Chapter 114 – Blood Oath
The moment the contracts were signed, the weight that had been hanging over Ethan's mind finally settled.
Two new employees.
That meant the Rayne Clinic had officially crossed the line—from a one-man operation into something resembling an organization.
And not just any employees.
John and Helen.
The more Ethan thought about it, the more absurd it felt. What had started as a casual remark had somehow turned into reality.
He couldn't help but laugh.
Of course, he knew perfectly well that a paper contract didn't carry absolute power. People could quit, switch jobs, even tear it up.
But the existence of a contract itself meant something—it defined a relationship, a connection.
And besides, contracts were meant to restrain gentlemen, not villains.
As for Helen and John, their character was something Ethan trusted completely.
Not to mention—free medical care alone was a benefit powerful enough to anchor anyone.
Over the next few days, everything at the clinic continued as usual.
The only real difference was the addition of a genuine security presence.
John had practically redesigned the entire security structure of the clinic.
The first floor—reinforced, modified, reorganized.
The second floor—originally just a perimeter buffer—was now, in his words, a fallback zone.
"If the first floor falls," John said calmly, "the second floor becomes the second line of defense."
He said it the same way someone might comment that the coffee tasted a little bitter today.
He even seriously proposed digging a basement to "store some things."
After asking a few follow-up questions, Ethan gave up completely.
He had learned something important:
Never try to convince an assassin that a place is safe.
Because they will calmly explain at least a hundred ways they could get in and kill you.
What were you supposed to say to that?
"Try me"?
Ethan chose wisdom.
"Fine," he said, spreading his hands. "Do whatever you want. It's not like it hurts."
Under John's "casual" planning, the second floor was eventually turned into a long-term survival zone.
Food, water, medicine, power…
In theory, it could sustain them for months.
Looking at the setup, Ethan arrived at one conclusion:
In this world, security thinking naturally evolved toward building doomsday fortresses.
After signing the contract, Helen clearly entered full "work mode."
The kind where you could already smell the office routine settling in.
She even started showing up late.
And occasionally teasing her boss.
When she was in a good mood, she called him "Ethan" or "Doctor."
When she wasn't—just a flat, unapologetic: "Boss."
Ethan could only comfort himself:
Talented people always had a bit of personality. He should be generous about it.
That afternoon, the clinic had no patients.
Ethan and Helen were locked in a completely meaningless tug-of-war over who deserved the fourth cupcake.
John walked in from outside.
"Back again to show off your relationship?" Ethan almost joked out of habit—but the words died in his throat the moment he saw him.
John looked… rough.
His clothes were torn, with visible burn marks.
His hair and eyebrows had been singed.
He wasn't even wearing shoes.
The two of them immediately stepped forward.
"I'm fine," John said in a low voice.
Helen still insisted on checking him over. After a quick examination, she confirmed it—aside from the burned hair and brows, he was perfectly fine.
She stepped outside and flipped the sign to "Closed."
Inside the consultation room, just to be safe, Ethan still ran a round of healing and recovery spells over John.
The light faded.
Silence returned.
"My house was blown up," John said.
"What?" Ethan blinked. "That standalone villa?"
"Yes."
"What happened?" Helen asked gently.
John paused for a second.
"Blood oath."
Ethan and Helen: "…"
"Could you," Ethan sighed, "maybe say a little more than that?"
The story itself wasn't complicated.
Back then, in order to leave the underworld cleanly, John had taken on an "impossible task."
To accomplish it, he sought help from an Italian crime heir—Santino D'Antonio.
The price: a blood oath.
A blood oath wasn't symbolic.
It was a marker—a binding contract in the underworld.
Each party would place a drop of blood on the marker, representing a one-time debt of absolute obligation.
The marker was kept by the one owed.
The Continental Hotel—and all assassin organizations—recognized and enforced this rule.
One day, when the marker was presented—
The task had to be fulfilled.
Refusal meant punishment.
"What kind of punishment?" Ethan asked.
"Death."
…Could it get any harsher than that?
Today, the holder of the marker had come knocking.
Demanding John fulfill his promise.
John refused. Told him to find someone else.
Not long after—
His house was reduced to rubble by a grenade.
