Part I: The Island of Screams
God Valley materialized from the mists like a wound torn in the fabric of the world. The island shouldn't have existed—appearing once every few years, visible only to those with the knowledge or misfortune to seek it. Today, it existed for one purpose: a hunting game for the world's self-proclaimed gods.
The Oro Jackson approached the island's western shore, its crew tense with anticipation. Roger stood at the bow, his usual grin muted by something in the air—a wrongness that even his optimistic nature couldn't ignore.
"This place feels rotten," Rayleigh observed, his hand resting on his sword. "Like the island itself is diseased."
"That's because it is," Scopper Gaban replied, lowering his spyglass. "Look at the banners on the eastern shore. World Noble crests. Dozens of them."
Baahubali stood apart from the others, his eyes closed, his breathing measured. Over the past ten years, he'd learned to extend his Observation Haki to extraordinary distances, feeling the presence of living beings like ripples in still water. What he felt now made his blood run cold.
Fear. Desperation. Pain. Terror so profound it echoed across the island like a scream made tangible.
And beneath it all, the presence of children. So many children.
His eyes snapped open, and Roger immediately noticed the change. The captain had learned to read Baahubali's moods over their years together—the subtle shifts in posture that preceded storms of violence.
"Baahubali," Roger said carefully. "What do you sense?"
"Children," Baahubali replied, his voice tight with controlled fury. "Hundreds of them. Running. Terrified. Being hunted like animals."
The crew went silent. They'd all heard the rumors about what happened at God Valley—the "Native Hunting Competition" where Celestial Dragons practiced their marksmanship on human targets. But hearing it confirmed, feeling it made real...
"We should avoid the eastern shore," Rayleigh suggested, though his jaw was clenched. "If the Celestial Dragons are there—"
"I know," Roger interrupted. He looked at Baahubali with genuine concern. "I know what you're thinking. But if we interfere with the World Nobles, there's no going back. The entire World Government will hunt us to the ends of the earth."
"They already hunt us," Baahubali said quietly.
"Not like they would if we touch the Celestial Dragons. They'd send everything—Admirals, CP0, the full might of the Marines. Our journey would end before we reached the New World."
Baahubali was silent, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles had gone white. The crew could feel his Conqueror's Haki beginning to leak out, a pressure that made the air itself feel heavy.
Roger stepped closer, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder. "I understand. Gods know I want to burn this whole island down too. But we need to be smart about this. We came here because we heard Rocks D. Xebec was planning something big. If we can stop him, maybe we can end this another way."
It was a weak argument, and everyone knew it. Stopping Xebec wouldn't save the children currently being hunted.
Baahubali took a deep breath, forcing his Haki back under control. "You are right, Captain. I will... I will control myself."
But even as he said it, something else was happening. Beyond the range of normal Observation Haki, beyond even his Future Sight, Baahubali felt something different. Not a vision of what would be, but a certainty of what must be.
A child. A boy. Dying to protect others.
His heart clenched, and in that moment, he knew he couldn't walk away.
"I'm going to patrol the western shore," Baahubali announced, his tone allowing no argument. "To ensure we're not ambushed. I'll meet you at the central plateau in three hours."
Roger's eyes narrowed. He knew Baahubali well enough to recognize a half-truth. "Baahubali—"
"Three hours, Captain." Baahubali met his gaze steadily. "I give you my word I will not start a war we cannot finish. But I cannot stand idle if innocents need aid."
It was the best compromise Roger was going to get, and he knew it. "Three hours. Not a minute more. And if you get into trouble—"
"I will signal with my Conqueror's Haki. You'll feel it across the island."
Before anyone could protest further, Baahubali moved. Not with the Tandava Step—that would draw too much attention—but with a straightforward sprint that nonetheless carried him across the beach and into the forest so fast he seemed to vanish.
Rayleigh sighed. "He's going to do something reckless."
"I know," Roger replied. "But I also know we can't stop him. When Baahubali sees injustice against the helpless..." He shook his head. "His sense of righteousness is absolute. It's one of the things I admire most about him. And one of the things that terrifies me."
"If he attacks a Celestial Dragon—"
"Then we'll deal with the consequences together. We're a crew, aren't we?" Roger's grin returned, though it was strained. "Besides, maybe he'll just scare them a little. Baahubali can be very intimidating when he wants to be."
In the forest, Baahubali ran with purpose, his Observation Haki stretched to its limits. He could feel them now—a cluster of presences, small and frightened, huddled in a clearing. And approaching them, larger presences filled with cruel anticipation.
He pushed himself faster.
Part II: The Boy Who Wouldn't Fall
Bartholomew Kuma was nine years old, and he was going to die.
He'd known it from the moment he stepped in front of the other children, spreading his massive arms to shield them from the men with guns. At nine, he was already larger than most adults—a quirk of his bloodline that had made him useful as a laborer but also made him a target.
The Celestial Dragons preferred their hunting game to be challenging, after all.
"Well, well," sneered the World Noble in his bubble helmet, his jeweled pistol aimed at Kuma's chest. "This one has some spine. How amusing."
Behind Kuma, six other children trembled. He knew their names, had played with them in the brief moments between work shifts when the overseers weren't watching. Little Mira, who was only five. The twins, Kai and Kana. Old Ren—"old" at twelve, ancient by the standards of children who rarely lived past their teens in slavery, Ivankov and Ginny who are trying to stop Kuma to don't this reckless thing.
"Run," Kuma whispered to them, not taking his eyes off the Celestial Dragon. "When I fall, you run as fast as you can."
"Kuma, no!" Mira sobbed. "Please, don't—"
"I said run!"
The Celestial Dragon laughed, a sound like broken glass. "Oh, this is precious. The little beast thinks he's a hero. Let's see how heroic you feel with a bullet in your gut."
He pulled the trigger.
The shot caught Kuma in the shoulder, spinning him halfway around. Blood sprayed, and the children behind him screamed. But Kuma didn't fall. His father's last words echoed in his mind—words spoken with his dying breath after trying to defend Kuma's mother from these same monsters.
"Never stop smiling, son. Even when the world is cruel. Especially then. A smile is the last thing they can't take from us."
So Kuma smiled. Blood running down his arm, body trembling with pain and fear, he smiled.
And stepped back in front of the children.
The Celestial Dragon's expression twisted with rage. "You dare? You DARE to still defy me?!"
He fired again. And again. And again.
One bullet caught Kuma in the leg. Another grazed his side. A third punched through his other shoulder. Each impact drove him back a step, but he wouldn't fall. Couldn't fall. Not while the children still needed him.
"Remarkable pain tolerance," observed one of the CP9 agents flanking the Celestial Dragon, his voice clinical. "The subject continues to resist despite severe trauma. Recommend termination and moving to next target."
"No," the Celestial Dragon hissed. "I want to see him break. I want to watch the hope die in his eyes."
He aimed at Kuma's head just like how he killed his father.
