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The call ended.
Listening to the dial tone, Sloan fell into a daze.
Had his actions been exposed?
Had the Templar figured everything out and told Fox?
Then what now...?
Faced with a leader who had betrayed Fate, and an ancient enemy no one had heard of, what choice would the other assassins of the Brotherhood make?
Sloan didn't want to gamble.
And he didn't dare to.
His eyes sharpened as he snapped out of it. Sloan stood up and walked straight toward the secret room that housed the Loom of Fate.
No matter what happened next, he had to create conditions favorable to himself.
"It's just a machine..." Sloan muttered.
Following the methods recorded in the ancient texts, he once again manipulated the Loom of Fate, forcing it to weave cloth according to his will.
Special encoded fabrics formed, one after another, bearing the names he chose.
"Fox."
"Carlos."
"The Gunsmith."
"The Butcher."
Sloan paused.
"And finally..." his fingers slowed.
"...mine."
"Sloan Kenway."
...
"Congratulations, sir."
"After verification, you have passed the initial assessment and are now a formal hitman of the Continental Hotel, with access to all available services."
Inside the Continental Hotel, the receptionist Charon spoke politely to Morin.
"At the same time, sir, I must remind you once again that no bloodshed or killing is permitted within the Continental Hotel."
"Understood," Morin nodded, idly playing with the slightly larger coin in his hand.
"What's this?"
"This is your marker, sir," Charon explained.
"Every hitman has one."
"If someone possesses your marker, you are obligated to complete any task they assign you."
"Once completed, the debt is settled."
"So please be careful not to use it as payment unless absolutely necessary."
"A contract with mandatory enforcement?" Morin asked. "Why?"
"Because it is the rule of the High Table," Charon replied with a smile.
"The High Table stands above all."
"Then that's fine." Morin shrugged and turned to leave.
"Thanks."
"My pleasure, sir. Also, I've delivered the message you asked me to pass on to Mr. John Wick."
"Oh?" Morin paused. "What did he say?"
"Mr. Wick's exact words were: 'My memory is always excellent.'"
"You're wrong," Morin said casually.
"He definitely said that with a poker face. Not smiling."
Charon: "..."
Feeling refreshed, Morin left the Continental Hotel.
Being contrarian once in a while was surprisingly satisfying.
Charon picked up the phone and called Winston.
"Sir, Mr. Morin has completed his assessment. He is now a formal hitman."
"Interesting." Winston studied the information on his phone.
"Very interesting..."
As the hotel manager, he naturally had access to all records and missions under Morin's name.
"This man is far too interesting."
"Sir?" Charon didn't quite understand.
"An independent mission," Winston said, taking a sip of his drink.
"How long has it been since one of those appeared?"
"Wick wasn't exaggerating," he continued.
"This man's abilities are real."
"An independent exclusive mission..." Charon repeated.
"They do exist, but the cost is high. Open-ended missions can usually achieve the same result, so very few people post them."
"Sir, are you saying-"
"Yes." Winston's eyes narrowed slightly as he read the record.
"Just now, Morin received one."
"The CEO and chairman of a multinational pharmaceutical group located him through surveillance footage and issued him an independent exclusive mission."
When Morin confronted Fox, he hadn't bothered with a disguise.
A hidden camera caught his face.
"Interesting," Morin muttered as he checked the mission on his phone.
"He paid that much just to meet me?"
Originally, Morin had thought this Eric was already irrelevant.
A side character, long past his moment.
But now...
"It seems you really enjoy adding drama to your own story, Mr. Eric," Morin murmured.
He dialed Wick's number.
"What?" Wick's slightly irritated voice answered after a few seconds.
Morin immediately picked up on Wick's hurried breathing, along with someone else's faint panting.
He had called at a bad time.
"Looks like I interrupted something important," Morin said calmly.
"I'll call back in ten minutes."
"Ten minutes should be enough for you, right?"
"No! Get lost!" Wick roared.
"You're the one who's enough!"
The line went dead.
"Who was that?" Helen asked, her tone tinged with dissatisfaction.
"You answered the phone at a time like this?"
"An asshole," Wick said darkly.
"An asshole who might actually let me leave that world for good."
"Ah, easy there~"
Morin had no intention of waiting.
He sent Wick a message with the training base location and a brief outline of what they were about to do.
Then he boarded a plane.
Four hundred kilometers.
By car, it would take too long.
By air, just over an hour.
...
In the CEO's office of the Eric Group, Eric lay half-reclined in his chair, eyes closed.
Thinking.
He knew exactly who wanted him dead.
And who had sent the hitman.
So he convened a board meeting and made a decision.
He would lower the price of his company's drugs, honoring his promise to Morin.
At the same time, he would completely crush Moderna.
The Eric Group controlled nearly all major distribution channels and stood at the top of the multinational pharmaceutical industry.
But their inflated prices had given companies like Moderna breathing room-selling inferior products cheaply.
Now that Moderna had crossed the line and hired a hitman, Eric saw no reason to show mercy.
He also knew this decision would offend many powerful people.
That was why he reviewed the hidden camera footage from his villa, captured Morin's face, purchased his identity from the High Table's Hawkeye organization, and issued an independent exclusive mission.
That female assassin had wiped out over a dozen guards on her own.
Yet she was helpless before Morin.
If someone like that protected him, his safety would improve dramatically.
Independent missions were expensive.
But they had one advantage over open-ended contracts.
Their objectives didn't have to be killing.
Meeting someone.
Requesting protection.
Those counted too.