Part I: Kuri - The Lawless Land Transformed
The morning sun painted the hills of Kuri in shades of gold and green as Oden led his retainers and Baahubali through what had once been Wano's most dangerous region. The transformation was remarkable—where bandits had once ruled from fortified camps, farmers now tended fields. Where lawlessness had reigned, order had taken root.
"This is my pride!" Oden declared, gesturing expansively at the landscape. "Two years ago, Kuri was a wasteland. Bandits everywhere, good people living in fear, the land itself going to ruin because no one dared farm it. And then I came along and—"
"Beat up all the bandits and made them farm instead," Kin'emon finished dryly.
"Exactly! Though you make it sound less heroic when you say it like that." Oden grinned, undeterred. "The point is, I saw potential here. Good land, good water, just needed someone to clear out the trash and show people they could build something."
Baahubali surveyed the fields with keen interest. His eyes, trained by instincts he couldn't quite recall, assessed the irrigation systems, the crop arrangements, the overall health of the agriculture.
"You've done well," he said, and Oden practically glowed at the praise. "But may I make a suggestion?"
"Of course! You always have the best ideas!"
Baahubali pointed to a series of fields on a hillside. "These crops—what are they?"
"Rice, mostly. Some vegetables. Why?"
"The hillside placement is good for drainage, but you're fighting gravity for irrigation. If you were to implement a terrace system—step-like platforms cut into the hillside—you could reduce water waste by sixty percent while increasing yield by nearly forty."
Oden blinked. "Terrace... what now?"
"Here, let me show you." Baahubali picked up a stick and began drawing in the dirt, creating a diagram that showed cross-sections of terraced farming. His hands moved with confident precision, as if he'd explained agricultural concepts countless times before.
"You cut the hillside into steps, see? Each level is relatively flat, which means water doesn't run off as quickly. It pools where the crops can use it. And the steps themselves prevent soil erosion during heavy rains." He added more details to the drawing. "You could also implement a system of channels—small waterways that direct excess water from upper terraces to lower ones. Nothing is wasted."
The retainers gathered around, studying the diagram with growing fascination.
"This is brilliant," Denjiro breathed. "The hillsides around Kuri have always been difficult to farm. But with this method..."
"We could triple our agricultural output," Kin'emon finished. "Young master, we should implement this immediately."
"Yes! Definitely!" Oden was practically bouncing with excitement. "Baahubali, how do you know all this? Did you come from a farming region?"
Baahubali's expression clouded with frustration. "I... don't know. The knowledge is there, but the context isn't. I can see the terraces in my mind, can almost remember walking through fields arranged this way, but I cannot recall where or when."
He looked at his hands, callused but not from farming.
"I think I knew farmers. Governed them, perhaps? Protected them? There's a sense of responsibility attached to this knowledge, as if ensuring good harvests mattered deeply to me."
"A king who cared about agriculture," Raizo mused. "That's unusual. Most nobility only care about taxes and tribute."
"Perhaps where I come from, things are different," Baahubali replied. "Or perhaps I was different. Either way, the knowledge is yours now, Oden. Use it well."
As they continued through Kuri, stopping at various villages, Baahubali's presence caused ripples wherever they went. Farmers would see him approaching and freeze—his physique alone was intimidating, his bearing practically radiating authority.
But then Oden would introduce him with characteristic enthusiasm, and something remarkable would happen.
The wariness would melt.
Not quickly, not all at once, but like ice under spring sunshine. People would start with formal bows and careful distance, but within minutes of conversation, they'd be speaking freely, asking questions, even laughing.
"What is it about you?" one elderly farmer asked Baahubali after they'd been discussing soil composition for twenty minutes. "When I first saw you, I thought, 'Here comes trouble—another noble who'll demand things.' But talking to you feels like... like speaking with an old friend."
Baahubali smiled. "I have no desire to demand anything. I'm simply interested in learning about your life, your work, your concerns."
"But you're traveling with Lord Oden. You carry weapons that make our swords look like children's toys. You must be important."
"Important is relative," Baahubali replied. "Right now, you're teaching me about Wano's agricultural practices. That makes you important to me."
The farmer's eyes widened, then a broad smile crossed his weathered face. "You're a strange one, stranger. But a good strange."
Oden, watching this exchange from a distance, shook his head in wonder. "How does he do that? I've been trying to win over Kuri's farmers for two years, and they still treat me like I'm going to accidentally burn down their fields. He talks to them for five minutes and they're ready to adopt him."
"It's because he listens," Kiku observed quietly. "Lord Oden, with respect, when you talk to people, you're always moving, always thinking about the next thing. You hear them, but you don't always listen."
"And Baahubali-sama does?"
"He gives people his complete attention. When he's speaking with that farmer, that farmer is the only thing that matters to him in that moment. People feel that. They respond to it."
Kin'emon nodded agreement. "It's the bearing of a true leader. Not someone who rules through strength alone, but someone who understands that leadership means serving those beneath you."
"I serve my people!" Oden protested.
"You protect them, yes. But serving is different. It's... humbler." Kin'emon struggled to articulate the distinction. "Baahubali-sama doesn't act like people owe him respect. He acts like he owes them respect. And paradoxically, that makes them respect him more."
