The women simply nodded in agreement. While they had never witnessed the full extent of Son Goku's power, their unshakeable belief in his invincibility was a bedrock truth, forged the first time they saw his true strength unveiled.
Yet, Son Goku himself was mildly intrigued. A combatant on a backwater planet with a power level approaching 30,000 was noteworthy—such power was on par with Vegeta during his first explosive surge.
Meanwhile, down in the shattered valley, the Minotaur Elder—Erhua's grandfather—wiped the cold sweat from his brow amidst the ruins. He cleared his throat and announced the second contest.
"For this match, a gentler contest of skill! A race! You will ride your steeds to the Jambu River, five leagues from here. The first to arrive shall be the victor."
"A race? A fine idea!" Ox-Sage's face lit up with a triumphant smirk. He wheeled his magnificent Fire-Ox in a proud circle, looking down his nose at his opponent. "So… where is your mount, Ox-King?"
"A mount?" Ox-King bellowed, turning to his wiry subordinate. "You! Go fetch my Black Ass!"
The so-called 'Strategist' wiped his brow nervously. "Boss… you said the ass was too weak two days ago. We… we butchered and ate it, remember?"
"Eh? Did we?" Ox-King scratched his head, then his eyes widened with recollection. "Oh, right! Damn thing collapsed under me after ten paces! Made me so mad, I ate it on the spot!"
"Hah!" Ox-Sage couldn't help but laugh. "Who in their right mind uses a donkey as a mount for a brute your size? And you ate it? That's just…" He bit back the word 'moronic' just in time. Insulting Ox-King's strength was one thing; calling him that particular slur was a surefire way to trigger another berserk rampage. "…That's just typical. So, you have no mount?"
"Who says I don't?" Ox-King roared. "Strategist!"
"Yes, Boss!" The scrawny Minotaur immediately dropped to his hands and knees, pressing himself flat against the ground.
Ox-King strode over and plopped down squarely on his subordinate's back with a grunt of satisfaction. "See? This is my mount! Obedient, understands orders, and speaks Cow-tongue! Impressed? Wahahaha! Giddy up! Hyah!" To emphasize the point, he gave the Strategist's rear a solid smack with the flat of his massive cleaver.
"Ow! Boss, a little gentler!" the Strategist yelped through gritted teeth. "And in front of everyone… save me some face!" What face? he thought miserably. I'm being used as a horse.
"Less whining! Run fast! If we lose, you're on latrine duty for life!" Two more loud smacks followed.
The Strategist burst into tears. "Boss… haven't I always been on latrine duty?"
The villagers from Ox-King's own settlement watched, hands over their faces in utter mortification. Their champion was an unparalleled fighter and an unparalleled embarrassment.
Ox-Sage stared, his composure cracking. "…That is your mount. Fine. Very well. Let the race begin."
He struggled to keep a straight face. His restraint, however, was not shared by his entourage. A wave of raucous laughter erupted from behind him.
Watching this farce, the Elder made a silent, firm decision. No matter the outcome, my granddaughter will not be shackled to that fool. His gaze toward Ox-Sage grew noticeably warmer. At least he seemed semi-competent.
The Elder scratched a line in the dirt. The two 'riders' lined up.
"BEGIN!"
"HYAH!" Ox-Sage shouted, delivering a light tap to his Fire-Ox's flank. The beast let out a resonant "MOO!" and shot forward like a crimson comet, hooves pounding a thunderous rhythm as it vanished in a cloud of dust.
"Damn! That overgrown steak runs fast! Move it, Strategist! HYAH! GIDDY UP!" Ox-King urged, punctuating each shout with another smack of his cleaver against his 'mount's' backside.
"AIYEE! OOF! MOO-OW!"
Emitted a series of pained, bovine-like yelps, the Strategist scrambled forward on all fours with surprising, desperate speed. It was impressive for a Minotaur on his hands and knees, but it was no match for a magical flaming ox.
"Faster! FASTER! We can't even see his dust anymore!" Ox-King bellowed, his anxiety rising. His next 'encouragement' landed with significantly more force.
SMACK!
The sound was crisp and loud.
"YOWWWCH!" The Strategist screamed, collapsing in a heap, his right buttock already swelling into a sizable lump. "Boss! I'm done! I can't go on!"
"Useless!" Ox-King growled, delivering one final swat. He shoved the whimpering Strategist off and dropped to the ground himself, getting on all fours. "Hurry up! Get on! We're losing!"
"Y-Yes, Boss!" The Strategist leaped up with renewed vigor, straddling Ox-King's broad back. He slapped his leader's rear. "GIDDY UP, BOSS! CHARGE!"
Ox-King took off. Using all four limbs, he propelled himself forward with shocking, earth-tearing velocity. WHOOSH-WHOOSH-WHOOSH! The landscape blurred. Soon, Ox-Sage's back came into view.
Ox-Sage glanced over his shoulder, his eyes widening in alarm. "Damn it! How is he that fast? I miscalculated! With his raw power driving that speed… HYAH! FASTER!" He urged his Fire-Ox on with frantic slaps.
"Boss! Faster! Even faster! We're gaining on him! Ah—he sped up again! BOSS! MORE SPEED! GIDDY UP!" The Strategist shrieked with excitement, riding Ox-King like a jockey.
Seeing the distance between them grow once more, Ox-King let out a frustrated, wolf-like howl. His rhythm broke. He stumbled, face-planting into the dirt, getting a mouthful of sand.
"PTOO! PTOOEY!" He spat, his expression one of utter betrayal. "Damn it! I only hit you with the flat of the blade! You're stabbing me in the back with a real knife! Your brains are putting too much pressure on me!"
"I was just cheering you on, Boss!" the Strategist protested, feigning innocence.
"No more 'cheering'!" Ox-King roared, scrambling back to his feet. With another explosive burst, he took off again, now moving even faster than before. For a being of his monstrous constitution, a little soreness in the rear was barely a nuisance.