Chapter 14: The Blind Swordsman
"Hey, baldy — you've been shooting for five minutes and haven't hit a single one! And you, big guy — watch your left! Your left!"
Ethan was thoroughly enjoying himself, commentating on the firefight between Hell's Kitchen's residents and the Marquis's assassins like it was a spectator sport.
Then a blade came out of nowhere.
A flash of steel sliced toward him. Ethan threw himself backward just in time, then planted his feet and snapped a kick at his attacker. The man heard the wind from the incoming strike and caught Ethan's shin on the flat of his blade, deflecting it, then stepped back to create distance.
Now Ethan got his first real look at the man.
"Holy shit — Master Ip?!"
The face staring back at him was one Ethan had seen a hundred times in his past life — unmistakably Chinese, unmistakably famous. Except instead of a Qing-era changshan, the man wore a tailored suit and dark glasses. Blind man's glasses.
In his hand was a custom cane — the kind that concealed a sword, which was exactly what had just nearly taken Ethan's head off.
Seeing a face this distinctly Chinese — this recognizable — hit Ethan somewhere he wasn't expecting. He'd spotted plenty of familiar faces since transmigrating, but this was the first time he'd run into someone who looked like a genuine, unmistakable Chinese icon. He almost teared up.
"My name isn't Ip Man," the man said with a disarming smile. "I'm Caine. You can call me Caine."
"I'm a friend of John Wick's. I'm here for him."
"You're not one of the Marquis's people?" Ethan asked, though he already found himself liking the guy. Maybe it was the face.
"I don't work for him. But he sent me." Caine slid the sword back into the cane, a clear gesture of peace. "I'm not here to kill John today. How about we call off both sides? This keeps going, nobody wins. And the police will be here soon."
Ethan scanned the block. Fair enough — things had gotten lively enough for one evening. Besides, he could sense another set of eyes watching from somewhere, and not friendly ones.
"Deal. You pull back the Marquis's people, I'll handle ours."
They both signaled the ceasefire.
Slowly, weapons lowered on both sides. One Hell's Kitchen local wasn't happy about it. "Who says we stop when you say stop? Since when do we take orders from you?"
Ethan turned on the man. His presence shifted — something cold and commanding settling over him like a mantle. "You want to keep going? I'll keep going with you. Don't forget whose block this is. And if that's not enough motivation, I'll have Fisk's people pay you a visit tomorrow."
His voice carried to the whole street. "Stand down. Now. Any damages from tonight — every last dollar — go to Fisk Tower and file a claim with Kingpin. I guarantee every single one of you gets compensated. Now get back inside."
The combination of the stick and the carrot worked. Grumbling, the residents retreated into their homes.
On the other side, Caine had the assassins pulling back as well.
One of the squad leaders couldn't resist a parting shot as he withdrew. "The Marquis won't forget this. Nobody interferes with High Table business."
Ethan's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Tell him to get ready for what Hell's Kitchen sends back."
· · ·
New York's finest arrived fashionably late, as always.
A handful of officers approached Ethan and Caine. One of them Ethan recognized — Police Captain George Stacy.
Stacy lit a cigarette and surveyed the street. "Quite the party tonight, Ethan. RPGs, heavy weapons fire. Think you could keep it down?"
Clearly, the two had history.
"It's all wrapped up now. You know how it is — Hell's Kitchen." Ethan shrugged with the shamelessness of a man who'd done this before. "No civilians hurt. Just tell the press someone's gun went off accidentally."
"You're making my life very difficult. I need something to show upstairs — bodies, arrests, something. Otherwise the media's going to run with 'terrorists in Hell's Kitchen' by morning. You know how they are." Stacy exhaled smoke through his nose.
Ethan gestured at the dozen-odd suited corpses littering the street. "No live ones, but those are all High Table contractors. Take the bodies, write whatever story you want."
Stacy gave him a look. "That's still not enough. Unless..."
"Half a million," Ethan said, reading the room instantly. "I've been thinking the Hell's Kitchen precinct could use some renovations."
Captain Stacy straightened up, all business. "These High Table terrorists dared to attack the residents of Hell's Kitchen and were neutralized by NYPD officers in a swift tactical response. Bag the bodies! We're done here!"
Seamless.
Caine laughed softly. "Your Hell's Kitchen is a very entertaining place."
"Come on. I'll take you up to see John." Ethan stretched his arms over his head and led Caine toward the elevator.
· · ·
Ethan opened the apartment door.
"Long time, Caine." Marcus greeted him first — clearly recognized the man.
"Here to kill me, Caine?" John Wick's tone was flat when he saw his old friend. He didn't look pleased.
"I don't want to," Caine said quietly. "The Marquis has my daughter."
Ethan's mind was already racing.
"Give me the details," he said immediately. "I can get your daughter back. But the condition is — you stay in Hell's Kitchen."
An old compatriot with a face like that? Ethan wasn't letting him walk away. Call it patriotic sentiment, call it opportunism — either way, Caine was staying.
Caine didn't hesitate. "If you can save my daughter, I'll agree to anything. As long as it doesn't involve harming innocents."
John and Marcus stepped forward. "Thank you, Ethan. We've put you through too much already."
「DING!」
The system chimed in Ethan's head.
「Congratulations, Host! Marcus's Friendship Level has been upgraded to ★★★★★!」
「Attribute Gained: Sniper Mastery Lv.5!」
「Integrate immediately?」
「Congratulations, Host! John Wick has been added as a friend!」
「Attribute Gained: Protagonist's Luck Lv.1!」
「Congratulations! John Wick's Friendship Level has been upgraded to ★★!」
「Attribute Gained: Firearms Mastery Lv.10!」
「Integrate immediately?」
Integrate. All of it.
Ethan was grinning internally. Only one special attribute in the bunch — the rest were peak-human skills. But stacking all of those peak-human abilities meant that even without using his powers, he was now the ceiling of what a human being could achieve.
And Protagonist's Luck? Don't let the "Lv.1" fool you. John Wick had survived four films and killed over six hundred people on the strength of that passive alone. From now on, bullets would practically swerve to avoid Ethan.
He was finally a main character in his own right.
"Crisis handled for now," Ethan said, turning to John. "Rest up. Stay here and heal. I'll take care of the rest. Marcus — look after your friend."
Then he turned to Caine. "Head back to the Marquis. Act normal. I'll send people to extract your daughter. Wait for my word."
He stood and headed for the door without looking back.
He had a counterpunch to plan.
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