As the day wore on, they visited more farms, and at each one, Baahubali offered small insights that seemed to come from deep wells of forgotten knowledge:
Crop rotation patterns that would keep soil fertile for generations.
Natural pest control methods using companion planting.
Water conservation techniques for dry seasons.
Simple tools that could increase efficiency without requiring complex construction.
Every suggestion was practical, immediately implementable, and clearly came from extensive experience.
"Where does this all come from?" Denjiro wondered aloud. "This isn't just theoretical knowledge. This is the wisdom of someone who's actually governed agricultural regions, who's seen these methods work."
"A king," Ashura Doji said quietly. The former bandit had been silent most of the day, observing. "Not just any king. An emperor, maybe. Someone whose domain was so large that agricultural efficiency mattered on a massive scale."
"How do you figure that?" Nekomamushi asked.
"Because he thinks in terms of entire regions, not individual farms. When he suggests something, he's not thinking about helping one farmer—he's thinking about systems that can transform entire territories." Ashura Doji's scarred face was thoughtful. "I've met a lot of leaders in my time. Good ones, bad ones, everything in between. But I've never met anyone who thinks this big while caring this much about individual people."
At sunset, they stopped at a small village on Kuri's border with Hakumai. The villagers prepared a feast to honor Oden and his mysterious guest, and as they ate, something unexpected happened.
A group of young women—daughters of farmers, shopkeepers, and craftsmen—began finding excuses to talk to Baahubali. Asking about the outside world, about his weapons, about his travels. Their interest was obvious, their attraction evident in blushing cheeks and shy smiles.
Baahubali, for all his commanding presence and warrior's bearing, turned bright red.
"I, ah, that is..." he stammered as one particularly bold young woman asked if he would be staying in the village long. "I'm just passing through, learning about your culture..."
Oden, watching from across the feast table, burst out laughing. "You can face down my father without flinching, but a few pretty girls make you blush! That's amazing!"
"This is different," Baahubali protested, his discomfort obvious. "I don't know how to... what's the appropriate response to..."
"Just be yourself! Though I've got to say, if you're this popular in Kuri, wait until we get to the Flower Capital. The noble ladies there are going to lose their minds."
"Please, no," Baahubali actually looked pained at the prospect.
Oden's grin turned mischievous. "You know, this reminds me of my harem!"
"Your... what?"
"My harem! I've got, oh, about fifteen women living in a house up in the mountains. Beautiful, all of them. They—"
"You kidnapped fifteen women?!" Baahubali's voice carried horror.
"No! Well, yes, technically, but it's not like it sounds! See, they were all trying to kill me at first—angry because I'd beaten up their fathers or brothers or whatever—and I felt bad about that, so I invited them to come live in this nice house I'd set up, and then they kind of just... stayed?"
Kin'emon covered his face with his hand. "Young master, please stop explaining. You're making it worse."
"How is that making it worse? I gave them a nice place to live!"
"Without asking their families. Without formal courtship. Without—" Kin'emon sighed. "You essentially kidnapped them and called it hospitality."
Baahubali stared at Oden with an expression mixing disbelief and dawning understanding. "And this is why your father despairs of you."
"He despairs of me for lots of reasons!" Oden said cheerfully, completely missing the criticism. "The harem is pretty low on the list, actually. Above it are the gambling house burning, the incident with the Mountain God, that time I accidentally started a war between two merchant families..."
"You started a war?"
"Accidentally! I was trying to help!"
Baahubali closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them again, his expression had shifted to something gentler, almost paternal despite being only about ten years older than Oden.
"Oden-sama. Do you understand why people might be upset about the harem situation?"
"Because their daughters are living with a man they're not married to?"
"Partly. But more because you made decisions for them without their input. You saw a problem—these women were angry and possibly in danger—and you solved it the way you solve everything. With direct action and good intentions."
"What's wrong with that?"
"Nothing, if you also consider what the people involved actually want. Did you ask those women if they wished to live in your mountain house? Did you speak with their families about proper arrangements? Did you consider that there might be solutions beyond 'take them to a house and hope it works out'?"
Oden's face showed the dawning realization of someone who'd never actually considered these questions.
"I... no. I just thought I was helping."
"And you probably were. But help without wisdom can cause as many problems as it solves." Baahubali's tone was gentle, not condemning. "You have power, Oden-sama. Tremendous power. But power without consideration for consequences is dangerous, even when wielded with good intentions."
"So what should I have done?"
"Asked. Listened. Involved the families in finding solutions. Used your influence not to impose your will, but to facilitate outcomes that everyone could accept." Baahubali smiled slightly. "Being strong means you can do many things. Being wise means knowing which things you should do."
The retainers listened to this exchange with fascination. They'd been trying to teach Oden these lessons for years, with minimal success. But hearing it from Baahubali—delivered not as criticism but as gentle guidance from someone Oden respected—seemed to actually penetrate.
"Huh," Oden said thoughtfully. "I never thought about it like that. So I should go back and talk to those families? Explain what happened and see if we can sort it out properly?"
"That would be a good start."
"Okay! I'll do that! Right after we finish touring Wano!"
