Power Level 11,000, Yet Couldn't Beat Bardock; Experience Is Worth More Than Numbers

Twenty-two years old.

Logically speaking, this should have been the age when a man was hot-blooded and vigorous, just stepping into his prime.

But for the Saiyans, a short-lived and violent race, twenty-two already counted as middle age. If you did not have a few scars on you, you would be too embarrassed to even greet anyone.

And yet, every time he stood before a mirror, he felt an incredibly strong sense of dissonance.

The man in the mirror—or rather, that Saiyan—was indeed covered from head to toe in crisscrossing old scars.

Those scars ran deep enough to show bone, hideous like contour lines on a map, silently recounting the brutality of battles past.

Logically, that many scars should have made him look weathered and worn down. Strangely, however, that face was shockingly young.

His complexion was healthy, his brows and eyes sharp, and there was even a trace of youthfulness that had yet to fade.

If not for the murderous aura and muscle covering his body, anyone looking at just that face would believe he was an eighteen-year-old young man.

"Tch, this look really is pretty contradictory."

He grinned, reached up to touch the smooth skin on his face, then turned his head and glanced at the terrifying scar on his back, one that almost ran straight through his shoulder blade.

A young appearance, a core that had gone through life and death—the contrast made him feel like he was looking at some abstract painting every time he looked in the mirror.

However, compared with his appearance, what surprised him even more was his identity.

As a Saiyan, he had not wandered the universe all day like most of his kin, working as a mercenary who burned, killed, and plundered. Instead, he stood openly and properly inside King Vegeta's palace.

Royal Guard.

And among the Royal Guard, he belonged to the most senior, highest-ranking group.

What did that mean?

It meant King Vegeta had valued him since he was young.

In that savage society where brute force was everything, the only reason a mere brat could enter the core of power was extraordinary talent.

And that was indeed the truth.

According to the memory fragments left in this body, the first time he underwent a battle power test, that cold, emotionless Scouter had reported an astonishing number: 7000!

7000!

In an era when ordinary Saiyan soldiers generally only had battle powers of a few hundred or around a thousand, that number was practically a nuclear-level deterrent.

One had to know that even Saiyans hailed as elites only had battle powers of around 3000 to 4000.

Even that arrogant Raditz, who later ran off to Earth to deliver his own head, only had a battle power of 1500, and back then he had already been classified as an "upper-level warrior."

And within the entire Frieza Force, aside from those few monsters standing at the top of the pyramid, a battle power of 7000 was enough to make anyone take notice.

Although the so-called strongest in the universe, the Ginyu Force—Captain Ginyu excluded—had an average battle power as high as 50000, and Frieza's right- and left-hand men, Dodoria and Zarbon, possessed terrifying strength of around 20000, existences like them were as rare as phoenix feathers and unicorn horns.

As for the low-ranking grunts Frieza treated as cannon fodder, their average battle power did not even reach five hundred.

As for King Vegeta?

His battle power was probably around 18000. Although it was higher than his own, it was definitely not out of reach.

Although the battle power inflation in the later stages of Dragon Ball became comparable to Zimbabwean currency, and Frieza's line, "My battle power is 530,000," became a classic show-off scene.

But at this current point in time, in this era where a four-digit battle power still represented absolute strength, a battle power of over ten thousand was absolutely enough to let someone walk sideways!

What was more, over these past few months, he had not been idle.

Relying on the Saiyans' unique recovery ability and that ruthless streak, he had practically been risking his life on the training grounds.

The last time his battle power was measured, the value had already shot up to 9500.

At this rate of growth, breaking ten thousand now was a sure thing.

Thinking of this, the corner of his mouth curled into a wicked arc, and he turned to walk over to the dressing table in the room.

On the table lay a strangely shaped, sci-fi-style eyepiece. That was the Scouter.

"Let me see what my battle power is now."

He reached out, grabbed the Scouter, and skillfully put it over his left eye.

"Beep—"

With a faint electronic startup sound, a stream of dark-blue data was instantly projected onto the lens.

