All in Charisma (A LitRPG/Isekai Adventure)

Justin chased Reginald through the twisting passages beneath the palace, the rest of the party struggling to keep pace with the rooster.

[Warning: the Level of this Vault has ascended to: 36]

"What the hell? Level 36?" Justin panted.

"It's an Open Vault," Alistair said between breaths. "Open Vaults are variable by nature."

[Warning: the Level of this Vault has ascended to: 37.]

Before Justin could process that, another notification appeared.

[Warning: the Level of this Vault has ascended to: 38.]

"Gods above," Lila gasped. "What's happening?"

"Try to keep up!" Reginald crowed from somewhere ahead.

"We're doomed," Justin said flatly. "I assume Blackwood just gets stronger with every increase?"

"Most likely, yes," Alistair confirmed, not slowing his pace. "He's manipulating it. Somehow."

Justin briefly considered summoning Atlas, but the passages were too narrow for his construct. Better to let him rest and recover from the previous fight. They'd need him fresh for what came next.

[Warning: the Level of this Vault has ascended to: 39.]

"Oh, come ON!" Justin shouted at the ceiling.

They finally reached the cistern. Reginald flew across the mirror-smooth water. He turned, flapping his wings, clearly impatient.

As the rest of them waded in, Reginald gave a perturbed cluck. "Must I do everything around here?"

Before anyone could respond, the rooster became surrounded by a veil of silvery magic. The spell rippled outward, and suddenly Justin felt lighter on his feet. The water seemed to part around him, practically pushing him forward.

"Some sort of speed enhancement," Eldrin observed.

"Quite right!" Reginald called. "Now stop dawdling and utilize it properly!"

Even after they emerged from the water and climbed the far stairs, Justin's feet remained unnaturally light. They were easily traveling fifty percent faster than before, practically flying through the passages.

[Warning: the Level of this Vault has ascended to: 40. New reward upon completion: Platinum Ascension Crystal!]

Within what seemed like no time, they arrived at the concealed door behind the throne room. Reginald landed gracefully, violet eyes fixed on the barrier ahead.

"Not too late, I hope," he said, puffing out his chest. "Now, this Blackwood fellow—he's the primary target?"

Justin nodded. "Almost certainly the conspiracy's leader."

"Excellent. Then let us not delay—"

[Warning: the Level of this Vault has ascended to: 41.]

Reginald's feathers ruffled in annoyance. "As I was saying, let us not delay further." He turned to face the party, drawing himself up with pride. "Before we proceed into battle, I feel it prudent to—"

[Warning: the Level of this Vault has ascended to: 42.]

"Oh, for the gods' sake!" Reginald squawked. "Can a knight not deliver a pre-battle address without these infernal interruptions?"

"Apparently not," Lila said, already distributing potions. "More evasion buffs. That's the last of them."

She began her Song of the Valiant. Justin felt his attributes sharpen and strengthen. Alistair moved to the door, placing his hand on the stone.

Reginald tried again, clearing his throat with a dignified ahem. "Brave companions! We stand at the threshold of destiny! Beyond this door lies—"

[Warning: the Level of this Vault has ascended to: 43.]

"BLAST IT ALL! I had an entire speech prepared! There were metaphors! Historical references! Inspirational cadences!"

"Unless we go in now, this Vault is going to become Ascendant," Eldrin said.

Eldrin was right. The longer they waited, the worse this would get.

"All right," Justin announced. "Let's do this."

He charged through the door, cane swinging.

Behind him, he heard Alistair. "Did he just go in?"

"Stick to the plan!" Reginald screeched.

"What plan?" Lila asked.

But Justin was already through the threshold, committing fully to what was either the bravest or stupidest decision of his life.

Probably both.

[Warning: the Level of this Vault has ascended to: 44.]

Justin burst through the door, his charge carrying him three steps before he stumbled to a halt.

The throne room was vast—at least two hundred feet long, with soaring ceilings supported by marble columns. Crimson banners bearing the Rooster Rampant hung from the walls, and chandeliers cast light across the polished floor.

But Justin's view was limited. He'd emerged directly behind the throne, which sat on a raised dais. The Queen herself was barely visible from this angle—just the top of her crown and her hands gripping the armrests.

