Jace Vyn's new life hit him like a fireball to the face. One moment he was floating in the void's warm, painless nothing; the next, he was crammed into a body that felt like it had been assembled by a blind necromancer on a tight deadline. His skin prickled with an all-over itch, his joints ached and popped like warped floorboards, and every breath tasted faintly of old onions and regret.
His eyes blinked open to a ceiling so warped it looked ready to collapse if someone sneezed too hard. Mold clung to sagging beams like dark bruises. The air hit him in a single rotten wave—sweat, spoiled vegetables, and something sour-cheesy that made his stomach twitch.
"What the hell…" His voice came out as a wheezy, high-pitched rasp, like a dying bagpipe trying to whistle. The sound alone made his shoulders tense. Gone was the smooth baritone that had sold novels and whispered lovers into bed.
Sitting up was an ordeal. His knees popped, his back gave a sharp twinge, and it felt like this body ran entirely on spite. The shack around him looked worse in motion: a bed frame with one leg missing, a fireplace sagging into its own ash, a table crowded with unidentifiable food remnants, and a heap of rags that might once have been clothes. Apparently this was his new "hero's base."
A cracked mirror on the wall caught his eye—crooked, like it knew what it was hiding. He shuffled toward it, already bracing himself.
The reflection almost knocked the air out of him. Lyss hadn't just given him an unattractive body; she'd gift-wrapped the title of Lusteria's ugliest man. His nose was bulbous and red like a potato someone had cursed for sport. One eye sat higher than the other, giving him a permanent confused squint. His lips twisted downward in a default scowl. Warts dotted his skin like a bad constellation, one near his ear sprouting a single wiry hair that stood at attention. His hair—if you could call the greasy gray-brown strands "hair"—hung limp, stuck to his head in patches.
"Lyss, you sadistic trickster!" His voice cracked as it bounced around the room. He quickly lowered it—this guy's reputation probably wasn't worth advertising.
That was when the Charm System bloomed into view, bright blue text hovering cheerfully like it hadn't just ruined his day.
⸻
[CHARM SYSTEM – STATUS UPDATE]
[Host: Jace Vyn (Vessel: Wart Hobb)]
[Level: 1]
[Charm Points: 0]
[Physical Attractiveness: 2/100 (Abysmal)]
[Charisma: 15/100 (Barely Passable)]
⸻
"Two?!" His voice went up an octave. "This face is a war crime!"
The system, unmoved, chimed again.
⸻
[NEW QUEST: "First Spark of Charm"]
[Objective: Make Nia Kell, Tavern girl, Smile]
[Reward: 10 Charm Points + Starter Bonus]
[Time Limit: None]
[Accept? Y/N]
⸻
Jace stared at the prompt. He was stuck in the body of Wart Hobb—apparently a walking nightmare—being told to charm a tavern girl. On Earth, he'd have turned it into an opening scene in one of his novels. Here, it was a bad joke with teeth.
But the flicker was there; the same one that had carried him through countless blank pages. He'd written plenty of rogues who didn't win by being pretty.
"Alright, Wart," he muttered to his reflection. "Let's see if charm can outshine this."
He accepted, and the system chimed like it was enjoying itself.
******
The Rusty Goblet squatted in the village square like an aging drunk who refused to leave the party. Its timber frame bowed inward, the wood blackened by years of smoke, and the sign out front displayed a goblet so rust-red it was hard to tell if it was painted or diseased.
Jace paused at the door. In his old body, walking into a place like this meant heads would turn in curiosity. Now, he'd be lucky if they didn't turn away in disgust.
Inside, the air was thick with old beer and sweat. Scarred tables crowded the low-ceilinged space. Shadows clung to the corners, and the murmurs at each table sounded tired more than drunk.
Behind the bar, Nia Kell moved with the brisk, efficient rhythm of someone who had to be. Her braid kept her hair out of the way, her sharp eyes flicking over patrons without missing much. She wasn't the glowing fantasy-novel beauty type, but there was a quiet strength there—alongside a weariness that spoke of dreams put aside.
Time to rewrite the playbook.
He shuffled toward the bar, trying for casual and landing somewhere between "injured" and "haunted." A man to his left slid his stool away without looking up.
"Evening," Jace said as he settled onto a stool that groaned under him. "Your finest ale."
Nia's hands froze mid-pour. Her gaze cut to him, brows raised. "Wart? You're… talking?"
Apparently Wart Hobb didn't use full sentences. That stung more than it should have.
"Been practicing," Jace said, forcing a smile. The reflection in the polished brass tap gave him a look at it—it was more grimace than grin. Gods, this was brutal.
Nia poured the ale with a flicker of suspicion and slid it over. On instinct, Jace let his fingers graze hers. Back home, it had been a subtle, surefire move.
Here, it backfired instantly. She jerked, knocking over a pitcher. Ale splashed across the counter and onto the floor, the nearest patrons turning to stare.
"Sorry!" Nia blurted, already reaching for a rag. "You just… startled me."
"By looking like a swamp monster?" Jace said lightly, even as the words pinched something inside. "Can't blame you."
Something in her expression softened. She let out a quick, almost reluctant huff of laughter. It wasn't much, but it was there.
⸻
[QUEST UPDATE]
["First Spark of Charm" Progress: Nia Kell Smiled (1/1)]
[Reward: 10 Charm Points + Bonus Pending]
⸻
"You're… different," Nia said, mopping the counter. "Normally, you grunt and grab the cheap stuff."
"Had a cosmic wake-up call," Jace said, leaning just far enough to keep her focus. "You strike me as someone who reads people. I could use advice on… blending in."
Her brows lifted higher. "Wart Hobb asking me for advice? Are you sure you're not drunk?"