Chapter 212: The Adjudicator
Day One after John left.
I miss him.
Day Two after John left.
I miss him.
Still miss him.
Day Three after John left.
I miss him.
I miss him.
I miss—
"That's enough!"
Helen finally snapped, slamming her palm onto the reception desk.
Even the pen holder rattled from the impact.
"That's my husband."
She fixed Ethan with a glare.
"I haven't even complained about missing him."
"So why are you the one acting lovesick?"
Silence filled the lobby.
Ethan slowly straightened up, hugging a throw pillow with an innocent expression.
"I... I'm just thinking about the team's safety."
Helen let out a cold laugh.
"Oh?"
"He's the clinic's head of security."
"Without him here, I don't feel completely at ease."
"When he is here," Helen shot back, pointing toward the consultation room, "you're the one who should be worried."
She folded her arms.
"Now stop talking about him in front of me and get back to work."
"Otherwise..."
"I'm going to start wondering whether you're trying to interfere with my marriage."
Ethan immediately shut his mouth.
Quietly, he retreated to his office.
To be fair...
John had left in perfect condition.
If anything, Ethan was more worried about the people hunting him than John himself.
Of course...
He also genuinely wanted to join the action.
Unfortunately...
Everyone else had refused to let him.
After John left, Rayne Clinic returned to business as usual.
At least on the surface.
The little cakes still sat on the reception counter.
The coffee machine faithfully brewed cup after cup.
The appointment schedule remained completely booked.
Everything looked exactly the same.
Yet Ethan couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing.
It was like...
The warrior who had always been leveling alongside you had suddenly abandoned the party to solo a high-level raid...
Leaving the healer behind to grind ordinary monsters alone.
"You're unhappy."
Natasha leaned against the doorway, watching Ethan change a patient's bandages.
"I'm not."
Ethan protested immediately.
"You wrapped the gauze crooked."
He looked down.
With a sigh, he unraveled the bandage and started over.
Looking at the patient, he asked,
"Why didn't you say anything?"
The patient answered timidly,
"I thought... maybe it was a special technique doctors use."
"..."
After rewrapping the bandage properly, Ethan casually cast a healing spell.
The patient thanked him repeatedly before hurrying out of the clinic.
Ethan turned back to Natasha.
"Remember Rome?"
"We fought our way through those guys until they couldn't even lift their heads."
He spoke calmly...
...though the resentment in his voice was unmistakable.
"And now he's out there having all the fun while I'm stuck here seeing patients."
"Does that seem fair to you?"
Natasha answered flatly.
"You're a doctor."
"So doctors aren't allowed to fight?"
"They aren't."
"Why not?"
"Because a doctor's job is to save lives."
"In theory..."
"They're supposed to stay behind the front lines."
"That way..."
"Everyone else can fight without worrying."
Ethan fell silent.
It was difficult to argue with that.
Natasha stepped a little closer.
"You chose to become a doctor."
"Not a soldier."
"If you wanted to charge into battle..."
"...you chose the wrong profession."
Ethan thought about it seriously.
"You know..."
"I'm technically a priest."
Natasha narrowed her eyes.
"And?"
"A priest can absolutely fight on the front lines."
"A battlefield priest."
"Blessings."
"Healing."
"Resurrection."
He looked thoughtfully toward the ceiling.
"And besides..."
"...there are Shadow Priests."
Natasha remained expressionless.
"You mean your hypnosis tricks?"
"You stand at the front, put all the enemies to sleep..."
"...and your teammates just walk around finishing them off."
Ethan opened his mouth.
"That's obviously not what I meant."
"Fine."
Natasha shrugged.
"The battlefield priest idea is at least more believable."
"But military doctors..."
"...rare as they are..."
"...can still be trained."
"There will never be only one."
She paused.
"And besides..."
"Even a battlefield medic doesn't grab a rifle and charge ahead of everyone else."
"..."
...Fair point.
During a raid, having a healer on the team made everyone feel confident.
"We've got this."
But if the healer suddenly switched to Shadow...
The entire DPS lineup would probably drop to their knees and beg the healer to switch back.
Life at the clinic continued.
Car accidents.
Gunshot wounds.
Chronic illnesses.
Nerve damage.
The Holy Light flowed as faithfully as ever.
Rayne Clinic operated with its usual steady rhythm, as though the chaos consuming the underworld existed in an entirely different world.
In truth...
Ethan had never stopped "running dungeons."
What was a healer's role in a raid?
Not charging into battle.
Not dealing damage.
But constantly watching the team's health bars.
Who was injured?
Who had been crowd-controlled?
Who was about to fall?
He had to react before anyone else.
