Tien Shinhan’s attack speed was increasing, the frequency of his punches and kicks was getting faster and faster, and his output of Qi was becoming more and more fierce.
Ten moves, a hundred moves, over a thousand moves, every punch he threw carried a sound-shattering whistle.
Yet Piccolo’s pace remained steady and unhurried, handling it with ease.
“Hey, hey, doshita, is that all the previous champion is capable of?” Piccolo’s voice came from the shadows of his cloak.
Tien Shinhan did not reply.
His attacking rhythm suddenly changed; feinting with his right fist, his body shifted sideways and appeared at Piccolo’s flank.
The five fingers of his left hand spread open, aiming straight at Piccolo’s temple.
Volleyball Fist.
The moment the palm wind struck out, Piccolo’s head tilted back thirty degrees, dodging the lethal range of the palm strike.
Tien Shinhan pushed off the ground with his right foot, lifting his entire body into the air to chop down with an axe kick from above.
Piccolo finally raised his other hand.
His two palms crossed and parried upward.
Tien Shinhan’s heel smashed into Piccolo’s double palms, and the sound of the Qi explosion shook a circle of cracks into the stone slab beneath their feet.
The two separated.
Tien Shinhan landed back on the ground, his breathing growing slightly heavier.
He had already thrown nearly a thousand punches, outputting at full power without holding anything back.
Yet this Majunior’s cloak had not even been blown open once.
In the contestant tunnel.
Krillin swallowed hard.
“So amazing. If I were in Tien Shinhan’s all-out state, I would have lost long ago, but that Majunior…”
Yamcha didn’t speak, keeping his eyes fixed on Piccolo in the Arena.
He knew Piccolo’s strength far too well.
Tien Shinhan’s current Power Level was around 250, already at the top tier among Earth martial artists, but Piccolo’s Power Level went far beyond that.
On the Arena.
Tien Shinhan withdrew his stance, his three eyes focusing on Piccolo simultaneously.
“You really are strong, truly worthy of being the one who defeated Tao Pai Pai, but I won’t hold back just because my opponent is strong. Take this move of mine, Multi-Form Technique!”
Tien Shinhan clenched both hands into fists.
His aura surged violently.
His body began to split—shoulders, torso, limbs—changing from one person into two, and then into four.
Multi-Form Technique.
Four Tien Shinhans stood at the four positions of the Arena, surrounding Piccolo right in the center.
Piccolo swept his gaze around, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly.
“Heh heh, mere child’s play.”
All four Tien Shinhans attacked at the same time.
From the four directions of southeast, northwest, punches and kicks arrived simultaneously.
And this was also a new move he had researched out of three years of training.
Piccolo stood in place without moving.
Four fists closed in against his body all at once.
Then Piccolo exploded his Qi.
A wave of white Qi rushed out from the center of his body, spreading in a spherical shape.
The four Clones of Tien Shinhan were blown away simultaneously by this force, smashing toward the four corners of the Arena.
The cloak shattered amidst the Qi wave, revealing Piccolo’s complete figure: purple martial arts uniform, green skin, and antennae on top of his head.
The four Tien Shinhans crashed outside the Arena, after which they merged back into one.
Tien Shinhan knelt on one knee, blood seeping from the corner of his mouth.
Piccolo looked down at him.
“You’re just a little stronger than the other trash, nothing more.”
His right hand rose, and a ball of purple light condensed in his palm.
The spectator stands instantly went quiet.
Tien Shinhan raised his head, his three eyes staring straight at that cluster of purple light.
He propped himself up on his knees and stood up, blood flowing from the corner of his mouth down to his chin, dripping onto the shattered stone slab.
Tien Shinhan said with deep reluctance, “Da…mn it, the gap is too huge.”
But at the final moment, Piccolo withdrew his hand.
The purple light dissipated.
Piccolo turned around, putting his back to Tien Shinhan, and walked toward the edge of the Arena.
