Even the most cautious pirates would never refuse a basic request for a photo.
After all, most pirates set sail to chase the dream of becoming Pirate King and to find the One Piece.
Without fame, who would even know your name?
Of course, there were clever ones who used such opportunities to spread false information, misleading their future enemies.
There were all kinds of pirates—but none who ever refused a reporter.
However…
Ren wasn't a pirate, and his mindset was completely different.
The reason he didn't refuse was simple.
Red-Haired Shanks!
That man had once truly killed him. His Totem of Undying -1 had been consumed because of Shanks' relentless pursuit.
Clearly, such hatred wasn't something that could be settled by dying once.
At least, Ren didn't dare to assume it could.
The best option, really, was to find a place to lay low and grow stronger in secret.
The world was vast—there was no way the Four Emperors could keep their eyes on every corner of it all the time.
Especially since Shanks probably thought he was already dead.
But unfortunately, the nature of the Luck Balance almost completely cut off any chance for Ren to quietly train like a "Sword Saint of the Ten-Mile Slope."
Even without that, his crewmates wouldn't just wait around for him to hide.
Especially Zoro.
So—since they were already sailing the Grand Line, there was no point in thinking that way anymore.
If he kept taking on high-risk, high-reward adventures,
fame was only a matter of time—and once he became famous, Shanks would inevitably discover that he was still alive.
Even changing his face wouldn't help.
Because the Navy knew he was alive. Once they saw signs of his resurgence, they'd start targeting him.
Paradise would become a battlefield—he'd already expected it. The only reason it hadn't happened yet was because the Navy hadn't found him.
Even if he became troublesome enough for them to hesitate to deal with personally,
they could easily let Shanks do it for them.
That was precisely why Ren needed the position of Warlord of the Sea. He wasn't naïve enough to think that an alliance with the Marines would keep them from setting traps for him.
But at the very least, during his growth phase, within Paradise—the heart of Marine territory—
he needed to eliminate that overwhelming threat first.
And that meant obtaining the title of Warlord of the Sea.
That position couldn't be gained by mere recommendation—he needed reputation.
Without fame, even if Kuma relayed his request to the World Government, the decision-makers wouldn't give him a second glance.
In the end, the Warlord system was built on using pirates to counter pirates.
Strength was the threshold; reputation was the foundation beneath it.
One without the other meant nothing.
In short, anonymity could never fulfill his goal.He had to find a way to become famous—without letting Shanks immediately come after him.
The plan wasn't too complicated.
"Ah, so that's how it is! I thought you meant to sell me out, but it's like this, huh?Excellent, a simple agreement—I'll publish the article exactly as promised.Hiss—how marvelous! The future Warlord who dares to challenge a Yonko!"
The reporter, Hound, wrote with excitement, inspiration flooding his mind—completely ignoring the explosive collar locked around his neck.
He handed the draft to Ren for review, and after Ren confirmed there was no issue, Hound continued his work eagerly.
"Mr. Hound, I hope you'll wait patiently with us until it's time to release this exclusive story. Otherwise…"
Ren calmly waved the detonator in his hand—the meaning clear.
Either follow orders and release the article when they were ready or gamble his life to publish early.
But in truth, Hound never even considered defying him. This was an exclusive.
Even if other papers discovered Crocodile's death, they would have no idea who had killed him.
And none of them would have a story half as explosive as his!
"Zoro. Keep an eye on him."
Ren, still uneasy, assigned the most reliable man for the task—Zoro—to watch the World Economic Journal reporter.
Then, under Robin's arrangements, everyone quickly relocated to their new base.
A small three-story building.
From the window inside, one could see the silent streets of Nanohana.
Everyone had been terrified by the battle earlier. The destruction had shattered the limits of civilian imagination.
To them, Crocodile had been the hero who protected the city.
Now, that hero was dead.
So where was the surviving villain?
No one dared to find out. Families shut their doors tight. Fear lingered over the blood-red dusk that covered the city.
"How foolish. They still think Crocodile was a good man," Robin remarked.
"That's the gap of information—just like the fight I won," Ren replied, then looked around.
Nami, Nojiko, and the others were all watching him.
"First of all, since we took care of Crocodile ahead of schedule, this isn't the end. Those names on the list still need to be handled. Sunday, reassign the targets. You have seven days to resolve everything. As for what those 'problems' are, Sunday will explain."
