Chapter 335: Why Do Villains Always Love to Ramble?
Was it a little rude to go around silently calling someone an oversized humanoid bug in his own head?
Still, Ryū figured he was just being honest — especially with those two antennae on Kami's head, which made him look even more like some kind of green humanoid bug.
No idea why Akira Toriyama had decided to draw the Namekians looking like this — by comparison, Frieza's design was leagues better than the Namekians'.
Sure, Frieza wasn't exactly to Ryū's taste at first glance either, but there's no harm without a comparison, right?
It was like some influencer with zero actual output getting hyped up nonstop until everyone got sick of them — and then a second influencer shows up, even more useless than the first, and suddenly you compare the two.
And the general public discovers, to their utter shock, that the first influencer actually wasn't so bad after all!
Not the most fitting comparison, maybe, but that's exactly how it worked — no harm without a comparison, and it's the competition that makes you look good.
Once Kami touched down, his gaze swept across the demon-kind corpses littering the ground — though what drew his attention most was King Piccolo, lying motionless nearby.
Kami kept his expression neutral, but inside, he was reeling — he genuinely couldn't imagine what kind of power could take King Piccolo alive this effortlessly.
Aside from Master Roshi, Kami honestly didn't recognize a single one of the people standing before him.
Just as Kami was about to speak, a young man ahead of him got there first. "You're this Earth's Kami, right? You created the Dragon Balls — you must know where the rest of them are?"
The blunt opener caught Kami off guard for a beat before he shook his head. "I did create the Dragon Balls, it's true, but I don't actually know where they are now."
"And yes, I am this Earth's Kami. My thanks to all of you for helping Earth deal with a demon lord who'd stopped at nothing. Had no one stopped King Piccolo, there's no telling how many lives on this planet would have been wiped out."
He paused, a puzzled look crossing his face, and asked, curious, "Though... might I ask where all of you have come from?"
"I've lived on Earth for more years than I can count, and yet I've never heard word of any of you — not the faintest rumor. And besides, what exactly do you intend to do with King Piccolo?"
Watching the Ancient One tinkering away with her magic, Kami had no idea at all what this unfamiliar bald powerhouse was even doing, or what she intended for King Piccolo.
But one thing he could be fairly certain of — whatever this group was doing, it probably wasn't going to harm Earth.
Otherwise, these strangers would hardly have bothered coming here in person to take down someone as powerful as King Piccolo.
Question after question churned through Kami's mind. From King Piccolo's release to his swift defeat at the hands of a band of strangers, less than two days had passed.
That many major events packed into just two days left even a Kami struggling to keep up.
To Kami's question, Ryū offered this: "Where we're from isn't important. As for what we intend to do with King Piccolo—"
The corner of his mouth curled up in a faint, amused smile as he held Kami's gaze. "Kill him, obviously — he's earned it several times over. Though before we do, we'll be severing the bond between the two of you first."
The moment those words left Ryū's mouth, he saw it clearly — Kami's pupils contracted, just barely.
Whatever Ryū had just said, it had clearly rattled him badly.
And rattled he was — fewer than three people on the entire planet knew that King Piccolo was his own split-off evil half!
Kami himself would never have gone around revealing a secret like that — so how did this unfamiliar young man in front of him know?
And on top of that, claiming he could sever the bond between himself and King Piccolo?
For centuries, Kami had wanted nothing more than to cut that connection to King Piccolo — but even a wish to Shenron couldn't accomplish that. Could these people really pull it off?
And yet, from the young man's manner and tone, he didn't sound like he was talking nonsense at all.
And with strength that terrifying behind him, he hardly seemed the type to bluff.
Just as Kami was about to say something more, the Ancient One suddenly rose to her feet.
She snapped an ancient-looking tome shut, a look of relief spreading across her face. "Seven or eight methods later, we finally got it to work."
Her voice pulled every eye in the vicinity — including Kami, still full of unanswered questions since touching down, and his servant Mr. Popo, both turning to look.
King Piccolo's condition looked deeply strange now — wound all over his body were odd threads of light, glowing faintly, in every color imaginable.
These threads didn't look physical, and they didn't look like pure energy either — they gave off the distinct feeling of something like fate and karma made visible.
Everyone could see it clearly — one thin, black thread ran from the tip of King Piccolo's finger all the way to the tip of Kami's!
Kami's expression froze at the sight. Instinctively, he reached out to touch the black thread at his fingertip, but his hand passed straight through it — there was nothing there to touch at all.
The Ancient One's voice rang out again. "All that time spent experimenting finally paid off. This thread is the bond between the two of you. Sever it, and even if King Piccolo dies, Kami here will be completely unaffected — I can guarantee that a hundred percent."
Cutting this one thread would sever the bond between himself and King Piccolo entirely?
For the first time in all his long life, Kami felt like his own head simply couldn't keep up. Since when had the bond between him and King Piccolo become something this easy to cut?
Kami's mouth opened, but no words came — he had no idea what he even wanted to say, and no idea what this group's real motive was.
Just then, something struck Kami, and his gaze locked onto King Piccolo lying on the ground. He cried out in alarm, "King Piccolo's already awake!!"
"It's fine, we already know. He came to a few minutes ago — he's just been playing possum."
Ryū answered flatly, then added, expression blank, "We're just waiting for him to spit out a certain something."
Sure enough, King Piccolo — who'd been lying there motionless — abruptly opened his eyes.
The lingering damage from the mirror-space hadn't healed, even after all this time. His stamina, especially, wasn't nearly enough to sustain a fight.
Forget fighting — King Piccolo couldn't even manage to run at this point.
Eyeing the black thread at his own fingertip, King Piccolo gritted his teeth internally, his gaze sweeping the group as he licked at the dried blood on his face. "Figured out I was faking it and didn't even flinch, huh? Want me to spit something out, do you? I don't know what you're talking about, but you people are really pushing it—"
He never got to finish. His mouth snapped shut on its own, shock spreading across his face.
King Piccolo stared in disbelief at his own suddenly swelling stomach. He could feel the life force in his body surging wildly toward his gut!
"Why do villains always love to run their mouths on and on? Let me just go ahead and induce labor for you. Don't look at me like that — I'm no devil."
"..."
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