John Wick - Chapter 40: Revenge (I) (Patreon)

New York Continental Hotel, Room 818.

Elena and John had started talking. Or rather, Elena did most of the talking while John listened, occasionally responding with a word or two.

Nate instinctively tuned out Elena's voice.

He needed to decide which Trait to copy.

Forget it. No more overthinking.

He'd just copy whichever Trait had the longest description!

Baba Yaga. One Trait worth six. Forget the actual stats, the sheer amount of text in that description alone made it look authoritative enough.

System, use the Trait Copy Card. Copy Baba Yaga.

Nate issued the command silently.

[Trait copying in progress... Insufficient copier authorization.]

What the hell?

What kind of bullshit was the system pulling now?

[Copying an Exclusive Trait requires an {Exclusive Trait Copy Card}.]

[Host does not possess the required item. Purchase one?]

How many Resource Points?

Nate immediately had a bad feeling. There was no way this damn system was going to name a reasonable price.

[Exclusive Trait Copy Card: 5,000 Resource Points.]

Whatever hope Nate had left promptly died.

Great.

One trap leading neatly into the next.

Classic system.

He pulled himself together and brought up the remaining Traits.

That left three he could actually copy.

[Weapon Master (Max Level): Can rapidly become proficient with all types of weapons. Weapon proficiency gain increased by 200%. Weapon effectiveness increased by 50%.]

[Intimidation (Max Level): After locking killing intent onto a target, enemies within 10 meters suffer a 30% reduction in Agility. Beyond 10 meters, enemy ranged weapon accuracy is reduced by 70%.]

[Adaptation (Max Level): After suffering a severe injury, damage from the same type of attack is reduced by 50% the next time it occurs.]

[Weapon Master] focused on offense.

[Adaptation] kept him alive.

[Intimidation] weakened his enemies.

Nate considered them carefully.

[Weapon Master] wasn't actually that useful to him.

There was no denying how valuable it was for John, but Nate wouldn't get nearly as much out of it.

John could only carry so much equipment. Running out of ammunition was a regular possibility, and when that happened, he had to use whatever weapon happened to be nearby.

Nate had the [System Backpack].

That problem simply didn't exist for him.

For firearms, [Eagle Eye] already gave Nate Firearm Proficiency. He could pick up practically any gun and become comfortable with it quickly, and he rarely missed.

At short to medium range, he had [Flying Star] for throwing knives. Up close, he had [Iron Severing] for blades.

The bonuses from those two Traits were already absurd, and they could even stack.

Why would he put down a perfectly good knife just to start killing people with pencils and folding chairs?

His defensive capabilities were already covered by the bulletproof suit and his Loadout.

So if Nate wasn't lacking offense or defense, the Trait that offered him the most was [Intimidation], which weakened his enemies directly.

[Intimidation].

Once he locked onto someone with killing intent, their ranged weapon accuracy dropped by 70% if they were more than ten meters away.

Shooting wasn't guaranteed to hit in the first place.

Cut accuracy by another seventy percent and they'd practically turn into Stormtroopers.

And once they came within ten meters, their Agility dropped by 30%.

At range, they couldn't hit him.

If they tried to close the distance for a better shot, they got slowed down. Before they could even raise their guns, Nate's bullet would already be in their face.

No wonder John could charge straight into crowds while everyone around him seemed to behave like brain-dead bots, rushing closer instead of shooting and politely waiting to get headshot.

So this Trait was the reason?

More importantly, if Nate also had a max-level [Intimidation], then stacked with John's [Intimidation], even at half effectiveness because of [Grief], that came out to a forty-five percent Agility reduction.

Nate honestly had no idea what the poor bastard caught in both their killing intent was supposed to do.

“System, copy Intimidation.”

[Trait copying in progress... Target locked: John Wick.]

[Copy complete.]

[Host possesses the following Traits: [Iron Severing], [Flying Star], [Eagle Eye], [Steel Body], [Early Warning], [Intimidation].]

[All Trait slots are occupied.]

A powerful wave of warmth surged through Nate's body.

He leaned back against the sofa and did his best not to make a sound.

His gaze focused on empty space as he looked at the six neatly arranged Traits on the system panel.

That made him feel considerably better.

He checked the time.

It was around three in the afternoon.

A nightclub like Red Circle probably wouldn't open until six or seven.

“Mr. Wick.”

Nate spoke up.

“This might sound a little rude.”

He paused.

John looked over.

“But even with the bulletproof suit, I don't think you're properly equipped.”

John said nothing, but his gaze sharpened.

“Let me guess what you're carrying.”

“A primary pistol, two spare magazines, a backup compact pistol, and a knife.”