Ren gave the general direction of their next move, then headed upstairs.
The third floor housed a large, luxurious conference room—completely unlike the desert's typical style. It was probably reserved for the organization's leader.
As the new boss of Baroque Works, Ren was entitled to use it.
He made a few preparations, then opened the window.
A crow had landed silently on the windowsill, its black feathers shimmering with an ominous aura.
Which was strange—why would there be crows in the desert?
However,
Ren wasn't surprised. He simply gestured inside.
"Not coming in? Haven't you been watching long enough?"
Whoosh—whoosh!
Wings flapped sharply. Several black crows suddenly flew in through the window, swirling together in midair—
until they converged into the shape of a man.
A bald man with pale skin, wearing a beak-shaped metal mask, appeared. His eyes were cold as he stared at Ren.
"You truly know quite a lot. Not everyone understands what crows represent."
"After all I've seen, what's one more secret?"
Ren sat openly in the boss chair, facing the man—the Commander of the Revolutionary Army—across the long table.
Two teacups steamed between them, filled to the brim—a simple gesture of hospitality.
A welcome.
"I arrived just in time," the man called Karasu said evenly. "I saw that dazzling strike. You're a Lightning Fruit user?"
His sharp gaze fixed on Ren.
"If that's true, why bother making a deal with the Revolutionary Army? You clearly had the power to defeat Crocodile yourself."
"In this world, when you know nothing about someone, there are only two ways to judge strength—fame and bounty.
Fame often correlates with bounty, and together they serve as the best measure of power.
But it's also dangerously misleading—not everyone's worth matches what's on paper."
Ren tilted his head, chin propped on one hand.
"The Warlords are a perfect example. Once they joined, their bounties stopped updating.
Crocodile's official bounty froze at eighty-one million Beli.
But as you saw yourself, his true power far exceeded that. Even five hundred million wouldn't be too high.
Caution is the key to surviving long in this world."
"Yet you still killed him. I don't even see a scratch on you," Karasu said, eyes narrowing with cold light.
"That's only because I have enough tricks—and never let him touch me," Ren sighed. "I know what you're worried about.
You suspect I'm a spy, a government agent… working for the World Government, right?"
Karasu tensed silently, every muscle taut.
"Relax. I have no hostility. As I said, I want to build friendship with the Revolutionary Army.
Because, truthfully, our enemies are the same."
Ren raised both hands in mock surrender, smiling faintly.
"On the Red Line, atop the world's summit, lies that so-called 'Nation of Gods.'
Within it stands Pangaea Castle, where the kings of every member nation gather.
There they gaze upon an empty throne guarded by twenty weapons—the symbol of a vow made eight hundred years ago by the First Twenty.
They hear one of the Five Elders declare that the empty throne is the center of the world,
a symbol of peace untouched by any single ruler.
Just as the world's highest authority lies jointly in the hands of the Celestial Dragons' supreme class—the Five Elders themselves—
so too does the world supposedly lack a single king… and no one may ever sit upon that throne."
Karasu remained silent, eyes narrowing further.
Ren's smile didn't fade. His voice turned low, almost prophetic.
"But who can say for sure? That so-called empty throne has always had a master.
The King of Kings. The God of Gods.
The hidden ruler who has reigned over the world for centuries unseen,watching from above as the world slowly falls into their grasp."
At that moment, Karasu's composure finally cracked. His pupils shrank sharply.
Gray-black mist began to spread across the room.
Ren, utterly calm, didn't flinch—meeting the man's glare head-on.
They locked eyes in silence.
After a long pause, the mist dissipated, and Karasu's hoarse voice finally broke the tension.
"You're definitely not from the World Government… but you're no ordinary ambitious man either."
He was shaken.
Utterly shaken.
When he had first arrived, Karasu had come with suspicion, wary because of Morley's words.
After witnessing that lightning strike that killed Crocodile, suspicion had turned to hostility.
He couldn't understand why Ren sought a deal. Maybe Morley's doubts had been right all along.
But now—hostility was gone. All that remained was pure shock.
Because the existence of the true ruler of the Empty Throne had always been the world's deepest secret.Even within the World Government, only a handful knew.
The Revolutionary Army had spent years chasing mere fragments of the truth—and even then, they couldn't be sure it was real.
Yet this man, who knew far too much, had spoken the truth so casually.
Who in the world was he?
(End of Chapter)