All in Charisma (A LitRPG/Isekai Adventure)

Justin and Myrelle donned their masks as soon as they entered Belmora. Atlas navigated the main streets of the Golden District, weaving through the wealthiest part of town toward the Royal Palace gates.

A line of elegant coaches awaited entry, their dark curtains concealing the occupants inside. Justin felt exposed out in the open, but he was confident that with their masks and transportation, neither he nor Myrelle would be identified. Some nobles had entirely abandoned traditional carriages; one even rode what appeared to be a drake, though not the massive, winged blue variety Justin had encountered in the Vault of the Sapphire Star. This creature walked on four legs, its red scales gleaming in the torchlight.

When their turn came, Atlas scuttled forward and halted before the guard conducting inspections.

"Invitation, my lord?" the guard asked, inclining his head slightly.

Myrelle reached into her enchanted handbag and produced a golden slip of paper. The guard examined it briefly before nodding in approval.

"Welcome to the Spring Masquerade, my lord and lady. Please follow the attendant to the front entrance."

Justin dismounted, offering Myrelle his hand before absorbing Atlas into his ring. The transition felt strange. His pack vanished with the construct, along with his top hat, which clashed with the mask, but a quick check of his interface confirmed that the System retained all his full gear bonuses. Perhaps it understood the context or allowed one piece of equipment to be stored without losing its effects.

The receiving line on the palace steps consisted of well-dressed nobles whose identities remained carefully concealed. They could have been royal family members or their representatives—at a masquerade, there way no way of telling.

"Welcome, my lord and lady!" called a woman in a silver fox mask. "Please make your way inside and enjoy yourselves."

Justin offered his arm, and Myrelle took it as they ascended the steps.

The palatial entrance opened into a grand hall filled with floating lanterns illuminating moving frescoes on the ceiling. Masked nobles conversed as servers carried hors d'oeuvres and wine.

Myrelle immediately took charge, approaching a nearby group of nobles and seamlessly joining their conversation. Several young lords and ladies made space as she spoke, her voice subtly altered—deeper than usual but still musical.

"Made it just in time," she announced, turning to the nearest noblewoman, who wore a silver mask inset with rubies shaped like a dragon. "My lady, your mask is positively fearsome in the best way!"

The woman laughed. "Oh, stop! You flatter me. Yours is quite lovely—delicate and beautiful. Was it custom-made?"

"I've had this one stored away for a while," Myrelle admitted, "but I decided tonight was the perfect occasion to bring it out."

The woman's attention shifted to Justin, her dragon mask tilting as she assessed him.

Justin offered a respectful bow. "A pleasure to meet you, my Lady Dragon. Indeed, the artistry of the masks here tonight surpasses anything I've encountered."

"A gentleman from the provinces, if I don't miss my guess from your accent! Our family is a distant relation of the Duke Darrow." She laughed nervously. "Oh dear, I'm not good at these things; that might have given it away! Tell me, sir, what brings you to our gathering from so far away?"

"Adventure, one might say," Justin replied diplomatically. "Though I confess, navigating Belmoran society is more challenging than any wilderness."

His response drew appreciative laughter, and another masked gentleman, whose mask resembled a brown bear complete with fur, leaned forward. "Wise words indeed! I've seen seasoned warriors reduced to stammering children at court functions. They'll face down a literal dragon but can't string two words together in front of a beautiful lady. Such are the effects of the ladies of Queen Eleanor's court."

Some of the ladies laughed appreciatively, though Justin sensed the compliment was a bit heavy-handed.

"Speaking of court," interjected a lady adorned with peacock feathers, her voice dropping conspiratorially, "has anyone heard about the disturbance in the Floating Market last week? They say there was quite the scuffle!"

"I had heard," the Bear Mask said. "Just the Crown cracking down on unsavory businesses lately."

Myrelle's posture tensed almost imperceptibly, though she maintained perfect composure. "How fascinating. One can only hope justice prevails."

The conversation flowed through recent social events, noble family rumors, and playful speculation about the identities hidden behind the elaborate masks. Justin listened, cataloging the information while absorbing the mannerisms of the surrounding nobles, taking note of their stature and speech through his Chameleon Charm boon.

