Chapter 211: The Purpose of Rules
Night hung over the city like a heavy curtain.
Helen was dozing in the passenger seat.
John gripped the steering wheel as the car entered their familiar neighborhood.
The streetlights cast a dim yellow glow over the quiet, empty road.
As they passed the final intersection, John's gaze lingered for the briefest moment.
Just a moment.
Everything looked normal.
Yet something felt... wrong.
He deliberately slowed his breathing.
His heartbeat, however, ticked upward on its own.
His pupils narrowed beneath the streetlights, while the muscles in his shoulders and forearms quietly tightened.
It was the unmistakable sensation...
...that someone was watching them from the darkness.
This instinct had been forged through countless brushes with death.
Ethan had always envied John's ability.
He had even tried observing the world through Mind Vision, hoping to discover whatever "danger signal" John could sense.
He had seen...
Nothing.
Even John himself couldn't explain it.
"Most of the time, I don't actually see anything."
"I just know."
Only later had Ethan realized the truth.
The subconscious observed far more than the conscious mind ever could.
Minute changes in light.
The movement of air.
Silence that didn't belong.
His brain had already registered them long before they reached conscious awareness.
Much like breathing...
Or a heartbeat.
You don't consciously control them.
You simply trust the results.
The car rolled to a stop in front of the house.
The engine shut off.
Helen stirred awake, rubbing her hair as she unfastened her seat belt.
Just as she reached for the door...
John caught her wrist.
"Wait."
He offered no explanation.
He simply stared at the front door.
The porch light was on.
Yet everything felt unnaturally still.
Even the air itself seemed heavy.
John's fingers tightened.
"Stay in the car."
Helen's eyes instantly cleared.
"What happened—"
Before she could finish...
John was already outside.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Instead of walking straight toward the entrance, he slowly scanned the surroundings.
The rooftop.
The window ledges.
The shadows across the street.
The reflections on the parked cars.
Then...
He saw it.
A nearly invisible wire stretched across the bottom of the doorway.
It was impossibly thin.
Pulled perfectly taut.
John's expression turned ice cold.
Without hesitation, he stepped backward, spun around, and shouted—
"Get down!"
Helen was already diving beneath the dashboard before he finished speaking.
The next instant—
BOOM!!
The front door exploded apart.
Flames burst outward from inside the house as the blast wave hurled John through the air.
He hit the ground, rolled, and slid behind the rear of the car.
Glass rained down like a storm.
Fire illuminated the entire street.
Gunfire erupted almost immediately.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Bullets slammed into the car doors, showering sparks.
More rounds tore over the roof.
Keeping low, John moved along the vehicle with one hand already drawing his pistol.
A gunman peeked out from behind a parked car across the street.
Bang! Bang!
One bullet struck the chest.
The second hit the head.
The man collapsed.
John never paused.
He sidestepped forward.
Another attacker changed position and opened fire.
Using the car door as cover, John dropped low, slid out—
One shot.
The bullet tore through the man's shoulder.
His weapon flew from his hand.
John closed the distance instantly.
The muzzle pressed against the man's forehead.
Bang.
Clean.
Efficient.
Dead.
A third assailant rushed out from a nearby alley.
John spun.
Two shots struck the man's chest.
The attacker staggered backward.
John walked over...
...and calmly fired one last round into his head.
Footsteps echoed in the distance.
Someone was retreating.
John didn't pursue.
He slipped back into the shadows.
He stood perfectly still.
Listening.
Breathing.
The sound of engines gradually faded into the distance.
Within only a few minutes...
The street was silent once more.
Flames consumed the house.
Their home.
John slowly returned to the car, opened the driver's door, and sat behind the wheel.
Helen was already sitting upright.
She wasn't panicking.
She simply looked at him carefully.
"Are you hurt?"
John shook his head.
She immediately checked his shoulder and side.
No bullet wounds.
Only superficial scrapes.
Then she lifted her eyes toward the burning house.
The fire reflected in them.
"...Was it them?"
John stared into the flames.
"Yes."
It had been a probe.
Once discovered, the attackers withdrew immediately.
Clearly...
This wasn't meant to end tonight.
Police sirens wailed in the distance.
Helen quietly fastened her seat belt again.
Without hesitation, she said,
"Take us to the Continental."
John was silent for a second.
Then nodded.
"Okay."
The engine came back to life.
The car pulled away from the burning ruins.
The flames grew smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror.
---
It was already late at night when they arrived at the New York Continental.
The lobby was quiet.
Its thick carpet muffled every footstep.
Crystal chandeliers bathed the room in warm light.
Charon stood behind the reception desk, greeting every guest with flawless courtesy.
The moment he saw John and Helen...
His eyes darkened almost imperceptibly.
He bowed.
"Good evening, Mr. Wick."
Then turned to Helen.
"Mrs. Wick."
"Our house was blown up."
John's voice remained perfectly calm.
Charon paused for half a second.
"We are deeply sorry to hear that."
"We'll need a suite."
"Certainly."
After a few keystrokes, Charon nodded.
"Your room is ready."
