Chapter 70 — Health and Longevity
"Given your condition, the treatment will take place with only you and me present," Ethan said, offering a quiet reminder.
"No one is allowed to observe—not even your son."
James nodded.
"My son won't come. If he knew I was here today, he'd probably lecture me about things like 'pseudoscience' and 'medical fraud.'"
There was no anger in his voice—only fatigue, and a touch of self-mockery.
After a brief silence, James lifted his head, his tone carrying the humor and acceptance that often comes with old age.
"At my age, if someone can help me stay clear-headed for even a few extra years… that alone would already count as a miracle."
Ethan said nothing more. Instead, he gestured toward the treatment chair.
James sat down.
Standing behind him, Ethan placed a neural monitoring band around his head and fitted an oxygen-saturation sensor across his forehead.
The equipment was simple—nothing more than clinic-grade devices capable of providing real-time, multi-dimensional feedback on brain activity.
The screen lit up, split into two columns.
On one side: slow, dim, somewhat chaotic brainwave patterns.
On the other: a color-coded map showing metabolic activity and blood-oxygen levels across different regions of the brain. Large sections glowed a deep blue—an indicator of low activity.
"During the treatment, I'll be monitoring your physiological responses in real time," Ethan explained.
James closed his eyes gently.
"Go ahead."
---
Ethan placed his palms lightly against the old man's temples.
A soft, nearly transparent glow of Holy Light began to seep inward.
Healing Spell.
He maintained a steady output of energy while watching the monitor closely.
Soon the readings began to change.
— The previously sluggish metabolic curves slowly began to rise.
— Blood-oxygen levels gradually returned to the normal range.
This meant that cellular vitality was recovering. Neurons were beginning to "work" again.
After all, the brain could only think, remember, and maintain consciousness when metabolism and oxygen supply were sufficient.
However—
Other crucial indicators remained frozen.
Ethan increased the energy output. Metabolic levels and oxygen saturation quickly climbed to their peak… and then stopped rising.
— Brainwave frequencies remained disorganized. The neural network still lacked structure.
— In some regions the signal was completely flat—no electrical activity at all.
Those neurons had fallen completely silent.
No participation in memory.
No participation in thought.
No participation in perception.
Like a city hollowed out from within—its lights extinguished forever.
The Healing Spell could stimulate surviving cells, but it could not reach neurons that were truly dead.
Ethan stared at the flatline regions on the monitor, his brow tightening slightly.
It seemed this was the limit.
Then suddenly, a thought flashed through his mind.
Resurrection.
If those areas represented completely silent neural activity…
Could the Resurrection spell attempt to awaken cells that had already died?
---
Ethan immediately changed the spell.
The Holy Light shifted from gentle restorative warmth into a deeper, steadier wave of revival.
The screen changed dramatically.
— Previously chaotic low-frequency brainwaves began rising.
— The scattered patterns gradually reorganized into structured rhythms.
— Broken neural pathways began reconnecting.
— Even the dim, grayish dead zone began to flicker with faint signals.
A low breath escaped James's throat.
"Ah…"
He didn't describe what he felt, but a sense of long-lost relief spread across his expression.
His eyes moved rapidly beneath his eyelids—as if somewhere deep within his mind, the world had suddenly become clearer again.
At that moment, Ethan understood.
The Healing Spell increased overall cellular vitality and metabolism, improving the brain's internal environment.
The Resurrection Spell, however, could specifically revive neurons that had not fully died yet—cells in early apoptosis or recently inactive states—and even repair damaged connections to a certain degree.
If neurons had been dead for too long—already consumed and structurally gone—then even the Holy Light could do nothing.
But for patients like James, whose symptoms were still mild to moderate…
That was enough.
---
Ethan withdrew his hands.
The monitoring equipment automatically generated a brief report.
In the center of the screen, a conclusion appeared:
"Significant increase in neural network activity.
Improved synchronization.
Metabolism and blood-oxygen levels in key regions restored to healthy thresholds."
The treatment was finished.
James opened his eyes slowly.