It wasn't perfect growth, but it was growth. Kin'emon caught Baahubali's eye and mouthed a silent "thank you." The warrior-king nodded in acknowledgment.
As the feast continued, Baahubali found himself cornered by the village elder, who wanted to discuss potential trade arrangements with other regions. Before he knew it, he was sketching out supply chain logistics, suggesting optimal trade routes, explaining economic principles he didn't remember learning.
"You're doing it again," Raizo whispered to Denjiro. "Giving advice that could transform entire regions."
"I know," Denjiro replied. "And have you noticed? He doesn't even realize how remarkable it is. To him, this is just common sense."
"Which suggests that wherever he's from, this level of administrative sophistication is normal. What kind of kingdom operates with such efficiency?"
"The kind that conquers through competence rather than just military might," Ashura Doji contributed. "I'm starting to think our stranger didn't just govern a kingdom. I think he governed an empire."
In the shadows at the edge of the feast, Kanjuro observed everything with calculating eyes. His smile was practiced, his laughter at the appropriate moments perfectly timed. But his mind was racing, composing the report he'd send to Orochi tonight.
The stranger continues to exceed expectations. Today in Kuri alone, he provided agricultural innovations that could increase yields across the region by forty percent. The farmers love him. The people trust him. And Lord Oden hangs on his every word.
More concerning: He casually discussed administrative systems, trade logistics, and regional economics with the sophistication of someone who's governed millions. This is not merely a warrior. This is a ruler of extraordinary capability.
And most dangerous of all: He's teaching Lord Oden. Not just combat techniques, but wisdom. Patience. Consideration for others. The very qualities we've relied on Oden lacking are beginning to take root.
Recommendation: Accelerate plans. The longer Baahubali remains in Wano, the more he reshapes it. And the more he reshapes Oden into an actual worthy heir.
Part II: Hakumai - The Gateway Region
Three days later, the group arrived in Hakumai, the region governed by Shimotsuki Yasuie. Known as the gateway to Wano due to its northern port (though sealed by the ancestors' decree), Hakumai was prosperous and well-ordered, its people disciplined and its infrastructure excellent.
Yasuie himself greeted them at the border, his weathered face creasing into a warm smile.
"Oden-sama! And our mysterious guest! Welcome to Hakumai!" The daimyo's eyes sparkled with intelligence as they settled on Baahubali. "I've heard interesting reports from Kuri. Agricultural innovations, economic restructuring, and a feast where half the village's daughters fell in love. Quite the impression you're making."
Baahubali inclined his head respectfully. "Daimyo Yasuie. Your reputation for wise governance precedes you. Kuri's farmers speak highly of Hakumai's trade practices."
"Flattery from a man who doesn't remember his own name," Yasuie chuckled. "Come, let me show you what we've built here."
Hakumai was indeed impressive. Unlike Kuri's rural character, this region had developed significant infrastructure—paved roads, organized marketplaces, efficient water systems. It was clear that Yasuie had spent decades refining his domain into a model of good governance.
As they toured, Baahubali asked questions that revealed his analytical mind:
"How do you handle disputes between merchants?"
"What's your tax collection efficiency?"
"How do you maintain road quality during winter?"
"What systems prevent corruption in your administration?"
Each question was precise, targeting the exact mechanisms that made governance work or fail. And when Yasuie answered, Baahubali would nod thoughtfully, sometimes offering small refinements that made the daimyo's eyes widen.
"You suggest a rotating audit system where different magistrates review each other's work quarterly? That's... that's brilliant. It prevents both corruption and complacency."
"It also builds institutional knowledge," Baahubali added. "When magistrates review each other's cases, they learn from different perspectives. Your administration becomes collectively smarter."
Yasuie stopped walking and turned to face Baahubali fully. "Who were you? Really?"
"I don't know."
"You govern like someone who's been doing it since birth. These aren't just good ideas—they're refined practices that come from extensive experience. You've ruled before. Ruled well. Ruled over something significant."
"Perhaps," Baahubali acknowledged. "The knowledge is there, but it feels... distant. Like watching someone else's memories through thick glass."
"Does it trouble you? Not knowing?"
Baahubali was quiet for a moment. "Yes and no. Yes, because there's clearly something important I've forgotten. People I knew, places I've been, purposes I served. But no, because..." He gestured at the street around them, at the people going about their lives. "Because right now, I can learn. I can help, in small ways. I can see how Wano works and appreciate its unique character. If I had all my memories, perhaps I wouldn't be as open to new experiences."
"A philosophical answer from a practical man," Yasuie observed. "You're a fascinating contradiction, Baahubali-san."
That evening, Yasuie hosted a formal dinner for the traveling group. Unlike the casual feast in Kuri, this was a refined affair with multiple courses, careful seating arrangements, and the subtle dance of noble politics.
Baahubali navigated it flawlessly.
He knew which cup to drink from first. Understood the significance of seating positions. Made conversation that was engaging without being overly familiar. Complimented his host in ways that showed genuine appreciation rather than empty flattery.
Oden, watching this performance, leaned over to Kin'emon. "How does he know all this? We never taught him Wano's formal dining customs."
"Because they're similar to wherever he's from," Kin'emon replied quietly. "Court etiquette has common threads across cultures. The specific details change, but the underlying principles—showing respect, acknowledging hierarchy, building relationships—those are universal."
