"See, me, I can see both sides. You were half-right in saying Stormfront. I'm one of those mongrels in the middle, y'know. Yarmdon mother, Stormfront father. That's why I'm so much prettier than you lot, you see," Nolan went on.
When put like that, it certainly made sense. Nolan had a certain… refinement that most Yarmdon lacked.
"I see," Vol said.
"Wow, you've a stoic face, don't you? Did you grow up like that, or is that a recent occurrence?" Nolan prodded. "It's fine to smile if something is funny," he pointed to the drunkard before the fire, stripping off his clothes as the flames grew broader, gratefully holding his hands up to the heat. He laughed at him.
"See, now that is funny. Congratulations, stray dog, you've entertained me," Nolan said.
"Should I be pleased by that?" Vol asked, irritated by Nolan's demeanour.
Nolan shrugged. "Some might be. Women would be. Up here? Mm. Only my men. So eager to serve, so convenient."
"Your men?" Vol repeated, doubtfully.
Nolan puffed out his chest in pride. "Why, of course. What sort of leader doesn't have men to command?"
"How many?" Vol asked.
"Well, only a handful right now… Six… But they're a loyal bunch. They're definitely worth more than six. You're with Blackbeard, aren't you? I'd say my men are worth at least two of his?"
Out of the corner of his eye, Vol pulled up the interface, not believing a word that Nolan said. He looked at the youth through the lens of the System, to see what the Blessing of a God would make of him.
There, in bold red letters, he saw the truth. Level 20!?
He almost shouted his incredulity. This skinny twig? What was it about him? How on earth could he be level twenty? Vol was quite certain that he could take him in a fight. He felt no danger from him. Well, at least, not any more danger than he felt from Blackbeard's men. It didn't match his level.
!! SYSTEM ACKNOWLEDGEMENT!
THERE IS MORE TO THE LEVEL EVALUATION THAN INDIVIDUAL COMBAT ABILITY. OLIVER'S LEVEL OF 500 DOES NOT REFLECT HIS INDIVIDUAL COMBAT ABILITY. THAT MAN WOULD BE 200, AT MOST, IF IT WAS ONLY THAT.
Then what more did it reflect? Vol asked back. He received no answer, and had to stifle his sigh. More and more lately, it seemed as though the System was holding information from him. He had to actively fight, and riggle with it for it to tell him something new. He had to be exposed to unique situations like this one, where he found oddness, and then the System might step in to explain something to him.
"You're not going to ask me to prove it, are you?" Nolan asked. He sounded surprised.
"Let me shake your hand," Vol said, holding his hand out again, returning the gesture that Nolan had offered him earlier.
Nolan returned it, gladly. "Ah, see, even a man of barbarian descent can see the value in—ARGH! GODS MAN! IS THAT THUNDER IN YOUR FIST?"
Even as he howled out in pain, he didn't manage to stifle his eloquence. Indeed, as Vol squeezed harder, he seemed only to grow more poetic. That settled it. His strength, at least, was far superior to Nolan's. Not enough to shatter his hand, but enough to control it completely. That level 20 evaluation, it must have referred to something else. Vol let him go, thoughtful.
"Well, I suppose that's a better way of introducing yourself…" Nolan said through gritted teeth, as he worked life back into his hand. "Now I knew you were interesting… but I didn't know you were that interesting. How about it? Want to join my crew? We'd love to have you."
"Just like that?" Vol asked. He still hadn't gotten over Blackbeard forcing him to join his raiders so suddenly. How could these strangers so easily extend an invitation? Weren't warriors meant to be more than that? Wasn't it about blood, and honour? Did it not matter how much time you'd spent with a person, how well you knew them and got on with them?
"You're strong, I want to grow my group's strength, it seems like a no-brainer," Nolan said, cocking his head. "I can pay you. Two silvers a month. That's a grand rate, is it not? Two silvers, plus loot."
"Two silvers?" The number made Vol dizzy. He'd just thrown away a full silver earlier, and his heart had been pounding like he was in the midst of battle. How were these fighting folk always dealing with such large numbers. How was their world so different to the one that he'd slaved away in as a youth?
"Not enough? I can do four," Nolan said.
"How do you even have that much money?" Vol asked. "Are you paying all your men that?"
"I pay them what they're worth – and you're worth a considerable amount more than most. You needn't worry about whether I'm good for it either. Like you've got strength in your hands, I've got strength in my head, all my men are rich and well cared for, I assure you," Nolan said.
"I can't," Vol shook his head, despite the money. He'd already joined the Crooked-Tooth men. What kind of warrior would he be to switch his loyalty so easily?
"A shame," Nolan said. "But an expected one. Your loyalty only makes your worth go up in my eyes. Of all the men that came tottering in with Blackbeard, you're by far the youngest, did you notice that? And Blackbeard never comes back with weak men. There's merchant logic in this, that I don't suppose that rotted-tooth Raider understands. As an investment, you're worth far more than any of his other men."