Kuma closed his eyes, his smile never wavering. If this was how he died—protecting others, standing for something—then maybe his life had meant something after all. Maybe his father would be proud.
The shot rang out.
But the pain didn't come.
Kuma opened his eyes to see the impossible.
A man stood in front of him, tall and powerful, wearing a long coat that billowed in the wind. The bullet—still visible, suspended in mid-air inches from the man's forehead—fell harmlessly to the ground, flattened against an invisible force.
"You are brave, young one," the man said, his voice carrying an authority that made even the Celestial Dragon step back. "But you need not die today."
Baahubali had arrived.
He'd seen the boy's defiance through his Observation Haki, felt the purity of purpose in that child's heart. A boy willing to die to protect others, expecting no reward, no recognition, just doing what was right because it was right.
It reminded him of something. Some fragment of a memory—himself, perhaps, in another life, making the same choice.
"Who—who are you?" Kuma whispered, his legs finally giving out. Baahubali caught him gently, lowering him to the ground.
"A traveler. Nothing more." Baahubali's eyes—dark and infinite—met Kuma's. "You have done enough, child. Rest now. Let me handle this."
He stood, and the temperature seemed to drop ten degrees.
The Celestial Dragon had recovered from his initial shock and was now trembling with rage. "You! You DARE to interfere with my sport?! Do you know who I am?!"
"I know what you are," Baahubali replied, his voice cold enough to freeze flame. "Vermin. A creature that preys on the helpless because you are too weak to face true opponents."
The CP9 agents tensed, their hands moving to weapons. There were eight of them—elite fighters trained from childhood to protect the World Nobles. They'd killed pirates with bounties in the hundreds of millions.
They looked at Baahubali and felt, for the first time in their professional careers, the primal instinct to flee.
"Kill him!" the Celestial Dragon shrieked. "Kill him now! And make it slow!"
The CP9 agents attacked as one, moving with the superhuman speed of Rokushiki masters. Tempest Kick slashes cut through the air, finger pistol strikes aimed at vital points, iron body techniques enhancing their durability.
Baahubali didn't move.
The attacks hit him—all of them, simultaneously, a barrage that would have shredded a normal person into meat.
He stood unmoved, his Armament Haki forming an Iron Fortress that their techniques couldn't penetrate. The Iron Body masters felt like they'd punched solid steel. The Tempest Kick slashes dissipated against his skin like waves against a cliff.
"Is that all?" Baahubali asked quietly.
Then he moved.
His hand shot out, and one of the CP9 agents—a man who could move faster than sight—found himself lifted off the ground by his throat. Baahubali's grip was inescapable, his Armament Haki flowing into the man's body.
"You have spent your life serving monsters," Baahubali said, his voice carrying across the clearing. "You could have used your strength to protect. Instead, you chose to enable cruelty. Your power is wasted on you."
He threw the agent—not at the others, but straight up. The man flew fifty feet into the air before gravity reclaimed him. He hit the ground and didn't move.
The other seven CP9 agents attacked together, coordinating with the precision of years of training. It didn't matter.
Baahubali flowed through them like water through reeds. His movements were the Tandava Step—unpredictable, rhythmic, impossible to track. Each strike he delivered carried Advanced Armament, bypassing their Iron Body techniques to strike at internal organs.
In fifteen seconds, all seven were on the ground, alive but broken.
The Celestial Dragon stared in horror, his jeweled pistol shaking in his hand. "You—you can't! I'm a World Noble! I'm descended from the creators of this world! You can't touch me!"
Baahubali's eyes met his, and the Celestial Dragon saw his death written there.
"Your lineage means nothing to me," Baahubali said. "Your titles are empty words. You are not a god. You are not special. You are simply a man who has been allowed to commit evil without consequence."
He raised his bow—the magnificent weapon crafted from Adam Wood—and an arrow materialized, formed entirely of Haki. Golden-black lightning crackled along its length.
"That ends today."
The Celestial Dragon screamed for help, and help answered.
From deeper in the island, more CP9 agents appeared—dozens of them, along with five more World Nobles and their entourages. They'd heard the commotion and come to investigate.
One of the newly arrived Celestial Dragons—a woman in elaborate robes—looked at the scene with disgust. "What is this? Some slave trying to play hero?" She turned to her guards. "Kill him. Kill all of them. Leave the bodies as a warning."
Baahubali's arrow began to glow brighter.
"Children," he called out, not taking his eyes off the approaching enemies. "Close your eyes. Cover your ears. Do not watch what happens next."
Kuma, still conscious despite his injuries, tried to protest. "But you're outnumbered—"
"I am never outnumbered," Baahubali replied. "Not when I fight for righteousness."
He released the arrow.
It multiplied in mid-flight, splitting into dozens of identical projectiles, each one seeking a different target with unerring accuracy. The CP9 agents tried to dodge, tried to use Iron Body, tried to deflect.
It didn't matter.
The arrows struck true, and elite fighters—men and women who'd spent their lives training to be weapons—fell like wheat before a scythe. Not dead—Baahubali had controlled the force precisely—but broken, their bodies pierced in non-lethal locations that nonetheless left them utterly incapacitated.
In five seconds, forty-three CP9 agents were neutralized.
The Celestial Dragons stood frozen in shock.
Then the woman who'd ordered the attack found her voice. "You... you DARE?! Do you know what you've done?! The World Government will hunt you to the ends of the earth! They'll kill everyone you've ever known! They'll erase your very name from history!"
"My name," Baahubali said, walking toward them, "is Amarendra D. Baahubali. And I will not be erased."
His Conqueror's Haki exploded outward.
The pressure was unlike anything most of the onlookers had ever felt. This wasn't just the Haki of someone with kingly ambition—this was the will of a man who had ruled, who had commanded, who had held the fate of millions in his hands and guided them with wisdom and strength.
Even without his memories, that will remained absolute.
CP9 agents who'd been trying to rise collapsed back to the ground, unconscious. The Celestial Dragons' servants—people with no combat training, just ordinary humans—fainted immediately, their minds unable to process the sheer weight of that presence.
Even the World Nobles themselves fell to their knees, their bubble helmets cracking from the pressure.
"Impossible," one of them whispered. "Only... only those with the strongest wills can resist Conqueror's Haki of this magnitude..."
Baahubali stood over them, and for a moment, he looked like something out of legend—a warrior king from myth, radiating power and absolute judgment.
"You treat human lives as entertainment," he said, his voice cutting through the silence. "You torture children for sport. You claim divine right while acting with demonic cruelty."
He placed his foot on the head of the Celestial Dragon who'd shot Kuma—the one in the bubble helmet who'd laughed at a child's pain.
"I am going to teach you something your privilege has let you forget."
His foot pressed down, slowly, inexorably. The Celestial Dragon screamed, his hands scrabbling at Baahubali's boot, his bubble helmet cracking under the pressure.
"You are not gods. You are not untouchable. You are flesh and blood, capable of pain and fear and death, just like the people you've tormented."
The bubble helmet shattered. The Celestial Dragon's screams reached a fever pitch.
