Have you ever seen The Fast and the Furious?
Yes, that one, with the man who talks about family and hits the nitro without hesitation.
Right now in London, there was someone just like that. Though there was no nitro, the speed had already blown past two speed cameras.
The Canary Wharf driving god's car. Truly terrifying.
Watson sat in the car, his expression grave.
His hands gripped the seatbelt tightly as he carefully said to his wife, who was driving, "We could slow down a little."
"Shut up!"
Mrs. Wick, the Canary Wharf driving goddess, slammed the accelerator, and the intense force pressed Watson back into his seat, silencing him.
They left the GTR trying to keep up far behind.
Watson regretted ever modifying the car behind his wife's back. This kind of speed was clearly beyond his control.
Mrs. Wick's eyes darkened, allowing her to track the golden beetle more clearly.
In the back seat, the two owls narrowed their eyes. The white one cast Watson a look of pure disdain, as if mocking him.
Ever since learning that her son was trapped, Mrs. Wick had become completely reckless.
The car raced wildly, drawing the attention of more than a dozen police cars in pursuit.
Heart pounding, Watson received a phone call.
"Yes, yes, Mr. Mycroft, it's me, Watson."
"This is for a reason. I know it looks suspicious, but it's not a chase and there's no bomb. The hotel matter will proceed as scheduled."
"Could you have those police officers pull back?"
"…Alright, I'm mainly worried they'll crash."
No sooner had he said that than Watson saw Mrs. Wick yank the handbrake and spin the wheel, executing a perfect drain-style drift through the corner.
The police cars behind them, carrying too much speed into the turn, crashed into one another in a chain reaction, blocking the entire road.
A confused voice came from the other end of the call.
"Mr. Wick, what was that noise?"
"Uh… nothing." He had barely finished speaking when an explosion sounded.
He swallowed hard, turned his head back, and repeated as if nothing had happened, "Nothing at all."
On the other end, the man looked at the phone with suspicion. He had clearly heard an explosion.
The golden beetle flew at incredible speed. Aside from Mrs. Wick, no one could keep their eyes on it without losing track.
They sped across Tower Bridge and reached the Tower of London.
The golden beetle flew upward toward the Tower. There was no need to drive any further.
The smoking car was abandoned without a second thought as the couple hurried after it on foot.
The golden beetle had already stopped, hovering in midair. Above, a black owl and a white owl circled over the White Tower.
They rushed inside, searching along the way, until they reached St. John's Chapel, where they saw a hole broken open above.
Sunlight streamed through the opening, and the golden beetle hovered in place.
No, something was wrong.
Looking closer, beneath the brown prayer desk, the faint outline of a sword appeared under the sunlight.
"Is this John's sword?"
The golden beetle crouched on the hilt, and the red gem gleamed with a strange, mystical light.
Watson and Mrs. Wick exchanged a glance.
Then they stepped forward.
The couple stopped before the Silver Wick Sword, and Watson took a deep breath.
He slowly reached out, but just as he was about to grasp the hilt, his hand passed straight through it.
"What's going on?" Watson was baffled and tried several more times.
The sword was clearly there, yet it could not be touched.
Mrs. Wick reached out as well, but she could not touch it either.
"Magic."
A thought flashed through Watson's mind as he remembered his son's words.
He murmured John's words, "This sword was forged with my blood. Only those closest to me can locate it."
Looking at the beetle crouched on the hilt, the idea in Watson's mind grew clearer and clearer.
Just then, a gunshot interrupted his thoughts.
Bang!
"Haha, Watson Wick, even you make mistakes."
Dozens of vicious-looking men stood with weapons in hand. The leader was a dark-skinned man.
He wore a thick gold chain, a gold ring set with a red gem on his left hand, and held a revolver in his right.
"It's you? CJ?!" Watson frowned. "The Grove Street Gang was already exiled."
"Fuck!" the leader, CJ, roared in fury. "Only fools let you control them. The lions of Grove Street are not afraid!"
This had originally been the territory of the Grove Street Gang. The ones who had caused trouble for the hotel last time were also these people.
Watson had driven them out with the support of both the authorities and the entire underground network, yet he had not expected them to be this persistent.
The situation was dire. They were deep in the Grove Street Gang's territory, with no support.
Mrs. Wick quietly turned around. She kicked off her high heels and flicked her fingers, revealing two teaspoons she had brought in haste.
Taking a fighting stance, she said coldly, "Anyone who gets in the way of saving my son will die."