What he could see was Lord Blackwood, standing perhaps ten feet away, absorbed in some sort of spell, the air vibrating with the harsh notes of Vranthillis.

The man's back was to them, black staff raised. Dark energy flowed toward the Queen, his body trembling with concentration. Sweat soaked through his coat. He didn't even twitch at Justin's entrance.

Around the base of the throne, arranged in a circle, was what had to be Lord Tennyson's blood crystal. It was cracking, red light leaking from the fissures and flowing upward to join the dark aura surrounding the Queen.

Justin studied Blackwood with his Insightful Gaze. The man was Level 40, easily a match for the High Priest of Arion. Justin's monocle had enough of a view of the Queen to note that she was a Level 28 Monarch, lower than he expected.

But right now, all his power was channeled into the ritual.

With the right attack and the element of surprise, they could end this right now.

Justin desperately wanted to coordinate, but that would mean switching to Elea's Whisper and talking to each member of the party one by one. They just didn't have time for that.

But another thing gave Justin pause. There was no way Blackwood was working alone. Indeed, Justin was detecting flashes of crimson from ahead. Whether those were lowly zombies, fully fledged vampires, or worse, he couldn't say.

Eldrin held up a hand, stalking forward and taking it upon himself to scout ahead, a fitting task for someone with a Ranger's legacy.

But Reginald had apparently had enough of caution.

"Avast!" the rooster crowed, launching himself toward Blackwood's exposed back. "A clean strike! THIS is how a knight—"

He hit an invisible barrier three feet from Blackwood.

There was a flash of crimson light, a sound like breaking glass, and Reginald went flying backward with an indignant squawk. He tumbled through the air, feathers flying, and crashed into Justin's chest.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

"OOF!"

Justin caught the stunned rooster reflexively, staggering back. Reginald's eyes were unfocused, his beak hanging slightly open.

[Sir Reginald the Bold is Stunned for 30 seconds!]

"Well," Justin said, looking down at the dazed chicken in his arms, "so much for the element of surprise."

From beyond the throne came a voice that made Justin's blood run cold.

"I thought I sensed something. Like vermin scurrying in the walls."

Count Valdrik stepped into view from around the front of the dais, his aristocratic features arranged in a smile that didn't reach his dark eyes. He looked exactly as Justin remembered—tall, elegant, with silver-streaked hair, bearing a black staff similar to Lord Blackwood's, though more intricate.

But there was something different about him now. More power. More confidence.

More dangerous.

[Level 37 Lexicant]

"Valdrik," Justin said venomously.

"Mr. Talemaker," Valdrik said, his tone conversational. "You must learn to use front doors like civilized people. Sneaking in through servants' passages is so... common. Had you knocked, I would have been glad to let you in to see the spectacle."

More figures emerged, spreading out in a line behind the count. Justin's heart sank as he recognized two of them.

Gareth Everett moved with predatory grace, his pale skin and glowing blue eyes the same as ever. What wasn't the same was a new cloak that seemed to conjure deeper shadows around him. The Shadowblade stood unnervingly silent.

[Level 27 Shadowblade]

Beside him stood Wolfram Gravesong, the undead Ranger. His dark cloak swayed despite the still air, and his gray eyes held the same cold light as Gareth's. His quiver carried the same crystalline javelins he had acquired in the Vault of the Sapphire Star, and he already held one in hand.

[Level 20 Ranger]

Valdrik gestured casually, and more figures shambled into view—at least a dozen zombies in various states of decay, moving to block any path forward.

[Level 18-22 Zombie Thralls]

By this point, Reginald blinked, ruffling his feathers. "I... that was... there was clearly a ward. Anyone could have missed that!"

He was about to attack again, but Justin held him back.

"Wait," Justin said. "We'd better be careful."

To Justin's surprise, the rooster actually complied but didn't seem happy about it, muttering about "dishonorable barriers" and "unsporting advantages."

Meanwhile, Lord Blackwood remained intent upon his chant. Since entering the throne room, the Vault had not increased in level again. Perhaps their entrance had done something to slow it down, at least somewhat.

"Very wise to negotiate, Mr. Talemaker," Valdrik continued. "I see you have gained your advanced class, though your choice of Entrepreneur is... rather unconventional. Always remember that money is no substitute for real power."