"So he's definitely nobility."
"More than nobility. This isn't learned behavior for him—it's instinctive. He was born into this world of formal dinners and political maneuvering."
During the dinner, one of Yasuie's advisors—an older woman named Tsuruya who managed Hakumai's economic affairs—engaged Baahubali in discussion about trade imbalances between regions.
"Ringo produces the best weapons, but Kibi controls the rice supply. It creates an inherent power disparity that—"
"Could be resolved through a regional cooperative," Baahubali interrupted gently. "Forgive me, I don't mean to speak out of turn, but have you considered creating a council where all regions have equal voting power on trade policies? Ringo provides weapons, Kibi provides food, Udon provides labor, Kuri provides agriculture, Hakumai provides administrative expertise, and the Flower Capital provides coordination."
"That's... that would require the daimyos to surrender some autonomy."
"Not surrender—pool. Each region maintains control of its internal affairs, but trade policies are decided collectively. This prevents any one region from dominating through resource control."
Tsuruya's eyes had gone wide. "That could work. That could actually work. Daimyo Yasuie, have you considered—"
"I'm considering it now," Yasuie said, his gaze locked on Baahubali. "Though I wonder where our guest learned about such sophisticated governmental structures. Regional cooperatives with equal voting power? That's not common knowledge."
"I don't know where I learned it," Baahubali admitted. "But it feels right. As if I've seen it work before."
"Or implemented it yourself," Yasuie suggested. "You speak with the confidence of someone who's actually built these systems, not just studied them theoretically."
The dinner continued, but Baahubali noticed something troubling: several young women among the noble guests were paying him far more attention than proper etiquette suggested. Meaningful glances, strategic seating choices, questions that seemed designed to prolong conversation.
He was being courted.
And he had absolutely no idea how to handle it.
When one particularly forward noblewoman suggested he might enjoy seeing Hakumai's famous cherry blossom gardens "by moonlight, perhaps with private company," Baahubali's face went through several shades of red.
"I, that is, the offer is most generous, but I'm traveling with Lord Oden and wouldn't want to impose on your hospitality beyond—"
"Baahubali-sama is very dedicated to his duties," Kin'emon interrupted smoothly, rescuing his increasingly flustered companion. "Perhaps another time."
As they left the dinner, Oden was laughing so hard he could barely walk. "Your face! When she suggested the 'private moonlight tour'! I thought you were going to faint!"
"This is not funny," Baahubali protested. "I don't know how to navigate these situations. What if I accidentally offended her? What if there are political implications I'm not aware of?"
"There probably are," Denjiro said, amused. "That was Lord Yasuie's niece. A connection to her would tie you to Hakumai's ruling family."
"See? Political implications! How am I supposed to—"
"Relax," Raizo interrupted. "You handled it fine. Polite refusal without insult. Perfectly appropriate."
"But what if she—"
"Baahubali-sama," Kiku said gently. "May I ask you something personal?"
"Of course."
"These women who show interest in you—and there have been many—do none of them appeal to you?"
Baahubali was quiet for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice carried a distant quality.
"When they look at me, I feel... something. Not attraction, exactly. More like... an echo. As if I should remember someone. Someone important. But the memory won't surface, and pursuing these women while unable to remember if I'm already committed to someone else would be dishonorable."
The retainers exchanged glances. This was the first time Baahubali had mentioned the possibility of having someone in his forgotten past.
"You think you might be married?" Oden asked, his teasing tone gone.
"I don't know. But there's a feeling—when I close my eyes, I can almost see a woman's face. Beautiful. Strong. Looking at me with..." He struggled for words. "Love. Absolute love. And I feel like I'm supposed to protect her, honor her, remain faithful to her. Even if I can't remember her name or face clearly."
"That's very noble," Kiku said softly. "And very sad."
"Perhaps. But until I know for certain, I cannot pursue anyone else. It would betray whoever she is, this woman I can't quite remember."
Later that night, in the guest quarters Yasuie had provided, the retainers gathered while Oden and Baahubali slept.
"He gets more interesting every day," Ashura Doji observed. "Today alone: agricultural advice that could transform Kuri, administrative suggestions that could reshape Wano's entire economic system, and a dedication to a lover or even wife he can't even remember."
"It's the last part that troubles me," Kin'emon said. "If he's married, if he has a family somewhere..."
"Then they think he's dead," Denjiro finished. "And we have no way of finding them because he doesn't remember where he's from."
"Do we tell him?" Raizo asked. "About how his presence is changing Wano? About how people are starting to see him as someone special?"
"He knows," Nekomamushi said. The young mink had been quiet most of the evening. "He notices everything. Every changed expression, every shifted attitude. He sees how people respond to him."
"And it bothers him," Inuarashi added. "He doesn't want to be special. He wants to be normal. But his very nature prevents that."
Kiku looked toward the room where Baahubali slept. "I wonder if his memories will ever return. And if they do... will he still be the same person? Or will remembering change him?"
None of them had an answer.