Clear chimes echoed through the hall as a dignified voice announced, "My lords and ladies, dinner is served. Please proceed to the Sunlit Banquet Hall."

The nobles moved as a collective, with those at the front leading the way, while Justin and Myrelle found themselves toward the back. When Justin finally entered the hall, he was awestruck.

Crystal chandeliers cast brilliant light across the expansive space, featuring tall arched windows and elegant columns lining the periphery. The polished black marble floor mirrored the moving ceiling painting, which depicted a sky filled with clouds that shifted and drifted. Instead of traditional long tables that would reveal social hierarchy, round tables were arranged throughout the center, encouraging mingling.

Justin and Myrelle were seated at a table strategically positioned—neither too close to the center nor too far on the edge. Their companions included a gentleman in an elaborate raven mask, who spoke with the refined accent of old money and carried himself with military poise; beside him sat an elegant lady whose delicate swan-feather mask matched her graceful movements. Across from them was a younger man wearing a polished copper sun mask, accompanied by a woman whose silver moon mask caught the light with every turn of her head.

Within minutes, wheeled trolleys appeared. Royal servants in deep crimson livery inlaid with the rooster rampant set plates before each guest with synchronized flourish, then lifted the covers simultaneously across the hall.

The first course resembled a work of art: delicate eggs from an indeterminate bird nestled in beds of golden caviar, accompanied by paper-thin herb wafers and tiny goblets filled with sparkling wine and floating petals.

Rather than immediately eating, Justin discreetly observed his companions, cataloging their behaviors with his Chameleon Charm boon. He absorbed subtle nuances: how the swan-masked lady held her tiny spoon with three fingers instead of a full grip; how the raven-masked gentleman waited for the ladies to begin; how conversation flowed in measured tones between bites. The moon-masked woman dabbed with her napkin rather than wiped, and everyone paced themselves to finish each course simultaneously.

Sips of wine were taken slowly and modestly, except for the sun-masked man, who drank more quickly than the others.

Justin naturally began to mimic the refined behaviors around him. The Chameleon Charm made it instinctive—the correct shoulder position, appropriate intervals between bites, and the slight head tilt that signaled attentive nobility. Myrelle glanced at him a few times, and from the curve of her mouth, Justin sensed her surprise. He realized he might appear too refined, especially given his background of growing up "barely a noble" in the Wildwood.

As he tasted the egg, Justin marveled at how quickly he was adapting, even as he wondered what Myrelle would think if she knew how much of his "natural" grace came from quasi-magical mimicry.

The conversation unfolded easily. Justin knew exactly what to say, how to speak, and how to craft safe yet appreciative jokes. Overall, he found the entire affair easier to navigate than he expected.

Then the conversation took a strange turn. The young noble with the sun mask leaned forward with a smirk. "So, mysterious stranger. Your lovely companion clearly possesses exceptional... quality. Tell me, do you find the ladies of the capital more sophisticated than the rustic beauties you're used to in the provinces?"

The question hung like a poorly thrown gauntlet, forcing Justin into a corner—either insult Myrelle by agreeing or reveal himself as a provincial bumpkin by defending rural women too enthusiastically.

Justin took a measured sip of wine before responding. "I find that true sophistication, like genuine beauty, has little to do with geography, my lord. After all, even the most exquisite rose can bloom in unexpected soil." He turned to Myrelle with clear respect. "Though I must say, my present company would be considered exceptional anywhere in the realm."

The lady in the moon mask, apparently Sun Mask's date, laughed delightedly. "Oh, well said! How refreshing to meet a gentleman who appreciates subtlety."

Even the lady in the swan mask, accompanying the raven-masked man, nodded in agreement.

The sun-masked man's jaw tightened beneath his golden facade, clearly frustrated that his trap had been sidestepped. Yet, he was not ready to concede.

"Of course," the young man pressed, "some of us prefer more direct approaches to courtship. All this dancing around with pretty words can seem rather provincial. We are more modern here in Belmora, to the point where even a minor lord can consort with a lady of true quality." His smile sharpened. "Can I at least get you to admit that Belmoran ladies are a cut above wherever it is you hail from? Or perhaps you'd care to enlighten us about your particular station?"

