Apocalyptic Dragon Riders

Chapter 13

“Oh my god, what was that? Was that… battle aura?”

“Holy crap, look at the size of that sword!”

“Did you see that? There was sword energy! Is that thing real? It even makes noise when it cuts the air!”

“So realistic! That was insane! Amazing!”

“That huge guy got sent flying! Wow, he actually jumped back that far — looked totally real. Uh… he’s not hurt, right?”

Gu Lu, a legendary anime veteran and a well-known figure in the domestic animation community, was serving as one of the judges for this year’s cosplay competition. But right now, his heart was hammering at 180 beats per minute, his tongue stumbling over itself as he muttered in shock:

“That armor, that sword… this isn’t just a replica. You can’t call this a replica! No way — it has to be real! But… how? How heavy would that be?! There’s no workshop in the country capable of making something like this! This is master-level work, god-tier craftsmanship — had to be handmade! And that sword energy — there’s no way that was just a visual effect. This is live, not a post-production CGI edit!!!”

When the cold, deadly arc of that sword sliced across the stage, he found himself standing without even realizing it, his mind spinning with questions. He wanted nothing more than to rush the stage and grab that knight by the collar to demand answers.

The other judges, who just moments before had been laughing and chatting, fell silent and stood up as well, equally stunned. This wasn’t cosplay anymore — they couldn’t even tell if what they were witnessing was performance or real combat. Ever since the black-armored warrior had stepped onstage, they’d noticed how the stage seemed to groan under his weight. That gear… there was no way it was just prop work.

Even the other judges — veterans, former champions — were shaken.

The reaction from the audience was completely outside of Shen Zhan Team’s expectations.

Praise, excitement, confusion, awe — all of it poured into Lin Mo’s ears, even if he didn’t understand everything. From their words alone, he pieced together the truth:

These people… were playing with fake weapons? Pretending to fight? And that… got applause?!

What the hell kind of place was this? This wasn’t an arena, wasn’t a battlefield. Was this world’s version of a warrior’s duel supposed to be this ridiculous?

“Lin Mo! Are you out of your mind? Get back here!” The blue-robed magical girl finally snapped out of her daze, screaming at him whether they were onstage or not. “What the hell are you doing? Are you trying to murder someone?! This is a stage, not a battlefield! You’re swinging real steel around like you’re trying to kill someone!”

Even with her slow reaction, she could now clearly see that the massive sword on his back was no plastic prop or hollow tin. It was the real deal — forged metal, heavy and deadly. She had no idea where this guy had gotten it.

The stage was already in chaos, but she hardly noticed. She didn’t even consider just how much strength it would take to swing that massive weapon in full plate armor and generate that kind of impact.

Being shouted at by the blue-robed girl only irritated Lin Mo further. He never cared much for mages — especially some unknown-rank magical girl waving her staff at him and yelling. His instincts kicked in: he flared his battle aura.

The few remaining traces of battle qi in his body roared to life, making the runes etched into his black steel armor glow faintly yellow. His ragged crimson cape billowed though there was no wind. It was draining his remaining energy reserves, but who knew what kind of spell this mage might throw at him?

But the moment the qi flared, weakness crashed over him. His body twitched as though emptied out. The only thing keeping him upright was the raw strength from years of harsh training. This wasn’t his peak condition — and that made him feel exposed, unsafe.

He had to leave. Now.

That was the only thought in his head: get out of this insane place, find somewhere quiet, somewhere safe, and figure out what had just happened to him.

“Hmph!” Lin Mo turned his back on the shouting magical girl, twirled his sword, and slid it perfectly back into its sheath. His cape flared dramatically as he strode toward the edge of the stage.

“Lin Mo! Stop right there! You jerk, get back here right now!” The magical girl nearly jumped up and down in rage. First he’d shown up late, then zoned out before going onstage, then tossed Ding Tuo and Xi Mingshan clean off the stage. What kind of cursed day was this?

With the entire audience watching, the black-armored warrior jumped straight off the meter-high stage.

BOOM!

The heavy crash made the entire frame of the stage shake and groan like it might collapse. Audience members near the front lost their balance and fell.

When he pulled his boots out of the floor, they left two-inch-deep impressions in the ground — a perfect demonstration of potential energy turned kinetic.

Crack… c***k… c***k… The only sound in the stunned silence was the grinding of his steel armor as he walked away.

Even the slowest person in the room now understood: this wasn’t just a costume. That was a full set of real metal plate armor — and he was casually walking as if it weighed nothing.

“Holy crap, it’s real!” one brave soul muttered, reaching out to touch the armor as Lin Mo passed. It was icy cold, solid, with intricate engravings — undeniably real metal.

“Could he be… from another world?” someone whispered.

The massive armored figure parted the crowd like a plow, his sheer weight and momentum clearing a path with ease. These unarmed, powerless civilians posed no threat — and he ignored them completely, striding away.

An hour and a half later, the Shen Zhan Team — now missing one member — returned to the stage to accept their championship trophy and the 100,000 RMB prize check, their expressions a mix of disbelief and shell shock.

Their leader, the blue-robed magical girl Qi Fei, had almost quit after Lin Mo’s dramatic exit, barely managing to finish the fight with the last remaining party member, the dwarf gunner, before ending the act in frustration.

She hadn’t even heard the judges’ scores, busy cursing Lin Mo in her head a hundred times over.

So when the host announced that “Shen Zhan Team” had won the grand prize, Qi Fei, Ding Tuo, Qian Jie, Xi Mingshan, and Chen Ying all stood there slack-jawed.

Even holding the trophy and prize money, Qi Fei felt like she was dreaming. This wasn’t a performance that should have won — and yet here they were, champions.

The deep sword scar carved into the stage and the wreckage left at the edge stood as silent witnesses. Everyone who saw it knew — a top-level cosplayer had appeared on that stage, fully armed with real gear, delivering a strike so breathtaking that it transcended the idea of “realism.”

No performance before or after would ever compare. Even though that warrior had walked off mid-show, everyone seemed willing to forgive him.

Meanwhile, the “Runaway Cosplayer Knight Incident” was unfolding elsewhere.

The black-armored warrior now stood beneath the flood barrier on the banks of the famous Qiantang River, staring blankly at the water.

Ever since he’d pushed through the crowd and wandered aimlessly through the city streets, he’d drawn endless stares and whispers, but he ignored them all.

Now, with the night wind cooling his head, his chaotic thoughts slowly began to settle.

Lin Mo. Mo Lin. Two names, same sound, yet reversed.

He remembered now — the spatial rift that had swallowed him and his dragon-hoard of gold coins. Then nothing.

But now, Lin Mo’s remaining memories — faint and fragmented — began to resurface, piece by piece.