Dragon Ball Roshi-Chapter 299: The Blade Draws

Would Goku ever be afraid of hardship?

Taro's question was really rhetorical. Of course Goku wasn't afraid of hardship. In his simple and pure heart, the very concept of "suffering" didn't even exist. To him, becoming stronger was the greatest source of happiness and fulfillment. The sweat shed on that path—how could it possibly be called suffering?

So, when Goku smiled, half confused and half delighted, at Taro's question, Taro, Hathaway, and Gohan all chuckled. Goku laughed too and said, "I don't know what suffering means, so... does that mean you'll teach me martial arts, Great-Grandpa?"

This child might seem simple, but he was sharp and quick-witted beneath the surface.

Hathaway thought that to herself.

Taro said, "If you want to learn martial arts from me, don't call me Great-Grandpa. Just call me Master, like your Grandpa does." He glanced at Gohan, who simply shrugged—he had no objections.

Both master and disciple were easygoing. They didn't mind the oddity of Goku being Gohan's student, yet sharing the same master. Strictly speaking, if Goku was to train under Taro, then he would naturally be considered Taro's disciple. Learning someone's martial arts meant acknowledging them as master—it was a straightforward and proper bond. Goku's connection to Taro through Gohan, in fact, was more indirect.

"Oh, okay then—Master Grandpa." Goku was quite polite in his own way, probably just following his heart in how he addressed others. In the original story, he always called Master Roshi "Old Grandpa Turtle Hermit."

"But then... what should I call Great-Grandma?" Goku suddenly tilted his head, puzzled.

"Haha, that's up to you," the three of them laughed.

Just then, Taro felt a stir in his heart. He sensed two auras nearby—ones that bore a faint connection to him. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a father and daughter pair with purple hair observing them from not far away.

Doing a bit of mental math, Taro turned back to Goku with a smile and said, "But Goku, if you truly want to learn martial arts from me, you'll first need to overcome your own weaknesses."

Goku immediately caught on. His tail swung around in front of him. "You mean this?" He tilted his head, clearly thinking about how to train it. Scenes of his tail being grabbed and him going limp must've flashed through his mind. Goku beamed. "Okay, Master Grandpa, I understand!"

Taro nodded, then said to Gohan, "Take Goku back first. He has a fated encounter waiting for him. If he comes back with me to Muten Island now, he'll miss it... and that would be a shame." He shook his head, a trace of regret in his tone.

The original Dragon Ball plot had been thoroughly stirred up by his actions—whether things could still "fall into place" was anyone's guess.

Gohan was a little surprised. He had thought his master would take Goku back today. He exchanged a glance with Hathaway and saw that even she looked puzzled. Clearly, she also didn't know what this so-called "fated encounter" for Goku was.

"Alright then. I'll make sure Goku overcomes his tail's weakness," Gohan said with a smile. "He has one more tail than everyone else—if he can overcome that flaw, it might just become an unexpected advantage."

Hathaway smiled, probably imagining Goku whipping someone with his tail in a future match.

Soon, Gohan took off with Goku, flying back toward Mount Paozu.

Taro withdrew his gaze from the sky and turned to Hathaway. "...Looks like we've got a couple of guests," he said, then looked toward the side. Hathaway raised an eyebrow and turned in the same direction—there, she saw Dr. Brief, his expression skeptical, walking over with little Bulma by his side.

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Now let's shift our gaze to a small town near the base of Mount Orin.

Krillin had been an abandoned baby, picked up and raised by the temple elder. From a young age, he'd lived as a little monk at Orin Temple. Because of his lonely background, he was often bullied by his senior disciples. He hadn't been taught real martial arts, so he naturally couldn't fight back against those bigger, stronger boys.

This was his first time going down the mountain with the senior disciples, so he was quite excited—even getting knocked on the head all the way didn't bother him much. In the small town, they stopped at a local tavern to rest. There, Krillin saw a live broadcast on TV for the first time. It was also the first time he heard of the World Martial Arts Tournament. And most importantly—it was the first time he learned that there were people like Son Gohan, a true martial arts master.

As he watched the two fighters on screen exchanging blows with incredible power, Krillin's eyes remained fixed on the small boy with a tail.

He was truly... envious of that boy named Goku.

Not only was he the grandson of Master Gohan, he was also the grand-disciple of the Muten Roshi himself.

To be trained from childhood by such powerful masters—how fortunate that must be. With such strength, surely no one would dare bully him. If... if I could learn martial arts that strong, wouldn't life be a little happier?

"Hey, baldy!"

Krillin was snapped out of his thoughts by a childish, high-pitched voice. He sat dazed at the table and turned to see a chubby kid with messy black hair standing beside him. Somehow, the kid had walked right up without him noticing. The boy had two long swords strapped to his waist. One of them looked particularly odd. Unfortunately, Krillin had never seen many weapons at Orin Temple, so he couldn't tell what it was made of—only that it didn't look like iron or pure wood. It was strange.

"Why'd you call me baldy?" Krillin asked unhappily. But then he thought, If I'm the little baldy, then those guys who bully me are the big baldies... The thought was oddly satisfying.

"Fatty! Don't think you can act tough just because you've got a fancy sword!" one of the senior monks glared at the boy beside Krillin.

Yajirobe ignored the big baldy. He only looked at Krillin and said, "Baldy, it's not scary for a man to be bullied. But if you lose the courage to fight back—your life's already over!"

Krillin stared blankly, but the table full of senior monks exploded with anger.

"Fat kid, what nonsense are you spouting?!"

"Krillin is a disciple of Orin Temple. Who dares bully him?"

"Whose disciple are you, sword-boy? Walking around with that weapon, acting like our temple's beneath you?"

"I say this kid's got dangerous vibes. He might be young, but he's no good. We should take his evil blade, bring it to the temple, and cleanse it with daily chanting. Otherwise—"

Yajirobe rolled his squinted eyes and gave a cold snicker. With a flick of his thumb, he pushed the Muten Blade halfway out of its sheath, interrupting the last monk's rambling nonsense.

"Evil blade? Bad vibes? You baldies—big and small—think you've got the right to insult this sword?"

As the blade emerged, its chilling edge shimmered with a terrifying sharpness. The light was so intense it was hard to look at directly.

The senior monks stared in stunned silence, their protests stuck in their throats—because they clearly saw, engraved at the base of the blade, right where it met the hilt, were two striking characters:

Muten.