Chapter 18 – The Price of Holy Light
Ethan stood at the sink, cold water running over his palms. It washed his skin, but not the hollowed-out feeling inside his body.
In just a few minutes, the man in the mirror looked ten years older—face pale, dark circles under his eyes, like someone had siphoned off half his life.
"Casting five skills back-to-back… yeah, that was asking for trouble," he muttered.
Compared to the previous cancer treatments, he had added one more this time—Holy Word: Redemption.
Beautiful name. Brutal cost.
He could clearly feel the warm current of light inside him had been drained completely. Even his thoughts felt sluggish.
"Did I just burn through my entire mana bar in one go?" he stared at his palm, frowning.
What exactly do these abilities consume?
Over the years, he had tried to figure it out. Mana? Mental energy? Life force?
Meditation, breathing techniques, caffeine—none of it made a measurable difference.
The only consistent rule he'd found was simple:
The more he practiced, the longer he could last.
He snorted to himself. "If only I had a mage buddy. Conjure Water, Conjure Bread—problem solved. Infinite regen."
Shaking off the water, he headed back into the treatment room.
Walter White was sitting on the couch now, looking far more relaxed than before.
"Mr. White, how are you feeling?" Ethan asked, forcing energy into his voice.
"Much better," Walter said. Even the lines at the corners of his eyes seemed lighter. He exhaled slowly, savoring the sensation. "Breathing feels… clean. Like my lungs got rinsed from the inside."
Ethan didn't answer immediately. He walked to the monitor and checked the ECG.
The waveform was steady and smooth. Heart rate had settled at 76.
He picked up his stethoscope and placed it against Walter's chest.
Deep in the lungs, airflow sounded clear—no rasp, no crackles. Full, unobstructed.
He nodded. "Good. Breath sounds are normal. No dry or wet rales. Gas exchange is smooth. Alveolar activity is significantly improved—faster than I expected."
"When's the next session?" Walter asked, a trace of urgency creeping into his voice. "I can't wait already."
Ethan gave a tired smile. "Easy. Your body just ran a marathon it doesn't know it ran. We'll let things stabilize first."
But inside, he was thinking something else.
And next time… I'm not emptying the tank again.
Ethan smiled. "I'd suggest a month from now. Too many sessions in a short time, and the effect drops off sharply." It was a lesson he'd learned the hard way from repeatedly using Renew on himself.
"That works," Walter said. "I'll go home and get re-examined at the hospital in the meantime. Maybe… after a few days. I just hope this isn't a placebo."
"Understood," Ethan replied. He'd seen it before—people didn't just fear doctors being wrong. They feared hope being wrong.
"How did your last patient turn out?" Walter asked suddenly.
"Brain cancer," Ethan said. "Inoperable at diagnosis. Three months, they said. After the first session, the tumor shrank by twenty percent—at least on imaging. The doctors recommended surgery after that."
"Let's hope I get that kind of luck," Walter said, smiling faintly.
A short silence passed before he asked, more quietly, "How much did that patient pay?"
Ethan blinked. He hadn't expected that.
"One hundred thousand dollars."
"Oh." Walter nodded, surprised—but not shocked.
"Can I pay in installments?"
"Of course."
"I'll start with thirty thousand." Walter pulled out his checkbook. "Don't cash it until after this week. Preferably next Monday."
"Mr. White, you can wait until after your follow-up scans. Pay next time you come for treatment."
Walter hesitated, then tucked the checkbook away. "All right. I'll try to pay in full then."
"Thank you, Mr. White. For choosing to trust me."
"Don't," Walter said, meeting his eyes. "I owe you an apology for doubting you."
"No need. I completely understand."
Walter's gaze drifted to the steady ECG line.
"Ethan… why don't you go public?
You can improve people's conditions—even if you can't cure them completely.
You could reduce so much suffering.
If people knew, they wouldn't come in so skeptical."
Ethan was quiet for a moment, removing the stethoscope from his neck.
"First, I have limits." His voice was calm, but exhaustion ran through it. "You saw my state just now. This may look like a miracle, but the burden on the doctor is extreme. And I haven't found any way to teach this to others."
Walter frowned. "Even so, your method works. If you made it public—"
"—I might get killed," Ethan cut in with a smile. "I'm not joking."
He leaned back in his chair.
"Do you know how much the U.S. spends on cancer every year?"
"Billions," Walter said. "You hear numbers like that on the news all the time."
"More. If you count pharma, insurance, hospitals, research funding—over 190 billion dollars a year."
"Cancer isn't just a disease anymore. It's an industry.
Corporations, hospital systems, insurers, drug giants—they run on it. Profit from it. Shareholders depend on it.
If someone truly claimed they could cure cancer… do you think the first reaction would be celebration?
Or elimination?
No one willingly gives up a market worth hundreds of billions."
Silence settled in the room, broken only by the monitor's steady beeping.
"So you're afraid," Walter said quietly.
Ethan gave a crooked smile. "No. I just know I'm not a saint. Helping some people is enough for me. I don't want to end up mysteriously dead and trending on the evening news."
Walter looked at him differently now.
When money and power react together, any catalyst called hope becomes an impurity to be removed.
"I'll keep your secret," Walter said at last. "If someone I truly trust needs help, I'll recommend you. Otherwise—not a word."
"Thank you, Mr. White."
"No," Walter said seriously. "Thank you. If I really do improve, you won't just be saving me. You'll be saving my family."
Ethan shook his head with a small smile. "I only treat the patient. Families save themselves."
Walter smiled—then seemed to remember something.
"One more thing. My son… he has mild cerebral palsy. Do you think—you could help him?"
Ethan considered it. "I can't promise anything. But I can try."
Walter nodded. "Then next month. I'll bring him to New York."
"I'll be ready. See you next month."