At that moment...
Several men dressed in black suits entered the lobby.
John turned.
His brows instantly knitted together as his hand drifted toward the pistol at his waist.
The newcomers approached without the slightest concern.
Several pairs of eyes settled on John.
One of them...
Deliberately lingered on Helen.
"What a shame."
The leader smiled.
"I heard Mr. Wick's house..."
"...wasn't built very sturdily."
John said nothing.
Helen had also noticed them.
The man continued smiling.
"Fortunately, Mrs. Wick wasn't hurt."
"Otherwise..."
"...Mr. Wick would have been heartbroken."
Silence filled the lobby.
John stared at the man like a predator fixing its eyes upon prey.
The man kept talking.
"But really..."
"If you weren't around..."
"...Mrs. Wick would be much safer."
"So which is the greater act of love?"
"Keeping your wife by your side..."
"...and putting her in danger?"
"Or leaving her..."
"...so she can live safely?"
The air froze.
Helen's fingers tightened.
John slowly walked toward the man.
"Mr. Wick—"
Charon began.
Too late.
John's fist landed.
The crack of breaking bone echoed through the lobby.
The others instantly drew their guns.
None of them dared fire.
John slammed the man face-first onto the marble counter.
A second punch.
A third.
Blood splattered across the carpet.
Someone inhaled sharply.
Charon remained where he stood.
He spoke only once.
He did not interfere again.
John drew his pistol.
The muzzle pressed against the man's forehead.
Then Winston's voice echoed from the staircase.
"Put the gun down."
Men in tailored suits poured into the lobby, every hand resting on a concealed weapon.
The other gunmen immediately lowered theirs and raised their hands.
John grabbed the wounded man by the collar and turned to face Winston, the pistol never leaving his target's forehead.
"John."
"Listen to me."
Winston raised a hand.
"Put down the gun..."
"...and walk away."
The man spat blood onto the floor.
"That's right."
"You don't dare pull the trigger."
He looked toward Helen.
"You'd better keep your wife locked inside the Continental for the rest of her life."
"As long as she—"
Bang!
The gunshot thundered through the lobby.
The man's head exploded.
Blood sprayed across the marble.
Winston's raised hand slowly fell.
He stared in disbelief.
"...What have you done?"
John was silent for a moment.
Then he lowered the pistol.
"You told me..."
"'Put down the gun, then walk away.'"
He had done exactly that.
Winston looked toward Helen.
She stood perfectly straight.
There wasn't the slightest trace of fear on her face.
After a long sigh, Winston finally spoke.
"Your suite is ready."
"But beginning tomorrow..."
"...things are going to become very complicated."
---
The following morning...
The door to Rayne Clinic opened.
Ethan walked inside while looking down at his phone.
"Morning."
Without looking up, he headed straight for the reception desk.
He had assumed today would be an entirely ordinary morning.
He was wrong.
Helen's warm greeting was absent.
The aroma of fresh coffee was gone.
An invisible weight hung over the clinic.
Natasha stood with her arms crossed, her expression cold.
Helen sat quietly on the sofa.
Her face was pale...
...but composed.
John stood by the window.
And in the center of the lobby...
Two additional figures waited.
Both wore immaculate black suits.
Winston.
Manager of the Continental.
And Charon.
Its concierge.
Ethan stopped walking.
"...Morning."
He looked around the room.
"Why does it feel like everyone's about to hold a meeting?"
No one laughed.
His eyes immediately found John.
"What did you do yesterday?"
Winston answered instead.
"Mr. Wick..."
"...killed a man inside the Continental last night."
Everyone wore grim expressions.
Ethan stood there for a second.
"...Oh."
He paused.
Then asked,
"So..."
"What did the guy do to deserve it?"
Charon calmly summarized everything that had happened.
After hearing the story, Ethan's expression remained unchanged.
"That's it?"
Winston looked at him.
Ethan shrugged.
"Is that really such a big deal?"
"I'll just bring him back to life."
Then John can kill him again outside the hotel, he silently added to himself.
The lobby fell into absolute silence.
Helen slowly looked up at him.
Natasha let out a quiet sigh.
A faint smile appeared on Winston's face.
"Doctor."
His tone remained as courteous as ever.
"The High Table's rule is..."
"...No killing."
He paused deliberately.
"Not..."
"...No leaving people dead."
Ethan blinked.
"But if nobody stays dead..."
"...then technically nobody was killed."
Winston's gaze deepened.
"If we're going to interpret the rules that way..."
"...then Santino D'Antonio's Blood Marker was never truly fulfilled either."
The room instantly became still.
John instinctively looked toward Ethan.
Ethan frowned.
"That's different."
"How is it different?"
Winston asked.
Ethan opened his mouth.
Then stopped.
His brows furrowed.
He began thinking with complete seriousness.
Everyone in the lobby waited.
"Uh..."
"Well..."
"That was..."
"...a special case."
Winston raised an eyebrow.
"And what, precisely, made it special?"
Ethan thought for what felt like forever.
A dozen contradictory lines of logic fought each other inside his head.