In the shadows outside the guest quarters, a small paper bird launched into the night sky, carrying Kanjuro's latest report to Orochi:
Hakumai has fallen under his spell just as Kuri did. Daimyo Yasuie actually asked his advice on regional governance. The stranger casually suggested restructuring Wano's entire economic system over dinner.
But there's a potential weakness: He seems to have emotional attachments he can't remember. Possibly a wife. This causes him visible distress. If we could exploit this—create false memories, convince him his forgotten family is in danger, manipulate his protective instincts—we might finally have leverage.
Awaiting instructions on how to proceed.
Part III: Ringo - The Land of Ice and Steel
Ringo was a stark contrast to Hakumai's orderly prosperity and Kuri's rural renewal. The northernmost region of Wano was a land of snow and ice, where winter reigned eight months of the year and the cold forged both steel and character.
The group arrived in early autumn, when the first snows were just beginning to dust the mountaintops. Amatsuki Takeru himself rode out to meet them, his white hair blending with the snow, his ancient eyes sharp despite his sixty-seven years.
"Young Oden," the old daimyo greeted. "And the mysterious stranger who makes swords bow in his presence."
"Daimyo Takeru," Baahubali replied with deep respect—deeper than he'd shown any other daimyo except Sukiyaki himself. Something about Takeru commanded special recognition.
The old man noticed. "You acknowledge age and experience. Good. Too many young warriors see only their own strength."
"Strength without wisdom is just controlled violence," Baahubali replied. "And wisdom often comes with years."
Takeru's eyes twinkled. "Flattery? Or do you truly believe that?"
"I believe that a man who's governed for forty years in the harshest region of Wano, who's maintained both prosperity and peace, who's renowned as a master swordsmith and bladesman—such a man deserves profound respect."
"You've done your research."
"Daimyo Yasuie was very informative."
As they rode toward Ringo's capital, Takeru gestured at the snow-covered landscape. "This is what shapes us. The cold. The hardship. The constant struggle against nature. It makes us strong, but it also makes us... isolated. We don't get many visitors here."
"I can see why," Baahubali replied, pulling his borrowed coat tighter. "Though there's a beauty to it. A purity. Everything stripped down to essentials."
"Spoken like someone who appreciates austerity."
"Or someone whose forgotten past included harsh conditions." Baahubali smiled slightly. "I find the cold doesn't bother me as much as it should. As if my body is accustomed to it."
Takeru studied him carefully. "Your homeland was cold?"
"I don't know. But my body doesn't shiver. Doesn't struggle with the temperature the way the others do."
Indeed, Oden and his retainers were bundled in layers while Baahubali wore only a single coat and seemed perfectly comfortable.
"Advanced Armament Haki," Takeru observed. "You're unconsciously maintaining your body temperature. That's mastery that takes decades to develop."
"If you say so. I don't remember learning it."
"Which makes it all the more impressive. Your body has trained so long that Haki usage is autonomous."
They arrived at Ringo's capital to find a city carved from ice and stone. Buildings were constructed to withstand heavy snow, streets were heated by underground hot springs, and every aspect of life was optimized for extreme conditions.
"Remarkable engineering," Baahubali observed, studying the heated streets. "Utilizing natural geothermal resources to make the city livable. Who designed this?"
"My great-grandfather, with refinements from each generation since." Takeru looked pleased that Baahubali had recognized the sophistication. "Most visitors only see a cold, miserable place. You see the ingenuity required to thrive here."
"Because I understand what it represents. This isn't just a city—it's a declaration that human will can overcome any environment. That's admirable."
Takeru brought them to the heart of Ringo: the legendary swordsmith forges. Here, the greatest blades in Wano were created, each one a masterpiece of craftsmanship and artistry.
Baahubali stood transfixed, watching master smiths work. The rhythmic hammer strikes, the careful temperature control, the moment when steel was folded again and again to create perfect edge alignment—all of it resonated with something deep in his being.
"You know smithing," Takeru said. It wasn't a question.
"I... yes. Watching them work, I can predict each next step. I understand why they fold the steel that way, why the temperature must be exactly that, why the quenching is timed so precisely."
"Would you like to try?"
Baahubali turned to the old daimyo with surprise. "You would allow me—an outsider—to work your forges?"
"I would allow a fellow craftsman to demonstrate his skill. Come."
At Takeru's personal forge, he provided Baahubali with steel, tools, and a challenge: "Make me a knife. Something simple. Let's see what you remember."
Baahubali picked up the hammer, and the moment it touched his hand, something shifted. His eyes went distant, his movements became automatic, and he began to work.
The retainers watched in amazement as he transformed raw steel into art. Every hammer strike was perfectly placed, creating patterns in the metal that shouldn't have been possible. He worked the forge with the confidence of a master, adjusting temperatures by sound and color rather than measurement.
When he quenched the blade, steam rose in patterns that seemed almost deliberate.
Three hours later, he presented the finished knife to Takeru.
The old daimyo's hands trembled as he accepted it. The blade was perfect—absolutely, impossibly perfect. The edge could have split hairs. The balance was immaculate. The steel had developed a pattern that looked like flowing water frozen in metal.( Wootz Steel or Damascus, Ancient India or Bharat are the inventor of this steel which people forget, not many Indians even know about this)
"This is..." Takeru's voice cracked. "This is beyond anything I've seen. Beyond anything I could create. The steel pattern alone would take master smiths years to achieve, and you did it in three hours."
