3 The Quartermaster #3

Perched on the creaky wooden bed, Blake winced as he carefully applied bandages to his tender ribs. It was a makeshift remedy, far from the professional care he would have preferred, but luxuries like medical assistance were nonexistent aboard the Cutthroat Pirates' vessel.

Even if there had been a doctor among them, Blake doubted they would spare the effort to tend to his injuries. It had been nearly an hour since the Tutorial System activated and assigned him his mission, and Blake wasted no time in utilizing the allocated five minutes for questions.

He bombarded the system with inquiries, though it only deigned to answer a select few, leaving him with a wealth of information.

First and foremost, he gleaned that the Tutorial System, true to its name, was a temporary aid rather than a permanent fixture. Its purpose was to facilitate Blake's integration into his new world, and it would supposedly vanish once its task was complete.

The system remained evasive when questioned about the exact timing of its disappearance, but it provided other pertinent details. For instance, Blake learned that the system was programmed to dispense a specific number of quests, each with predetermined rewards at specific intervals or checkpoints.

In the event of an emergency, an emergency quest would be issued, accompanied by appropriate rewards.

However, the system emphasized the slim likelihood of such occurrences, asserting that everything ultimately depended on Blake's own efforts to overcome challenges. No emergency quests would be issued unless he encountered a situation deemed impossible to surmount with his own means.

The essence of the system appeared to underscore the importance of hard work rather than providing Blake with effortless solutions. It seemed that all the rewards he would receive from the system were tools meant to aid in his growth, such as the body strengthening manual promised as one of the rewards for completing his current quest of eliminating the pirates.

Even upon receiving it, he would have to diligently study and apply its teachings to enhance his physical prowess. But Blake welcomed the challenge; toil and hardship, after all, often yielded the most meaningful growth, a principle instilled in him by his teacher in his former life.

As he finished tending to his bandages, Blake let out a weary sigh and reclined on the bed, gingerly nursing his injured ribs as he pondered his next move.

Yet, the pain proved too distracting for him to concentrate, prompting him to abandon any further deliberation and opt for some much-needed rest in hopes of expediting his recovery. However, before he could even close his eyes, the door to his room creaked open, and the grizzled quartermaster shuffled in.

Startled by the unexpected visitor, Blake's eyes widened as his hand instinctively crept toward the bellow. The quartermaster, perceptive as he was, caught the subtle movement, but instead of addressing it directly, he glanced around the room, his gaze settling on the shattered mirror and its scattered shards glinting in the faint light.

With a wry smile, the quartermaster settled into a creaky wooden chair, a cloud of smoke enveloping him as he leisurely puffed on his pipe. "You're finally up, lad," he remarked, his tone casual showing no concern.

"Thought ya might sleep through eternity there for a moment. Do ya even know how many days you've been out?" he inquired, the smoke swirling around him adding an air of mystery.

Blake met his gaze, a mixture of wariness and curiosity flickering in his eyes, but he remained silent, unsure of how much to reveal.

The quartermaster's sigh cut through the haze of smoke. "Want to play the silent, guarded type, do ya?" he mused, shaking his head in mild amusement. "Minding yer own business is fine an all, lad, but isolating yer self will make ya stand out in its own way, makes ya the first target of suspicion and the go-to scapegoat..." he advised his words carrying the weight of wisdom gleaned from years at sea.

Blake held the quartermaster's gaze unwaveringly. "You seem to manage just fine on your own," he remarked evenly.

The quartermaster chuckled, a grin spreading across his weathered face. "Aye, that's 'cause I'm built like a man-o-war and don't need anyone to watch my back," he quipped, his tone brimming with confidence. "But I'll be damned if the little whelp ain't got some sharp eyes," he added, eyeing Blake with a newfound interest, as if reassessing his worth.

"Tell me, lad, are ya curious to know what happened after ol' Jon knocked ya into dreamland?" he offered, his tone tinged with intrigue.

Blake's brow furrowed at the proposition. "And what's the price for that information?" he countered cautiously.

The quartermaster stared at him for a moment before erupting into hearty laughter. "You've got quite the imagination, lad," he chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. "What could ya possibly have that I'd want?" he continued, dismissing Blake's concerns with a wave of his hand.

Blake flushed slightly at the rebuke. While he was resolute and proud, he lacked the finesse for these sorts of pragmatic exchanges. Raised as a street orphan and later trained in martial arts by his mentor, he had little experience with the subtleties of negotiation or scheming, having zero experience in social exchanges.

Even as an adult, he joined the army and kept mostly to himself, focusing on his duties and training in solitude, making him honest to a fault.

The Quartermaster's smile widened at Blake's reaction. "Don't beat yourself up over it, lad. The fact that you're cautious means you're not as foolish as you appear. There might be hope for you yet," he remarked with a hint of encouragement. "Anyway, here's what went down..."

...

As the Quartermaster recounted the events, I couldn't help but furrow my brows in confusion. It wasn't Jon's demise at the hands of the captain that puzzled me the most; rather, it was the meticulous detail with which the Quartermaster described the scene.

He went to great lengths to narrate every interaction and exchange of words, even delving into the reactions they elicited. His attention to detail struck me as odd, considering he had taken the time to visit me and explain it all.

Why would he go to such lengths to provide so much detail? Was he attempting to deceive me by fabricating such a vivid account? But for what purpose? What could he possibly gain from distorting the truth? Before I could formulate a conclusion, the Quartermaster's voice broke through my thoughts.

"Look at ya, lad, wracking your brain trying to see through me," he said, a hint of amusement in his tone. "I'd wager yer conjuring up all sorts of wild theories," he added, chuckling to himself.

I sighed, meeting his gaze evenly. "I may not be clever enough to figure out your exact motives, but even I can sense there's a message you're trying to convey," I replied calmly. "So, please, spare me the effort and save yourself the time by telling it to me straight," I added.

The Quartermaster regarded me with a peculiar expression. "Well, well, sure enough, yer not as daft as you appear. Admitting to yer shortcomings suggests there's hope for you yet," he remarked, his grin resembling that of a predator sizing up its prey.

I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to his praise than met the eye. Something about the way he smiled set off alarm bells in my mind. 'What's with all the compliments...? This old fart is definitely up to something, and it's probably nothing good..." I thought to myself, making a concerted effort to conceal my suspicions.

The quartermaster's disappointment was palpable as he observed me. "Yer suspicions are so obvious, though ya might try to hide them, lad... you'll have to do a better job of hiding yer emotions and thoughts if you want to last long on this ship," he remarked, shaking his head in dismay.

"I suppose there'll be plenty of opportunities for you to learn. But first, let me ask ya this," he continued, his tone shifting to a more serious note. "Why do ya reckon the captain disposed of Ol' Jon after he had his way with ya?" he inquired, a sly grin playing on his lips.

I couldn't help the twitch in my eye at the quartermaster's choice of words. 'Had his way with me...? This old man sure has a way with words...'

...

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