Finally...
He looked up.
"Give me a minute."
"If I organize my thoughts properly..."
"I'm sure I can explain it."
Someone burst into laughter.
It was Natasha.
Winston didn't laugh.
He merely shook his head.
"Doctor."
"Your gift is extraordinary."
"But..."
"...the authority to interpret the rules..."
"...does not belong to you."
The words seemed to freeze the very air.
Then Winston turned toward John.
"There is now an international open contract on your life."
"The bounty currently stands at fourteen million dollars."
"It was issued by the High Table."
John asked calmly,
"The High Table?"
Winston nodded.
"And the Continental?"
Winston met his eyes.
"You killed a man inside the hotel, John."
"You left me no choice."
"According to the rules..."
"...I am obligated to place a bounty on you..."
"...and declare you excommunicado."
"From this moment onward..."
"...every service provided by the Continental is closed to you."
He paused before adding quietly,
"I'm sorry."
"All of your privileges within the Continental have been revoked."
Ethan interrupted.
"What exactly does excommunicado mean?"
Charon answered calmly,
"It means you're blacklisted by the global network."
"All services are terminated."
"Your status and identity within the system become invalid."
John looked at Winston.
"If that's the case..."
"...then why are you still here?"
"Because I don't believe you're going to die."
Winston answered without hesitation.
"You still have one hour."
"I can't delay this any longer."
"According to the rules..."
"...Mr. Wick will officially become excommunicado in one hour."
"The bounty will be released on the hour."
He glanced at his watch.
"Fifty-eight minutes remain."
The room grew so heavy it felt difficult to breathe.
"Wait."
Ethan suddenly frowned.
"You just said the High Table is targeting John."
"Why?"
No one answered.
Ethan slowly turned toward John.
"They tried placing people inside the clinic."
"We refused."
"Then your house was bombed."
"And now there's a bounty."
He shook his head.
"This isn't about the rules."
"They're trying to get into the clinic."
Silence.
But no one denied it.
Only then did Ethan truly understand.
The High Table wasn't really after John.
Their target...
...was Rayne Clinic.
First infiltration.
Then a probe.
Now they were using the rules to eliminate John legally.
John would lose the Continental's protection.
Helen would lose the safest place available to her.
The clinic would lose its strongest defender.
And then...
Someone else could take his place.
A new security chief.
A new administrator.
A new order.
It wasn't...
"If you can't beat them, join them."
It was...
"If you can't join them... dismantle them."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
Natasha frowned.
"...Do you all feel that?"
John's eyes settled on Ethan.
Ethan said nothing.
He simply stood there.
Deep within his pupils...
...a faint trace of darkness quietly flickered.
He walked over to John.
"Don't worry."
"Excommunicado doesn't apply to our clinic."
Winston and Charon exchanged a glance.
Neither of them refuted his statement.
Ethan looked at John.
"So..."
"They blew up your house again?"
"Yeah."
"They threatened you?"
"No."
"Then have you completely lost your mind?"
John met his gaze.
"They threatened Helen."
Ethan fell silent.
...Fair enough.
For someone as devoted to his wife as John...
That was absolutely unforgivable.
"But couldn't you have waited?"
"Or figured out another way to kill them after they left the hotel?"
At worst, Ethan thought, I could've used mind control to lure them outside before dealing with them.
Clean.
Simple.
No complications.
John didn't answer.
"Just stay here."
Ethan gestured around the clinic.
"No one is getting into this place."
John shook his head.
"I can't."
"You'll be hunted by the entire world!"
"Yeah."
"Then why are you—"
"I can't bring the battlefield here."
Helen stepped forward.
"Ethan."
Her voice was as gentle as ever.
"If John stays here..."
"...everything becomes far more complicated."
Ethan remained silent.
Natasha spoke as well.
"Right now..."
"They're only targeting John."
"If he stays..."
"...everyone here becomes a target."
John took one step closer.
"Don't worry."
"I'll kill enough of them..."
"...that the rest won't dare come."
Ethan:
"..."
Okay.
You win.
Winston checked his watch again.
"Forty minutes."
Ethan suddenly sighed.
"...Fine."
"You go alone."
John nodded.
Ethan shrugged.
"It's not like it's a huge problem."
"If you die..."
"...I'll just bring you back."
The corner of John's mouth twitched ever so slightly.
He walked toward the door.
Before leaving, he looked back at Winston.
"Tell them."
His voice carried neither anger nor excitement.
He was simply stating a fact.
"I will kill..."
"...every single person who comes to kill me."
Winston gave a slow nod.
"I'm sure you will."
The door opened.
Morning sunlight spilled into the lobby.
John walked out.
At that moment...
The undercurrents hidden beneath New York finally erupted into a storm.
Ethan remained standing where he was.
Shadow flowed silently around his fingertips.
At that instant...
He realized something.
Rules...
...were never meant to be obeyed forever.
The true purpose of rules...
...was to ensure that everyone understood the price of breaking them.
Want faster updates? Send those stones my way—the more, the merrier. Read early at [email protected]/A_divin5