"Did I?" Baahubali looked at the knife as if seeing it for the first time. "I don't remember making those choices. My hands just... moved."
"May I test it?"
"Of course. It's yours."
Takeru took the knife to a testing station, where he compared it against some of his own finest works. The results were undeniable: Baahubali's casually-made knife outperformed blades that had taken months to create.
"Your Haki," Takeru said slowly. "You infused it into the steel during forging. Not deliberately—I was watching. You weren't consciously using Haki at all. But it flowed from you naturally, saturating the metal, elevating it beyond normal craftsmanship."
He looked at Baahubali with something approaching awe.
"Wherever you're from, smithing wasn't just a skill—it was a spiritual practice. You didn't just make weapons. You poured your very essence into them."
Baahubali stared at his hands. "I can feel it now that you mention it. The knife carries... something of me. As if I left a piece of my will in the steel."
"Every true master smith does. But I've never seen it this concentrated, this potent." Takeru carefully set the knife aside. "This blade could become legendary with proper care. It's already partway to being a Black Blade, and it was just born."
News of Baahubali's smithing prowess spread through Ringo like wildfire. Other master smiths came to examine his work, and each one left shaking their heads in disbelief.
"It's not possible," one elderly craftsman declared. "The steel pattern indicates hundreds of precise folds, but he worked for only three hours. The math doesn't work."
"Unless," Takeru suggested, "his hammer strikes were so perfectly placed that each one accomplished what would normally take dozens. Precision instead of repetition."
"No one has that level of precision."
"He does."
That night, at a feast hosted by Takeru, the old daimyo raised a cup to Baahubali. "Our guest has honored Ringo by demonstrating that true mastery transcends memory. Even without knowing who he is, his very nature shines through. To Baahubali—may his memories return as perfectly forged as his bladework!"
The hall erupted in cheers. Oden, slightly drunk, threw an arm around Baahubali's shoulders. "You're amazing! Is there anything you can't do?"
"Remember who I am," Baahubali replied quietly.
Oden's enthusiasm faltered. "Sorry. That was insensitive."
"No, it's fine. I just..." Baahubali looked at the knife he'd made, now displayed in a place of honor. "I see what I can do, and I wonder who taught me. Who invested the time and patience to make me this capable? Was it family? Teachers? Trial and error? I create something beautiful and can't even remember why I know how."
Kiku, sitting nearby, spoke softly. "Perhaps that's the point. You've lost the context but retained the essence. Which suggests that these skills aren't just learned—they're part of who you fundamentally are."
"A comforting thought. But it doesn't answer any questions."
"Questions will be answered in time," Takeru said. "For now, accept what you are rather than mourning what you've forgotten."
Later, as the feast wound down, Takeru pulled Baahubali aside for a private conversation.
"I want to ask you something personal, if you'll permit it."
"Of course, Daimyo."
"Your sword—the black-gold blade. May I examine it?"
Baahubali hesitated, then nodded. He drew the sword and offered it hilt-first to Takeru.
The old daimyo accepted it with reverence, his experienced eyes studying every detail. After several minutes of examination, he carefully returned it.
"That blade has seen battles that would destroy lesser weapons. The Haki saturation is beyond anything I thought possible—it's not just coating the sword, it's woven into the molecular structure of the steel itself." Takeru's voice was hushed. "This is not a Black Blade in the normal sense. This is something beyond. A Divine Blade, perhaps. A weapon that exists as much in the spiritual realm as the physical."
"I don't understand what that means."
"It means that whoever forged this blade—and whoever wielded it to this state—operated on a level that transcends normal mastery. You're not just a skilled warrior, Baahubali. You're a legend made flesh, walking among us without knowing your own myth."
"That's a disturbing thought."
"Why?"
"Because legends are expected to live up to their reputation. And I don't know what my reputation is."
Takeru smiled. "Then make a new one. The stranger who helped Kuri, advised Hakumai, and honored Ringo with his craft. That's not a bad legend to build."
As they prepared to leave Ringo the next day, Takeru presented Baahubali with a gift: a maintenance kit for his sword, containing rare oils and polishing stones.
"Your blade is magnificent, but even Divine Blades need care. Treat it well."
"I will. Thank you, Daimyo Takeru. Your hospitality and wisdom have been..."
"Appreciated? Valued?"
"Humbling," Baahubali finished. "I came to Ringo expecting to learn about swordsmithing. Instead, I learned about patience, precision, and the value of mastery pursued over decades. Those are lessons I needed."
"Even if you can't remember why?"
"Especially because I can't remember why. I have the skills but not the context. Meeting masters like you helps me understand what it means to truly dedicate oneself to a craft."
As they rode south toward Kibi, Oden was unusually quiet. Finally, he spoke:
"You make me feel inadequate sometimes."
Baahubali looked at him with surprise. "How so?"
"You're good at everything. Fighting, governing, farming, smithing—is there anything you can't do perfectly?"
"Remember who I am," Baahubali replied, echoing his earlier words. "Manage romantic interest without panicking. Understand why I know these things. Oden-sama, you see skills without seeing the cost. I may be capable, but I'm also lost. You, at least, know who you are."
