Ella smiled. It seemed Lucas's personality was just as heroic and straightforward as the novels had described. "They're from the imperial court," Ella said. "With so many members of the Beggar Sect gathered here, no one would feel at ease."
Lucas didn't pay it much mind. Over the years, the Beggar Sect had repeatedly intercepted Liao forces at Yanmen Pass—the court wouldn't dare move against them. Still, he was grateful for Ella's warning. "Might I ask for your name, friend?" Lucas inquired.
Ella chuckled. "Ella."
Lucas's first thought was of Ethan. Could there be some connection between them? Regardless, anyone who posed a threat to the Beggar Sect had to be dealt with. But Ella didn't seem like trouble. "Would you mind showing me your true face?" Lucas asked.
Ella hadn't expected Lucas to be the first to ask. "Lucas," he replied, "you should know—I only remove my mask for the dead."
Lucas laughed heartily. "I could take it off by force if I wished, but that's not my way. We've crossed paths now—shouldn't a true man face the world openly? Why hide?"
Ella was struck by his words. *He's right.* Once he finished this last task for Scarlett, he'd be free. There'd be no reason to keep hiding.
From that moment, Ella decided never to wear the mask again. "You speak plainly, Lucas," he said, then reached up and removed the ghostly visage.
Every eye in the tavern turned toward them. Lucas, too, waited eagerly to see the face beneath.
What emerged was pale—years without sunlight had left it bloodless—but finely chiseled, with sharp contours. The only flaw was the lifelessness in his eyes. Lucas immediately understood: Ella was blind. What a waste of such striking features. And yet, there was an air of scholarly refinement about him, as if he'd devoured ten thousand books.
"Lucas," Ella said, "what's wrong? Am I so ugly I've frightened you?"
Lucas realized Ella had likely never seen his own face. "Hah! Ella, if *you're* ugly, then I must be downright monstrous."
The other patrons murmured—such a handsome young master, yet blind.
Ella hadn't expected Lucas to joke like this. He burst into laughter. "Waiter! Ten pounds of sorghum wine!"
Lucas brightened at once. *A fellow drinker.* Soon, two massive jugs arrived.
"Lucas," Ella declared, "we don't leave until we're drunk."
Lucas grinned. "Until we're drunk!"
An hour later, both men remained perfectly steady, their complexions unchanged. Ella wondered—had his modern alcohol tolerance carried over?
Lucas checked the sky. "Ella, I must go. Urgent business awaits."
Ella knew where Lucas was headed, but he still had to wait for Ethan. "Until we meet again, Lucas," he said. "And one more warning—beware of the *Vice-Leader's Wife*. She means you harm."
After their earlier exchange, Lucas trusted Ella wasn't the type to sow discord. He nodded. "Thank you, friend. By the way—are you known as *Victor*?"
His gaze flicked to the sword at Ella's left and the flute at his right. *This man carries both for a reason.*
Ella had never been called *Victor*, but the name suited him—it matched his current guise. "Thank you, Lucas," he said. "From now on, I *am* Victor."
Lucas understood at once. With three booming laughs, he departed.
Ella smiled to himself. "Waiter, the bill. It seems Ethan won't be returning—I'll have to find him myself."