Dragon Ball Roshi

"This time, the demons unexpectedly entered Earth through a space-time portal. It's fortunate I happened to return; otherwise, who knows what would have happened," Taro said as he took the bundle from King Kai. Inside were the seven Dragon Balls, now inert and white as stone, carefully packed in a small wooden box. Shaking his head, he added, "But I won't always be on Earth, so I'll have to rely on the Dragon Balls' power…"

"But the demons in the Demon Realm have already been nearly wiped out by me," Bam interjected.

"They can't be completely eradicated," Taro replied calmly. "Time in the Demon Realm flows unpredictably—sometimes fast, sometimes slow. Killing all the demons there now only hastens the cycle of rebirth. Eventually, new demons will emerge…"

"Exactly!" King Kai chimed in. His expression shifted subtly as he lowered his voice. "The Demon Realm is peculiar. The demons… they come from…" He trailed off, his tone turning introspective, as though he was recalling something long buried. With a sigh, he shook his head, speaking more to himself than anyone else.

Taro's expression shifted. He wanted to press for more details, but King Kai was deliberately vague, unwilling to elaborate. Taro could only let it go, while Bam stood silently, grappling with the revelation that the demons he had sacrificed everything to destroy were fated to return one day.

Noticing Bam's troubled expression, Taro could guess what was going through his mind. But not being one to offer comforting words, he simply remained silent.

After a moment, the phoenix perched on Taro's shoulder, and he adjusted the bundle in his hand. Turning to King Kai and Bam, he said, "Well, I'll take my leave now. See you in fifty years."

"Go on, go on," King Kai waved him off but couldn't resist adding a reminder. "Don't neglect your Muken over the next fifty years. Explore its depths so you can gain even more from Grand Kai's teachings."

Taro nodded calmly.

In truth, he hadn't slacked off in his training at all. Even the meditation techniques and magic principles he learned on the Magic Star had been practiced daily without fail. During the four-plus months he spent with Bam at the Shula Cavern, he had meditated every day, honing his spiritual power and using the insights from ocular techniques to refine his Muken.

But at his current level, progress wasn't about sheer effort or physical toil anymore. While such methods remained useful, they were no longer the sole path forward. When Son Goku trained in the Hyperbolic Time Chamber to reach the Super Saiyan transformation, he didn't simply push his body to its limits. Instead, he spent countless days sitting quietly, focusing his mind.

"Muten, I'll train diligently under Lord Kai! When the Othe world Tournament happens fifty years from now, I'll make sure to impress you!" Bam declared, his eyes filled with determination and fighting spirit.

King Kai smirked inwardly. Impress Taro? That might be a tall order. Even if this kid's power multiplied several times—or even tenfold—how much difference would it really make in Taro's eyes?

Taro merely smiled faintly. The phoenix on his shoulder chirped a few words, but before its voice had fully faded, Taro had already turned away. In an instant, his figure vanished from the sight of King Kai and Bam.

"I wonder what wish the master will make this time…"

---

Returning to Earth, Taro appeared in a forested area. It was a small grove on a mountain, where the intense afternoon sunlight cast dappled patterns along the shaded mountain path. A warm breeze, carrying the heat of summer, swept through, blending with the rustling sounds of an endless ocean of trees.

Closing his eyes, Taro took a deep breath, and his thoughts inadvertently drifted back decades. He remembered those days of seclusion with his family on Mount Mutaito. With his wife and daughter, he had lived through countless springs and summers, witnessed leaves fall and flowers bloom, and walked through snows that blanketed and melted. The memories seemed to flow like water, vividly replaying before his eyes. The mingling scents of grass, forest, earth, and midsummer lingered in the air, unwilling to dissipate.

From deeper within the dense forest came the faint, intermittent sounds of cicadas and birds, their chirping crisp and ethereal. It almost seemed as though the laughter of a young girl intertwined with the natural symphony, echoing endlessly.

Flap, flap…

Perhaps out of curiosity as to why Taro stood motionless, the phoenix grew restless. It flapped its wings and took to the air. Though now small, like a tiny, crimson sparrow, it darted between the ancient, vine-covered trees like a fiery little ball, entertaining itself and thoroughly enjoying its antics.

