Son Goku did a flip, increased the distance, and hovered in mid-air.
His breathing was much heavier than before.
“Yamcha!”
Yamcha hovered ten meters away, his clothes torn quite a bit, his sturdy forearms braced in defense.
“Come again!” Son Goku clenched his fists.
At the same time.
Deep inside the contestant tunnel at the side of the Arena.
A corner of the white cloak was lifted by the wind.
Piccolo’s arms lowered from his chest, and his expression changed for the first time.
This Earth human named Yamcha was unexpectedly not the trash he had imagined; he was even qualified to fight against him.
…
The battle in the air lasted for a long time.
Exactly how long, no one on the field could count clearly.
The Tournament Announcer’s throat was completely hoarse, and he could only describe the two intersecting orange afterimages above the Arena in a breathless whisper.
The speed of the two had broken through the limit of visual capture for ordinary people.
Most people in the audience could only see two streaks of light flashing across the sky, followed by one Qi explosion sound after another, with shockwaves pressing down layer by layer, blowing away all the flags above the venue.
One hundred exchanges.
Two hundred.
Three hundred.
Yamcha’s right eye corner was split, blood streaming down his cheekbone, blown by the wind into a thin line.
The fabric of the martial arts uniform on his left shoulder was completely torn, revealing a bruised fistprint.
Son Goku’s condition wasn’t much better.
The left side of his forehead was swollen, his lower lip was split, and there were three crossed palmprint marks on his chest.
But neither of them stopped.
Son Goku punched over, Yamcha sidestepped by half an inch, and then his right palm attacked the outside of Son Goku’s elbow joint.
Son Goku pulled in his abdomen and leaned back, grazing past his abs, then his body flipped backward, his heel hacking toward Yamcha’s crown.
Yamcha crossed his arms upwards to block, Goku’s heel slamming onto his arms, shaking his body downward by half a meter.
The two separated.
And closed in again.
Separated once more.
This density of counter-attacks was no longer a contest at the level of Moves.
It was a comprehensive contest of physical instinct, combat intuition, and Qi reserves.
Yamcha was very clear that the stat numbers he displayed were twenty points higher than Son Goku’s.
But when actually fighting, this twenty-point gap was almost imperceptible.
Son Goku’s control efficiency over Ki Blasts was extremely high; with the same Qi output, he could convert it into more actual damage.
Moreover, this guy’s combat instinct was simply unimaginable.
Every time Yamcha expanded his advantage to the point of a one-hit victory, Son Goku could always make adjustments at the end.
Talent was something that really couldn’t be reasoned with.
Two figures plummeted rapidly from mid-air, simultaneously slamming back onto the Arena.
Boom.
The Arena ground burst apart again, the two standing on opposite sides, glaring at each other across the rubble-filled ground.
The Tournament Announcer’s hoarse, out-of-tune voice shouted: “Too… too wonderful! Ladies and gentlemen! I have commentated on the World Martial Arts Tournament for many years, and I have never seen such an evenly matched battle! These two are truly Disciples of the Martial Arts God! Calling a match like this the finals is by no means an exaggeration!”
The applause and cheers in the audience were almost endless.
Yamcha spat out a mouthful of bloody phlegm, wiping away the blood at the corner of his eye with the back of his hand.
Son Goku’s stamina recovery speed was faster than his; under the same combat power, the longer it dragged on, the more disadvantageous it was for himself.
It seemed he had to use another method.
Yamcha slowly raised his right hand, his five fingers open, palm facing upward.
Qi began to gather in his palm.
Not a Kamehameha, but compressed in one direction, all the Qi being forcibly squeezed into the palm space.
The light changed from blue-white to bright white, and then from bright white compressed into a clump of golden-white spheres.
About the size of a watermelon.
This was an exclusive Move developed by Yamcha in the original work over a year.
Concentrating the Qi within his body and compressing it onto a single point.
“Spirit Ball”.
In the contestant tunnel, Tien Shinhan’s body leaned forward abruptly.
“What is that?” Krillin blurted out.
Tien Shinhan didn’t answer, his third eye staring at that light sphere in Yamcha’s palm.