The battle itself...
...was rarely his responsibility.
Now that John had gone out alone...
The only real difference was that he'd left Ethan's healing range.
In essence...
Nothing had changed.
Ethan simply couldn't see John's health bar anymore.
And that meant...
He couldn't heal him.
---
That afternoon...
A black SUV pulled up outside the clinic.
The door opened.
A familiar figure was carefully helped out of the vehicle.
The Director of the Ruska Roma.
The old matriarch.
Eve and the ever-silent woman in black supported her from either side as they escorted her inside.
Her face was pale.
Both of her hands were wrapped in thick bandages.
Fresh blood had already seeped through, staining the white cloth a deep crimson.
"What happened?"
Ethan asked in shock.
Even the Director had been injured.
Did the Ruska Roma get wiped out or something?
The Director's expression remained calm.
"The Adjudicator has arrived."
Ethan's pupils contracted slightly.
"Sent by the High Table?"
She nodded.
"Yes."
"New York's Continental has been stripped of its privileges."
"Winston was judged to have failed in his duty."
"He didn't execute John immediately and allowed him enough time to escape."
"He has been ordered to step down within seven days."
Ethan fell silent.
So... it's back on the original storyline.
The Director continued.
"John used the Ruska Roma's passageways to travel to Morocco."
"Casablanca."
Ethan couldn't help asking,
"What's he going there for?"
He genuinely couldn't remember.
The Director looked at him.
"The road to Heaven begins in Hell."
"..."
He rubbed his forehead.
John definitely learned that way of talking from the Ruska Roma.
If there's a chance to avoid speaking plainly... they'll take it.
Forget it.
Let's deal with the injury first.
He motioned for Eve to step aside before gently taking the Director's hand.
Carefully, he removed the bandages.
At the center of her palm was a clean puncture wound.
A blade had pierced straight through her hand.
There was no twisting.
No unnecessary damage.
After examining it for a few moments, Ethan gently pressed around the injury.
"The bones are intact."
"It's primarily soft tissue damage."
"The major blood vessels weren't hit."
The Director watched him calmly.
As though the injury belonged to someone else.
After confirming the diagnosis, Ethan said nothing more.
He raised his hand.
A gentle radiance blossomed in his palm.
Holy Light quietly enveloped the wound.
The bleeding stopped instantly.
The torn flesh slowly drew together.
Muscles...
Blood vessels...
Nerves...
All reconnected beneath the guiding light.
The skin healed from the inside outward.
Only a few seconds later...
The wound was gone.
Her palm was perfectly smooth once again.
Not even the faintest scar remained.
"All done."
Ethan lowered his hand.
The Director slowly opened and closed her fingers.
The movement was perfectly natural.
No stiffness.
No pain.
She looked up.
"Thank you, Doctor."
Ethan couldn't help commenting,
"The High Table went through all that trouble..."
"...only to end up making you pay a handful of gold coins."
"What exactly are they trying to accomplish?"
"Why go through all this?"
The Director's gaze was deep and thoughtful.
"True revolution..."
"...isn't defeating your opponent under the existing rules."
"It's changing the game entirely..."
"...so your opponent's strengths no longer matter."
She paused.
"The essence of power..."
"...is changing the rules."
"Not improving them."
Ethan immediately understood.
In other words...
His very existence was a loophole in the rules.
Thinking about it that way...
It made perfect sense.
As long as he existed...
Every punishment the High Table imposed became little more than a rebate.
They paid the bounty.
The clinic gained the money.
They confiscated badges.
The clinic gained influence.
They created enemies.
The clinic gained allies.
No wonder the High Table had such a problem with him.
Ethan returned to the earlier topic.
"So..."
"What exactly is John doing in Casablanca?"
A faint smile crossed the Director's face.
"He's gone to see the Elder."
Silence settled over the room.
"...The Elder?"
"The one who stands above the High Table."
She answered simply.
"And what's he planning to do?"
The Director shook her head.
"I don't know."
"I see."
Ethan nodded.
Knowing John...
He certainly wasn't flying to Morocco for tea with the Elder.
More likely... he's going to confront him directly.
Setting that thought aside, Ethan asked,
"And your injuries?"
"Were they inflicted by the Adjudicator?"
The Director's expression remained unchanged.
"John possessed safe passage granted by the Ruska Roma."
"But the Adjudicator clearly did not believe that privilege stood above the High Table's authority."
She looked down at her perfectly restored palm.
Her voice was calm.
"So..."
"They drove a blade through these hands of mine..."
"...because they had dared to help him."
She paused for a brief moment.
"At least..."
"...that was the sentence they pronounced."
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