Justin's smile remained pleasant, but he recognized the lordling's challenge. He saw him as a provincial looking to elevate his status by winning over a richer Belmoran lady, a tactic intended to provoke him into error.

When Justin replied, his voice held a hint of steel. "My lord, those who mistake bluntness for sophistication often reveal more about their own limitations than their companions' virtues. As for my station, I prefer to let my actions speak rather than my titles—a practice I'd recommend to anyone seeking to make a favorable impression."

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Sun Mask laughed, but it lacked warmth. "Well said. Who can argue with that?" He seemed poised to say more but instead drained his glass and fell into sullen silence.

Throughout this exchange, Justin noticed the raven-masked man watching intently. The man's stature closely resembled Valdrik's, and his house emblem was a raven. While many nobles might choose similar imagery, the coincidence felt too significant to ignore.

Now leaning forward with genuine interest, the raven-masked man said, "You handle yourself well. There's something about your demeanor that suggests experience beyond these gilded halls. A fellow adventurer, perhaps?"

Justin felt both drawn to and wary of the man's attention. There was an undeniable charisma about him, a magnetic quality that made his words feel significant, but without his monocle, Justin could hardly gauge his level and overall capabilities.

"I've had my share of unconventional experiences," Justin replied cautiously. "Though I imagine most of us here have cleared a Vault or two."

"Indeed," Raven Mask said, "though there's a difference between those who adventure for sport and those who've faced genuine peril." The man's tone carried a subtle dismissal as he glanced at the now-silent sun-masked nobleman. "One learns to recognize the difference. These social gatherings can seem rather low-stakes by comparison, wouldn't you agree?"

"There's truth in that," Justin acknowledged. "Different types of danger require different skills."

The man chuckled, a sound both warm and calculating. "Spoken like someone who knows that words can be as sharp as any blade." He tilted his head thoughtfully. "Sun Mask is right about one thing. Your accent is curious. Provincial, certainly, but I can't quite place it. It's generically Aranthian. It could be from anywhere, really."

"Isn't that the point of these gatherings, my lord?" Justin replied with a slight smile. "If you could pinpoint my origin, it would ruin the mystery of the evening."

"Fair enough," the raven-masked man said, and Justin caught a hint of approval in his tone. "Though sometimes the most interesting mysteries reveal themselves slowly… piece by piece."

The words could have been friendly banter, but something about the delivery felt like a subtle threat. The man's attention felt too focused, too calculating, as if he were gathering information for purposes beyond mere social curiosity.

"Mystery does add spice to any gathering," the swan-masked lady interjected brightly, apparently oblivious to the underlying tension. "I do love trying to guess who everyone is!"

"As do I, my dear," the raven-masked man agreed, his dark eyes never leaving Justin. "Though some puzzles prove more rewarding to solve than others."

Well, the guy certainly sounded sinister enough to be Valdrik. Had coming here been a huge mistake?

Justin maintained his pleasant expression while mentally cataloging every detail about the man—his voice, posture, and the way he held his wine glass. Unless Valdrik was masking himself very well, it wasn't him. One thing Justin was sure of: this man was important, and his interest in Justin felt far from casual.

Myrelle, sensing the tension with a Socialite's instinct, smoothly redirected the conversation.

"Gentlemen, surely we can find more pleasant topics than trying to solve each other like puzzles," she said with a musical laugh. "I fear we are in danger of being too direct. Instead, let's discuss these extraordinary masks everyone chose tonight. Lady Swan, if I might be so bold, yours is absolutely stunning—is that real mother-of-pearl inlay?"

The deflection worked perfectly, steering them into safer waters of fashion, craftsmanship, and artistic appreciation. The raven-masked man seemed content to let the conversation drift, though Justin noticed he continued to observe quietly.

The second course arrived: delicate venison medallions accompanied by roasted root vegetables arranged in artistic spirals and drizzled with a wine reduction that gleamed like garnets under the crystal chandeliers.

Justin matched his companions' pace in wine consumption and found himself relaxing as the raven-masked man's scrutiny faded. The sun-masked young nobleman, apparently satisfied that Justin had passed some unspoken test, became more friendly and companionable.

