Chapter 403: The Wind Carries the Future
Without warning, without a single ripple in the clouds, the sky plunged into darkness.
The slender thread connecting heaven and earth—Korin Tower—seemed to vanish into the sudden night, its outline blurring into obscurity.
"Whoa! I can't see a thing!" A young man climbing the tower yelped, gripping the rocks tightly. He glanced up and down, but the world had turned pitch black. "Well… at least I can't see how high up I am anymore. That helps."
Meanwhile, atop The Lookout, a golden bolt of lightning erupted from the clay dragon model Mr. Popo had crafted. The energy twisted and coiled into a radiant serpent, slithering across the darkened sky.
"Incredible…" Mr. Popo murmured in awe.
Yamiru and Annin stood side by side, watching calmly.
Joey, perched on Annin's shoulder, gaped as the golden lightning gradually took the form of a celestial dragon, its emerald-green scales shimmering against the void.
Piccolo, the creator of these Dragon Balls, clenched his fists as he gazed upon his own creation.
The mighty dragon lowered its head, its crimson, pupil-less eyes sweeping over the gathered figures before settling on its maker. With a voice like rolling thunder, it declared:
"Creator of the Dragon Balls… Speak your wish. Any desire, I shall grant."
"That's quite the claim," Annin mused, glancing at the tiny, wide-eyed girl on her shoulder before shooting Yamiru a questioning look. He merely nodded.
'Ah. So this is why Joey once said Piccolo reminded her of that 'old man.''
Yamiru hadn't explicitly told Annin that the 'old man' was the Dragon God, but as a disciple of an angel and a part of the celestial order, she had her suspicions. If Joey's miraculous nature stemmed from him, then Piccolo—who shared similarities—being able to create a wish-granting dragon made sense.
'No wonder Yamiru said Piccolo might be an exception.'
But… did that also mean Yamiru's ability to harness demonic energy was linked to that same being?
Annin remained silent, observing.
Meanwhile, Piccolo, as the creator, already had some understanding of the dragon's nature.
"I wish… for you to remove my identity as a demon," he declared.
The dragon fell silent for a moment before regretfully answering:
"I apologize… I cannot exceed the power of my creator—your own abilities."
"What?!" Piccolo's face twisted in shock. This answer was unexpected—and disappointing.
But after a moment of frustration, he recalled what his master—he had begun calling Yamiru this, and the latter hadn't refused—had revealed about the nature of demon over the past year. Taking a deep breath, he tried again:
"Then… what if I rephrase it? Remove every trace of demonic energy from my body—completely expel it!"
Piccolo swallowed hard, waiting.
Yet again, the dragon disappointed him.
"I apologize, I cannot—"
"Enough, Dorag."
Yamiru's voice cut through the tension, drawing everyone's attention—including the dragon's.
And beyond the dragon's crimson eyes, across the barriers of space-time, Dorag, who was linked to this Earthly dragon through magic, stiffened in shock.
'How… does he know my name?'
This was impossible. The secrets of the Dragon Balls and the dragon's true nature were things even Piccolo, their creator, shouldn't fully grasp. As far as Dorag knew, the only Namekian aware of the Dragon Realm's existence was the Grand Elder, who had a cordial relationship with Porunga.
Ignoring the others, Yamiru spoke directly to the dragon:
"I know you can do it. Why not help him out? You're kin, after all."
Under everyone's stunned gazes, the dragon's expression shifted—startlingly human.
"You… truly know of me?"
"I truly do." A soft chuckle came from behind the animal mask.
Dorag, controlling the dragon, lowered its massive head until it was level with Yamiru.
The mask meant nothing to the dragon's sight.
Dorag studied the face behind it. 'Definitely an Earthling, not a fellow dragon. But those golden eyes are unusual… Wait, his wrist—'
That's…!?
"No, you're not of this—" Dorag finally glimpsed something through the dragon's vision and reeled. But Yamiru cut him off.
"What I am has nothing to do with Piccolo's wish. If you want to chat, we'll have plenty of chances later."
A smile played on Yamiru's lips as he recalled his past… interesting encounters with the dragon.
Dorag felt that smile was a bit too mischievous for comfort.
"Well…" The dragon lifted its head, pondering. "Very well. This wish… I shall grant."
"Ah!" Annin suddenly raised her hand, grinning. "Since we're transferring the energy, why not send it straight to the Furnace of Eight Divisions in Mount Five Elements?" She clasped her hands playfully. "Pretty please? Oh mighty… Dorag?"
The dragon paused before rumbling:
"This wish… is simple."
HMMMMMMMM—
Its eyes blazed crimson. Before Piccolo's stunned gaze, an invisible force surged into his body.