"I guess that's true." Oden's characteristic grin slowly returned. "And you're not good at everything. You're terrible at parties. You turned bright red when that girl in Hakumai flirted with you!"
"That's different—"
"And you can't hold your sake! Two cups and you were wobbling!"
"I don't think my body is accustomed to—"
"And you're too serious! You need to learn to laugh more, to enjoy life instead of constantly analyzing it!"
Baahubali found himself smiling despite the teasing. "Perhaps you're right. Perhaps I do need to learn to simply... be, rather than constantly trying to understand."
"That's the spirit! And I'll teach you! By the time we finish this tour, you'll be almost as fun as me!"
"That's a terrifying prospect," Kin'emon muttered.
"I heard that!"
As the banter continued, Kanjuro dropped back, pretending to adjust his horse's saddle. In reality, he was composing another report:
Ringo has confirmed what we suspected: Baahubali is not merely skilled—he's transcendent. His casual smithwork exceeded Ringo's greatest masters. Daimyo Takeru called his sword a "Divine Blade."
Every region he visits becomes convinced of his exceptional nature. And more dangerous: he's teaching Oden humility. Making him self-aware. Transforming him from man-child to actual leader.
The window for exploiting Oden's immaturity is closing. If Baahubali remains in Wano another year, Lord Oden will be politically untouchable—too capable, too wise, too beloved.
Lord Orochi, we must act soon.
Part IV: Kibi and Udon - The Heartland and the Prison
Kibi, the agricultural heart of Wano, welcomed them with golden fields stretching to the horizon. Here, the rice that fed the nation was grown, harvested, and processed. Daimyo Fugetsu Omusubi, rotund and jolly, greeted them with a feast that could have fed a small army.
"Eat, eat!" Omusubi insisted, piling Baahubali's plate with delicacies. "You're far too thin for a man your height! We need to put some meat on those bones!"
"I appreciate the hospitality," Baahubali replied, eyeing the mountain of food with some trepidation.
"Don't appreciate—consume! Food is love, stranger! Food is culture! Food is life itself!"
Despite his protests, Baahubali found himself enjoying the meal. More than that, he found himself fascinated by the culinary sophistication on display.
"This sauce," he said, tasting a dish carefully. "There's sweetness, but also... five-spice? And something earthy. Is that... mushroom essence reduced to syrup?"
Omusubi's eyes widened. "You can identify the components by taste? That's a closely guarded recipe!"
"I apologize if I've—"
"Don't apologize! I'm impressed! Most people just shove it in their mouths without actually tasting it!" The daimyo leaned forward excitedly. "Tell me—how would you improve it?"
Baahubali hesitated, then spoke carefully. "It's already excellent. But if I were making it, I might add a touch of citrus zest at the very end. Not enough to taste directly, but enough to brighten the other flavors. And perhaps a whisper of heat—not spicy, just warm. To create complexity."
Omusubi stared at him for a moment, then bellowed: "CHEF! Get in here!"
The head chef appeared, bowing nervously.
"Make the Master's Special again, but this time add citrus zest and mild pepper as this man suggests. I want to taste it immediately!"
Twenty minutes later, the modified dish arrived. Omusubi tasted it, his eyes closed in concentration. When he opened them, they were moist.
"It's perfect. Better than perfect. You've taken my signature dish and elevated it." He turned to Baahubali. "Who are you? A noble with sophisticated palate? A chef's son? How do you know these things?"
"I don't know. But watching your chef work, I could see the process. Could taste the potential. The knowledge was just... there."
Over the following days in Kibi, Baahubali continued to demonstrate culinary expertise that should have been impossible for someone with no memory. He could:
Identify ingredients by smell alone Suggest cooking techniques that improved texture and flavor Explain food preservation methods that could extend shelf life by months Design meal plans that balanced nutrition with palatability
"You're not just knowledgeable," Omusubi's wife observed. "You cook with Haki."
"I'm sorry?"
"Watch." She indicated where Baahubali was helping prepare a communal feast. As he worked—chopping vegetables, stirring pots, plating dishes—a subtle golden shimmer accompanied his movements.
"Your Haki flows into the food. Not deliberately, but naturally. It's why everything you touch tastes better. You're literally infusing it with your essence."
Baahubali stopped working, staring at his hands. "I'm... cooking with Haki? That's possible?"
"For someone with Haki as refined as yours? Apparently yes. Though I've never heard of it being done unconsciously."
That night's feast was legendary. Baahubali, working alongside Kibi's best chefs, created dishes that people would talk about for years. And with each bite, those who ate felt... uplifted. Energized. As if the food carried more than nutrition—it carried hope, warmth, positive intention.
"This is dangerous," Denjiro whispered to Kin'emon. "He can win hearts through combat, wisdom through conversation, and now through food that literally makes people feel better. Is there any aspect of human experience he can't master?"
"I'm starting to think no," Kin'emon replied. "Which makes me wonder what kind of civilization or empire could produce someone this universally capable even tempted to see Outside world and now understand why Oden-sama want to explore the world."
