Chapter 273: Fake Girlfriend

The chamber inside the fortress was dim, lit only by torches along the stone walls. A map sprawled across the heavy oak table, its edges held down by daggers and half-empty cups. The air smelled of smoke and steel, and every face around the table carried the weight of too many sleepless nights.

Jack slowly raised his hand. The movement was hesitant, almost timid, but it drew every eye in the room. He actually had an idea, an idea that might get them into Bastion without sparking a war.

“T-there’s Bartholomew’s banquet,” Jack stammered.

Evangeline’s eyes narrowed, a sharp glint in the torchlight. “He still keeps that tradition?”

Allison and Luke exchanged confused looks, their silence almost comical against the tension.

“Every month Bartholomew throws a grand feast for his loyalists,” Mason explained, his tone dry, almost contemptuous. “It’s his way of playing king, of feeding the illusion of nobility. Only the finest food, only the best wine.”

Jack brightened, leaning forward. “I fully support this. Do you know how many couples have formed at those banquets? People talk, make friends, sometimes even fall in love. A well-made feast brings joy. It’s almost like a friendship ceremony of the Goddess of Kindness.”

“That’s exactly his goal, Jack,” Evangeline cut in coldly. Her voice was sharp enough to slice through his optimism. “He wants couples, families, bonds formed inside his fortress. Keeps them rooted. Keeps them loyal. It’s control wrapped in honey.”

Luke smirked, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Sounds a lot like your Goddess of Kindness and her cult.”

“She doesn’t manipulate people, she preaches love,” Jack said.

Allison ignored the squabble. Her eyes remained fixed on the map, fingers tracing invisible lines. “This could work. How soon is the next banquet?”

Jack shrugged, the motion small, almost apologetic. “A week? Maybe five days? I’m not sure. I haven’t been inside Bastion in a while.”

Still, it was the first real opening they had found, something that didn’t reek of certain bloodshed.

Luke remained unconvinced. His arms crossed tightly across his chest. “Do you really think Bartholomew would hold a feast right now? I broke out of the capital, slaughtered his men, turned the Safe Zone into chaos. He doesn’t strike me as the type to waste time on fine dining with his cronies.”

Mason’s expression didn’t waver. He looked utterly at home in this discussion, like the fortress walls themselves were listening to him. “That’s exactly why he’ll hold it. The worse his position, the more he needs to project strength. A ruler’s image is his authority. He can’t afford to look weak.”

Luke kept silent, though the words gnawed at him. Politics, power games, those weren’t his arena. He could plan ambushes, duels, escapes. But strategy on this scale? Manipulating appearances, shaping crowds? That was another battlefield entirely, one he barely understood. Mason, born to nobility, spoke its language as naturally as breathing.

Nothing I can’t learn, Luke told himself. Especially with the end of this so-called tutorial looming.

“I could reach the mechanism,” Mason declared, his voice certain. “Jack may be barred from Bastion, but me? I’m still a noble. Even if I’ve aligned with Haven, they wouldn’t dare deny me entry to that banquet.”

“Same for me,” Allison added. Her tone was lighter, but the steel in her eyes betrayed caution. “Bartholomew keeps trying to lure me in. He wants more nobles around him. I could walk through the gates without issue.”

Evangeline leaned against the table, arms folded, her gaze sharp as a blade. “And once you’re inside? How do you plan to reach the mechanism? Knock down walls? Smash through stone? You’d make enough noise to rattle the fortress.”

Without her shadow skills, the question hung heavier. The walls weren’t cracks to slip through anymore, they were barriers, and barriers demanded force. Force meant alarms, screams, blood.

Jack frowned, his voice softer. “But… would they really kill you? You’re nobles of the World Government.”

Mason’s voice was ice. “Bartholomew’s desperate. Of course he would. Titles won’t protect us. Don’t forget Erza Grimhart stands at his side. If she saw us anywhere near that chamber, she’d cut us down without hesitation. And the truth is…” His eyes flicked to Allison, the weight of it visible in the hard set of his jaw. “…even together, she’d crush us.”

The fortress chamber had grown colder, though the torches still burned along the walls. Jack’s eyes widened, reflecting both firelight and dread.

“Not even if you were both at peak rank?” he asked, the words escaping like a breath he hadn’t meant to release.

Allison shook her head slowly, strands of hair brushing her face. “No. To begin with, she’s naturally strong. Like me and Mason, she isn’t entirely human. She’s half construct. Her family line comes from a race of automaton-like beings, living dolls, essentially. That makes her both dangerous and unnervingly logical by nature.”

She let out a short breath, eyes narrowing as if recalling old memories. “On top of that, she was born into a family of assassins. Their heirs are raised as weapons from the cradle, designed for one purpose: to kill. There’s no defeating her. She’s a walking execution machine. Even if every one of us here reached peak rank and stacked ourselves with epic-tier skills, she’d still carve through us. Her entire mentality is bent around the logic of assassination.”

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The words left a heavy silence. Mason leaned forward, his gaze locked on Jack, as if he needed to drive the point into his bones. “She’s from one of the most powerful families in the World Government. And beyond that, the god she serves is Lakarion, the God of Assassination. That means her entire bloodline receives the finest training in the multiverse. You understand what I’m saying, don’t you? She’s not someone you can afford to make an enemy of.”

A curse slipped from Evangeline’s lips, barely louder than the crackle of fire. “Damn it. We’re so close… and yet it feels like miles away.”

Mason exhaled through his nose, steady but grim. Then he spoke, almost too casually: “Maybe I could get Evangeline into the banquet by claiming she’s my girlfriend.”

Chairs scraped. Everyone turned toward him.

“What?” she snapped, bristling instantly.

“It sounds ridiculous, I know. But hear me out. I can secure an invitation, no problem, and if I say you’re my date, no one would question it. They won’t turn me away, and they won’t turn away my ‘partner.’ That would get you inside Bastion during the feast. From there, you could slip out and make for the mechanism chamber.”

The idea hung in the air, fragile but promising. Luke thought, with some surprise, that it was almost perfect.