Yamiru's Golden Veil missed nothing. He clearly saw it—a swirling mass of dark golden energy, the tainted ki of the demonic realm, forcibly extracted from Piccolo's body by the dragon—by Dorag, borrowing the power of the Dragon God. The moment the dark golden miasma separated, it vanished into thin air.
Yamiru nodded at Annin.
She understood—Piccolo's demonic energy had been sent straight to the Furnace of Eight Divisions in Mount Five Elements, to serve as fuel. She knew Yamiru could see such things with his eyes.
Meanwhile, Piccolo took a deep, shuddering breath…
For the first time in what felt like forever, his mind was clear.
Light.
Free.
"Your wish has been granted," the dragon intoned, its form once more wreathed in golden lightning. "Farewell…"
BOOM!
The golden bolt shot skyward, splitting into seven streaks of light that scattered across the Earth.
As the dragon dispersed, the darkened sky gradually brightened, returning to its usual azure hue.
"For the next year, the seven Dragon Balls will turn into ordinary stones," Piccolo explained to Mr. Popo and the others. "Only after a year can they be gathered again to summon the dragon and make another wish."
Annin grinned. "Makes sense. Even Dorag needs a break, right?"
Joey nodded vigorously. "If people kept bothering him every day, he'd be super busy!"
Piccolo stared blankly for a moment before turning to Yamiru. "Master… who exactly is Dorag?"
He was confused. The dragon was his creation—so why had he known nothing about this "Dorag"? And from what Yamiru had said, Dorag seemed to be… his kin?
Yamiru nodded slightly, leading Piccolo deeper into the temple as he began explaining the Dragon Realm and its inhabitants.
Mr. Popo watched them go, knowing that once the First Kami finished instructing Piccolo, he would likely return to his slumber.
And this time… he had a feeling it would be a very long sleep.
But that was fine. Piccolo was practically already the Second Kami in Mr. Popo's eyes. With the demonic energy purged from his body, there was no doubt left—Piccolo would become Earth's true successor.
---
"Whew!" Annin stretched, hands on her hips as she stood at the temple's edge. "Dragon Balls, huh? What an amazing thing! Maybe I should gather them next year and make a wish too!"
She scratched her cheek. Maybe she could wish to be even younger?
…Wait, the Supreme Elderly Lord was already eternally youthful. Oops.
"Hmm, how do you even gather the Dragon Balls, anyway?" she mused, leaping off the temple. "Does Piccolo just yell into the sky like summoning the Flying Nimbus?"
"Don't worry!" Joey popped out from Annin's hair, blinking cheerfully. "I'll help you find them! I'm super lucky and really good at finding things!"
The tiny girl flexed her arms in a pose that had absolutely no relation to searching for anything.
Annin laughed, spinning midair before swooping past Korin Tower and streaking toward Mount Five Elements.
---
Korin Tower
The young man training there was sprawled over the railing, panting like a dead dog, when he caught sight of the flying figure.
"Whoa… what a beauty—wait, she's FLYING?!"
THWACK!
"Ow! What was that for?!" He rubbed his head, glaring at Korin.
"Show some respect, brat!" Korin scolded. "That was the Supreme Elderly Lord of Mount Five Elements!" He tossed the young man a Senzu Bean.
Grumbling, the boy ate it.
And so… his training on Korin Tower truly began.
---
Time Flows On…
Days turned to months, months to years.
The young man trained, played, and eventually conned Korin out of a Flying Nimbus before setting off on his own journey.
He didn't return to his master's dojo. Instead, he wandered the world, seeking his own path.
He visited his older sister in the desert palace, only to be swindled out of his money and forced to fight in her arena for two years.
He crawled out of the desert, no longer young, and continued drifting.
He lived in luxury in the grandest cities, basked in the cheers of adoring crowds, and taught martial arts to children in the poorest villages.
He won the first World Martial Arts Tournament, earning the title God of Martial Arts.
He redefined the philosophy of his master's teachings:
"Work hard, Study well and eat and sleep plenty…"
(Though his second disciple was too dumb to understand.)
His first disciple showed promise—but, like him, had great insight but mediocre talent.
Ah, well.
Eventually, even that disciple left to forge his own legend.
---
Three Hundred Years Later…
A salty sea breeze rustled the pages of a risqué magazine draped over an old man's face.
"Mmm…" The Turtle Hermit yawned, stretching. "Getting old… I just dreamed about training on Korin Tower. Was that really three hundred years ago?"
His perverted grin returned almost instantly.
"Ahhh, the Supreme Elderly Lord was so beautiful… Ahem! Ahem! Mustn't be disrespectful!"
Clearing his throat, he sat up.
"Come to think of it… the 18th World Martial Arts Tournament is coming up. Maybe I should go?"
He reached for his neck, then blinked.
"Huh? Where's that weird pearl I found in the ocean?"