Elliott smiled, thinking Lucas truly lived up to the heroic and forthright demeanor written of him in legends. "They're from the imperial court," Elliott said. "With so many members of the Beggar Sect gathered here, it's only natural they'd be wary."
Lucas didn't seem overly concerned. After all, the Beggar Sect had repeatedly intercepted Liao's armies at Yanmen Pass over the years—the court wouldn't dare move against them. Still, he appreciated Elliott's warning. "Might I ask your name, friend?"
"Elliott," came the reply.
Lucas's first thought was of Ethan. Could there be a connection? But whoever this man was, if he posed a threat to the Beggar Sect, he would not be spared. Yet, judging by his demeanor, he didn't seem like trouble. "Would you show me your true face?" Lucas asked.
Elliott hadn't expected Lucas to be the first to make such a request. "Lucas," he said, "you should know—I only remove my mask for the dead."
Lucas laughed heartily. "If I wanted to tear it off, I could. But I, Lucas, am not that kind of man. We've crossed paths now—a true warrior should face the world openly. Why hide?"
The words struck Elliott like a thunderclap. *He's right.* Once he finished this last task for Scarlett, he would be free. Why keep hiding?
From that moment, Elliott resolved never to wear the mask again. "You speak plainly, Lucas," he said, then reached up and removed the ghostly visage covering his face.
Every eye in the tavern turned toward them. Lucas, too, leaned in, curious about the face beneath.
What emerged was a fair, finely sculpted countenance—pale from years without sunlight, yet sharp in its angles, noble in its bearing. The only flaw was the lifelessness in his eyes. Lucas saw it immediately: Elliott was blind. A pity, for such a handsome face. And there was an air of scholarly refinement about him, as though he had devoured ten thousand books.
"Lucas," Elliott said, "what's wrong? Am I so hideous I've stunned you silent?"
Lucas realized Elliott might never have seen his own reflection. He chuckled. "Hah! If *you're* ugly, then I must be a monster not fit for human eyes."
The onlookers murmured in agreement—such a striking young master, if only he weren't blind.
Elliott hadn't expected Lucas to jest like this. He threw his head back with a laugh. "Waiter! Ten catties of sorghum wine!"
Lucas's eyes lit up. So this man was a drinker too! Soon, two massive jars arrived.
"Lucas," Elliott declared, "we don't leave until we're drunk."
Lucas grinned. "Not until we're drunk!"
An hour later, both men remained steady at the table, their faces betraying no sign of intoxication. Elliott marveled—had his modern-day alcohol tolerance carried over?