The referee reacted for two seconds before raising his hand.
“Con… Contestant Tien Shinhan… fell out of the Arena! Contestant Majunior wins!”
Tien Shinhan stood in place, his fists clenched so tightly his joints cracked.
He propped himself up and didn’t fall, but he also knew that this match, from the very beginning, was not in the same dimension.
When Tien Shinhan walked down the Arena.
Krillin handed over his jacket.
Tien Shinhan took it and clutched it in his hand, blood winding from the corner of his mouth down to his jaw, dripping onto the stone steps beneath his feet.
“Tien Shinhan…” Krillin opened his mouth.
He walked past Krillin, his three eyes staring straight ahead, clearly not expecting this Majunior to be so powerful.
In the spectator stands.
Master Roshi seemed somewhat familiar with that green-skinned figure on the Arena.
That aura.
Just moments ago when Piccolo exploded his Qi, mixed within that wave of white Qi rushing out from the center of his body was something Master Roshi would never forget.
It was extremely similar to that old Devil King who stood upon the ruins of the King’s Castle three years ago.
Cold sweat seeped out from Master Roshi’s back.
The moment he exhausted all his vitality and poured the Evil Containment Wave into the rice cooker, the distorted face of King Piccolo was right before his eyes.
That fear, the fear carved deep into his bones, was reawakened at this moment by the homologous aura.
The name “Majunior” was fake.
He was definitely the Reincarnation of Demon King Piccolo, the offspring of that monster.
Master Roshi put his sunglasses back on, his gaze sweeping past the direction of the contestant tunnel and then turning to the other side of the Arena.
Yamcha was leaning against the wall, talking with Krillin, while Goku was sitting on the steps, with Chi-Chi handing him a water flask nearby.
Perhaps.
Only these two people could block him.
Master Roshi closed his eyes and let out a long breath.
He was old.
If the Evil Containment Wave were to be used once more, whether his body could hold up was one thing, and if his luck was bad and he missed, he would die for nothing.
Alas, this was now the battlefield of the young, and it could only be left to them.
…
In the middle section of the spectator stands, row seventeen.
Four people sat in different positions.
A middle-aged man wearing a gray jacket sat at the far left, his hands plunged into his pockets, the brim of his cap pulled down very low.
Three seats away sat a tall, thin young man wearing round-rimmed glasses; further to the right was a woman wearing a floral dress; and the last one sat at the edge of the aisle, bald.
There was no eye contact and no conversation among the four people.
But within their cerebral cortices, brainwaves belonging to a frequency not native to humans were pulsing at high speeds.
The middle-aged man in the gray jacket let his gaze fall in the direction of the Arena.
“Yo-yo, who would have thought that Earth martial artists had already grown strong to this extent? That three-eyed guy’s strength is really not bad, and that one who beat the spiky-haired guy just now…”
“If the few of us went up together, we’re probably not his match.”
The young man with round-rimmed glasses held popcorn in his hand.
“Fortunately, our lord is wise, having us possess humans in advance and sneak into this World Martial Arts Tournament.”
“Otherwise, when we went to collect dragon balls and make our wish, running into this bunch of people would have been troublesome.”
The corners of the floral-dress-wearing woman’s mouth curved up slightly.
“That guy named Yamcha collected dragon balls once a year ago, and the dragon radar is in the hands of that woman at Capsule Corp. Our lord should have already grasped this intelligence.”
At the edge of the aisle, the frequency of the bald man’s brainwaves suddenly dropped by half a tone.
“Enough, stop arguing.”
The other three fell silent simultaneously.
“Wait until the finals, when they are exhausted, and then we will make our move, leaving none alive.”
The bald man’s gaze looked toward that flash of white cloak.
“As for that Piccolo… he is considered part of the Demon Race after all. If he is willing to surrender, spare his life; otherwise, kill him along with them.”
Three streams of brainwaves responded almost simultaneously.
“Our lord is wise.”