"Stop!" one of the other World Nobles shrieked. "Please! We'll give you anything! Money, Devil Fruits, we'll free the slaves, just please—"
"Your offers come too late," Baahubali replied. "You had every opportunity to show mercy, to choose compassion, to use your power for good. You chose cruelty instead. Now you will face the consequences."
His Conqueror's Haki intensified, and several of the kneeling World Nobles began to bleed from their noses and ears, the pressure becoming physical.
The woman who'd ordered the initial attack tried one more gambit. "The Holy Knights will come for you! Saint Garling himself will hunt you down! You'll—"
Baahubali's hand moved to his sword.
The draw was faster than thought. One moment the blade was sheathed, the next it had traced an arc through the air, a slash enhanced with Advanced Conqueror's Haki that split the very atmosphere.
The attack didn't strike the Celestial Dragons directly. Instead, it carved through the mountain range behind them—three peaks, each over a thousand feet tall, sliced cleanly through their midsections. For a moment, nothing seemed to happen. Then, with a sound like the world ending, the mountaintops slid free and crashed to the ground, creating an earthquake that shook the entire island.
The Celestial Dragons stared in absolute horror.
"Your Holy Knights," Baahubali said calmly, sheathing his sword, "can come whenever they wish. I will be waiting."
Then he returned his attention to the man beneath his foot. The one who'd shot a child. The one who'd laughed at innocent suffering.
"Any last words?"
The Celestial Dragon, his face pressed into the dirt, could only whimper.
"I thought not."
Baahubali's foot came down with finality. There was a sickening crunch, and the World Noble's head caved in like a rotten melon, brain matter and blood spreading across the ground.
The silence that followed was absolute.
A Celestial Dragon—one of the untouchable World Nobles, descendants of the creators, the self-proclaimed gods of this world—lay dead, killed by a pirate's boot like a common insect.
Then Baahubali turned to the remaining World Nobles, his sword singing free of its sheath once more.
"Run," he suggested. "Or join him. The choice is yours."
They ran. Or tried to. But Baahubali was faster.
His blade flashed, and heads rolled. One after another, the Celestial Dragons fell—not to grand battles or epic duels, but to simple, efficient execution. They died as they had lived: helplessly, at the mercy of someone stronger.
When it was done, six World Nobles lay dead, their blood soaking into God Valley's cursed earth.
Baahubali stood among the corpses, his coat splattered with blood, his expression serene.
Behind him, Kuma and the other children stared in shock and awe. They'd never seen anyone stand up to the World Nobles, let alone kill them. It was like watching a man challenge the sun itself and win.
"Are they... are they really dead?" one of the children whispered.
"They are," Baahubali confirmed. He turned to them, and his expression softened. "And you are safe. For now." He knelt beside Kuma, examining the boy's wounds. "You were very brave. Your father would be proud."
"You... you know about my father?"
"I can sense such things. He died protecting someone, didn't he? Just as you tried to do today." Baahubali placed a hand on Kuma's shoulder. "That kind of courage is rare. Treasure it. Let it guide you, but do not throw your life away needlessly. The world needs people like you."
Before Kuma could respond, Baahubali's head snapped up. His Observation Haki had detected new presences approaching—powerful ones.
From the eastern shore, drawn by the commotion and the tremors from the falling mountains, came some of the most dangerous pirates in the world.
Charlotte Linlin—Big Mom—stood at over twenty feet tall even in her relative youth, her eyes wide with shock as she took in the scene.
Beside her, a young Kaido—not yet the monstrous dragon he would become, but already formidable—stared at the dead Celestial Dragons with disbelief.
And leading them, drawn by curiosity and the scent of chaos, came others. Shiki the Golden Lion. Silver Axe. Captain John.
Members of the Rocks Pirates, the crew that had come to God Valley seeking the ultimate prize and instead found something entirely unexpected.
"Is that..." Big Mom's voice trailed off as she recognized Baahubali. "The Shield of Dharma?"
They'd knew him, of course. Everyone had. The mysterious warrior who sailed with Gol D. Roger, who'd never been defeated in single combat, whose sense of justice was legendary even among pirates.
Rocks D. Xebec himself had spoken of Baahubali with unusual respect, calling him "a man who could shake the world if he ever truly committed to it."
But hearing about him and seeing what he'd done were very different things.
"He killed them," Kaido breathed. "He actually killed the Celestial Dragons."
"Not just killed," Shiki corrected, his eyes sharp. "Executed. Look at the precision. One cut per head. This wasn't rage—this was judgment."
Big Mom's expression shifted from shock to something like hunger. "Captain Rocks is going to want him for the crew. A man who can do this? Who isn't afraid of the World Government? He'd be perfect for—"
She stopped as Baahubali's eyes met hers.
Those dark eyes—ancient and terrible—held no fear. No hesitation. Just cold, absolute certainty.
And something else. A rage that went deeper than anger, beyond fury, into a place where emotion became elemental force.
His Conqueror's Haki pulsed once, and even these monsters—future Emperors of the Sea—felt their knees weaken.
"Leave," Baahubali said simply. "Or I will add you to the corpses decorating this island."
It wasn't a threat. It was a statement of fact, delivered with such conviction that even pirates who'd never backed down from anything felt the urge to comply.
Big Mom actually took a step back before catching herself. "You think you can take all of us?"
"I know I can." Baahubali's hand rested on his sword. "The question is whether you're willing to pay the price to find out."
The tension stretched like a wire about to snap. These were the strongest pirates of their generation, used to being the apex predators. Being spoken to like this should have enraged them.
Instead, they felt something they'd almost forgotten: uncertainty.
Kaido's hand moved to his kanabo. "Big Bro Rocks respects you, but—"
"Then perhaps Rocks is wiser than his subordinates," Baahubali interrupted. "I did not come to God Valley to fight pirates. I came because I sensed children in danger. That mission is complete. If you wish to challenge me, do so. But know that I will not hold back, and your captain will lose valuable crew members over nothing but pride."
"He's right," came a new voice, and everyone turned.
Edward Newgate—Whitebeard—emerged from the forest, his massive frame carrying his signature bisento. Unlike the others, he seemed more contemplative than aggressive.
"I felt your Conqueror's Haki from across the island," Whitebeard continued, addressing Baahubali directly. "That kind of power, used to protect children rather than conquer territory... you're an interesting man."
"I am a simple man," Baahubali replied. "I see injustice, and I correct it."
"By killing World Nobles?"
"By doing what is necessary."
Whitebeard studied him for a long moment, then laughed—a deep, booming sound. "I like you! You've got conviction that I admire about you Baahubali! But you've also just declared war on the entire World Government. The Holy Knights will come. The Admirals will come. They'll throw everything at you."
"Let them." Baahubali's expression didn't change. "I do not fear their might, and I will not apologize for protecting the innocent."
"Even if it costs you everything?"
