Ronan snorted at that, thinking of affluenza. He counted it as a small fortune that no one tried to use that to excuse his actions. PTSD, yes.

"Depends on who you talk to. It means I'm rich. I'm not working out the conversion rate." He stared back at his current herd. The ones back home were all sleeping, perhaps forever if Ronan couldn't wake them. Ronan would give up all of his fortune to wake the sleepers and rebuild the place, then worry about bankruptcy later.

His smile thinned. He looked back at Ivar, eager to dash those thoughts away. "Trying? I'm going to beat someone up but not a poor, helpess cripple. Don't you dare let me down."