There was a strange clarity in his expression.
"It feels like… something in my brain has loosened."
He gently touched his temple.
Ethan nodded and explained briefly.
"Mr. Whitmore, once neurons are completely dead and their structure has been absorbed, they can never be restored."
"But cells that are only in early apoptosis, dormant states, or recently inactive have now been reactivated. Their metabolic and electrical activity has returned to optimal levels."
He continued,
"However, this condition won't be permanent."
"Alzheimer's is still progressing. Degeneration continues. This improvement will fade with time."
"To maintain your current clarity, we'll need continuous monitoring and periodic treatment."
James remained silent for several seconds.
Then he asked quietly,
"How long… can this state last?"
Ethan answered honestly.
"I'm not sure."
"It could be several weeks… or several months."
"But as long as the treatment frequency is reasonable—so that cellular loss slows to something close to the pace of normal aging—"
Ethan spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully.
"Then you'll age like a healthy person. Aging itself cannot be avoided, but it will no longer spiral into uncontrolled decline."
He continued with his recommendation.
"I suggest you monitor your data daily and come in for treatment once a week."
"After that, depending on your condition, we can gradually extend the interval between sessions."
He paused.
"This won't restore the past… but you won't keep losing yourself."
---
James fell silent.
The long-forgotten clarity in his mind felt almost unreal.
For two years, fear, collapse, and despair about the future had weighed on him.
Now it felt as though someone had suddenly cut those chains away.
A miracle had truly happened.
He slowly folded his hands together. When he looked up again, his gaze carried dignity—and gravity.
"Thank you, Dr. Rayne."
"As for the medical fee… whatever you request, I will provide."
"Money. Resources. Influence."
"Just say the word."
---
Ethan raised a hand slightly, signaling him to stop.
"I only have two conditions."
"Please, go on."
Ethan spoke calmly.
"First—you will pay one hundred thousand dollars."
James blinked in surprise.
"Only… a hundred thousand?"
Yes—roughly the cost of staying four nights in your hotel suite.
"Yes," Ethan said lightly. "I provide treatment. I receive payment."
"To you, one hundred thousand dollars is insignificant. But to many people who need help, it would already be an unbearable burden."
James nodded slowly, offering no objection.
---
Ethan continued.
"The second condition… is a promise."
James drew a quiet breath.
"Someday in the future, I will make a request. When that time comes, you must do everything within your power to help me accomplish it."
James's gaze sharpened.
"What kind of request?"
"I don't know yet," Ethan replied.
"But I can guarantee three things."
"It will be legal. It will not harm innocent people. It will not involve political manipulation or endanger your family."
"The request might be small… or it might be large."
James listened patiently.
"Small enough," Ethan said, "that I might simply ask to hold my wedding at a Whitmore hotel."
"Or large enough that… I might ask you to donate a third of your fortune to establish a charitable foundation."
The air suddenly went still.
James's breathing grew slightly heavier.
"And what makes you think," he asked quietly, "that I wouldn't break my promise?"
---
Ethan smiled.
"Because our interests are aligned."
"You'll still need me in the future."
"Even if Alzheimer's never returns, you can't guarantee you won't develop other illnesses."
"If you break your promise… then you'll never see me again."
He paused before continuing.
"And from my perspective, this promise applies only to you."
"If you fall gravely ill, pass away, or transfer your assets to your son, then the value of that promise shrinks dramatically."
"So I sincerely hope you remain healthy… and live a long life."
Ethan finished quietly:
"A contract on paper means very little, Mr. Whitmore."
"Shared interests and human trust—that's the strongest bond there is."
---
James stared at him for a long moment.
There was respect in his eyes now—and a trace of admiration.
"Dr. Rayne… even without your medical skills, you would still be an extraordinary man."
He gave a faint sigh.
"It's a pity I never had a son like you."
James stood up.
"My assistant will transfer the one hundred thousand dollars today."
"And the promise—"
"I accept."
---
Ethan shook hands with James Whitmore.
"Then I wish you health… and a long life."
(End of Chapter)