"Spoons?" The leader burst into laughter at the sight of what she held.
With a mocking tone, he said, "Are you going to use those to make me a cup of coffee?"
Still laughing, he did not take her seriously at all. Without warning, he raised his gun and pulled the trigger.
Bang!
The bullet moved too fast to be seen, rushing toward Mrs. Wick.
Her black hair swept aside as the bullet tore a hole through it.
In an instant, she lowered her body, preparing to charge.
The teaspoon in her hand flashed into a streak of gold, piercing straight through the skull of another man who was about to raise his gun.
Like a phantom, she appeared among the crowd.
Fists, fingers, palms, elbows, knees, legs, shoulders.
Anything that could be moved became a deadly weapon.
Even the fiercest lion had to bow before a witcher.
Especially a witcher searching for her son.
The alpha of the Jovonovich family.
Silver light flashed as gunfire erupted.
Mrs. Wick charged through them like a tiger among sheep, unleashing a massacre.
Someone tried to attack from behind. Her hair snapped straight, slicing across the man's throat like steel wire.
Blood sprayed, blooming across her pale skin.
"W-What kind of monster is this?"
CJ watched as his men were slaughtered like vegetables by a woman wielding nothing but a teaspoon.
In Grove Street, where he came from, there were many people with strange abilities. Not to mention the legendary barber who could give a long hairstyle to a bald man, he had even seen an old man who could barely walk make someone jump off a building with just a stick.
But this kind of human killing machine defied all imagination.
Before today, he had never known that a strand of hair could kill.
"More men! Get more men! Shoot her!" he shouted in panic.
The reinforcements who rushed in were all armed, pouring out a barrage of bullets.
Even a witcher had to avoid such dense firepower.
Mrs. Wick moved at incredible speed, taking cover behind a wall.
Bullets struck it, sending fragments of stone flying.
Watson grew increasingly anxious.
His own people would not arrive in time, and the leader had already set his sights on him.
Grinning viciously, he took a hand axe from one of his men and stepped toward Watson.
"Watson Wick, the underground king of London?"
"You may be useless, but you've got yourself a beautiful and competent woman," he said, licking his lips with a sinister smile, the blade reflecting his twisted face. "My men are all well equipped."
"After I cut off your limbs, I'll make you watch."
With that, he brought the axe down.
Watson did not dodge. He suddenly lunged forward, crashing into the man's chest.
They grappled, and Watson drove a punch into his molars.
The axe cut across Watson's arm.
But Watson seized both of the man's arms and used the most primal weapon given to humanity.
He bit into the man's throat.
The metallic scent of blood filled his nose. Watson's eyes turned red as his teeth tore through flesh and pressed against the windpipe.
With a savage tear, he bit a chunk of flesh straight from the man's neck.
Blood splattered everywhere. Watson spat out the flesh and stared unblinkingly at the man as he slowly died.
He reached out, thrusting his fingers toward the man's eyes.
A ragged, leaking scream escaped. Wasted!
Watson dug into the eyes and crushed them in his grip.
"You can touch me, but you should never have touched my family. You will never see the path to heaven. You will fall into hell for eternity."
He turned his head.
The gunfire had stopped.
The men were shaken by the brutality of what they had just witnessed, especially the sight of him tearing out their leader's throat with his teeth. He looked like a demon from hell.
"Don't be afraid of him. Kill him!"
The second-in-command shouted, "He's alone. Kill him!"
Mrs. Wick was still pinned down by gunfire. Watson took the hand axe from the fallen man.
Swaying as he stood, he faced the group. They raised their guns. He raised the axe.
"Blood of the father, blade of the son."
His left hand pressed against the sharp edge of the axe.
With a sharp rip, blood flowed freely.
The members of the Grove Street Gang thought he had gone mad, injuring himself at such a moment.
Yet Watson moved his hand toward the illusory blade beneath the sunlight.
Blood dripped from his palm.
Touched by the blood of kin, the Silver Wick Sword gradually became solid.
Watson released the hand axe.
He reached out and grasped the hilt. This time, his hand did not pass through.
With a low roar, he drew the sword.
The blade shone with a noble silver luster, set with gemstones.
It was not merely a sword, but a work of art.
Holding it in his left hand, Watson leveled it toward the Grove Street Gang.
"Let me see what you can do," he muttered.
"What was that line John used…"
"I am the fire dragon... Draco ignis sum"
Flames ignited along the blade, and a dragon's roar echoed within, shaking the chapel.
The father wielded the son's sword.
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