Chapter 135: The Mysterious Melin

As the air temperature suddenly dropped, the faces of the Adjudicator and the assassin behind her gradually turned grim.

"Mister Melin, the consequences of joking around… can be very serious," the Adjudicator said coldly.

"If by consequences… you mean him," Melin pointed at the bald Japanese man behind the Adjudicator, then pointed toward the kitchen and the study, "and those guys, then to be honest, they were just average."

Seeing how unconcerned Melin was, the Adjudicator completely lost her patience and gave a signal to the bald Japanese man.

He understood instantly, drew the blade from his waist, and rushed at Melin's throat with incredible speed—but that was as far as he got.

Under their horrified gazes, Melin simply raised a single finger and pressed it against the blade's edge. No matter how much force the attacker used, the blade couldn't move forward even a millimeter, not even cutting Melin's skin.

"A mutant!" the Adjudicator immediately concluded. Though it was a mistaken assumption, she couldn't be blamed. After all, when people witnessed something beyond comprehension, their first instinct was to blame the mutants.

The Japanese man's face turned red with exertion, his eyes darting anxiously toward the study and the kitchen, silently wondering why his apprentices hadn't come to help.

"If you're waiting for your apprentices, you might as well give up. If you check now, they're still warm," Melin said flatly.

"You—"

…

…

She started to speak, then swallowed her words.

Because she saw Melin raise another finger and lightly pinch the blade. With a flick, the blade snapped and flew toward the Adjudicator.

In a blink, the blade was at her face, like Death's scythe pressed against her throat, and she was paralyzed with fear.

Just as she thought death was inevitable, the blade stopped right at her eyeball, a single push away from penetrating her skull.

Melin flicked his finger again. A small wave of force struck the Japanese man's wrist, and with a yelp of pain, the handle of the sword fell from his grip. Melin caught it effortlessly and summoned the blade back.

The blade and handle rejoined at the break, and with a sweep of his hand, something miraculous happened—the katana became whole again, even sharper than before.

"Not a bad blade. You've got good taste," Melin said casually to the Japanese man as he threw the blade back like a streak of silver lightning. It landed perfectly in the sheath at the man's waist.

"You're a mutant!" the Adjudicator finally snapped out of it and cried.

"Why is it that whenever you people encounter supernatural powers, you always assume it's the mutants' fault?" Melin replied, clearly exasperated.

"You… Hmph! So what if you are a mutant?! Countless mutants have died at the hands of the assassins from the High Table. You think being a mutant is enough to challenge the High Table?" the Adjudicator barked, hiding her fear behind her anger.

"And?" Melin smiled, still indifferent.

The Adjudicator swore that Melin's smile was the most hateful—and terrifying—she had ever seen.

It was the gentle smile of a refined gentleman, yet the words were ruthless, and the actions even more so. Everything around him was under his control, and his opponents were merely playthings.

But being chosen as an Adjudicator by the High Table, she wasn't someone who would be easily intimidated. She quickly suppressed her fear and panic, regaining her cold and haughty demeanor.

"Mister Melin, maybe you're very confident in your own power, but please think carefully about my proposal. If conflict breaks out, both sides will suffer. That's not something either of us wants, right?"

"Hm… That does make sense." Melin nodded as if agreeing.

The Adjudicator was inwardly delighted, thinking she had persuaded him—until a bucket of cold water snuffed out her hope.

"…But you haven't even figured out my identity. How can you be sure… that my side would suffer mutual destruction with the High Table?" Melin asked with a smile that wasn't a smile.

"You…" The Adjudicator suddenly realized she had no answer.

All her judgments had been personal speculation with no evidence. She had grown too used to being in power—where small decisions affected countless lives—and only now did she realize that Melin had held the upper hand from the start. Not only had she failed to capture John Wick, she hadn't even gathered any valuable information.

Is Melin a mutant? What are his abilities? How large is his power base? How strong is it?

She had no answers.

In her mind, the High Table was supreme, but that didn't mean it was invincible. There were forces even the High Table wouldn't provoke—like the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division of the Security Council.

And now… did she need to add another name to the list of "untouchables"?

