In terms of pure, unadulterated fame, Dark King Rayleigh's name naturally carried more weight.
After all, Rayleigh was a living legend.
He was the former right hand of the Pirate King, Gol D. Roger.
Following Roger's execution, the remnants of his crew had gradually faded into obscurity, slipping away from the public eye.
But now, one of them had suddenly resurfaced in a spectacularly violent fashion.
And sharing the front page with the Dark King was the name Cyrus.
For the general public, the name might have seemed unfamiliar at first glance. But for veterans of the sea, the memory clicked instantly.
This was the same young man who had dominated an entire dedicated issue of the World Economy News Paper not too long ago.
The East Blue Pirate Hunter: A man who looked incredibly young but possessed apocalyptic strength.
The Marine Challenger: He had boldly clashed with two Marine Admirals shortly after his debut.
The North Blue Menace: He had utterly dismantled Don Chinjao of the Happo Navy and single-handedly destroyed dozens of underground islands in the North Blue.
Yet, the most glaring mystery remained: The Marine Headquarters still hadn't issued a bounty for him.
This glaring omission left the world wildly speculating about Cyrus's true identity and backing.
And now, this absolute wildcard had cornered a living legend on the Sabaody Archipelago.
But what was the result of the duel?
Millions of people flipped frantically through the newspaper, searching the back pages, but they couldn't find a definitive victor.
All Morgans had provided were terrifying, high-altitude photographs taken by fearless News Coos.
The pictures showcased a deserted island that had been fundamentally reshaped, and massive, jagged sword scars etched deep into the indestructible cliffs of the Red Line.
...
Area 13, Sabaody Archipelago
Inside the Rip-off Bar, Shakky casually tossed the morning edition of the newspaper onto the counter in front of Rayleigh, a lit cigarette dangling from her lips.
"Your little spar made the front page," she noted smoothly.
Rayleigh picked it up, glancing over the apocalyptic photos.
"I figured this would happen the second I saw Morgans's birds circling us."
He didn't look surprised in the slightest.
"Even if Cyrus leaves today, it's going to be very difficult for us to stay on Sabaody," Shakky sighed, stubbing out her cigarette in an ashtray.
She leaned her elbows on the bar, looking seriously at her husband.
"Where should we go next?"
"We'll figure it out when the time comes," Rayleigh replied calmly.
He knew she was right.
The Great Pirate Era was in full swing. Countless arrogant rookies were pouring into the Grand Line, desperate to make a name for themselves.
An old, retired legend with a massive bounty was the ultimate stepping stone.
Even if he slaughtered the first ten crews that came for his head, twenty more would follow. The trouble would never end.
Just as a rare look of weariness crossed Rayleigh's face, the Den Den Mushi in his pocket began to ring.
Puru puru puru! Ka-cha.
"Rayleigh! Did that crazy kid actually give you trouble?!" Crocus's booming voice immediately blasted through the receiver.
"Yeah, he came looking for trouble," Rayleigh sighed, massaging his temples.
"But it's a different kind of trouble than you're thinking. Although... it's still a massive headache."
"That kid is no simple character. I sensed a monster in him the second he sailed into my lighthouse," Crocus warned, before pausing. "Wait, the paper didn't list a winner. Where are you now?"
"Still on Sabaody. He's probably going to keep violently bothering me for a while," Rayleigh grumbled.
"You know, Crocus, as my former crewmate, I really think you should sail over here and share some of this physical burden for me."
Ka-cha.
Crocus instantly hung up.
Rayleigh stared blankly at the dead snail in his hand.
Before he could complain, the bell above the bar's entrance jingled.
Cyrus strolled in, looking completely refreshed, with his three crewmates trailing behind him.
"It's time for round two, Dark King!" Cyrus grinned eagerly, his hand resting on his sword hilt.
"I'm an old man. My recovery isn't as fast as you freaks of nature," Rayleigh groaned, his gums literally aching at the sight of the kid.
"Oh, stop pretending. With a monstrous physique like yours, you definitely fully recovered after a good meal and a nap," Cyrus fired back. Noticing Rayleigh's sour expression, he added a sweetener.
"Look, once I actually learn the technique, I promise I'll never bother you again."
It was an offer Rayleigh physically couldn't refuse.
If he said no, he had a sinking feeling Cyrus would just start destroying the archipelago until he was forced to step in anyway.
With a heavy sigh, the Dark King stood up, grabbed the sword Shakky silently handed him, and followed Cyrus out the door.
Shakky watched them leave, a helpless smile on her face.
'This bar was so comfortable to run.'
'If we have to move, will we ever find a place this nice again?'
...
"Pops! Pops! Look at this! It's news about the Dark King!"
On the massive deck of the Moby Dick, Marco the Phoenix waved the newspaper excitedly as he ran toward the captain's massive chair.
As a veteran who had clashed with the Roger Pirates countless times in his youth, Marco was intimately familiar with Rayleigh.
The Dark King had been his primary opponent during those legendary three-day skirmishes.
"Gurarararara! Has that old bastard finally gotten restless in his old age?" Whitebeard laughed heartily, the sound vibrating across the deck before he even looked at the paper.
"No, Pops, that's not it. Someone actually picked a fight with him on Sabaody. It's that Cyrus kid from the East Blue! Didn't you say he was going to turn the Grand Line upside down?"
Whitebeard paused, setting down his colossal barrel of sake.
He took the newspaper from Marco, pinching the paper gently between two massive fingers, and squinted at the photographs.
"It really is the brat," Whitebeard muttered, genuine surprise in his voice.
He had a very deep impression of Cyrus.
You didn't just clash with two Marine Admirals on your debut and live to tell the tale without possessing terrifying potential.
"Who do you think will win, Pops?" Marco asked curiously.
"Gurarararara! It doesn't matter who wins, my son. It has absolutely nothing to do with us," Whitebeard laughed, casually tossing the paper back to Marco.
"Tell me, are Red Hair and Linlin still tearing each other's throats out?"
"Yes, Pops. The war is still raging. Should we sail over and join the fun?" Marco asked, a dangerous, expectant gleam in his eye.
Whitebeard rubbed his chin, genuinely tempted for a moment.
"Forget it. This isn't our war," the Emperor finally decided.
Getting involved meant shedding his sons' blood.
Besides, Shanks and Big Mom had been engaged in a brutal deadlock for weeks without either showing signs of faltering.
That red-haired brat was a true monster.
If the Whitebeard Pirates threw themselves into an Emperor-level meat grinder, even his strongest commanders would be in severe danger.
"Let the banquet begin!" Whitebeard roared, raising his sake barrel high.
Deafening cheers erupted across the Moby Dick.