Udon was different from the other regions. Here, in the quarries and prison complexes, Wano's criminals worked to repay their debts to society. Daimyo Uzuki Tempura, stern and unforgiving, governed with an iron fist.
"Crime is weakness," Tempura explained as he showed them the facilities. "And weakness must be hammered out through hard labor and discipline."
Baahubali observed the prisoners carefully. They were thin, exhausted, some bearing marks of beatings.
"How long are their sentences?" he asked quietly.
"Until they've repaid their debt through labor. For some, that's months. For others, years."
"And how is the debt calculated?"
"By the severity of their crime, naturally."
"Who determines severity? Is there a standardized system, or is it subjective?"
Tempura's expression hardened. "Are you questioning Udon's justice system?"
"I'm seeking to understand it." Baahubali's tone remained respectful but firm. "Justice should be consistent, transparent, understandable. If penalties are arbitrary, it's not justice—it's tyranny."
The two men stared at each other, tension crackling in the air.
Finally, Tempura spoke: "Come with me."
He brought Baahubali to his private office, where detailed records were kept. To the daimyo's surprise, Baahubali read through years of sentencing decisions in less than an hour, his eyes scanning pages with incredible speed.
"You do have a system," Baahubali acknowledged. "But it has inconsistencies. Look—this man was sentenced to five years for theft of food to feed his family. This other man got two years for the same crime. The only difference is one stole from a noble, the other from a merchant."
"Stealing from nobility is a more serious offense."
"Why? Is noble property more valuable than merchant property? Or is it that nobles have more political power and demand harsher penalties?"
Tempura's jaw clenched. "You walk a dangerous line, stranger."
"I speak only truth. And truth can be uncomfortable." Baahubali set down the records. "Your system is better than none, Daimyo Tempura. But it could be better still. If penalties were truly standardized—theft is theft, regardless of victim—you'd have fewer appeals and more genuine rehabilitation."
"The nobles would never accept equal treatment."
"Then the problem isn't your justice system. It's that nobility believes itself above justice."
For a long moment, Tempura said nothing. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed—a harsh, barking sound.
"You're either very brave or very stupid. Most people wouldn't dare criticize the social order to a daimyo's face."
"I'm not criticizing—I'm observing. And offering suggestions, if you're willing to hear them."
"I'm willing. Speak."
They talked for hours, Baahubali explaining principles of reformative justice, of how punishment should aim to restore rather than merely punish, of how labor should rehabilitate skills that made prisoners valuable to society upon release.
When they finally emerged, Tempura looked thoughtful.
"I'll consider what you've said. No promises. But... I'll consider it."
"That's all I ask."
As they left Udon, Oden looked at Baahubali with newfound respect.
"You just told a daimyo his entire justice system was flawed. To his face. In his own region. And he thanked you for it."
"I spoke respectfully and offered solutions, not just criticism."
"Still! That took guts!"
"It took honesty. Daimyo Tempura strikes me as a man who values truth over flattery."
"How did you know that?"
"Because harsh men respect harsh truths. He governs sternly because he believes it's necessary. Show him a better way that achieves his goals more effectively, and he'll listen."
Kin'emon shook his head in amazement. "Every region we visit, you leave it better than we found it. Kuri has new farming techniques. Hakumai has economic restructuring ideas. Ringo witnessed masterwork smithing. Kibi discovered food as art. And now Udon is reconsidering its entire approach to justice."
"I simply share what seems obvious to me."
"That's the terrifying part," Denjiro said. "It's obvious to you because you've implemented these systems before. You've governed regions, managed resources, balanced justice with mercy. This is muscle memory—except instead of combat, it's civilization-building."
Baahubali was quiet, absorbing this observation.
"If that's true," he said slowly, "then I must have cared deeply about these things. Farming, smithing, cooking, justice—these aren't just skills. They're expressions of caring about people's wellbeing. Whoever I was, I wanted people to thrive, not just survive."
"That's what makes you dangerous," Ashura Doji said bluntly. "Not your strength—your compassion. Because compassion backed by capability is unstoppable."
As they made their way back toward the Flower Capital, completing the circuit of Wano, Kanjuro lagged behind once more.
His final report to Orochi was the longest yet:
I've witnessed the stranger transform every region of Wano. His influence is no longer subtle—it's overt, undeniable, transformative. Daimyos who barely tolerated each other now speak of implementing his suggestions. The people adore him. And Lord Oden has become his devoted student.
But I've identified weaknesses:
1) His amnesia causes genuine distress
2) He shows signs of emotional attachment to a forgotten wife
3) His honor is absolute—he will not act against his principles, even to save himself
4) His compassion is his greatest vulnerability—threaten innocents and he becomes predictable
Lord Orochi, we cannot defeat him through strength. We cannot out-think him through cleverness. But we can exploit his nature. Force him to choose between his principles and Wano's safety. Make him the villain to save the hero.
Awaiting your strategy.
And in the Flower Capital, reading these reports, Kurozumi Orochi smiled his serpent's smile.
"Perfect. I know exactly how to break him."
To Be Continued...
The tour of Wano nears completion, with each region transformed by the Shield of Dharma's presence. But in the shadows, serpents coil and schemes take shape. Baahubali has won the hearts of the people—but has he underestimated the poison that lurks in paradise?