"Go back. There's no need to come again. In a few days, I'll visit the Continental Hotel myself—see if it's really as safe as they say." Melin spoke calmly as he lifted his teacup.

Mm, compared to bitter black coffee, tea really was better.

Hearing this, the Adjudicator knew the mission was a failure, and the fear in her heart urged her to retreat. Without another word, she left with the Japanese man. As for the people in the kitchen and the study… dead men held no value.

Watching them leave so decisively, Melin shook his head. "What lousy service. Leaving without even cleaning up—zero stars."

As he finished speaking, Melin waved his hand. The corpses in the two rooms vanished into smoke—no blood, no trace left behind. A breeze carried the scent of flowers through the open window, clearing the air. Everything was clean again.

Thud—

Suddenly, a dull sound echoed from upstairs, and Melin froze for a moment, then covered his face in frustration.

"That stubborn mule still doesn't understand human speech?" he grumbled as he walked upstairs. As expected, the moment he reached the upper floor, he saw John Wick crawling on the ground.

Sweat soaked his body as he clenched his teeth, enduring immense pain. But he hadn't given up, inching forward bit by bit.

"I swear… if you want to die, I can send you to the underworld right now," Melin said, leaning against the wall with irritation.

"Melin… I have to leave… or else…"

Before he could finish, John Wick fainted again.

"Sigh, this kid…" Melin shook his head and used telekinesis to float him back to the bed. Then he set a restriction spell to keep John confined, preventing any more reckless behavior. After all, Melin had promised to visit the Continental in a few days—he couldn't stand him up.

Naturally, he was bringing John Wick along.

…

Back at the Continental, the Adjudicator finally felt safe. Only then did she realize her back was soaked with cold sweat.

"Looks like the Adjudicator lady ran into trouble?" said Winston, manager of the New York Continental Hotel, his tone dripping with mockery. When she first arrived, she was ready to strip him of everything. Now, only two days into her one-week deadline, she was already returning in panic, begging for help. The satisfaction was unreal.

"Wipe that disgusting look off your face, Winston. You and I are both loyal servants of the High Table. Its authority has been challenged, and we must restore it!" the Adjudicator snapped.

"Of course. What would you have me do?" Winston asked, barely concealing the delight on his face.

He had known from the start that the Adjudicator's visit to Melin would come to nothing. Melin was too mysterious—neither the High Table's intelligence network, nor his own sources, nor even the underground black market could dig up anything useful.

The only piece of intelligence with a 10% chance of being true was that Melin came from the Greek Sanctuary.

And ironically, it was this one correct lead they dismissed as a joke—executing the informant on the spot for "wasting their time with fairy tales."

So Winston had simply raised the bounty on John Wick and leaked intel that he was hiding at Melin's house. After that, it wasn't his concern.

Winston was an extremely selfish man, willing to do anything to keep his power. But he also cared deeply about his friendship with John Wick—which is why the High Table gave him a week to hand over his managerial authority.

He didn't stop John Wick from breaking the rules, nor did he execute him afterward. Instead, he gave him an hour to escape.

"Old sly fox!" the Adjudicator cursed inwardly, glaring at Winston's smug face. If she didn't need him now, she would've slapped him.

"What ideas do you have?"

"Me? What could I possibly suggest? I'm almost retired," Winston said, grinning like a cat who ate the canary. That proud face had finally been shattered—and maybe the High Table would revoke her right to judge him. Two birds with one stone.

Still, he truly didn't have any useful strategies against Melin—and he didn't dare try. If they provoked him, the Adjudicator could just leave, but he'd be stuck here with everything he owned.

"You! Winston, you better think twice about what you say. Your judgment still lies in my hands," the Adjudicator growled.

"Of course I know that. But I really can't help you. And honestly, neither can you," Winston said, carefully balancing his words—venting his frustration while offering a subtle hint. Whether she understood it was up to her.

"You… wait a minute! You mean…" The Adjudicator was about to explode, ready to use her authority to ruin Winston—but suddenly, she stopped, catching his deeper meaning.

"I didn't say anything." Winston spread his hands innocently.

The Adjudicator glared at him one last time and turned to leave.