Chapter 149: Training and Questions

After delivering the warm milk to each household, Yamiru finally received his reward: a cup of milk.

Though it was no longer piping hot, the warmth spread through his body as he drank it. From Son Gohan's basket, the little boy, Son Goku, stared longingly at Yamiru. Taking a few sips and wiping the white "mustache" off his lips, Yamiru handed the remaining half of the bottle to Son Goku.

Son Goku gleefully accepted it and gulped it down.

"Hehe, let's head back," Son Gohan said, patting Yamiru on the head with a sigh.

"Alright!" Yamiru replied energetically. His crate of warm milk had now been replaced with empty bottles collected from the households. As they ran, the glass bottles clinked and jingled against each other.

Son Gohan kept running, chanting a rhythmic slogan, seemingly designed to set a steady pace.

Yamiru chanted along.

He had grown accustomed to the rhythm, finding that it made running feel less arduous.

"One-two-one, one-two-one..."

From the basket, Son Goku waved an empty bottle and mimicked the chant, his voice spirited and playful.

The return trip covered an even greater distance than the delivery route. Son Gohan deliberately chose a more winding and challenging path back to the town. By the time the trio returned to the courier station near noon, Yamiru was utterly exhausted. As soon as he handed over the crate of empty bottles, he collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath.

Even Son Goku, who had spent the whole trip riding in the basket, seemed a little worn out. His forehead glistened with sweat, likely from being jostled around for so long.

But Son Gohan remained as calm and composed as ever. His face was rosy, not a single drop of sweat on him, and his breathing was steady and even.

Yamiru couldn't help but admire his master's abilities.

When he had read about such martial artists on paper, it had been easy to dismiss them. After all, someone like Son Gohan, with a battle power of perhaps a few hundred at most, didn't seem particularly remarkable. But experiencing his strength firsthand had been a revelation. Compared to Yamiru's own abilities, Son Gohan was practically superhuman.

Stamina, endurance, explosive power, speed — Son Gohan surpassed him in every aspect. The gap between them was so vast that Yamiru couldn't even estimate it.

Even with his Golden Gaze, all Yamiru could see was a dense, white, humanoid aura in Son Gohan's shape — nothing that revealed a specific battle power number.

So far, Yamiru had encountered only three individuals whose ki was so potent it defied precise measurement: Master Shen, Tao Pai Pai and Son Gohan.

He couldn't accurately compare their strengths.

If Yamiru's current battle power was around 15 or 20, then based on his instincts, the gap between himself and those three couldn't be quantified with simple multipliers like 10x or 20x.

Each of them could defeat him in a single move.

Yamiru realized that in a real fight, the instant one of them attacked, the disparity would feel immeasurable.

Combat wasn't just a matter of comparing numbers.

After a brief rest, Son Gohan didn't lead Yamiru back to Mount Paozu. Instead, he called out to his daydreaming disciple, hands clasped behind his back, and leisurely guided Yamiru to lunch.

That afternoon, Yamiru spent his time at a construction site.

So unoriginal! Yamiru grumbled to himself as he carried bricks and pushed wheelbarrows.

As Son Gohan dropped Yamiru off at the construction site, he took Son Goku into the mountains. Yamiru guessed it was to handle the boy's lunch — Son Goku's appetite was nothing short of astonishing. Unlike Yamiru, the little guy didn't need to eat so much; he simply liked eating as much as possible, and he could definitely handle it.

A modest portion, just enough to satisfy three-tenths of his appetite, would suffice for his energy needs. But given the option to eat eight-tenths and feel more comfortable, why wouldn't he? Son Gohan saw no reason to deprive his grandson of such comfort, though it did take a toll on his not-so-thick wallet. That's why the old master decided to forage for lunch in the mountains instead.

Meanwhile, at the construction site, the other workers—many of whom sported animal-like heads—cast occasional curious glances at Yamiru. His productivity was astounding: racing around with a wheelbarrow, he worked as efficiently as three or four men combined. The foreman, grinning ear to ear, later approached Son Gohan, who had returned with a napping Son Goku in the basket on his back.

Son Gohan spoke quietly with the foreman, likely asking about the construction schedule and other upcoming projects.

The rather uncreative construction training dragged on until sunset!

By the time they finished, Yamiru was utterly spent. Covered head to toe in dust, he looked like a walking gray shadow, sweat carving streaks through the grime on his skin.

To his surprise, Son Gohan handed him the afternoon's wages.

"There's money too?" Yamiru exclaimed in disbelief. "Master, you should keep it. I don't think I'll need it."

Son Gohan didn't insist, tucking the money away on Yamiru's behalf.

After resting briefly, the three of them shared a communal meal with the other workers at the site before leisurely making their way back to Mount Paozu.

"That kid's incredible!"

"To be accepted as Son Gohan's disciple — it's no small feat."

"Son Gohan, a disciple of the Martial Arts God himself... truly a legendary figure!"

"Impressive indeed..."

The townsfolk and workers now had fresh topics of conversation, chatting animatedly about Son Gohan and his young disciple.

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On the trek back to the mountain, the time was far from wasted.

Son Gohan spoke warmly, asking Yamiru about his impressions of the day's training.

"Exhausting!" Yamiru admitted. "I feel like I've hit my limit."

Son Gohan chuckled and nodded. "That's how training has always been."

"Master," Yamiru hesitated before voicing his thoughts, "I've been wondering about something. What's the difference between the training of martial artists and the exercises you'd see in urban gyms? I've heard that professional fighters in tournaments have incredibly strong physiques, far beyond that of ordinary people. Yet I've only ever heard of martial artists using ki techniques. I've never heard of any top fighter being able to use ki blasts. Nowadays, people think ki is just a scam."

It was true.

Many well-known fighters and even bodybuilders with incredible physiques didn't seem to lack ki in Yamiru's eyes.

Take, for example, the Son Goku depicted early in the series, fresh out of Mount Paozu. His battle power had been a mere 10! Yet this little kid had managed to unleash a Kamehameha, a definitive ki technique.

This was certainly a testament to Son Goku's extraordinary talent. But even so, his low battle power clearly indicated that wielding ki techniques didn't require as much raw power as Yamiru had once believed.

Even the world champion, Mr. Satan, who possessed a robust physique and undeniable fighting skill, knew nothing of ki techniques — not even the basics.