Taro couldn't help but laugh at himself. "What's going on? Lately, I keep thinking of Fanfan and Yumeko, of the days on Mount Mutaito. Ha… Taro, I thought you were a detached and indifferent wanderer, but it turns out you're still just a mortal with worldly ties!"

Shaking his head, he dismissed the thoughts. His wife and daughter had long passed away, and by now their souls had likely merged into the endless pool of reincarnation, their past lives washed away. Their spirits, indistinguishable from countless others, would have returned to the human world as entirely new faces. What use was there in reminiscing?

The faint wrinkles on Taro's face, a result of his transformation magic, seemed to deepen slightly, and the rich black of his hair appeared a bit lighter. Quickly regaining his usual calm and indifferent demeanor, he stepped forward with measured composure. With each step spanning dozens of yards as though shrinking the earth beneath his feet, he moved effortlessly. Within moments, he disappeared at the end of the shaded mountain path. The interwoven branches and leaves of the forest soon obscured his fleeting figure, leaving no trace.

The fiery "sparrow" looping between the branches made a sharp turn and flew after him…

---

The location Taro returned to was the deep mountains where the Shula Cave resided. Upon arrival, he instinctively sensed the area and confirmed that Shula's ki remained stable. Descending the mountain, he arrived at the now-deserted village. Memories of the elderly couple who had been the last residents surfaced. With the bundle still slung over his shoulder, Taro stood in silence for a moment before turning back and walking into the abandoned village from its outskirts.

The phoenix flapped its small wings as it pursued him. Unlike Taro, who was impervious to heat or cold, the bird was more delicate—practically pampered. Flying under the scorching sun, with no dense foliage to shield it as before, the poor bird was so overheated it felt like shedding its feathers.

It hurriedly landed on Taro's shoulder as he walked along the dusty, cracked dirt path of the village. Finally feeling some relief from the heat, the phoenix swayed its small head to glance around. The scenery offered nothing but dilapidated, old mud-and-thatch houses—an utterly dull and uninspiring sight. Before long, the fiery little bird perched on Taro's shoulder was already dozing off.

Taro entered a courtyard adjacent to the one where the elderly couple had lived. This house, like the others, had been abandoned long ago due to the generational legends surrounding the "Gate to the Demon Realm". Only an empty, dilapidated yard remained. Scattered within the earthen courtyard were a few broken wicker baskets. In a shaded corner lay a cracked chicken coop, with only a few shattered eggshells left on the dry, dirty ground.

He pushed open the half-ajar, weathered wooden door of the thatched house, stirring up a cloud of dust. Under the afternoon's slanted sunlight, the dust floated like tiny tufts of cotton. The swirling motes never came near Taro, who stepped inside. The interior was sparse, with few belongings left behind, likely taken by the former owners when they moved.

Before long, a low, cryptic incantation echoed in the dimly lit room.

Facing the doorway, Taro appeared to settle into a sitting position. As he moved, the broken wicker baskets in the courtyard, the damaged chicken coop in the corner, and the remnants of materials inside the house all seemed to come alive. They floated into the room as if guided by an unseen force.

With ease, Taro sat on a light wooden stool that materialized beneath him. By the time he was seated, a square wooden table had also appeared before him. Reaching out, he grabbed a white porcelain wine bottle on the table and poured a small amount into an equally white porcelain cup that emerged alongside it. Lifting the cup, he downed the liquor in one smooth motion.

Sipping and pouring, Taro quickly emptied the bottle. Leaning back, the stool transformed seamlessly into a rattan chair. Naturally reclining, he reached out again, and a palm fan appeared in his hand. With a casual motion, he placed the fan over his face.

The phoenix, startled awake by Taro's movements, flapped its wings in a brief panic before settling down. It landed on the small table in front of him and wandered toward the still-damp wine cup. Lowering its head, it pecked curiously at the traces of liquor.

Outside, the blazing sun inched westward, casting long shadows over the empty courtyard.

There was no wind, no sound of cicadas, and no sign of life.

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