Something subtle changed in John's expression.

“How do you know?”

Because I've seen the movie.

Nate kept that answer to himself.

In the original story, John emptied his primary weapon, while his backup pistol had already burned through most of its ammunition in the basement.

Then he ran dry, couldn't find another gun, got stabbed, and went tumbling down the stairs.

“It's not that hard to guess. If I wanted to keep things light, I'd carry roughly the same setup.”

“How much ammunition do you need for an assassination?” John asked.

You call what you're about to do an assassination?

Then Nate remembered John Wick had Russian roots.

Right.

Never mind.

He almost lost control of his expression, but forced the corners of his mouth back down.

“According to my information, Red Circle has more than sixty security personnel.”

“I'm not questioning your ability. But you've been retired for five years. How much of your old form do you really have left?”

“If something goes wrong, can you guarantee you'll make it out in one piece?”

John fell silent.

He remained that way for quite some time.

Clearly, he understood the condition his body was in.

Even ignoring the fifty-percent debuff from [Grief], five years without serious training had taken its toll. If he still had even half the physical conditioning he possessed five years ago, he'd be fortunate.

For an ordinary person, five years wasn't even necessary. Someone who trained regularly could stop exercising for five months and already lose a huge amount of conditioning.

Nate finally broke the silence.

“That's why you need someone else with you.”

John thought for a moment before looking directly into Nate's eyes.

“There's a bounty on me. Staying with me is dangerous.”

Nate leaned back against the sofa, completely relaxed.

“Oh, that's what you're worried about? You should've said so. I've got a bounty too. Eight hundred thousand dollars.”

“Still a little short of yours.”

Understanding dawned in John's eyes.

For once, there was even a hint of curiosity there, though he didn't ask anything further.

“All right.”

John agreed.

Elena cautiously raised one hand beside them.

“I... I want to go too.”

Both men turned toward her at the same time.

“No.”

Their voices were equally firm.

Elena quietly shrank back.

“What time are we leaving?” Nate asked.

“Eight.”

“Okay.”

“We've got plenty of time. I'm going to ask Henry to give me a disguise. Want one too, Mr. Wick?”

“No, thank you.”

...

8:30 p.m.

Nate and John arrived near Red Circle.

They observed the club from behind a phone booth a little over fifty meters away.

Beneath the flashing neon sign, a long line stretched down the sidewalk.

An exceptionally tall security guard stood at the entrance.

Nate rubbed his disguised face and glanced at John.

“That guy has to be around two-point-two meters tall, right?”

“Francis,” John said.

He recognized the guard immediately.

“He's lost a lot of weight.”

Just then, a black sedan pulled up outside the club.

Several close friends of the mob boss's son stepped out, looking thoroughly pleased with themselves.

John's gaze turned cold.

“Get in line.”

Nate stared at him.

“What?”

“Aren't we going in together?”

“I'm going to say hello.”

John's eyes swept across the crowd.

“Fine. Where do we meet inside?” Nate asked.

“I'll find you.”

John left him with that answer and walked toward the side of Red Circle.

Nate watched him disappear into the darkness.

Standing in line really was boring.

Nate deliberately joined at the very back, and it took more than half an hour before his turn finally came.

The man guarding the entrance stood more than a full head taller than him.

Nate actually had to tilt his head back to look at him.

“Good evening, sir. I need to check whether you're carrying any weapons.”

“Sure. I'm not carrying anything for self-defense.”

Nate slipped his throwing knives, pistol, and magazines into the [System Backpack].

Just as the guard picked up the metal detector, a deep, magnetic voice came from behind him.

“Hello, Francis.”

Nate turned his head.

Looking past the enormous guard, he saw John standing behind him with a gun already aimed at the back of his head.

Francis didn't dare turn around.

But he knew exactly who was behind him.

“Mr. Wick.”

He glanced backward from the corner of his eye.

“You've lost weight.”

“Sixty pounds.”

“Yeah? That's impressive.”

“Are you here on business, sir?”

“I'm afraid so.”

John stood behind him.

“Why don't you take the night off?”

Francis removed his earpiece and finally turned around to face him.

“Thank you, sir.”

Nate stood nearby, barely containing his excitement as the two spoke in a language he couldn't understand.

But he knew exactly what they were saying.

Come on.

He'd watched the first John Wick dozens of times.

He practically knew the dialogue by heart.

Francis walked away.

Nate followed behind John, then suddenly remembered something.

“Mr. Wick.”

John kept walking.

“Are we working again?”

John didn't turn around.

His eyes remained fixed ahead.

“Yeah.”

That damn voice.

Perfect.