"I have already lost everything once," Baahubali said quietly, and for a moment, something ancient and wounded flickered in his eyes. "I do not remember the details, but I remember the feeling. What more can they take from me that hasn't already been stolen?"
The silence that followed was heavy with meaning. Here was a man with nothing left to lose, fighting for a principle rather than personal gain. In the cutthroat world of piracy, such purity of purpose was almost alien.
It was also terrifying.
Saint Garling Figarland emerged from the forest, his armor dented and smoking, his expression one of barely controlled fury. As commander of the Holy Knights and one of the strongest fighters in the World Government's arsenal, he'd been battling Rocks to a standstill.
Until Rocks had sensed Baahubali's Conqueror's Haki and abandoned their fight to investigate.
Now, seeing the dead World Nobles, Saint Garling's face went pale with rage.
"You..." His voice was ice given sound. "You dare? YOU DARE?!"
His Conqueror's Haki exploded outward, clashing with the ambient pressure from Baahubali. The sky above God Valley split, clouds parting as two supreme wills contested for dominance.
The silence that followed the crushing of Saint Rosward's skull was absolute. Not the peaceful quiet of a calm sea, but the terrible stillness that precedes a hurricane—the moment when even the wind holds its breath, waiting for devastation.
Blood pooled beneath Baahubali's boot, seeping into the cursed earth of God Valley. Brain matter mixed with dirt and the shattered remains of a bubble helmet that had once proclaimed its wearer's divine status. The other five Celestial Dragons lay in similar states of ruin, their heads separated from their bodies with surgical precision, their expensive robes soaked in their own blood.
Six World Nobles. Dead. Executed like common criminals.
No—worse than criminals. Criminals at least received trials. These had received only judgment.
Saint Garling Figarland stood frozen, his sword still half-drawn, his mind struggling to process what his eyes were showing him. In eight hundred years of history, in the entire recorded existence of the World Government, no one had dared to kill a Celestial Dragon and lived. A few had tried—pirates driven mad by rage or grief—but they'd been hunted down within days, their entire bloodlines erased from history as punishment.
But this... this was different.
Baahubali hadn't killed in the heat of battle. He hadn't struck in a moment of passion or desperation. He had executed them. Deliberately. Methodically. With the cold certainty of a man passing righteous judgment.
And he had done it with his foot.
That detail—that terrible, crucial detail—changed everything. A sword stroke could be explained as combat. An accidental death in a chaotic battle could be overlooked. But crushing a World Noble's head beneath your boot like an insect? That was a statement. That was a declaration.
It said: You are not gods. You are beneath me.
"Impossible," one of the surviving CP9 agents whispered, his voice cracking. "This can't be happening. The Dragons are... they're untouchable. They're divine. They can't just... die like... like..."
"Like mortals?" Baahubali finished, his voice carrying across the clearing with terrible clarity. "But that is exactly what they are. Mortals. Flesh and blood and bone, no different from the children they were torturing. No different from you."
He lifted his boot, and the crushed remains of what had once been Saint Rosward came into full view. Several of the weaker-willed spectators vomited. Even hardened pirates—men who'd seen death in countless forms—turned away from the sight.
Charlotte Linlin, future Yonko and one of the most dangerous people alive, felt something she'd almost forgotten: a chill of genuine fear.
"He's insane," she breathed. "He has to be insane. Nobody in their right mind would do this."
"No," Whitebeard corrected, his eyes never leaving Baahubali. "He's completely sane. That's what makes it terrifying. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he did it anyway."
Kaido, still young but already monstrous in his own right, stared at the scene with something like reverence. "Captain Rocks said he could shake the world. I didn't understand what that meant until now."
Saint Garling's shock was transforming into something else—a cold, terrible fury that made the air around him crackle with Conqueror's Haki.
"Do you understand what you've done?" His voice was ice given sound, each word precise and cutting. "Do you comprehend the magnitude of your crime?"
Baahubali turned to face him fully, and Saint Garling saw something in those dark eyes that made his blood freeze. Not madness. Not rage. Just absolute, unwavering certainty.
"I understand perfectly," Baahubali replied. "I have killed six individuals who were using their power to torture innocents. I have ended six lives that were dedicated to causing suffering. I regret nothing."
"They were WORLD NOBLES!" Saint Garling's composure cracked, his voice rising. "Descendants of the twenty kings who created this world! Chosen by the gods themselves to rule over—"
"There are no gods here," Baahubali interrupted, his voice cutting through the Holy Knight's tirade like a blade. "Only people. Some choose to use their power to protect. Others choose to use it to prey upon the helpless. I have simply corrected an imbalance."
"You have declared war on the entire World Government!"
"No. I have declared that I will not tolerate the abuse of children, regardless of who commits it." Baahubali's expression didn't change. "If that puts me at war with your government, then so be it."
Saint Garling's mind was racing. The implications of this moment were staggering. If word spread that a single man had killed multiple Celestial Dragons and survived—if people learned that the World Nobles could be touched, could bleed, could die like any other human...
The entire social order would collapse.
Eight hundred years of carefully maintained mythology would crumble. The fear that kept the world in line would evaporate. Every slave would realize their masters were mortal. Every oppressed citizen would understand that the "gods" could be overthrown.
This couldn't be allowed to spread.
"Everyone here," Saint Garling announced, his voice carrying to every corner of the clearing, "is now a witness to the highest crime imaginable. The murder of World Nobles. By law, you are all complicit unless you assist in bringing this criminal to justice."
It was a calculated move, trying to turn the assembled pirates and even the Rocks crew against Baahubali. After all, harboring the killer of Celestial Dragons would bring the full wrath of the government down on everyone present.
But Saint Garling had miscalculated.
"Complicit?" Big Mom laughed, a sound like thunder. "You think we care about your laws? We're pirates!"
"Besides," Shiki the Golden Lion added, his eyes gleaming, "he did what we've all wanted to do. Killed the bastards who think they own the world. If anything, we should be thanking him."
Even members of the Rocks Pirates who had no love for Baahubali—who saw him as Roger's man and therefore an enemy—found themselves hesitating. Because what he'd done was spectacular. Impossible. The kind of defiance that pirates dreamed about but never dared attempt.
Saint Garling saw his gambit failing and changed tactics. His hand moved to a Den Den Mushi at his belt.
"Then you leave me no choice. I'm calling in reinforcements. Every Admiral, every fleet, every—"
The Den Den Mushi exploded in his hand.
Baahubali's arrow—formed of pure Haki and moving faster than sound—had struck with pinpoint precision, destroying the communication device without harming Saint Garling's hand.
"You will call no one," Baahubali said calmly, lowering his bow. "Not yet. First, we will settle this between us. You claim I have committed a crime. I claim I have enacted justice. Let our strength decide who is correct."
"You want to duel me? Now? After—" Saint Garling gestured at the corpses. "You've already shown you have no honor!"
"I have shown I have no respect for titles that are used to excuse cruelty," Baahubali corrected. "But I am willing to face you in single combat, if that is what you wish. Or you can let me leave, and we can both avoid further bloodshed."