Immediately after, a line of crimson numbers jumped wildly in the center of his vision before finally locking in place.

"11000?"

He froze for a moment. Then the smile on his face instantly widened until it nearly split to his ears.

Holy shit!

This increase was kind of ridiculous!

He had originally thought that, at most, it would barely be over 10000. He had not expected it to shoot straight to 11000!

The potential of this Saiyan body was even more terrifying than he had imagined.

What did 11000 mean?

Bardock—the man who would defy fate on countless battlefields and later be hailed as the "strongest God of Prophecy," Kakarot's own father—currently had a power level hovering at around 10,000!

In other words, in terms of pure battle power numbers, he had already surpassed Bardock!

"Hahaha! Bardock, oh Bardock, I bet you'd never imagine someone would stack their power this high before you, would you?"

He couldn't help throwing his head back and laughing, his fists clenching until his knuckles cracked.

The thrill brought by this explosive surge in strength felt better than taking drugs.

Still, laughter was laughter. In his heart, he understood things perfectly.

Battle power was sometimes just data on paper.

Numbers are dead. People are alive.

Although his numbers now surpassed Bardock's, if they truly fought, it was still hard to say who would win.

Not long ago, to test his strength, he had specifically sought out Bardock for a spar.

Back then, relying on his powerful physique, he had launched a fierce assault right from the start. For several dozen exchanges, he had indeed fought Bardock evenly, and had even forced that taciturn man to get serious.

But once Bardock grew serious and began applying his wealth of battle experience and tricky tactics, he was instantly exposed for what he was.

In the end, before Bardock even used an energy wave, he was knocked flat on the ground by a chain of combos, with no ability to fight back at all.

That crushing defeat left an extremely deep impression on him.

"My experience is still too green."

He took off the scouter and sighed, yet an even hotter flame burned in his eyes.

Simply piling up numbers was useless.

Bardock's combat instincts, tempered in mountains of corpses and seas of blood, and his sharp ability to seize openings in battle, were not things that could be trained by shutting oneself away.

If their power levels were close, experience and awareness were the keys that decided victory or defeat.

And this was precisely his greatest frustration at the moment.

As a Royal Guard, his daily job was to stand behind King Vegeta and look impressive, or patrol the palace.

It sounded awe-inspiring, but in reality, he was just a high-level security guard.

More than half of each day was spent nailed firmly to his post, and the rest of his time had to be used for physical recovery and basic conditioning.

Real combat?

What the hell was that?

Aside from the occasional spar with a freak like Bardock, he couldn't find any real combat opportunities at all.

After all, he couldn't exactly practice energy waves on the palace pillars, could he?

If he did, King Vegeta would probably think he had gone mad and throw him straight out of the atmosphere.

"If only I could get out..."

His gaze drifted as he looked toward the gray, hazy sky outside the palace.

In theory, Planet Vegeta's technological level far surpassed Earth's, and training here did indeed allow for much faster progress than training on Earth. Besides, he had long since thought of his escape route: going to Earth.

That remote, weak, unnoticed blue planet was practically the perfect harbor for avoiding the storm of Frieza's genocide.

But ideals were full-figured, while reality was bony.

The four words "Royal Guard" were an invisible shackle.

According to the rules, as long as he had not stepped down from his post, he could not leave King Vegeta's side by more than one hundred meters for even a single day.

Even after getting off duty and changing shifts, he could only stay in the exclusive dormitory provided inside the palace. He could not even step through the palace gates.

This led to an extremely awkward situation.

He had never even seen with his own eyes what the most basic Saiyan means of transportation—the round little one-man space pod—looked like!

Let alone pilot it to conquer planets or seek out real combat opportunities.

Other Saiyans could at least take business trips as an opportunity to wander around various planets, fight monsters, and grind experience points.

And him?

He could only punch at the air in the training grounds, smashing one deep crater after another into the floor.

The feeling of being a "caged tiger" made him extremely unhappy.

"Damn it, how much longer do I have to work this shitty job..."