Crocodile was dead.
Undeniably, death had come for him—robbing him of life, even binding his very soul.
After truly sealing away the man's spirit, Ren finally exhaled in relief.
That abrupt, unexpected battle had disrupted nearly all of his carefully laid plans. Without question, it had been a situation far beyond his calculated moves—an extremely perilous deviation from his game board.
One small misstep could have meant his own death and defeat.
And that was no exaggeration—Crocodile really did possess that level of power.
For opponents like Zala and Galdino—those who could at best trade a couple of blows with Ren before his recent power-ups—facing Crocodile's Sand-Sand Fruit abilities and the endless cycle of erosion was a hopeless mismatch.
If Ren wasn't mistaken, Crocodile's Suna-Suna Fruit had already reached the point of awakening.
His current weakened state was purely a result of having lost faith in himself.
He rarely used Haki, and even his Devil Fruit powers lacked the terrifying scale that should've matched an awakened Logia.
In Ren's eyes, the most likely explanation was simple—Whitebeard had shattered his confidence.
Self-doubt had corroded him from within, and his strength had decayed accordingly.
Yes—The Crocodile of this era was in the sharpest decline of his life.
In the original timeline, after being defeated by Luffy and losing his obsession with Pluton, he had displayed tremendous might during the Marineford War—crossing blades with Mihawk, ambushing Akainu, delaying Ace's execution… practically one of the main forces on the battlefield.
If it had been that Crocodile…
Ren would've been utterly powerless against him.
Of course—He wasn't.
And if Crocodile had retained that level of strength, Ren wouldn't have even bothered coming to Alabasta in the first place.
Even so, Ren had used every method, every stratagem, and every hidden card Crocodile couldn't have known—plus the assistance of a few allies—just to barely seize a single opening.
He'd managed to weaken Crocodile with Seastone, robbing him of his Logia intangibility… and finally ended the battle with a devastating thunder strike that erased his fighting capability.
But that victory wasn't luck.
It was hard power, careful calculation, and maybe a sliver of fortune intertwined.
That last lightning strike—the one that annihilated Crocodile—Only a monster like Big Mom could have endured it head-on.
For someone like the original Mr. 1, Daz Bonez, that thunder would've vaporized him on the spot.
Looks like it's time to start taking Haki seriously, Ren thought, his mind already reviewing the battle and weighing what he had gained and lost.
Crocodile's body hadn't been monstrous like Big Mom's.
The only reason he hadn't been turned to ash outright was his use of Armament Haki.
And not even advanced Armament Haki at that.
That alone proved just how formidable the power of Haki truly was—an essential threshold for every strong fighter.
Conveniently, Ren's Golden Roulette had recently granted him "Armament Haki Aptitude." It was time to begin establishing his own Haki system.
He knew he wasn't a prodigy by nature—but who said he couldn't buy talent?
Armament Haki Aptitude is a talent, sure—but look at the description carefully."After fusion, the user acquires aptitude for Armament Haki. If the user already possesses it, the new aptitude will stack and enhance the existing talent."
So what if I draw multiple Armament Aptitude cards? Could I become a Haki genius?
Three days to grasp basic coating, seven to learn full-body hardening, fifteen to project Haki outward...In thirty, maybe I could master Ryuo—or internal destruction itself.
And if I integrate it with Qi through code scrolls, I could merge both systems entirely...
Ren's thoughts scattered like lightning, quickly forming a rough blueprint for his next evolution.
Not only Armament Haki—Observation Haki could follow the same path of enhancement.
As for Conqueror's Haki… he wasn't sure if the Golden Roulette even contained such a prize.
A Hundred Million-Beli tier wasn't exactly cheap—but not impossibly high, either.
That was a matter for later. Ren didn't linger in the crater, lost in thought.
Now came the matter of fame.
I'll borrow your name for a bit… Crocodile.
Ren seized the corpse by the collar and, with a flutter of his four wings, soared out of the massive pit.
At this moment—
The streets below were deserted, yet the air buzzed with unrest.
From the shadows of houses, corners, and alleys, the people of Nanohana caught sight of the fallen Desert King's corpse.
Even without his head, his identity was unmistakable from that iconic attire.
"Lord Crocodile!"
"The Desert King… has fallen…"
Some among the crowd covered their faces and wept, grief flooding the streets.
But others… were ecstatic.