Saint Garling's laugh was bitter. "Let you leave? After you've destroyed the fundamental myth that keeps this world stable? After you've shown that the World Nobles can be killed?" He shook his head. "Even if I wanted to, I couldn't. The Five Elders would never allow it. Lord Imu would—"
He stopped, realizing he'd said too much.
But Baahubali's eyes had sharpened at those names. "Five Elders? Lord Imu? More hidden rulers, I presume? More individuals who believe their power grants them the right to abuse others?"
"You know nothing of the true structure of the world!"
"I know that any structure built on the suffering of innocents deserves to be torn down."
Saint Garling's Conqueror's Haki exploded outward, and this time it wasn't just a display of power—it was a weapon. The pressure was so intense that trees cracked, the ground split, and even some of the stronger pirates fell to their knees.
But Baahubali stood unmoved, his own Conqueror's Haki rising to meet the challenge.
When the two forces collided, the sky above God Valley split open one again but this more powerful which shake the God Valley.
Not metaphorically—literally split, the clouds parting in a perfect line as two supreme wills contested for dominance. Golden-black lightning from Baahubali's Haki clashed with the pure black of Saint Garling's, creating a dome of pressure where nothing else could exist.
"I cannot let you live," Saint Garling said, his voice carrying absolute conviction. "Not because I want to kill you, but because the world cannot survive the truth of what you've proven today. If people learn that the Celestial Dragons are mortal, that they can be defied and defeated..."
"Then perhaps the world you're trying to protect doesn't deserve to survive," Baahubali replied.
Before they could clash again, a new voice cut through the tension.
"GARLING!"
From the eastern side of the island, where the main battle between the Rocks Pirates and the Marine forces was raging, came Fleet Admiral Kong. His uniform was torn and bloodied, his face grim with the knowledge of what had transpired.
"We have a bigger problem!" Kong shouted. "Rocks D. Xebec is pushing toward the Celestial Dragon compound! We need every fighter—"
"I don't care about Rocks right now!" Saint Garling snapped. "This man killed six World Nobles! He crushed Saint Rosward's head with his FOOT! If we don't make an example of him—"
"Then assign it to me," Kong interrupted. "Take the Holy Knights and whatever CP forces you need. I'll coordinate the defense against Rocks with Garp and Sengoku."
Saint Garling hesitated, his tactical mind warring with his fury. Kong was right—Rocks was the immediate threat, the danger that could kill dozens more Celestial Dragons. But letting Baahubali escape, letting this insult go unpunished...
"Fine," he said finally. "But I'm taking Garp. I need someone who can match this monster's strength."
"Garp is engaged with—"
"I don't care! Pull him off the line! This is priority one!"
As Kong moved to comply, Saint Garling turned his attention back to Baahubali—and found him gone.
"Where—"
"He moved toward the western shore," Whitebeard supplied helpfully. "Said something about tending to the wounded children."
Saint Garling's expression twisted with rage. The bastard had used their conversation as a distraction to escape!
"HOLY KNIGHTS!" he roared. "TO ME! CP9, CP0—ALL AVAILABLE FORCES! We're hunting a God-killer, and we will not rest until his head decorates the gates of Mary Geoise!"
From various points around the island, figures began converging. The Holy Knights—twelve of the strongest fighters in the World Government, each one capable of matching Vice Admirals in single combat. Members of CP9 and the even more elite CP0, assassins trained from childhood to be living weapons.
And at the center of it all, Saint Garling Figarland, commander of the God's Knights, his rage cold and terrible.
But as he prepared to give chase, a presence made itself known that gave even him pause.
A new presence suddenly blazed across the island—Conqueror's Haki so powerful it made the previous displays seem like candle flames compared to a bonfire.
"MAGNIFICENT!"
The voice was thunder given form, and everyone turned toward its source.
Through the trees came Rocks D. Xebec himself, his coat billowing, his eyes wild with manic glee. Behind him, the sounds of battle raged—explosions, screams, the clash of impossibly powerful forces.
"Amarendra D. Baahubali!" Rocks laughed as he approached, seemingly unconcerned with the chaos he'd left behind. "I knew you had it in you! I've been waiting for this! The man who could finally shake heaven itself!"
"Captain Rocks," Whitebeard said carefully. "The situation—"
"The situation is glorious!" Rocks spread his arms wide, gesturing at the dead Celestial Dragons. "Do you see what he's done? What we've all wanted to do but never dared? He's broken the fundamental rule that keeps this rotten world in balance!"
Rocks D. Xebec emerged from the forest, his coat billowing, his expression one of manic amusement. The man who'd been terrorizing the Marines and fighting multiple Admirals at once had abandoned his battle to witness this spectacle.
"Well, well," Rocks laughed, his eyes gleaming with something beyond mere amusement. "The Holy Knights, mobilizing in force. All for one man. I'm almost jealous!"
"Stand aside, Rocks," Saint Garling commanded. "This doesn't concern you."
"Doesn't concern me? DOESN'T CONCERN ME?!" Rocks' laugh grew louder. "The man just did what I've been threatening to do for years! He killed Celestial Dragons and lived! He's proven they're mortal! This concerns me more than anything!"
"Then you're a fool. Do you know what he's unleashed? What will happen when word spreads?"
"Revolution," Rocks said simply, his grin widening. "Chaos. The end of the old order. Everything I've been working toward." His expression grew more serious, more intense. "But you're wrong about one thing, Garling. Baahubali didn't unleash this. He just revealed what was always true—that your 'gods' are as mortal as the rest of us."
Saint Garling's hand tightened on his sword. "You know him. You've met him before."
It wasn't a question.
Rocks' grin returned. "Oh yes. We've met."
When Kings Collide (Flashback)
Three years earlier—an unnamed island in the New World
The island had no name on any map, just a rocky outcrop barely large enough to be called land. But it had one thing that made it valuable: a massive deposit of Sea Prism Stone, the rare material that could nullify Devil Fruit powers.
Two crews had arrived to claim it on the same day.
The Rocks Pirates—already the most feared name on the seas, a crew of monsters led by a man who openly declared he would overthrow the World Government itself.
And the Roger Pirates—still growing, still building their legend, but already making waves with their unconventional crew and their captain's impossible dream.
Rocks D. Xebec stood at one end of the beach, his coat billowing in the wind, surrounded by his officers. Whitebeard. Big Mom. Shiki. Captain John. Monsters, every one of them.
Gol D. Roger stood at the other end, grinning despite being outnumbered five to one. Beside him stood Rayleigh, Gaban, and the newest member who'd been making quite the reputation.
Baahubali.
"So," Rocks called out, his voice carrying across the beach. "You're the Shield of Dharma I've been hearing about. The warrior who fights for righteousness and all that noble garbage."
"I am Amarendra D. Baahubali," came the reply. "And I fight for those who cannot fight for themselves."
"Cute. Real cute." Rocks' grin was sharp as a blade. "Tell me something—do you know who I am?"
