Chapter 279: Banquet of Spies

Mason walked arm in arm with Lucy toward the fortress gates. His pulse refused to settle, and he couldn’t tell whether the nerves came from the mission itself, or from the stunning woman clinging to his side.

This woman is really Luke?

Even after being warned, he still had to ask, just to hear it confirmed.

“Lu-Lucy?” Mason ventured.

“Yes, darling, I’m Lucy. Did you forget my name?” she replied with a radiant smile.

His heart lurched. Mason swallowed hard and jerked his gaze away. It’s a man. Calm down. She’s a man.

The fortress gates loomed. Two guards raised their hands, signaling them to stop. Mason’s stomach tightened. These weren’t ordinary sentries, they were barrier mages. Elite. They worked in pairs, one fueling the shield while the other recovered mana, swapping seamlessly every few hours. A flawless cycle. There was only one true way inside. Scale the walls, and the watchtowers would spot you instantly. Which meant this barrier was the true test.

“Good evening, Mason, and…” One of the guards turned to her.

“Lucy,” she answered smoothly.

The man’s gaze slid down her figure, pausing at the slit of her dress, where pale skin gleamed under torchlight. The gown was designed to provoke.

“She’s my girlfriend,” Mason said quickly, his voice sharp. “The one I invited.”

One guard pulled a stack of parchment from his satchel, flipping through sketches of criminals, fugitives, Renegade faces. Their eyes darted between Lucy and the wanted portraits.

“My sweet Mason has told me so much about this place,” Lucy said, fluttering her fan with delicate grace.

Sweet Mason?

She waved herself again. “It’s a little warm out here… or is it just me?” Her fingers toyed with the neckline of her dress.

One guard glanced down, caught himself under Mason’s glare, and looked away with a cough.

“It is pretty warm,” he muttered, earning an elbow from his partner.

“You know the rules, Mason, but I’ll repeat them anyway. First: only one person can enter at a time.”

“It’s because of the barrier, darling,” Mason explained quickly. “It detects the exact number of people crossing. Stops anyone from sneaking in with a stealth skill.”

“Oh, how fascinating,” Lucy cooed. “But honestly, who would be crazy enough to invade this place? Especially with two men as strong and muscular as you standing guard.”

One of the mages straightened unconsciously at the compliment, squaring his shoulders.

“As this is a special event, you must follow the carpeted path only. Do not stray. If you lose your way, there are guards posted throughout the fortress. Ask for assistance.”

At last, the barrier parted. The guards stepped aside.

“Ladies first,” Mason offered stiffly.

“Thank you, darling. You’re such a gentleman,” Lucy replied sweetly, gliding past him as though she had been born to play this role.

Mason watched as Lucy stepped lightly through the shimmering barrier. The mages’ gazes followed her, tracking every movement like hawks.

“One person only,” one guard murmured.

“Confirmed,” the other replied.

Mason’s jaw tightened. That was the truth of it—if Evangeline had tried her shadow tricks here, she would have been exposed instantly. No slipping past this ward, no clever escape. No entry into Bastion. Without this path, the mission would have died at the gates.

When Lucy cleared the barrier, the guards finally gestured for Mason to proceed. He stepped forward, pulse hammering in his ears. On the other side, she waited. The gown clung to her frame, revealing the elegant line of her shoulders and the pale curve of her back. Mason’s eyes betrayed him for a second—flicking down, then jerking away as his head shook violently.

It’s a man. It’s a man. It’s a man!

Lucy turned gracefully to face him, her fan poised, her smile perfectly sweet.

“Darling, this place is incredible,” she said softly, her tone carrying just enough warmth to sting.

“Y-yeah…” Mason stammered, at a loss for what to say, his voice cracking under the weight of absurdity.

She drifted closer, stopping just at his side. “Shall we?”

His hand twitched. Should he take her arm again? Hold her hand? What was he supposed to do? The simple act felt like defusing a trap. Awkwardly, he started to slide his arm around her back.

Lucy’s eyes snapped cold, her voice dropping to a blade-thin whisper. “If you put your hand on my waist or back, I’ll cut your fingers off.”

“R-right. Got it,” Mason muttered, recoiling instantly, his face stiff with horror.

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The fan snapped open again, hiding the faintest curve of her smirk.

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