"I confess," the young man said, his tone shifting to something resembling vulnerability, "there was discussion of Vaults earlier and real danger. I'm ashamed to admit I've only completed one Vault—a modest Level 6 affair. I've been hoping to find more experienced adventuring partners." He turned toward Justin hopefully. "Perhaps after the unmasking tonight, we might discuss future expeditions? I'd be pleased to make further connections at court." Then, with what he clearly thought was charming self-awareness, he added, "I tend to overstep boundaries—it's my impish nature. But to escort a lady of such exceptional quality, you must be a man of considerable standing."

Justin felt his jaw tighten. The young lord seemed to think that acknowledging his poor behavior excused it while continuing to reduce Myrelle to her "quality," as if she were livestock at market. It was another test, more cleverly veiled: if he accepted the nobleman's offer readily, it would drive a rift between him and Myrelle.

"I appreciate your candor about your nature," Justin replied politely. "However, recognizing our flaws is truly valuable only when we make efforts to correct them." He paused to let that sink in. "As for adventuring partnerships, I prefer companions who demonstrate good judgment in all circumstances, not merely in Vaults."

The message was clear: the young lord's comments about Myrelle had been noted and found lacking. Justin softened it with a diplomatic smile, but his meaning was unmistakable to anyone with half a wit.

"Of course," Justin continued warmly, "personal growth is always possible. If you're interested in such improvement, we might have much to discuss."

"Improvement?" the young man scoffed, his voice rising slightly. "Do you even know who I am, young sir?"

His moon-masked companion placed a restraining hand on his arm, as if to dissuade him from escalating further.

The man calmed slightly, though his voice carried a dangerous edge. "You'd better be grateful you're wearing that mask, sir."

Before Justin could respond, Myrelle's voice cut through the tension with practiced ease. "Gentlemen, surely we haven't gathered at the Royal Palace to discuss personal grievances?" Her tone was light but authoritative. "I'm far more interested in hearing about that Vault expedition you mentioned. Level 6, was it? How fascinating. The creatures encountered at that level must provide thrilling stories."

Her redirection was masterful—acknowledging the young lord's earlier boast while steering away from the brewing confrontation. The swan-masked lady quickly seized the opportunity.

"Oh yes, do tell us about the dangers you faced!"

The sun-masked nobleman found himself caught between his desire to continue the confrontation and the social expectation to respond to the ladies' interest. Faced with Myrelle's pointed attention and his companion's restraining hand, he grudgingly chose the latter path.

"It was... challenging," he said stiffly, though his eyes never left Justin.

As he recounted the story, which Justin suspected was embellished, he had to hold back a chuckle. The Vault in question had been called "The Merchant's Lost Cellar," a straightforward dungeon populated by oversized poisonous rats, a few animated barrel mimics, and what the young lord dramatically described as "a terrifying wine golem."

As the tale droned on, complete with heroic poses the young lord claimed to have struck while "vanquishing the rodent horde," Justin began to grasp the real source of the nobleman's hostility. He noted at least four glasses of wine the man had consumed since dinner began, each one amplifying his insecurities rather than masking them. Here was someone clearly struggling to keep pace with more experienced company, lashing out at perceived threats to his fragile standing.

The irony wasn't lost on Justin. While he sat worrying about his own deceptions and inadequacies, this actual nobleman was drowning his feelings of insufficiency in wine and bluster. The young lord's aggression toward Myrelle, his challenges to Justin's background, even his boastful Vault story, all reeked of a man desperately trying to prove he belonged at this table.

Justin's irritation shifted to pity. The sun-masked nobleman wasn't a villain, just an insecure young man making poor choices under pressure. That didn't excuse his behavior, but it certainly explained it.

Mercifully, the conversation moved on. The others began asking polite questions about Justin's impressions of the city, the cultural differences between Belmora and the Hinterlands, and his reasons for coming to the capital. Justin answered as diplomatically as possible, and the atmosphere became genuinely convivial.