The energy density of that thing far exceeded a Kamehameha of equivalent Qi volume.
Master Roshi was the same.
“Incredible, this kid… developed a new Move on his own?”
On the Arena.
Son Goku stared at that light sphere, the excitement on his face increasing instead of decreasing.
“Such powerful Qi! Yamcha, what kind of Move is that?”
“Hmph, next, you’ll find out.”
Yamcha swung his arm out.
The light sphere left his hand, dragging a white trail, shooting straight toward Son Goku with extreme speed, even the sound of the Qi explosion lagging behind.
Son Goku sidestepped.
The light sphere grazed past his ribs, its heat scorching the fabric at the edge of his martial arts uniform.
Missed.
Yamcha moved his fingers slightly, the light sphere making a sharp turn behind Son Goku, attacking again from behind.
Without turning his head, Son Goku slid his body horizontally, and the light sphere brushed past him once more.
It could turn.
Son Goku’s expression finally changed.
“A controllable Ki Blast?”
The light sphere traced a third arc in the air, cutting toward Son Goku’s lower body at an even trickier angle.
Son Goku jumped with both feet, the light sphere sweeping past the soles of his feet.
Then it plunged headfirst into the Arena ground.
Bang.
The Arena ground blew open a bowl-sized hole, rubble splashing up and falling back down.
The light sphere disappeared underground.
Someone in the audience sighed regretfully: “It missed…”
Son Goku landed back on the ground, tilting his head to glance at that hole.
“Pity, it didn’t hit.”
Yamcha didn’t reply, his hands suddenly crossing in front of his face.
“Solar Flare!”
White light burst open.
The entire venue was swallowed in pure white, its intensity a full three parts more violent than Tien Shinhan’s just now. You are reading on novelping.com, the official source.
Son Goku’s pupils contracted violently in the white light.
“Yamcha, you know Solar Flare too?”
He instinctively closed his eyes.
But Son Goku was Son Goku after all.
The next moment after closing his eyes, his Qi sense had fully unfolded.
Yamcha’s Qi location was precisely locked directly ahead, approaching at high speed.
With his eyes closed, Son Goku sidestepped to let a punch pass.
Yamcha’s elbow strike followed closely, Son Goku tilting his head, the wind of the elbow brushing past his ear.
Their Qi intertwined and wrapped closely at a short distance, Son Goku completely relying on Qi sense to judge the attack trajectory, blocking, sidestepping, and counter-attacking, his movements still smooth.
Even with his eyes closed, Son Goku did not obviously fall into a disadvantage.
But unconsciously, Son Goku’s heels were already stepping on the cracks at the edge of the Arena.
Son Goku also discovered that his position was wrong, and he prepared a big jump to increase the distance.
Right at this moment.
Yamcha’s mouth hooked into a smile.
The Arena ground burst open from directly beneath Son Goku.
That Spirit Ball drilled out from underground, slamming into Son Goku’s chin.
Son Goku’s head was violently jerked up by this force, his whole body soaring into the air, leaning backward.
His eyes opened amidst the impact, seeing that Yamcha had already arrived in front of him.
Yamcha’s right leg was raised to its highest point.
A kick.
Struck Son Goku’s chest.
Bang.
Back facing down, he fell onto the ground outside the Arena, smashing out a human-shaped pit.
No one in the audience spoke.
One second.
Two seconds.
The referee rushed to the edge of the Arena, lowering his head to confirm, his voice trembling to the point of cracking.
“Contestant Son… Son Goku, fell out of the Arena.”
He raised his right hand.
“Contestant Yamcha! Wins!”
Cheers and screams converged into a wave of the ocean.
Bulma jumped straight up, Oolong’s ears being pulled out of shape by her.
Puar’s face was covered in tears.
In the contestant tunnel.
Krillin’s mouth had been open for a long time without closing.
Tien Shinhan closed his third eye, remaining silent for a few seconds.
Piccolo leaned against the wall, motionless.
He looked at that figure on the Arena standing amidst the rubble, covered in injuries.
An Earth human.
A mere Earth human.
Piccolo’s fingers tightened, his nails embedding into his palms.