Alistair took position at Justin's right, war hammer ready. Eldrin moved left, bow drawn. Myrelle gripped her cane, her hand trembling. Lila hung back, already beginning a quiet song as her knives began to orbit.

[Bardic Inspiration is active! +10 to Coordination.]

Valdrik regarded them with something approaching boredom, as if they were mildly interesting insects that had wandered into his study.

"As ever," he said, his tone conversational, "my fight is not with you. I'm giving you the opportunity to make the right choice. Leave now. Walk away. I promise not to trouble you anymore, nor your quaint little enterprise."

Justin pushed down the sick feeling in his stomach. Clearly, he knew about his new business too, which made sense if he was working with Blackwood.

He had known... and had made no move to stop him. So he didn't see Justin as enough of a threat or knew doing so would trigger the Templars' alarms.

Valdrik met Justin's eyes. "I'm even willing to seal my word with your binding skill, if you so wish. A formal oath. Unbreakable."

"It's too late for that, Valdrik," Justin said. He gestured toward Blackwood and the ritual. "What is he doing?"

"Oh, that?" Valdrik glanced at Blackwood as if he'd nearly forgotten he was there. "It's not really your business, is it? But I suppose there is no harm in throwing you a bauble. Let's just say royal blood is often a necessity for the most potent forms of System-based magic; they usually have unique classes that mark them as one of the System's darlings. This can be exploited, with the right levers. The Foundation Language of Vranthillis offers more flexibility than more rigid languages like Arcanis. But that's beyond you, Mr. Talemaker."

"System-based magic?" Justin repeated.

Valdrik shrugged. "The most powerful kind. The kind that alters the very foundation of the Aetherion itself. We're doing something here to cajole Eyrth into producing something that only happens once per season. We've discussed this before, haven't we? At Harrington's soiree?"

Alistair's eyes widened. "You're trying to create a Prismatic Vault."

Valdrik smiled. "Very good, Sir Paladin. Yes, exactly that. There's no guarantee of success, of course. But from the way things are going..."

[Warning: The level of this Vault has ascended to: 45. New Reward: A Platinum-tier weapon!]

Valdrik chuckled. "Well, they're going quite well, actually, as you can see." He spread his hands. "Once again, I would be more than willing to share in the spoils. Just imagine the experience and loot you'll receive from such a dangerous Vault. Like the Vault of the Sapphire Star, Justin." His expression shifted, becoming almost conspiratorial. "To be frank, I've never really been into PvP, if you catch my meaning. This world, its magic, its monsters, its mysteries... they're what I live for. It's like my days playing EverQuest as a young man... except it's real."

His eyes gleamed with something bordering on madness. His attention was fixed entirely on Justin, as if the others weren't even there.

"Why waste your time with these agents, Justin? When you could use this world to become whatever you wish? Is this not the path you chose when you became a Socialite? To be loved, to be known, to impose your will on others?"

"You're insane," Justin said flatly.

"And we are not agents," Lila snapped. "We're just as real as you."

Valdrik's gaze flicked to her for a moment, then back to Justin. His tone was flat, almost pitying. "I'm sure you think that."

He turned his attention fully back to Justin. "All that to say, none of you are my end goal. Yes, I saw you as a threat once, Mr. Talemaker. Your Prismatic Core was... necessary for my overall plan. But with this new Vault..."

[Warning: the level of this Vault has ascended to: 46.]

"...your Prismatic Core is no longer a necessary condition for the higher magic I wish to achieve."

Justin felt Myrelle's head turn toward him sharply. "Your what? Justin, do you have a Prismatic Core? And what was that about the Sapphire Star?"

Justin ignored the question, his eyes never leaving Valdrik. "Your job right now is just to delay things, isn't it? Keep talking until this Vault hits Level 50."

"That much should be obvious," Valdrik replied.

"And you're just Blackwood's lackey, huh?" Justin's voice dripped with contempt. "Here I was thinking you were the Big Bad."

Valdrik's smile didn't waver, but something cold flickered in his eyes. "You have no idea the lengths I have gone to, Mr. Talemaker. Who I have ingratiated myself with. What bridges I have burned." He paused. "What sacrifices I have made."

