Talent Awakening: Draconic Overlord Of The Apocalypse

Chapter 468: • The Death of Heart

You burned the laughter out of the world and called it harmony. You crushed their dreams and called it peace. But peace built on ash and bone… isn’t peace at all. It’s tyranny.”

The Emperor coughed, his laugh turning hoarse—more like a dying wheeze than mirth.

“And yet… I stopped the bloodshed. No one dares to fight. Isn’t that enough?”

Alister’s gaze turned steely.

“You didn’t stop the bloodshed. You became the only one allowed to spill it.”

A long silence settled between them.

Then, with a whisper of finality, Alister said,

“The world will remember you not as a savior, but as a tyrant who forgot the faces of the people he swore to protect.”

Alister’s voice softened, almost sorrowful.

“Perhaps it’s true the world wronged you.

Perhaps your anger was justified.”

He paused, letting the silence speak for all the pain behind the words.

“But you let your rage spill over. Not only did it consume you and your enemies…”

“…it swallowed the innocent—those who had nothing to do with your suffering.”

The wind howled around them like a mourning dirge.

“You waged war on lands that, like you once were, only wanted peace. You became what you hated. In your pursuit of peace… you were the one waging the wars.”

He took a step closer, his voice now cold as steel.

“At that point, what difference was there between you… and the very fools who wronged you?”

A beat passed.

“Nothing.”

The Emperor’s eyes widened.

“That isn’t true!” he suddenly screamed, shaking his head violently. “I—I did it for them! For the world! They needed order!”

His voice cracked.

“They needed me!”

He slammed his fist against the blood-red soil again, trembling. His pride, his certainty—it was unraveling.

“You don’t understand what it’s like… to lose everything and still be expected to lead! To protect! To smile!”

His eyes locked with Alister’s—desperate, furious, pleading.

“I gave them a world without war!”

Alister’s eyes narrowed. His next words were like razors.

“I wonder how many wives and children died in your conquest.”

His voice struck deeper than any blade.

“I wonder what your wife and son would think…”

The Emperor’s body shook. His gaze dropped to the blood-drenched soil, his hands trembling violently as echoes began to scream in his mind.

“It wasn’t true…” he muttered, barely a whisper.

“I… I had no choice…”

A different voice rang out inside him, firm and cruel:

“You made the best decision. They would have died anyway. You saved the world.”

But then… his own voice whispered back, broken and hollow:

“No… this isn’t what I wanted. This wasn’t peace… it was vengeance.”

Visions flashed before him—burning villages, children crying, the lifeless eyes of innocents. His heart thudded like a war drum, choking on sobs. As he cut down a child with his sword, watching them fall to the floor beside their mother, his vision blurred—and then he saw the bodies of his dead wife and son on the floor of his chambers, slashed in the same manner.

And when he looked down—

His hands were covered in their blood.

His hands shook with fear and confusion.

His vision blurred and returned to normal as he realized the gravity of what he had done.

His dream was simple…

World peace.

And that was because he was a benevolent monarch.

But in pursuit of that dream—

The man who dreamed it up died.

So was the dream just that? Just a dream?

Was there a better way he could have gone about it?

Would others not have done the same in his shoes? Avenged his family, slaughtered the traitors, killed the gods who turned their backs and let him suffer? Should he just have let it all go? Did the man really have no other choice?

No.

He never truly had a choice.

Not the kind of choice people speak about from safety—a moral high ground when the world hasn’t shattered under their feet.

Because when your wife dies in your arms, when your son is taken from you—not by war but by betrayal—

When the gods you prayed to fall silent,

And the very people you bled for spit on your name and join your enemies…

What’s left?

What does “choice” mean to a man who’s already buried everything that mattered?

So maybe it’s not about whether he had a choice.

Maybe it’s about whether he could still be called a man after all that… or just a shadow dragging its vengeance across the world.

Because some pain is so great it doesn’t leave space for choices.

Just reactions. Just survival. Just fury.

And so what is the answer to his burning question?

What is a dream, if the one who achieved it is not the same as the one who started the journey?

It was a burden.

A curse.

A monument to what was lost.

A reminder that purpose is nothing without the heart to carry it.

And a truth: the ends do not always justify the means—because the end includes who you become.

He looked up at Alister, tears streaking through the grime on his face. His red eyes turned green, with a glimmer of the man he once was within them, and he croaked:

“Please… kill me.”

Alister said nothing at first. He took a step back.

His eyes, once calm, now blazed with judgment.

“With pleasure.”

A surge of golden light burst from Alister’s body. His form exploded in size, wings tearing free from his back—two, then four, shimmering like blazing sunfire. His scales expanded, radiant and jagged, like armor forged from judgment itself.

His maw split wide, massive enough to swallow a cathedral. A golden halo appeared above his draconic head, spinning slowly, glowing with divine fury.

The Emperor could do nothing but watch.

But then he smiled as he whispered, “Thank you.”

And in the next instant—

CRUNCH.

Alister’s colossal maw descended, swallowing the fallen tyrant whole in one clean, thunderous bite.

…

…

The ruins of the Emperor’s city lay silent behind them—just another scar on this ruined world.

Alister walked through the blood swamp, approaching the dungeon gate on his way to exit, now back in his human form, his black coat swaying with each step. The distant cries of the remaining aberrant that were reduced to ash by him faded into nothing.

Draven, with his great sword lazily perched on his shoulder, glanced at Alister. “That was most impressive, my lord. It seems your power has grown, although I do not understand why you bothered to converse with that creature.”

Alister didn’t respond. His golden eyes were distant, his mind already somewhere else.

Then—

⫷『Congratulations! You have slain a General of House Oboros.』⫸

⫷『Emperor Verundris Kalin.』⫸

⫷『True Name: Kazzariel, Holder of the 12th Seat – “Death of Heart.”』⫸

⫷『Your level has increased to 74.』⫸

⫷『Your bloodline ability strengthens.』⫸

⫷『You have obtained partial understanding of the Calamity of Death.』⫸

⫷『You have obtained FULL understanding of “Death of Heart.”』⫸

Alister’s footsteps slowed.

Draven raised an eyebrow. “What is it, my lord?”

Alister’s eyes narrowed.

‘Death of Heart…’

The system window expanded.

⫷『”Death of Heart” implies not just the end of life, but the loss of compassion, love, and humanity. For an emperor who once sought peace but became a tyrant. He didn’t just kill people—he killed ideals but lost his own heart in the process.』⫸

‘So it’s more like… his story, a title but not necessarily a skill.’

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