As Wesley took John Wick to the recovery room for treatment, Smith Doyle began reviewing the materials sent by Fox.
These documents were a summary of the 12 seats of the High Table. They were extensive and detailed. Although the twelve organizations had been identified, the exact headquarters of the High Table and the locations of the gang leaders were still under investigation.
Groups like the Camorra and the Mafia were relatively easy to find, but their headquarters were well hidden.
Simply killing the twelve elders wouldn't be enough to destroy the High Table. The twelve gangs needed to be wiped out entirely. Otherwise, due to bloodline inheritance, they would just appoint new leaders to take over.
Taking out all twelve at once would be difficult, but dividing into three forces wasn't a problem for the Assassin's Guild.
Don't be fooled by the modest size of the textile factory or the seemingly small number of assassins—this was only the headquarters.
The Assassin's Guild had been around for over a thousand years and had many branches. With Smith's current strength, as long as he was cautious, leading a team to sweep through enemies was entirely doable.
However, for the elder hidden in the deserts of Casablanca, John Wick would need to make that trip.
---
The next day.
After finishing the documents, Smith Doyle trained the whole day on the training ground, but noticed little progress.
It had been weeks since he acquired Yamcha's power and bloodline, yet he still couldn't sense "Ki." The Dragon Ball Earthling bloodline didn't seem to bring any noticeable benefits.
If he relied only on personal training, and considering Yamcha's early-stage strength, it would take a long time to sense Ki. Clearly, John Wick needed to hurry up and collect the Dragon Balls. The major Marvel event was fast approaching.
Exiting the training ground, Smith Doyle grabbed a bottle of bourbon whiskey and headed to the recovery room.
Inside, he found John Wick encased in wax, with only his face exposed.
Hearing footsteps, John Wick immediately became alert. Though his face was covered in wax, and he couldn't speak properly, he let out muffled "Mm-mm" sounds.
Seeing him awake, Smith walked over and said,
"John, you okay?"
Recognizing Smith's voice, Wick stopped struggling. He managed to say,
"Feeling much better… just a bit thirsty."
As he spoke, the wax on his face began to crack, with some even falling toward his mouth.
Smith helped him remove the wax and said,
"Here, have some water."
Instead of water, he poured a small cup of bourbon from the bottle and gave it to John.
The whiskey went down smoothly. Wick exhaled with relief and said,
"Thanks. I really like bourbon."
"What's this wax bath thing?"
Smith wasn't surprised Wick liked it—being Belarusian, it was rare to find someone from there who didn't like alcohol.
Placing the whiskey bottle aside, Smith sat next to him and explained:
"This wax bath stimulates white blood cells and speeds up the healing process."
"Here, bruises, cuts, and even fractures can heal in a few hours."
Wick was stunned, stammering:
"This… this is amazing!"
"With this, ordinary injuries aren't even a concern anymore."
"Not even the Continental has stuff like this."
He was especially impressed by the quick recovery of fractures and cuts. With this, even a seriously injured assassin could return to combat the next day.
This was the foundation of a thousand-year-old organization. Who knows what other treasures they had?
Smith wasn't impressed. He thought, if only he could get a healing pod or senzu beans from the Dragon Ball wish system—those were the real treasures. As long as you weren't instantly killed, you could fully recover.
Smith said dismissively:
"It's good, but it only works on external injuries. A gunshot to the vital organs? Still no saving you."
"But if you're lucky, you'll see the real good stuff someday."
Wick wasn't disappointed. To him, this wax bath was already incredible.
He replied,
"This is already perfect. With something like this, every assassin or gang member would go crazy to get it."
Smith ignored that comment and said:
"Alright, I'll leave you to it. When the wax melts, get ready and meet me in the conference room."
------
New York Continental Hotel
A black Mercedes sedan pulled up to the hotel. A tall woman with a buzz cut, black trench coat, black boots, and even black nail polish stepped out with a black briefcase in hand.
She walked briskly toward the hotel, exuding sharpness and authority. Soon, she reached the front desk.
Charon looked at her and asked,
"Welcome to the Continental. How may I assist you?"
She silently slid a gold coin—a token of an Arbiter—across the desk with two fingers. She said nothing, just stared.
Charon picked up the coin, examined it, then placed it back on the desk. He picked up the phone and called through the internal line.
"Sir, an Arbiter wishes to see you."
"…Understood."
Charon hung up and said respectfully to the Arbiter,
"The manager is in the lounge."
She nodded slightly, pocketed the coin, and walked silently toward the lounge.
Inside, Winston waited. Seeing her enter, he said,
"I suppose you're here about John Wick."
"If so, let's keep it brief."
"I told him to walk away. He refused. That's all there is to it."
The female Arbiter stepped forward and replied directly:
"Mr. Wick broke the rules."
Winston nodded,
"Yes."
"I have no knowledge of his whereabouts…"
Before he could finish, the Arbiter interrupted:
"You're mistaken. I'm not here to find Mr. Wick."
"I'm here because Mr. Wick spilled blood on Continental grounds."
"Am I wrong?"
Winston, with a heavy tone, replied:
"No."
—End of chapter—
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