Logan pondered briefly before speaking. "Very well. Grace and Sophia shall accompany us to better care for Amelia. Henry, you may leave now."
His dismissal was immediate, but Henry, unwilling to part from Amelia, protested, "I travel freely—why not let me join you? I can be of assistance."
Logan stiffened, momentarily speechless. Grace turned to Amelia and suggested, "Perhaps let him stay? He does have some martial skill—he could prove useful."
Henry nodded eagerly, and Amelia agreed. Logan, left with no choice, begrudgingly acquiesced, already plotting another solution. Soon, the five of them set off together.
Outside Wuxi City, beneath the apricot groves, members of the Beggar Sect began gathering in droves. Elliott, guided by Ethan, made his way toward the assembly.
Originally, he was to meet Noah at the sect's main stronghold, but rumors of this gathering had diverted their path. Ethan sent another to notify Noah while he and Elliott scouted the situation.
Three days later, Elliott sat in a teahouse, leisurely sipping his drink. Ethan had gone to gather intelligence on the Beggar Sect, leaving Elliott to wait in quiet contemplation.
To the other patrons, however, he was anything but ordinary. A man shrouded entirely in black, his face concealed behind a mask, his sword and flute marking him as a man of the jianghu.
At another table, a burly man drank heavily, his gaze lingering on the masked stranger. Such attire was rare, and the aura of quiet mastery around the man intrigued him.
Elliott, meanwhile, listened intently to the murmurs around him, discerning which patrons were trained fighters. Only three stood out—one, in particular, exuded a composed strength. A true expert, Elliott mused.
"Brother," the burly man called out, his voice laced with internal energy, "may I share a drink with you?"
Elliott poured wine into an empty cup and gestured. "Be my guest."
The man approached and sat. "From where do you hail, young master?" When Elliott remained silent, he quickly added, "No offense meant. I am Lucas, merely seeking friendship."
Elliott had already guessed as much. "Lucas," he replied smoothly, "once your Beggar Sect conclave concludes, I, Elliott, will gladly share a drink with you."
Lucas frowned. "You know my name—are you one of Noah's men?"
Elliott laughed loudly. "Noah? I have no ties to him."
This puzzled Lucas. Noah wouldn't recruit someone like this—it wasn't the Kennedys' way. Suspicion crept into his voice. "Then are you here to stir trouble in our sect?"
Elliott smirked. "Lucas, you jest. The mighty Beggar Sect is beyond my meddling—unless, of course, it tears itself apart first."
His words carried a veiled warning. Lucas studied him, unsettled. What does he mean? Is there dissent within our ranks?
"Lucas," Elliott murmured, "pay heed to the two by the window. They watch you."
Though their whispers were faint, Elliott, blind as he was, heard them clearly.
Lucas scoffed. "I've long noticed them. Mere insects—hardly worth my concern."
Elliott's lips curled beneath his mask. Foolish confidence. The game had only just begun.