighed, closing his eyes for a moment before glancing away. He didn’t need to spell it out.

But some of them already knew.

A few officers instinctively stared down at their own trembling hands, their eyes going wide with horror. One of them choked on their own breath.

“Wait… don’t tell me—”

Another staggered back, shaking his head violently. “No… no, we wore the damn masks—”

“Not all of you,” Alister muttered, his gaze flicking back to Gareth’s lifeless body.

The cameraman, meanwhile, had taken a cautious step back. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed something shifting on the ground.

A faint, sickly red mist, barely visible against the cracked asphalt, was still creeping closer.

His stomach dropped. “Uh—boss?” He tugged at the reporter’s sleeve. “We… might need to back up.”

The reporter turned, and the second she saw it, she nearly dropped her mic.

She swallowed thickly and forced a smile toward the camera. “Well, folks, I think it might be time to call it a day and head home.”

Her hands tightened around her equipment as she muttered under her breath, “I honestly think I’ve seen enough.”