Chapter 50: My Life? Worth the Entire High Table!
Returning to the Continental Hotel, David happened to run into Winston who was discussing something with Charon in the lobby.
Seeing David enter, Winston waved to him, indicating that David shouldn't rush upstairs.
David walked over, somewhat puzzled.
Theoretically, apart from medical treatment, he shouldn't have any interaction with Winston.
And Winston didn't appear to have any health issues from what he could observe.
Could it be that this Winston had some unmentionable condition that required treatment?
Winston looked at David approaching, smiled, and turned to Charon, saying:
"Let's leave it at that. I'm going to have a drink with this young man."
Then Winston closed the ledger spread out on the concierge desk, clasped his hands behind his back, and said in an tone that brooked no argument:
"Come along. It's on me—let's chat downstairs."
Offering hospitality for no reason? With a suspicious mind, David's gaze strangely drifted six inches below Winston's belt.
Winston seemed to sense something, adjusted his posture to block David's line of sight, and then said with amusement:
"Hey, don't look around randomly. Everything still works just fine, unless you want to verify that personally?"
Verify?
David could hardly imagine that scenario, and he immediately shook his head.
Winston chuckled:
"Good. I'm not interested in men, but I am somewhat interested in the now-deceased Harry."
Hearing Winston mention the already dead Harry, David's heartbeat instantly quickened.
But reacting immediately, he quickly controlled his breathing, slowing down his heart rate.
But for an old fox like Winston, David's initial reaction was enough to reveal plenty.
Winston just didn't say anything until the two arrived at the underground assassin's lounge and sat down in Winston's private booth.
Only then did Winston slowly continue the topic about Harry.
"Harry died because of your scheme, didn't he?"
Facing Winston, who held all the cards, David wasn't afraid—he had more or less anticipated Winston's angle.
However, admitting this would give Winston leverage over him, so David decisively responded:
"No. Harry died at the hands of Viggo's enforcer. It has nothing to do with me."
Winston chuckled. This David Wells was very intelligent—as long as he didn't admit it, no one could pin Harry's death on him.
After all, when Viggo's man arrived, Harry was indeed still alive.
So Winston temporarily dropped this topic and shifted to discuss assassins.
"Sometimes, killing doesn't require exceptional combat skills—just a clever mind is sufficient.
Therefore, we've always divided assassins into two categories: one is the common combat-type assassin, and John Wick is the apex among them.
The other is the rarer tactical-type assassin, who can eliminate the target by engineering various circumstances and coincidences.
Compared to combat-type assassins, tactical-type assassins often live considerably longer.
So, would you be willing to moonlight as an assassin?"
Be an assassin? Kill people?
David would have to be insane to waste his limited time on contract killing.
Being an assassin offered him no benefits whatsoever.
He decisively shook his head again:
"No. I think being a physician is quite fulfilling. I like the feeling of saving people.
The feeling of life balanced at my fingertips is truly intoxicating.
As for killing?
Sorry, as a doctor, I hate seeing corpses the most—because it means I've failed."
Winston, having been refused, wasn't angry. He took a sip of the bourbon in front of him and dropped a bombshell:
"Oh? Then you don't want to see twelve bodies stacked up at the High Table's doorstep?
Why not use your limited time to do something meaningful for me?"
Seeing Winston speak more and more openly, David looked around warily, wondering if he was already surrounded.
Could such treasonous words be spoken here? Should he even be hearing this?
If he refused, would he be able to leave this underground lounge alive?
Sure enough, while Winston was speaking, the ambient music had stopped at some point.
The assassins gathered in the lounge also ceased their conversations and all turned to look at David.
Enveloped by these predatory gazes, David simply stopped pretending. He pushed away the glass in front of him and stared directly into Winston's eyes, saying:
"You want them to die from medical accidents, right? But even so, I can only handle one High Table member for you.
What do you plan to do with the rest?
Rely on the people in this room to solve it? Or wait for the next me to come along?
What about the other Continental Hotels worldwide? What about the Camorra? What about the Adjudicator? What about the Elder in the desert?
Trust me, you are nowhere near prepared to see the High Table reduced to a pile of corpses."
Looking at David who was staring him down without flinching, Winston's eyes immediately showed genuine surprise.
This David Wells before him was truly audacious—not only did he show no shock when he heard Winston express his desire to stack bodies at the High Table.
Even now, under death threats from dozens of trained killers, he didn't panic at all.
Moreover, the inside information David possessed seemed far more extensive than Winston had anticipated.
Logically, a newly recruited physician like David shouldn't know any of this.
Winston, growing increasingly intrigued by David, leaned back on the plush leather sofa with his glass, gently swirling the amber liquid:
"There's no shortage of dying men in this world."
"True. But those dying men don't have a mind like mine, nor do they possess my particular skill set.
Using me to trade for the life of just one High Table member—I think that's a poor investment.
My life can be traded for the entire High Table!"
Hearing David's audacious declaration, Winston suddenly laughed, then he waved his hand dismissively.
The music in the lounge started playing again, and the buzz of conversation returned.
This display was Winston's blatant demonstration of power to David.
All of this represented Winston's absolute authority over this Continental Hotel.
Apart from the freelance assassins passing through, the local contractors here were already absolutely loyal to Winston.
It was clear from this that Winston had already begun preparing for that inevitable day.
All he needed was an opportunity—a spark to ignite the powder keg that was the High Table!
Winston studied David quietly for a long moment, trying to find some trace of fear or apprehension on the young man's face.
But he failed completely—the David Wells before him seemed not to know the meaning of the word fear at all.
That's right—how could someone who could utter such bold words as 'My life is worth the entire High Table' possibly understand what fear is?
Winston drained the bourbon in his glass:
"Then I very much look forward to the day when you make that exchange with the High Table. I hope you don't make me wait too long.
Your time is short, and frankly, so is mine."
David smiled and stood up calmly:
"Don't worry. The change is coming soon. History has a way of repeating itself—the collapse of the High Table will definitely begin from within."
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