Chapter 18: The Price of Holy Light
Ethan stood before the sink, cold water from the faucet splashing against his palms, yet it couldn't wash away that feeling of being completely drained.
In just a few short minutes, his reflection in the mirror had turned pale, with dark circles under his eyes, looking as if half his life had been sucked away.
"Casting five spells back-to-back like that... that's basically asking for a one-way ticket to the ER," he muttered to himself.
Compared to the previous two cancer treatments, he had used one additional spell this time—Prayer of Healing.
The name sounded beautiful, but casting it felt like setting himself on fire from the inside out.
He could distinctly feel the warm energy that had been coursing through him completely recede, and even his thoughts began to turn sluggish.
"Did I just blow through all my mana in one session?" He stared at his palm, lost in thought.
"What exactly are these spells consuming?"
Over the past few years, he'd been trying to find the answer: Mana? Mental energy? Life force?
But no matter how he tested it—through meditation, breathing exercises, energy drinks, or even prescription stimulants—nothing seemed to affect his recovery rate.
The only thing he could confirm was that the more he practiced, the longer he could sustain the casting.
He couldn't help but think wryly: "Man, I could really use a mage right now. With Conjure Water and Conjure Food, mana regeneration would be a non-issue."
He shook his head, flicking water droplets from his hands, and turned back toward the treatment room.
Walter White was sitting on the leather sofa, looking considerably more relaxed than before.
"Mr. White, how are you feeling?" Ethan asked, forcing himself to sound energetic.
"Much better." The tension lines around Walter's eyes had softened noticeably. He exhaled gently, feeling a long-lost clearness rising from deep within his lungs: "My breathing feels clean, like someone just power-washed my lungs."
Ethan didn't respond immediately. Instead, he walked over to the monitoring station to check the EKG readout.
The waveform on the screen was even and steady, heart rate back down to seventy-six beats per minute.
He picked up his stethoscope and pressed the chest piece against Walter's sternum.
The sound of clear airflow came from deep within the lungs—no wheezing, no crackles, smooth and full.
He nodded approvingly. "Excellent. Breath sounds are normal, no audible rales. Gas exchange is smooth, and alveolar activity has significantly improved. Honestly, this is faster progress than I anticipated."
"When's the next treatment?" Walter's tone carried unmistakable urgency. "I'm ready to go again."
Ethan smiled gently. "I'd recommend waiting at least a month. Too many treatments in a short timeframe will significantly reduce their effectiveness." This was hard-won knowledge he'd gained from repeatedly casting healing spells on himself over extended periods.
"That actually works out perfectly. I'll head home and get a full workup at the hospital," Walter said. "Maybe I'll wait a few days though... I just hope this isn't some elaborate placebo effect."
"Sounds good," Ethan replied. The old man with the chainsaw had also waited several days before getting his follow-up scans. Perhaps more than doubting their doctor, patients feared having their hopes crushed.
"How did your previous patient turn out?" Walter asked suddenly.
"Brain cancer patient. Before treatment, the oncologists called it inoperable—gave him three months, maybe," Ethan replied. "After the first session, the tumor shrank by twenty percent on the MRI. His neurosurgeon actually recommended surgery after that. Said it was suddenly operable."
"Then I hope I get that kind of result too." Walter's smile radiated cautious optimism.
After a brief silence, he spoke again: "That patient... how much did he pay you?"
Ethan paused, somewhat surprised that Mr. White would bring up payment so directly.
"One hundred thousand dollars."
"Ah—" Walter showed an expression that managed to be both startled and unsurprised, as if he'd expected something in that ballpark.
"Can I do a payment plan?"
"Absolutely."
"Then I'll write you a check for thirty thousand as a down payment." Walter pulled a checkbook from his jacket pocket and uncapped his pen. "Just... wait until after this week to deposit it. Preferably after next Monday."
"Mr. White, you can wait until after your follow-up scans and pay when you come for the next treatment."
"That works too." Walter thought for a moment and returned the checkbook to his pocket. "I'll try to pay the full amount then."
"Thank you, Mr. White, for choosing to trust me."
"Don't say that, Ethan." Walter looked at him seriously. "I should apologize for doubting you earlier."
"It's completely understandable. I'd be skeptical too," Ethan said with a warm smile.
Walter fell silent for a while, his gaze drifting to the EKG monitor's rhythmic peaks and valleys.
"Ethan," he said suddenly, "why don't you go public with this?
You can clearly improve a patient's condition, even if you can't completely cure them.
At the very least, you could spare a lot of people unnecessary suffering.
If you went public, people might not have so many doubts before seeking treatment."
Ethan was quiet for a moment, then slowly removed the stethoscope from around his neck.
"One reason is that my capacity is extremely limited." His voice remained calm, but beneath it lay profound exhaustion. "As you just witnessed, Mr. White, I can barely stand after a single treatment session.
This might be miraculous, but the physical toll on the practitioner is enormous, and I haven't found any way to teach this to others."
Walter frowned. "But even with those limitations, your treatment method still works.
If this became public knowledge—"
"—Then I'd probably end up dead under mysterious circumstances," Ethan interrupted matter-of-factly. "I'm not being paranoid."
He leaned back slowly in his chair.
"Do you know how much the United States spends on cancer annually?"
"Billions of dollars, I'd imagine." Walter nodded; these figures appeared regularly in the news.
"Way more than that." Ethan shook his head. "When you factor in pharmaceutical companies, insurance providers, hospital systems, and research funding, we're talking about over two hundred billion dollars every single year.
Cancer isn't just a disease anymore; it's an entire economy.
Those mega-corporations, hospital networks, insurance conglomerates, Big Pharma... they all depend on it for quarterly earnings, stock prices, executive bonuses.
If someone claimed they could actually cure cancer affordably... what do you think their first reaction would be? Throwing a parade, or making that person disappear? Nobody voluntarily surrenders a two-hundred-billion-dollar-a-year market."
The room fell into heavy silence, broken only by the rhythmic beeping of the cardiac monitor.
After a long pause, Walter said quietly, "So you're afraid?"
Ethan gave a rueful smile. "No, I'm just realistic. I'm not trying to be a martyr. I'm satisfied if I can help a handful of people. I don't want to become another 'tragic accident' in the news cycle—you know, 'promising young doctor found dead in apparent suicide.'"
Walter looked up at him with new understanding.
When the chemical reaction of money and power combines, any catalyst of genuine hope gets filtered out as an unwanted contaminant.
He nodded slowly. "I'll help you keep this quiet. I'll only refer people I truly trust if they're in desperate need."
"Thank you, Mr. White."
"No, I'm the one who should be thanking you." Walter's gaze was intense with gratitude. "If I actually recover from this, you won't have just saved my life—you'll have saved my entire family."
Ethan smiled gently. "I only treated you. Your family is being saved by you."
Walter smiled back, then his expression shifted as he remembered something. "One more thing—my son, Flynn. He has cerebral palsy. Do you think... is there any chance you could help him?"
Ethan considered carefully. "I can't make any promises, but I'm willing to try."
Walter nodded, relief visible in his features. "Then we'll schedule an appointment for next month. I'll bring him along when I fly to New York."
"Sounds good. I'll see you both next month then."
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