The third course brought delicate fish prepared with exotic spices from Atelinar, accompanied by discussions of trade routes and foreign customs. Justin found himself genuinely learning from his dinner companions. The swan-masked lady proved surprisingly knowledgeable about maritime commerce, while the moon-masked woman shared insights about her recent travels of Eribar and Velandia that Justin noted for future reference.

The fourth course featured lamb so tender it fell apart at the touch of a fork, served with roasted vegetables. During this course, the raven-masked man became far more engaging, entering into a spirited debate with Justin about Vault-clearing strategies and the merits of different party compositions. Justin drew on his own experiences without revealing their exact nature.

As Raven Mask spoke, Justin became almost certain the man was neither Valdrik nor particularly similar to him. The voice was wrong, the mannerisms different, and there was an intellectual curiosity that felt genuine rather than calculating. Justin sensed this was someone typically bored by such functions who had found in him a pleasant surprise.

Justin also had the distinct impression that Raven Mask wanted him to feel this way, though the purpose remained unclear.

The main course arrived as a stunning presentation of glazed fowl stuffed with dried fruits and nuts, garnished with herbs that released aromatic steam when the servers lifted the silver cloches. Conversation turned to recent court appointments and playful speculation about which masked figures might be hiding behind particularly elaborate disguises.

Count Valdrik's name inevitably arose, given his recent elevation to the newly created County of Silverton. As a supposed Hinterland noble, all turned to Justin expectantly.

"Count Valdrik has certainly proven himself capable," Justin said carefully. "His efficiency in developing the silver mining operations demonstrates considerable organizational skill, and the speed with which he's modernized extraction techniques is impressive." He paused for a sip of wine. "Though I confess I know him more by reputation than personal acquaintance; our paths have crossed only briefly."

"He is a positively charming man," Myrelle put in, "though we spoke only briefly. Very experienced and worldly."

Justin felt something cold settle in his stomach at her words, though he kept his expression neutral. Of course Valdrik would seem charming. The man was a master manipulator who had spent years perfecting his public persona. To someone like Myrelle, who hadn't witnessed his true nature, Valdrik would appear exactly as he claimed: a capable, sophisticated nobleman who had earned his position through merit.

The irony was bitter. Here sat some of the most intelligent, perceptive people in the kingdom, and they spoke of Valdrik with genuine admiration, an up and comer who was certainly someone to keep an eye on. It was a stark reminder of how effectively evil could disguise itself when it wore the right clothes and spoke with the right accent. Valdrik's charm wasn't accidental; it was a weapon, carefully honed to disarm precisely the sort of people who should be most wary of him.

"Indeed," Justin managed, his voice steady despite his inner turmoil. "He certainly knows how to make an impression."

He found himself wondering how many others at this very table might be similarly taken in by charming monsters. The thought was deeply unsettling, yet it also strengthened his resolve. If Valdrik could fool people this intelligent and well-connected, then stopping him was even more crucial than Justin had realized.

Thankfully, further discussion was interrupted by the presentation of the sixth and final course—an artful arrangement of crystallized fruits sparkling like jewels, delicate pastries filled with exotic creams, and dessert wine so sweet it seemed to contain actual starlight. The conversation mellowed into discussions of literature, music, and the finer points of artistic patronage.

Here, Justin felt out of his depth. The literature and music of this world were completely unfamiliar to him, and when the swan-masked lady referenced Belmoran poets or the moon-masked woman discussed the latest operas, he could only nod appreciatively and offer vague compliments. He maintained a polite distance in the conversation, but internally resolved to compile a reading list and commit to it each night before bed. All the charisma in the world meant little if he didn't know the cultural touchstones expected of someone in his position.

Despite these uncertainties, Justin genuinely enjoyed the evening. His Chameleon Charm had served him well, but more importantly, he discovered a knack for this type of social theater. With a few more experiences like this, he suspected he could hold his own in any social setting.

He was surprised that the System seemed to agree:

[250 experience gained. Your experience stands at 24,825/29,000.]

As servants cleared the final plates, soft string music began drifting in from the adjacent ballroom. The dancing portion of the evening was about to commence, and Justin felt a flutter of anticipation and nervousness.

The dinner conversation was one thing. Dancing required an entirely different set of skills.

"Come on," Myrelle whispered in his ear. "The boring part is over."