I Stopped Simping and the Heroines Lost Their Minds

The shot was an absolute, all-or-nothing gamble.

Arthur had dumped his entire remaining MP pool into a single projectile. The highly condensed mana arrow tore through the dead air of the cathedral, a blinding streak of pure white light aimed directly at the Death Knight’s chest.

But the target wasn’t the chest. The boss had already crossed its massive, impenetrable black gauntlet over its exposed ribcage, completely shielding the pulsing purple Necrotic Core.

Time seemed to stretch, slowing to an agonizing crawl.

Arthur watched the arrow fly, holding his breath, praying to whatever system governed this world for his passive skill to trigger.

The arrow was three feet away from the heavy iron gauntlet. Two feet. One foot.

And then, it flickered.

[Passive Skill: Phantom Shots (Lv. 1) Triggered.]

A fraction of a second before impact, the blinding white arrow completely lost its physical form. It turned translucent, shifting into a ghostly, ethereal shimmer.

It didn’t strike the black gauntlet. It didn’t spark or explode against the steel.

It phased cleanly through the ancient metal as if it were made of thin air. It bypassed the armored bracer, slipped past the shattered remnants of the breastplate, and completely materialized inside the empty chest cavity of the Death Knight.

CRASH.

The sound of the Necrotic Core shattering echoed like a thousand glass mirrors breaking simultaneously.

The white mana arrow materialized perfectly inside the crystal and violently detonated. The highly condensed magic completely shredded the boss’s internal power source from the inside out.

The Death Knight froze.

It was mid-step, its heavy broadsword raised high to slaughter Emily. But all momentum instantly died.

A hollow, agonizing screech tore from beneath the horned helmet. It wasn’t a sound of anger; it was the sound of a trapped, ancient soul finally being eradicated.

The glowing, murderous red slits in the boss’s visor flickered violently, dimmed, and completely went dark.

The heavy, suffocating aura of dark magic practically evaporated from the room. Without the Necrotic Core feeding the armor, the physical structure of the Death Knight completely collapsed.

The massive, two-handed broadsword clattered uselessly onto the stone floor. The heavy black plates decoupled, crashing into a heap of empty, rusted metal. A thick cloud of purple ash blew out from beneath the helmet, scattering into the stagnant air.

[Target Eliminated: Forgotten Death Knight (Lv. 45) killed.] [Massive EXP awarded.] [Level Up!] [Level Up!] [Level Up!]

Arthur didn’t even look at the golden system prompts. His knees completely gave out. He dropped the Whisperwind Longbow and slumped heavily against the shattered stone pillar, his chest heaving as he desperately gasped for air. He was completely bottomed out. Zero mana. Zero stamina. His left arm throbbed with phantom nerve pain from the poison he’d suffered days ago.

Down on the floor, absolute silence reigned for three long seconds.

Then, a faint, rhythmic buzzing sound echoed through the room.

Chloe looked down at her wrist. The heavy, dead silver metal of the Recall Bracelet was suddenly glowing with a warm, bright blue light again. The spatial runes were humming with life.

”The lock...” Chloe wept. She collapsed to her knees, burying her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking. ”The lock is gone! We’re connected to the academy!”

Emily let out a loud, breathless laugh, completely starfish-ing on the hard stone floor, ignoring the dirt and ash. ”Holy shit. We actually killed it.”

Alicia Valentine leaned heavily on her broadsword, her green eyes wide with disbelief as she stared at the pile of empty black armor. She slowly turned her gaze upward, looking at the black-clad archer slumping against the rubble.

Her knightly worldview was entirely fractured. She had always believed hard work, noble blood, and righteous discipline were the only paths to true strength. Yet, the most pathetic, despised boy in their class had just orchestrated the flawless execution of an Elite Raid Boss, commanding the absolute best students in the academy like they were his personal chess pieces.

Before anyone could say a word, the fabric of reality at the center of the cathedral violently tore open.

RIIIIIP.

A massive, swirling spatial portal erupted in the room, radiating an overwhelming, high-tier magical pressure that blew the lingering dust away.

Instructor Morwenna burst through the portal first. The sadistic Dark Elf wasn’t holding her usual wooden cane; she was wielding twin curved obsidian blades, her ruby-red eyes burning with absolute, lethal intent.

Right behind her stepped Professor Elena Moon. The Archmage’s usual cold, aristocratic facade was completely gone, replaced by a look of sheer, unadulterated panic. Her hands were blazing with concentrated, high-tier destructive magic, ready to burn whatever had trapped her students.

The administration’s monitoring systems had detected the spatial lock breaking and the immediate presence of a massive dark mana signature. They had forcefully breached the dungeon, fully expecting to find a slaughterhouse filled with the mangled corpses of first-year cadets.

Instead, they found a pile of ash.

Morwenna froze, her obsidian blades lowering slightly. She looked at the collapsed students, the shattered iron shield, the blood on the floor, and finally, the empty pile of Level 45 black armor.

”What... what in the name of the Goddess happened here?” Morwenna demanded. Her voice was entirely devoid of its usual mocking purr. It was pure, professional shock.

No one answered her. The couldn’t. The adrenaline crash was absolute and immediate.

The moment Instructor Morwenna and Professor Elena stepped through the spatial tear, the suffocating tension in the boss room completely vanished. The sheer, overwhelming magical pressure of the two high-tier instructors officially signaled that the fight was over.

For the exhausted students, that realization was the final nail in the coffin. The adrenaline that had been forcefully keeping their battered bodies upright instantly evaporated.

Felix passed out from the agonizing pain of his shattered arm, his head lolling back against the cold stone. Chloe dropped her mahogany staff, hyperventilating and sobbing uncontrollably into her dirt-stained hands. Cedric was still heavily concussed, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Even Elara Aurelian—the previously untouchable, arrogant Elf Princess—had completely broken down. She was sitting on the floor, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees, staring blankly at the pile of purple ash where she had almost died.