"You are Rocks D. Xebec. A pirate who seeks to overthrow the World Government and claim the world for himself."
"Close, but not quite right. I don't want to claim the world." Rocks' eyes gleamed with dangerous intensity. "I want to burn it down. The whole rotten system—the Celestial Dragons, the Marines, all of it. I want to tear it apart and build something new from the ashes."
"A noble goal," Baahubali acknowledged. "If your methods weren't soaked in innocent blood."
"Innocent?" Rocks laughed. "There are no innocents in this world! Everyone's complicit in the system, whether they know it or not! The slaves who serve the World Nobles, the civilians who pay taxes to the Marines, even the children who grow up learning that the Celestial Dragons are gods—they're all part of the machine that needs to be destroyed!"
"And you believe killing them all will somehow create a better world?"
"I believe you can't make an omelet without breaking eggs." Rocks took a step forward, and the temperature seemed to drop. "But that's not why I wanted to meet you. I wanted to see if the rumors were true."
"What rumors?"
"That you're different. That you're not just another pirate playing at heroism." Rocks' expression grew more serious. "I can feel it, you know. That presence you carry. It's not just Conqueror's Haki—it's something deeper. The weight of someone who's ruled, who's commanded, who's held absolute power and wielded it with wisdom."
Baahubali's eyes narrowed. "I remember nothing of my past."
"Doesn't matter. Your body remembers. Your will remembers." Rocks grinned. "You were a king once. A real king, not like those pathetic World Nobles who play at divinity. You ruled something great, something powerful. An ancient kingdom, maybe? One of the ones the World Government erased from history?"
The clearing went silent. Even Roger looked surprised—this was information he'd never heard before.
"How do you know this?" Baahubali demanded.
"Because I've studied history. The real history, the one the government tries to hide." Rocks' eyes gleamed. "There were kingdoms before the World Government. Great civilizations that rivaled or exceeded anything that exists today. And the government destroyed them all, wiped them from the records, because they represented threats to the new order."
"What does this have to do with me?"
"Everything!" Rocks spread his arms wide. "Don't you see? You're not just some random pirate with amnesia! You're a remnant of the old world, a king from a time before the Celestial Dragons claimed divinity! That presence you carry, that absolute certainty in your righteousness—that's the will of someone who ruled justly, who commanded with wisdom, who led a kingdom to greatness!"
"You're speculating."
"Am I?" Rocks' grin widened. "Then prove me wrong. Fight me. Show me what you've got. Let's see if the King of the Ancient World can match the man who'll tear down the new one!"
Roger stepped forward, his hand on his sword. "Rocks, we didn't come here to—"
"I accept," Baahubali interrupted.
"What?!" Roger spun to face him. "Baahubali, you can't be serious! That's Rocks D. Xebec! The strongest pirate alive!"
"Then this will be an excellent test of my abilities," Baahubali replied calmly. He turned to Rocks. "Single combat. No interference from either crew. We fight until one of us yields or cannot continue."
Rocks' laugh was pure delight. "Now you're speaking my language! Everyone—back off! This is between him and me!"
The two crews retreated to opposite ends of the beach, giving the combatants space. Whitebeard looked concerned. "Captain, are you sure about this? We don't know what he's capable of."
"That's exactly why I want to fight him!" Rocks' grin was manic now. "I need to know! Is he just another strong fighter, or is he something more? Something that could actually threaten my plans?"
On the other side, Rayleigh was having a similar conversation with Baahubali. "You don't have to do this. We can share the Sea Prism Stone deposit, or fight the whole crew together, or—"
"I need to know as well," Baahubali said quietly. "Rocks speaks of things that resonate with me, fragments that feel almost like memories. If fighting him can reveal truth about my past, then the risk is worth it."
The two warriors faced each other across a hundred feet of sand.
Then they moved.
The first clash created a shockwave that sent everyone watching staggering backward. Fist met fist, and the impact crater was thirty feet wide.
They separated and immediately engaged again, and the beach became their battlefield.
Rocks fought with a style that was pure chaos—unpredictable, overwhelming, incorporating techniques from a dozen different martial arts mixed with raw, devastating power. His Conqueror's Haki was among the strongest in the world, capable of knocking out thousands with a single pulse.
But Baahubali matched him.
Every wild strike was met with perfect technique. Every burst of Conqueror's Haki was countered with equal force. The Tandava Step made him unpredictable even to Rocks' battle-honed instincts.
"Yes!" Rocks laughed even as his nose bled from a palm strike that had bypassed his defenses. "YES! This is what I wanted! You're not just strong—you're PERFECT! The technique, the control, the absolute certainty in every movement!"
"You speak too much during combat," Baahubali observed, his own cheek cut from a strike he'd almost failed to dodge.
"I speak because this is glorious! Do you feel it? That resonance between us? We're the same, you and I! Kings from different eras, fighting across time!"
Their Conqueror's Haki clashed, and the sky split open.
The crews watching felt the pressure like physical weight. Even Whitebeard and Roger—both powerful in their own right—struggled to remain standing under the combined force of those two wills.
"Impossible," Big Mom breathed. "Captain Rocks is being matched. By a single opponent. I've never seen..."
"Neither have I," Rayleigh admitted. "Baahubali is fighting at a level I didn't know he possessed."
The battle raged for an hour. Neither man held back, both pushing themselves to their absolute limits. The island itself began to crumble under the force of their exchanges, chunks of rock breaking free and falling into the sea.
Finally, with one last, catastrophic clash—both men pouring everything they had into a single strike—they created an explosion so powerful it split the island in half.
When the dust settled, both warriors stood at opposite ends of the newly created chasm, breathing heavily, bodies covered in wounds.
Neither had fallen.
"Draw," Rocks called out, and despite his injuries, he was grinning. "Well fought, King of the Ancient World."
"I am not a king," Baahubali replied. "I am simply a man who seeks to do right."
"You can tell yourself that all you want." Rocks sheathed an imaginary sword—a gesture of respect between warriors. "But I know what I saw. In those moments when you stopped thinking and just acted, when your body moved on pure instinct—I saw a king. I saw someone who commanded armies, who made impossible decisions, who bore the weight of a nation on his shoulders and never bent."
Baahubali was silent.
"One day," Rocks continued, "you're going to remember. You're going to recall who you were, what you ruled, why you carry that absolute certainty in righteousness. And when that day comes, the world is going to tremble."
"And if I never remember?"
"Then you'll forge a new identity, a new purpose. But either way—" Rocks' grin widened, "—you're going to shake this world to its foundations. Just like me. Just like Roger. We're all going to tear down the old order and see what rises from the ashes."
"We are nothing alike," Baahubali insisted.
"Keep telling yourself that." Rocks turned to leave, his crew gathering around him. "But remember this—when you finally decide to stop holding back, when you commit fully to tearing down the system that creates the suffering you hate so much, come find me. We'll finish this fight. And then we'll burn the whole world together."
