Piccolo descended the mountain just like that.
Namekians naturally grow rapidly, and even more so for someone like him—born from the full effort and essence of the original Piccolo. All of Piccolo's strength had been poured into his creation. Because of this, Piccolo was born with a natural advantage in martial arts and abilities. Otherwise, in the original story, he wouldn't have been able to grow strong enough in just three years to stand toe-to-toe with Goku, who had trained at the Lookout.
He floated down slowly from the cliffside.
Piccolo was very cautious while flying...
Firstly, he had only just grasped the technique of flight and wasn't yet proficient at using it. After figuring it out, he only practiced briefly in the air near the mountaintop. With no one to guide him and unable to leave the island—surrounded on all sides by the vast ocean—he simply wasn't strong enough to cross it on his own yet.
Secondly, he was still very wary of the man who lived on this island.
That man was despicable—and ruthless.
Piccolo's former self had been sealed for the first time because of that man's cunning schemes, allowing Master Tsuru to imprison him. The second time, he had been outright killed by him. At that time, the old Piccolo had sunk into despair and nearly lost all hope. But in a final flash of will (hypnotized by Taro), he reignited his fighting spirit and used his last strength to give birth to Piccolo.
So when Piccolo passed by the palace-like crystalline building halfway down the mountain, he gave it a wide berth to avoid being noticed.
Landing at the foot of the mountain, he hid himself in a concealed corner and suppressed his breathing and ki as much as he could.
I'm the last hope of the Demon Clan. I can't fall into that guy's hands again... Sure, I'll kill him one day, but for now... I need to be careful.
Sneaking along, Piccolo made his way around. Near the central mountain of the island was a large open space, mostly grasslands and dirt slopes, dotted with the occasional lake or pond. As he crept forward, he carefully extended his senses, trying to detect any unfamiliar ki—and most of all, to find where that guy Kakarot was hiding.
From their occasional nighttime chats when Kakarot would climb up the mountain to talk to him, Piccolo had learned that Kakarot was now training under that man. At first, Piccolo was baffled—Kakarot clearly loathed that man, so why would he train under him? But when Piccolo questioned him, Kakarot just scoffed and refused to answer.
As if Kakarot could explain: It's not that I want to—it's that I don't even have sovereignty over this body. Yeah, right.
On the other hand, Piccolo also looked down on Kakarot. Struts around like he's something special, yet he can't even fly! Has to climb the mountain every night like a caveman! And so, by extension, Piccolo had started to look down on Taro too—What kind of master trains a disciple who can't even fly?
That man probably isn't as invincible as he was back when he killed "me", Piccolo guessed, feeling pretty sure of himself. From what he could sense... Taro's ki wasn't all that strong. Sometimes, if Piccolo wasn't paying attention, he couldn't even detect it at all. It was as if there was a misty barrier around the man—strange and uncanny.
At first, Piccolo assumed this was because Taro was actively suppressing his ki.
But then he thought, Who the hell goes around suppressing their ki all day for no reason? Wouldn't that feel suffocating? No, the more likely answer was that Taro had simply grown old. That must be it. Just an ordinary human, not a demon like me. How long could he live anyway?
He was strong back then, sure—but age comes for everyone. With age comes weakness.
And yet...
Even with all the mental walls Piccolo had built up to shield his confidence, he still moved cautiously as he crept through Muten Island, afraid of being discovered. He could still clearly remember how that massive white claw Taro conjured had crushed "him" to death. The old Piccolo had been utterly helpless in that man's hands—so small, so powerless. That overwhelming shadow had left a mark that even now Piccolo couldn't shake.
When Goku defeated old Piccolo in the original story, the old demon could at least convince himself that the loss was due to some last-minute "mysterious power-up" on Goku's part—not a cause for shame. But Taro... Piccolo feared him. That kind of power had exceeded even old Piccolo's imagination.
Even the demons of the Demon Realm, whom Piccolo had once feared, had been obliterated by Taro with a flick of his fingers.
"............"
Piccolo wanted to slap himself. Why am I thinking about all this crap again? Scaring myself like an idiot! Compared to that guy, I'm the one who looks more like the Demon King... Huff. He exhaled deeply and cleared his mind before resuming his sneaky investigation.
As a Namekian, Piccolo's five senses were extremely acute. Every movement within several hundred meters fell within his range.
Suddenly, he heard faint murmuring—voices drifting in on the wind from afar...
Huh? Was that Kakarot's voice?
Piccolo was puzzled. He tried to sense the direction the sound was coming from, but he couldn't feel Kakarot's ki at all! There was only… only one ki, completely different from Kakarot's. And along with it, another slightly weaker one, though the two shared a similar aura.
Still filled with doubt, Piccolo crept over silently, his movements barely making a sound.
Before long, he lay low behind a small dirt slope. From a distance, he spotted them—by the edge of a clear lake, under the shade of a large tree, a boy with messy black hair and a monkey tail, and a bald boy with a shiny head, were lined up doing push-ups side by side.
Both boys wore the same style of white martial arts gi, with black wristbands, black belts, and black cloth shoes. Although their clothes looked loose and comfortable, their push-ups seemed to be under some incredible strain—like they were bearing hundreds of pounds on their backs. Each rep was done with gritted teeth and great effort, as if it took everything they had.
Especially the little bald one next to Goku—Krillin. Not only was his push-up pace slower than Goku's, but his face was twisted in agony. His arms trembled with every movement up and down, and his face was flushed bright red from the effort.
Piccolo had excellent vision and could see everything clearly, which made him scoff at the two of them inwardly.
Isn't this just the simplest kind of training? If I, the Great Demon King Piccolo, did this, I could go a whole day and night without getting tired! No wonder that Kakarot fool can't even use flight—so this is the level he's at. Struggling with mere push-ups… how could he ever learn something like that…
Just as Piccolo was sneering internally, he suddenly shuddered. A chill ran down his spine, and his body sprang up from behind the dirt slope. He spun around, eyes wide.
"You?!"
"Eh?"
A fiery red phoenix flapped its wings, hovering in the air. It chirped, looking confused, as if to say, Who the heck are you?