"And for what? Power? Control?" Justin stared him down. "That's a road with no end, Valdrik. You think you and I are the only real beings here. But they—" he gestured to his companions, "—are more real than you'll ever be. Because what you want has turned you into a husk. You're just an agent yourself, bound to continually feed a sense of control that has no end. You're a sociopathic robot, doing what your nature tells you to do." He took a step forward. "Tell me: do you still lie to yourself about your reasons? Or have you given up all pretense?"

For a moment, Valdrik's mask slipped. Something raw and painful flashed across his features before the aristocratic composure returned. Justin would have never caught it without Insightful Gaze.

"You understand nothing," he said quietly. The coldness in his voice could have frozen blood. "And even if you tried to stop me, by then it would be too late. There are but three more levels until my goals are achieved. You and your Templar friends are too late. You've stuck your nose where it doesn't belong."

He met Justin's eyes directly. "But I will not be the one to draw first blood. Tell me, Justin: when everything is arbitrary, if this world is simply a false reality, a shadow of our own... is there really a God of Death? Is there really sin, unless it is to kill another player of the Great Game?"

[Warning: the Level of this Vault has ascended to: 47.]

"This one has bloviated enough, methinks," Reginald announced, his violet eyes fixed on Valdrik with predatory intensity. "Focus down the weaker ones first. I shall hold this Valdrik's attention."

Valdrik studied the rooster with academic interest. "Another ridiculous example of this world's unreality. A talking rooster, no doubt the one from Aranthian myth." His smile was condescending. "You, Reginald, are not real. Just a manifestation of this Vault's magic. A program given voice."

"LIES!" His voice shook with genuine pain beneath the rage. "I served King Harland for thirty-seven years! I bled for this country! You dare—YOU DARE insult Lord Reginald the Bold—I am on the flag, good sir? Can you claim that much?"

But before anyone could say anything more, the main throne room doors slammed inward, revealing three new entrants.

The first was Theric Wren, completely decked out in resplendent armor, a mixture of gold and platinum quality, wielding a mirrored sword and shield.

"Ah, good!" he called out jovially. "Seems I didn't miss the party."

[Level 35 Dungeon Delver]

But it was the other two figures that made Justin's breath catch.

The first was a woman who seemed to be in her late forties, with silver-streaked hair pulled back in an elegant braid. She wore armor that seemed grown from living wood, adorned with leaves that shimmered with silvery light. She carried a staff that resembled a sapling, its branches spreading into an intricate canopy at the top. Emerald light pulsed along its length, as if in time with her heartbeat.

[Level 37 Life Enchantress]

Justin had no idea what that class was, but from the way she was carrying herself, she was clearly Valdrik's enemy.

And therefore, his friend.

The second woman was younger—perhaps in her mid-twenties—with raven-dark hair and sharp, intelligent eyes. She wore robes of white and gold, with subtle armor plates worked into the fabric. Her staff was pure white, topped with an orb that swirled with mists, almost like a crystal ball.

Justin felt a chill upon seeing her. Something about her gaze was strangely familiar.

[Level 28 Farseer]

Again, not a class Justin was familiar with, but the name implied some capacity for seeing the future.

Both women stepped into the throne room, and their gazes locked onto Count Valdrik.

With Valdrik facing the two women, Justin could not directly see the count's face. But his body language spoke volumes. His hand, which had been so casually gesturing moments before, fell to his sides. He took an involuntary step backward as he placed his staff before him defensively. Gareth and Wolfram gathered at his sides.

"Irina..." Valdrik finally managed.

The older woman fixed him with a glare that could have melted steel. The emerald light pulsed brighter, responding to her rage. Whatever hostile feelings she had for Valdrik ran deep.

But somehow, Justin knew that this was not Irina. The younger woman was. The older woman was someone else, someone clearly from Valdrik's past. Irina's mother, perhaps? They certainly both shared the same olive complexion.

The younger woman—Irina—took a trembling step forward, tears already streaming down her face, a younger female mirror of Valdrik's.

Justin then knew the truth before she ever spoke the next word.

"Father," she said, her voice breaking on the word. "Please, you have to stop this."