As the Rocks Pirates departed, taking half the Sea Prism Stone deposit as their prize, Roger approached Baahubali.
"That was intense. What did he mean about you being a king?"
"I do not know," Baahubali admitted. "But his words resonated with something deep inside me. Something I cannot explain."
"Well, whatever you were before doesn't matter," Roger declared. "You're part of my crew now. We'll figure out the past eventually. For now, let's just focus on the adventure!"
But Baahubali couldn't shake Rocks' words. They haunted him, those suggestions of ancient kingdoms and lost power.
And somewhere in the depths of his missing memories, something stirred.
Part III: The Hunt Begins
Present day—God Valley
Saint Garling's eyes narrowed as Rocks finished his story. "So you've known all along that he was dangerous. That he could challenge the World Government."
"I knew he had potential," Rocks corrected. "But I didn't know he'd actually do it. Killing six Celestial Dragons? Crushing one's head with his foot?" He laughed again. "That's commitment to righteousness I didn't think anyone actually possessed!"
"Then you're a fool. Because now we have to kill him, and you've given me valuable intelligence about his capabilities."
"Good luck with that." Rocks' expression turned serious. "You're going to need it. Because here's what I learned from fighting Baahubali—he doesn't have limits the way normal people do. When he's fighting for what he believes is right, his Haki doesn't deplete. His durability becomes absolute. It's like the universe itself bends to support his righteousness."
"That's impossible."
"So was killing six World Nobles and living to tell about it." Rocks shrugged. "But he did it anyway. Face it, Garling—Baahubali is something new. Something the world hasn't seen in centuries. And all your Holy Knights and CP agents might not be enough."
Saint Garling's jaw clenched. "Then I'll bring more. I'll bring everything the government has if necessary. Because he cannot be allowed to escape. The myth of the Celestial Dragons' divinity MUST be maintained."
"Why?" Roger's voice cut through the conversation, and both men turned to see him approaching, Rayleigh and Gaban flanking him. "Why does the myth matter more than the truth?"
"Because the truth would destroy civilization!" Saint Garling snapped. "Do you understand what would happen if people learned that the World Nobles are just humans? That they can be killed? Every slave would revolt! Every kingdom would question the government's authority! The whole world would descend into chaos!"
"Maybe chaos is what the world needs," Roger replied calmly.
"You would say that. You're a pirate. Chaos serves your interests."
"No. I'm saying that maybe a system that only works because people believe a lie isn't worth preserving."
Before Saint Garling could respond, Monkey D. Garp arrived, his Marine coat torn and bloodied. He'd been pulled from the battle against the Rocks Pirates, told only that there was an emergency requiring his specific skills.
"What's the situation?" he demanded. Then he saw the bodies. The dead Celestial Dragons. The crushed skull. "Oh no. No, no, no. Tell me Baahubali didn't—"
"He did," Saint Garling confirmed. "And now we're going to hunt him down and make an example that will echo through history."
Garp's face went pale. "Garling, you can't. He's— I know him. He's not a bad person. He was protecting children!"
"He killed World Nobles! The law is clear!"
"The law is also clear that Celestial Dragons aren't supposed to torture children for sport!" Garp shot back. "But they were doing it anyway! Baahubali just did what any decent person would do!"
"I don't care about decency! I care about order!" Saint Garling's Conqueror's Haki pulsed with his frustration. "Now, are you going to help me hunt him, or do I need to report you for insubordination?"
Garp and Roger exchanged glances. Both had the same terrible intuition—something worse than the deaths of six World Nobles was about to happen. Saint Garling's rage, his desperate need to maintain the myth, would drive him to extremes.
And Baahubali would not surrender peacefully.
"I'll come," Garp said finally. "But only to try to talk him down. To convince him to—"
"There will be no talking!" Saint Garling interrupted. "He dies today! That is the only acceptable outcome!"
As the Holy Knights began assembling—twelve warriors in armor that seemed to drink light, each one radiating power that made Vice Admirals look weak—Roger made a decision.
"We're going too," he announced.
Saint Garling turned to him. "This doesn't concern you, Roger."
"Baahubali is my crew. That makes it my concern."
"Then you'll be arrested as accomplices."
"You can try." Roger's expression was friendly, but his hand rested on his sword. "But I think you've got bigger problems than arresting me right now."
Saint Garling weighed his options. He could fight Roger here, waste time and resources on a battle that wouldn't advance his mission. Or he could focus on Baahubali and deal with Roger later.
"Fine," he said finally. "Follow if you want. But stay out of my way, or I'll kill you too."
The assembled force began moving toward the western shore—Saint Garling at the lead, twelve Holy Knights in formation behind him, CP9 and CP0 agents flanking, and reluctantly, Garp and Roger's crew bringing up the rear.
They moved with purpose, with rage, with the absolute certainty that they were about to make an example that would terrify the world into obedience for another eight hundred years.
They had no idea what was actually waiting for them.
Part IV: The Shield and the Innocents
On the western shore of God Valley, Baahubali knelt among the children he'd saved, tending to their wounds with gentle hands that seemed incapable of the violence he'd just enacted.
Bartholomew Kuma sat before him, wincing as Baahubali cleaned the bullet wounds. Beside Kuma were other children—some Baahubali recognized from the clearing, others he'd found along the way, freed from various Celestial Dragon "hunting grounds."
One of them was a boy with an enormous head and a perpetual smile, despite the horrors he'd witnessed. Another was a girl who kept touching her face, marveling that the slave brand was gone.
"How did you remove the marks?" Kuma asked, his voice filled with wonder. "Everyone says the Celestial Dragon seals can't be broken."
"They can be broken," Baahubali replied, his fingers glowing with precisely controlled Armament Haki as he worked. "It simply requires understanding how they were made and reversing the process. The seal is burned into the skin with a special iron. But Haki can penetrate to the deeper layers, stimulate healing, encourage the body to regenerate unmarked flesh."
It was a technique he'd developed instinctively, his body knowing what his mind couldn't remember. Somewhere in his lost past, he'd learned medical arts alongside martial ones.
"You're amazing," breathed the boy with the large head. His name was Emporio Ivankov, and he'd been entertaining other slaves with his ability to make faces until the Celestial Dragons had decided to make him their next target. "I've never seen anyone stand up to the Dragons like that! You crushed that one's head with your foot! It was incredible!"
"It was necessary," Baahubali corrected. "Not incredible. Never mistake violence for virtue, young one. I killed because no other option remained, not because I enjoyed it."
"But you weren't scared at all!"
"Fear is not the absence of courage. Courage is acting despite fear." Baahubali finished cleaning Kuma's wounds and moved to the next child. "Remember that. When you face injustice in your own lives, you will feel fear. Let it inform your caution, but do not let it paralyze your conscience."
As he worked, his Observation Haki remained active, stretched to its limits. He could feel the massive presence approaching from the east—Saint Garling and his forces, moving with murderous intent.
He could also feel something else. Other slaves, still trapped in various locations across the island. Men, women, children—hundreds of them, caged like animals, waiting for the "hunting game" to resume.
