Inside the Red Ribbon Army's Flame Mountain branch, several beast-like humanoids with wolf heads, carrying submachine guns, sat together playing cards while smoking and chatting. From time to time, bursts of sinister laughter echoed through the room.
Soldiers like these, crude and unruly, talked about nothing more than which young wives were the most attractive or which ones were the best in bed.
Even a principled superior like Captain Leopard couldn't expect his subordinates to be saints.
After all, the Red Ribbon Army was an evil organization—there was no point in hoping for many good people among them.
"Come quick! Today's arena match is about to begin!"
A commotion erupted outside, accompanied by hurried footsteps.
"Another arena match today?" One of the wolf-headed beastmen playing cards immediately stood up, looking around curiously.
"Seems like it," another wolf-headed beastman responded. "The frequency of these matches is getting higher. There were already three fights yesterday."
He then added with admiration, "No wonder—it's him again. If only I had half his strength."
Admiration for the strong was a natural instinct for all species, especially beastmen, who revered power even more than regular humans.
"Stop dreaming and focus on your cards," another wolf-headed beastman scoffed. "Someone like you? That guy could take down ten of you in one go."
"Ten? I bet twenty!"
"Make it thirty!"
"Hey, don't look down on me!" The insulted wolf-head turned green with anger.
"How long do you think today's challengers will last?"
Just then, the door swung open, and a bear-headed beastman entered, joining the conversation. "I just heard that today's fighters include the Muay Thai gym master from the south, a top ninja from the northern Kohaku school, and a warrior from the western region. None of them are pushovers—they should last at least an hour."
"An hour?"
"That so-called judo tenth-dan master last time didn't even last one round. I bet a whole month's wages on him, and he didn't even hold out for three minutes!"
"Half an hour at most."
The group continued their heated discussion.
"Forget the game, I'm done."
The first wolf-headed beastman to stand up angrily tossed his cards onto the table. "I'm going to watch the match. This time, I'm betting they'll be beaten in under five minutes."
"Hey, don't run away! You already lost—pay up!"
"Catch him! Don't let this bastard get away!"
Three Minutes Later
"Gentlemen, thank you for the match."
Standing in the center of the arena, Yamcha wore a white martial arts uniform, arms crossed. His breathing remained steady, with only the tips of his hair slightly damp with sweat.
Around him, bodies were sprawled in disarray—the very martial artists the beastmen had discussed earlier.
Some were local dojo masters from the Flame Mountain area, while others had come seeking to teach Yamcha a lesson. But without exception, all had been defeated.
In the early Dragon Ball era, martial arts thrived. Many people paid to train, eager to master combat. It was the golden age for dojos and martial artists alike.
Yamcha had set up an open challenge, proclaiming that anyone who could defeat him in the ring, by any means necessary, would win a prize of 500,000 Zeni.
With Captain Leopard's help, word spread quickly, attracting countless challengers.
For reference, even the World Martial Arts Tournament, which gathered the strongest fighters, only offered the same prize.
It was a tempting sum—before the Dragon Ball world's economy suffered from inflation, at least.
As a result, the challengers kept coming.
At first, Yamcha struggled a bit. But with the help of his Pearl Jam ability, he quickly adapted to the battles.
Though his imitation of the master-level "Pearl Jam" only had one-tenth of the original effect, it was enough. With three uses per day, all internal and external injuries were healed.
Thanks to this, Yamcha's strength improved at an astonishing rate.
In just three months, he had reached a level where he could effortlessly defeat multiple dojo masters without injury.
Originally, Yamcha had hoped to find real martial arts experts to learn from.
However, true masters weren't interested in a mere 500,000 Zeni prize. Unlike the World Martial Arts Tournament, this challenge didn't offer fame. As a result, the only challengers were average martial artists.
Very few opponents had even forced him to use his Wolf Fang Fist, let alone defeat him.
Still, actual combat was the best test of strength. Even if he hadn't learned the techniques he wanted, the sheer volume of battles had rapidly accelerated his progress—his power had at least doubled in these three months.
"You never cease to impress, Yamcha. Your strength just keeps growing. Those arrogant martial artists are no match for you," came a familiar, hearty laugh.
Captain Leopard entered, his voice arriving before he did.
"Commander Leopard, why were today's challengers so weak?"
Yamcha exhaled lightly, leaped down from the ring, and ignored the admiring gazes around him. Taking a juice cup from a servant, he took a sip.
Commander Leopard, slightly taken aback, asked, "What's wrong? Haven't had your fill yet?"
Yamcha bit his straw and replied casually, "Not enough. Nowhere near enough. This level isn't even a proper warm-up. Just when I start getting excited, they all fall down. When's the next batch coming? Send them in now."
Recently, the challengers' quality had plummeted. Not only were there no true masters, but even well-known characters from the original story were absent. Yamcha even suspected these opponents were weaker than Krillin's fellow monks at Orin Temple—at least they had the confidence to enter the World Martial Arts Tournament.
'Speaking of the World Martial Arts Tournament… should I enter? If I remember correctly, the 20th tournament should be next year, in Age 747.'
'And the champion was… King Chappa?'
Before the 20th tournament, the World Martial Arts Tournament was held every five years. After the 21st tournament, sponsorship deals changed it to a three-year cycle.
Commander Leopard's mouth twitched slightly at Yamcha's words. With a helpless expression, he said, "I'm afraid you'll be disappointed. Every single dojo master in the area has already fought you. Today's batch was the last of them."
He patted Yamcha's shoulder with both admiration and envy.
"Brother, you're just too strong."
(End of Chapter)