Chapter 74 — Reward and Revenge
The moment Helen Wick opened her eyes and spoke her first words, the air around them seemed to thaw—like a frozen world suddenly regaining warmth.
Ethan didn't stop there.
He continued casting a full set of healing spells on her, even layering a few purification spells on top—just in case the cancer cells had somehow come back with her resurrection.
Within minutes, the results were obvious.
Helen was still weak, but far more stable than before.
Color slowly returned to her skin.
Her breathing became steady and gentle.
Her eyes regained their clear focus.
Soon she could even walk without holding onto the wall, speaking quietly with both of them.
After confirming she was out of danger, Ethan turned to John—whose body was covered in cuts and bruises, his breathing still rough, blood staining his shirt.
So Ethan casually cast a full round of healing and restoration spells on him as well.
The moment the healing magic spread through his body, John froze.
Years of ignored joint damage…
Old injuries accumulated over countless battles…
All of it vanished.
John looked down, clenched his fists, and flexed his joints, as if rediscovering his own body for the first time.
It felt—
Light.
Balanced.
Whole.
A condition he hadn't experienced in years.
---
Helen was settled into the bedroom, quickly drifting into deep sleep, her expression peaceful.
After confirming she was stable, Ethan stepped out of the room.
John followed him, gently closing the door behind them. He stopped at the top of the stairs.
He didn't ask a single question.
Instead, he simply said:
"Come with me."
Ethan followed him downstairs toward the basement.
Watching John's back, Ethan almost spoke—but stopped himself.
Why does no one ever ask questions? he thought.
Mary had been the same. Now John too.
They witnessed something that completely defied common sense, yet both reacted with the same attitude:
"I don't understand it—but I respect it."
---
They finally reached the basement.
John walked to a corner, pulled out a large sledgehammer, and began smashing the floor.
Ethan couldn't hold back anymore.
"What you saw today… and the way she came back…"
"…none of that can be explained by medicine."
John kept hammering the floor, not interrupting.
"There are only two people in the world who know about this now—you and Helen. The other one is someone I saved before."
"It might look like magic. But it could also bring consequences I can't bear."
He paused before continuing.
"So I hope you and Helen can keep it secret."
John stopped swinging the hammer.
The basement fell silent except for the low hum of the ventilation fan.
He didn't answer immediately.
The silence stretched long and heavy.
Understanding between men often didn't come through words.
John raised his eyes and met Ethan's gaze.
There was no shock.
No suspicion.
He simply nodded.
"I will."
---
John's basement was cold and stark, concrete walls radiating a chill. Dust drifted slowly through the dim lighting.
The place felt like an empty parking garage.
Silent.
Cold.
Heavy.
John gripped the sledgehammer and continued smashing the floor again and again.
Each strike carried full force.
The cracking sound of concrete echoed painfully in the confined space.
Man… good thing you live in a standalone house, Ethan thought.
If this were an apartment building, the neighbors would've called the police by now.
Ethan stood nearby with his arms folded, watching.
The man had just gotten his wife back from death's shadow.
Yet here he was, smashing the floor like he was punishing himself.
The scene felt strangely uncomfortable.
Technically speaking, Ethan had just saved his wife's life.
He should be sitting on a couch somewhere, drinking water, being treated as an honored guest.
Instead, he was watching a man covered in dried blood and barely healed wounds demolish his own basement floor like some kind of penance.
"You know…" Ethan finally blurted out.
"Honestly, as the guy who just saved your wife's life, I thought I'd feel perfectly justified watching you do all the work."
"But seeing you like this makes me feel like a terrible human being."
He sighed.
Then, as if some invisible moral pressure had forced his hand, he walked over and picked up another ridiculously heavy sledgehammer.
The metal head hit the floor with a dull thud.
"Fine," Ethan muttered with reluctant resignation.
"Let's do this together."
"Watching an injured guy do all the work is giving me serious psychological stress."
John didn't stop swinging the hammer. He glanced sideways at Ethan and said calmly,
"You can watch, or you can help. I just intend to share something with you."
Sharing a secret—that was John Wick's way of returning trust.
---
Eventually, the floor cracked open.
The hammering stopped, though dust still drifted lazily through the air.
John set the sledgehammer aside and began clearing away the rubble.
Layer after layer of broken concrete fell away until the corner of a reinforced metal chest appeared beneath the floor.
John crouched down and pried it free from the concrete.
The chest was unbelievably heavy.
Metal scraped against stone with a harsh, grating sound.
He lifted the lid.
Inside—
Rows of cold, gleaming weapons lay neatly arranged.
Beside them, stacks upon stacks of gold coins filled the other half of the box.
Ethan squinted as the gold reflected the light.
"Whoa…"
There had to be hundreds of them—like a small bank vault packed into a single box.
So this is why he invited me here, Ethan thought.
He's paying the medical bill.
John spoke quietly.
"When I retired, I buried these here."
He paused.
"Helen made me believe… I could live a different life."
Another moment of silence passed before he added,
"She doesn't know these exist."
---
Ethan's gaze lingered on the coins.
They were heavy, thick, and stacked neatly in rows—an extremely touching sight for anyone with financial anxiety.
He couldn't help himself.
"So… you're planning to use some of these as the medical fee?"
"I appreciate the sincerity."
John didn't answer.
Instead, he calmly packed the coins into a black ballistic bag.
Once all the weapons and gold were transferred, John closed the chest again.
Ethan froze.
"??? Wait… those aren't for me?"
"No," John replied shortly.
Ethan stared at him for three seconds.
"I just saved your wife's life."
John continued organizing the bag. His tone remained calm—but absolute.
"Helen's life… cannot be measured with anything."
Ethan opened his mouth.
But nothing came out.
He had assumed John would simply dump a pile of gold coins on him.
Instead, John hadn't even treated the coins as a possible equivalent.
"So… what you're saying is…"
"…this entire pile of treasure has no value to me?"
John looked at him seriously.
"Not that."
He zipped the bag closed.
"Compared to what you did—it's insignificant."
One sentence erased all the awkwardness about "payment."
Ethan rubbed his temples.
"Then why dig it up?"
"What are you planning to do with it?"
John answered quietly,
"To do what I should do."
Ethan narrowed his eyes.
"Revenge?"
"Yes."
No hesitation.
He took a slow breath, his voice low but unshakably firm.
"Helen… died once."
"You brought her back. That's true."
"But what those people did… is also true."
He lifted his head, his eyes cold.
"Coming back to life doesn't erase scars. It doesn't erase crimes."
John slung the ballistic bag over his shoulder.
"I'll make sure Helen is safe first."
"Then I'll do what must be done."
---
Ethan stayed silent for a moment.
Finally, he sighed.
"…Just be careful."
"I will."
John paused, then added calmly,
"If I die—I'll make sure it's in front of you."
"That way there's still a chance."
Ethan blinked.
"…?"
Then he realized what John meant.
If he dies in front of Ethan, Ethan could resurrect him.
Ethan looked utterly speechless.
"…What I meant was," Ethan said dryly,
"if you also die and I have to bring you back, then you and Helen will have to work at my clinic."
"One of you will be the receptionist."
"The other will be the security guard."
John stared at him for two seconds.
Then—rarely—
The corner of his mouth moved slightly.
"…That doesn't sound too bad."
---