"Hah! This is huge news! A Warlord of the Sea is dead! Dead—and perfectly reported!"
The one shouting wasn't a looter or a thug. Around his neck hung a camera Den Den Mushi. A red-nosed man grinned wildly.
He was an employee of the World Economic Journal—codename: Hound.
Of course, that wasn't his real name.
He'd adopted it to symbolize his fanatical devotion to hunting the truth.
And thanks to that zeal, he'd risen from a small-time journalist on the Grand Line to a member of the world's most influential news organization.
Hound's lifelong dream—
Was to repay the man who'd once recognized his potential and brought him into that great empire of truth—President Morgans!
After all, entry into the Journal was no simple feat—the screening process was terrifyingly strict.
Especially for field correspondents. Every single one needed exceptional skill and experience.
It was precisely because of those reporters—and their president's creed of pursuing truth—that the World Economic Journal became the most influential newspaper in the world.
They'd published legendary comics like Warriors of the Sea: Sky, and countless reports on pirates, Marines, and epoch-defining incidents.
To people everywhere, the "World Economic News" was absolute authority.
No one questioned its authenticity.
Rumor said even the World Government couldn't stop the Journal from printing the truth.
Hound had once taken immense pride in that.
Once.
Because he hadn't produced a major headline in one year, seven months, three days, and seven hours.
In that time, he'd sunk into agony—ashamed of betraying his president's faith, his dream, and his youth.
In desperation, he'd even disguised himself to sneak aboard merchant vessels, smuggled himself across the Grand Line, suffered robberies, shipwrecks, and starvation—all for a story worthy of the front page.
But he never let the flame of journalism die.
At last, clinging to his final shred of hope, he arrived in Alabasta.
By then, he'd already decided: if he couldn't uncover a major story involving the Warlord Crocodile…
He would resign—and end his life to atone for failure.
But then—
He found hope.
At first, he thought it was just another one of Crocodile's routine operations. Maybe he'd catch a few lightning flashes, a little fire, enough to bluff a "dramatic scoop."
He never imagined—
That an unknown, four-winged angel would kill Crocodile himself!
A Warlord of the Sea!
One of the seven who stood above the masses of the world!
Slain by a man no one had ever heard of.
At least… not exactly.
Digging through his memory, Hound could recall only one figure who matched that description—The man who had forced the Yonko Red-Haired Shanks to fight to the death—Demon Ren!
But that couldn't be right. The figure in the records had only two wings—and had supposedly been killed by Shanks.
Still, that didn't matter.
Eyes blazing with mania, Hound sprinted toward the site where the four-winged angel had descended.
He didn't care what awaited him—whether a lightning bolt would fry him instantly, or whether he'd be met with hostility or horror.
None of that mattered.
So long as he could fulfill his dream—repay his president's trust, honor his youth—
Even if he left his hundred kilos of flesh behind… so be it!
"For truth!"
Hound shouted at the top of his lungs, charging toward the battlefield as the stunned citizens of Nanohana looked on.
Years later, whenever he reminisced about that moment, he would always say—
"That run beneath the setting sun… was the last sprint of my youth."
The past was gone, the future yet to come—but in memory, youth remained eternal, burning bright and unregretted.
And then—
Ren witnessed one of the strangest sights in his life.
A grown man came running at him, tears streaming down his face, and slid on his knees before grabbing Ren's leg with both arms.
"Boss! Please—let me interview you!"
If not for the absence of killing intent—and the camera Den Den Mushi hanging from the man's neck—Ren might have assumed he'd come for revenge.
"What the hell are you doing? Let go!"
Flames surged around Ren, making the stranger yelp and roll backward, scrambling to a safe distance.
After catching his breath, Hound spoke in a rapid-fire yet perfectly clear tone, quickly explaining his identity and purpose.
Clearly, this wasn't his first time pulling a stunt like this.
"An interview? Fine. But we do it my way."
Ren looked down coldly at the man—barely one meter eighty tall, practically a potato next to him—and his words left no room for refusal.
It wasn't exactly the cautious behavior one might expect from a careful man.
But in this world, that kind of exposure wasn't unusual.
As the saying went—"Man fears fame like pigs fear fattening."
Still, in the world of pirates, few shunned the spotlight.
In fact, countless pirates practically begged to be photographed or interviewed—Boasting so freely that their leaked information often led directly to their capture and downfall.
(End of Chapter)