He'd saved these children. But what about the others?
"Kuma," he said quietly. "How many more slave camps are on this island?"
The boy's face fell. "I... I don't know exactly. But I heard the guards talking. They said there were thousands of us brought here. For the Celestial Dragons to hunt."
Thousands.
Baahubali closed his eyes, his jaw clenching. He'd killed six World Nobles. But hundreds more remained, and they had thousands of slaves to torment.
He could fight Saint Garling. Could probably even win, if he was willing to push himself to absolute limits. But that would take time. Time during which those other slaves would suffer. Time during which the Celestial Dragons who remained would continue their "games."
Unless...
"Children," he said, his voice firm. "I need you to listen carefully. I'm going to tell you where the other slave camps are located. Can any of you sail a ship?"
"I can!" Ivankov raised his hand. "I worked on my father's fishing boat before... before we were captured."
"Good. There are several ships at the docks—small vessels that the Celestial Dragons use for transport. I'm going to clear a path for you. You're going to take those ships and rescue everyone you can find. Bring them back here, to this shore. There will be a larger ship waiting—" he gestured toward a Celestial Dragon yacht he'd spotted earlier, "—and you will all sail away from this island as fast as you can."
"But what about you?" Kuma asked, his eyes wide with concern.
Baahubali smiled—a gentle expression that transformed his warrior's face into something almost peaceful. "I will ensure you have time to escape. There are powerful people coming, and they will want to stop you. I will not allow that."
"You're going to fight them alone?"
"I have fought alone before." Baahubali placed a hand on Kuma's head, ruffling the boy's hair. "But I need you to be brave. Can you do that? Can you help your friends escape?"
Kuma's eyes filled with tears, but he nodded. "I can. I will. I'll save everyone, just like you saved me."
"Good." Baahubali pulled out a small piece of paper—a Vivre Card he'd been given by Roger years ago. "Take this. When you're far from this island, when you're safe, this card will guide you to people who can help. They're pirates, but they're good people. Tell them Baahubali sent you. They'll protect you."
"But—"
"No more questions. Time is short." Baahubali stood, his presence seeming to expand as he prepared for what was coming. "Now go. Free everyone you can. And remember—"
He knelt down one last time, meeting Kuma's eyes directly.
"You are not cursed, Bartholomew Kuma. Your mother's death was not your fault. Your father's death was not your fault. You are a blessed child, chosen by fate to survive when others did not. Do not waste that blessing on guilt. Use it to help others, as you tried to help those children in the clearing."
Tears streamed down Kuma's face. "How did you know about my mother? About my father?"
"I can sense such things. The weight of grief, the burden of misplaced guilt—I know them well, even if I cannot remember why." Baahubali's expression grew distant for a moment. "In another life, I think I carried similar burdens. Perhaps that is why I recognize them in you."
He stood and raised his voice, addressing all the children. "Go now! Run to the slave camps, free everyone you can, and get to the ships! I will hold off anyone who tries to stop you!"
The children hesitated only a moment before running. Kuma looked back once, saw Baahubali standing tall and ready, and felt something crystallize in his heart.
If he survived this day, he would dedicate his life to protecting others, just as he'd been protected.
As the children disappeared into the forest, Baahubali turned his attention toward the approaching threat. His Observation Haki showed him the future—Saint Garling leading the Holy Knights, their formation perfect, their intent absolute.
They were coming to kill him.
He drew his sword and walked toward the shore, where a Celestial Dragon yacht sat at anchor. The vessel was enormous, gaudy with gold and jewels, clearly designed to showcase wealth rather than sailing efficiency.
It would serve perfectly as an escape vessel for the freed slaves.
As he approached, his sharp eyes spotted movement—three more Celestial Dragons, apparently trying to flee the island before the chaos intensified. They saw him and screamed, scrambling back toward their guards.
Baahubali's expression didn't change.
His blade flashed three times, faster than the guards could react. Three heads fell. Three more "gods" learned they were mortal.
The guards—CP agents by their uniforms—drew their weapons, but Baahubali's Conqueror's Haki pulsed once, and they collapsed unconscious.
Nine Celestial Dragons dead now. Nine cracks in the myth of divine invulnerability.
He could feel Saint Garling's rage intensifying, the Holy Knight's presence blazing like a malevolent star as he sensed the deaths of three more World Nobles.
Good.
Let him be angry. Angry opponents made mistakes.
Baahubali stood at the shore, his sword resting point-down in the sand, and waited.
Behind him, he could hear the children working—breaking locks, freeing slaves, organizing the chaos into something resembling an evacuation. Kuma's voice rose above the others, strong and certain, leading despite his young age.
The boy would be fine. Would grow to be someone remarkable, Baahubali suspected.
If they survived today.
His Observation Haki suddenly screamed a warning—an attack coming from inland, massive and deadly.
Saint Garling had arrived.
The slash came from over a mile away—a flying strike enhanced with Conqueror's Haki, aimed not at Baahubali but at the yacht. At the escape route.
The Holy Knight was trying to trap the freed slaves on the island.
Baahubali moved.
His own slash met Saint Garling's in mid-air, and the collision of two Conqueror's Haki-infused attacks created an explosion that sent waves crashing backward from the shore. The yacht rocked violently but remained intact.
And into the settling dust walked Saint Garling Figarland, twelve Holy Knights arrayed behind him, CP agents flanking like a army, and Garp and Roger bringing up the rear with expressions of deep concern.
Saint Garling's face was twisted with rage, his sword already drawn and crackling with black lightning.
"Amarendra D. Baahubali," he said, his voice echoing with Conqueror's Haki. "For the crime of murdering nine World Nobles, for the sin of defying the gods themselves, you are sentenced to death. There will be no trial. No mercy. Only execution."
Baahubali raised his sword, settling into a ready stance. Behind him, he could hear the children still working, still freeing slaves, still preparing the escape.
He just needed to buy them time.
"Then come," he said simply. "And we will see whose will prevails—your devotion to a corrupt system, or my commitment to righteousness."
Saint Garling's response was a wordless roar of rage, and the Holy Knights charged as one.
The final battle for God Valley had begun.
And somewhere above, watching through eyes that saw more than mortal perception should allow, an ancient being stirred in its throne.
Imu-sama, the secret ruler of the world, had felt the deaths of nine Celestial Dragons.
And had learned the name of the one responsible.
"Amarendra D. Baahubali," the voice whispered, echoing through the Empty Throne chamber where no one should sit. "A name from the past. A will that should have been erased. How did you survive? How did you return?"
But there was no answer, only the distant sounds of battle as heaven and earth prepared to collide.
To Be Continued...
The Shield of Dharma stands alone against the might of the World Government. Behind him, innocents flee toward freedom. Before him, the strongest warriors of the old order prepare to enforce its will. The question is not whether he can win—but whether the world can survive what happens when an unstoppable force of righteousness meets the immovable object of entrenched power.