"So this blood oath has to be honored?" Ethan frowned. "No matter the request? No matter when? Even if he tells you to kill yourself on the spot?"
"Yes."
"What kind of insane rule is that?"
"The Continental. And the High Table."
Ethan couldn't help but curse under his breath. "Are these people out of their minds?"
Helen looked worried. "So… what do we do now?"
At that moment, Ethan's phone rang.
He declined it.
It rang again.
Declined.
Again.
Ethan finally snapped and answered. "Who is this? Do you ever stop calling?"
The voice on the other end was calm. Polite, even.
"Good afternoon, Dr. Rayne."
"This is Winston, manager of the New York branch of the Continental Hotel."
Ethan paused.
"…Why are you calling me?"
"I assume," Winston said smoothly, "that John Wick is currently in your clinic."
"So—may I come in? I'd like to have a word with him."
Ethan instinctively glanced at John.
John nodded. "He's an old friend."
The door opened.
Winston stepped into the clinic, adjusting his cuffs with practiced elegance.
He didn't bother with pleasantries.
"What are you doing, John?"
"He blew up my house."
"You refused him," Winston sighed. "You should be grateful he only blew up the house."
He looked at John, his gaze sharp.
"What were you thinking back then? Handing a marker to someone like Santino D'Antonio."
"That was my only way out," John said.
"You call that a way out?" Winston shook his head. "What did you think would happen? Did you really believe this day would never come?"
He paused, then asked, "What does he want you to do?"
"Kill his sister. Gianna. She's… a friend."
Ethan: "???"
What kind of twisted family drama was this?
Winston nodded, as if confirming something he had already expected.
"For a seat at the High Table?"
"Yes."
"Then you have to help him."
John's voice turned colder. "He blew up my house."
"John," Winston said calmly, "there are two rules that cannot be broken."
"First: no killing on Continental grounds."
"Second: every marker must be honored."
"My judgment takes the form of excommunication."
"But if you violate the traditions of the High Table…" he paused slightly, "their punishment will be far worse."
"Do I have no choice?" John asked.
"If you refuse the marker—you die."
"If you kill the marker holder—you die."
"If you run—you still die."
Winston looked at him steadily.
"This is what you agreed to back then."
"Complete the task. Earn your freedom."
"Afterward…" his tone softened slightly, "if you want to burn his house down and bury him in the ground, that's your business. I can even recommend some capable help."
"But before that…" he held John's gaze.
John spoke quietly, "A blood oath must be honored."
"Exactly." Winston nodded. "That's the rule. Without rules, we're no different from animals."
"Wait," Ethan suddenly cut in. "He's my employee now. I'm responsible for my staff. I'm going with him."
For the first time, Winston hesitated.
"Doctor Rayne… I would advise you not to involve yourself in this matter."
"Why?" Ethan shot back. "Does the blood oath require the person to complete it alone?"
"…No. But—"
"But what?"
"I believe," Winston said slowly, "that as a doctor, you would be better off remaining in a place of safety."
Ethan nodded. "Appreciate the concern."
"But I'm responsible for my own safety."
"John is my third employee."
"If an employee is being forced by his former employer to clean up old debts—"
"Then as his current boss, it's my duty to assist."
He paused, then added matter-of-factly,
"It's clearly stated in the contract."
John blinked. "That's in the contract?"
"It is," Ethan said without missing a beat. "I just added it."
Winston fell silent for two seconds.
"I'll need to report this."
With that, he turned and left.
The door closed.
"Doctor," John said quietly, "you don't need to get involved. I can handle this alone."
"Why?" Ethan frowned. "I don't like that guy."
"After the mission is done," Ethan continued casually, "I'm planning to bring his sister back to life."
John froze. "…What?"
"Why not?" Ethan shrugged. "Didn't you say she's your friend?"
"One more friend, one less enemy. Only an idiot wouldn't take that deal."
"But—"
"No 'but.' Let's go. The sooner we finish this, the sooner we can get back—preferably before nightfall."
"We need to prepare—"
"What's there to prepare? Don't tell me you didn't bring guns. I know you've stashed plenty here in the clinic."
"…His sister is in Rome."
Ethan stopped mid-step.
"Oh."
"Yeah… okay. That does require some preparation."