I Stopped Simping and the Heroines Lost Their Minds

The third floor of The Leaping Stag was dead silent.

It was 5:30 AM. The sun hadn’t even breached the horizon, but Arthur was already awake. He stood by the desk in Roxanne’s private office, quietly buckling his heavy leather belt. Behind him, the voluptuous beastkin was completely sprawled out across the desk, wrapped in a thin blanket, deeply unconscious. Her chest rose and fell in slow, exhausted rhythms, her long rabbit ears drooping lifelessly over the edge of the wood.

Arthur grabbed his shirt, throwing it over his head as he unlocked the heavy oak door.

He stepped out into the dim, incredibly quiet hallway. The air smelled faintly of stale ale, woodsmoke, and the lingering musk of the night before.

He took exactly two steps toward the back staircase before he stopped.

His gaze fell on floor, catching a subtle break in the pattern of the dark wooden floorboards.

Arthur slowly turned his head. Resting near the base of the wall, directly across from the slightly ajar door of Roxanne’s office, was a small, crumpled clump of white fabric.

He walked over and crouched down.

He picked the fabric up. It was a pair of plain, white cotton panties. He rubbed the material between his thumb and forefinger. The crotch was completely soaked. Even in the cool morning air, it was heavy with moisture.

Curious, Arthur slowly raised the damp cotton to his face and took a deep, deliberate breath.

The scent hit him instantly. It was a sharp, heavy mix. The sweet, musky odor of raw female arousal blended perfectly with the crisp, ozone tang of concentrated healing mana. Beneath it all was the faint, unmistakable trace of cheap lavender soap—the exact brand stocked in the Lornfell Academy dorms.

Arthur lowered the fabric, his eyes narrowing as he ran the logic. Emily wore padded, functional undergarments for combat. Roxanne’s hips were twice this size. The tavern girls didn’t smell like academy soap or raw healing mana.

There was only one person it could be.

Chloe.

A dark, amused smirk spread across Arthur’s face. He looked at the gap in the office door, then down at the soaked panties in his hand. The timid, stuttering girl hadn’t just walked past. She had stood in the dark, watched him completely dominate Roxanne, and touched herself until she ruined her own clothes.

Arthur folded the damp cotton neatly and slipped it directly into his spatial inventory.

He didn’t feel disgusted. He felt victorious. In the underworld he was trying to conquer, absolute loyalty was impossible to buy with just money. But blackmail mixed with a deep, taboo sexual dependency? That was an unbreakable leash.

He had the healer exactly where he wanted her.

By 7:30 AM, the taproom was slowly coming to life. A few hungover mercenaries nursed cups of black coffee in the corners as the morning sunlight filtered through the stained-glass windows.

Arthur walked down the main staircase.

His squad was already seated at a large booth near the kitchens. Felix looked completely refreshed, his massive arms stretching lazily over the back of the wooden bench. Emily was aggressively tearing into a plate of roasted bacon and eggs.

And then there was Chloe.

The healer sat perfectly rigid on the edge of her seat. She hadn’t touched her porridge. Dark bags hung under her blue eyes, and she looked physically sick.

Arthur’s heavy boots clicked against the wooden floorboards as he approached the table.

Chloe violently flinched. Her shoulders snapped up, and she completely refused to lift her head, staring intensely at her wooden spoon.

”Morning, boss,” Emily grinned around a mouthful of bacon. ”Good sleep?”

”Productive,” Arthur replied smoothly, sliding into the booth directly across from Chloe. ”How about the rest of you? Sleep well?”

”Like a rock,” Felix laughed, patting his stomach.

Arthur shifted his gaze. He didn’t say a word, simply letting his eyes rest heavily on Chloe. He let the silence stretch. Five seconds. Ten seconds.

Chloe’s hands began to tremble. The wooden spoon rattled faintly against the side of her clay bowl.

”Chloe?” Arthur asked, his voice calm and perfectly even. ”You look exhausted. Did you not sleep well?”

Chloe swallowed hard. A vibrant crimson flush crept up her neck. She forced herself to look up, her blue eyes wide with panic.

”I-I slept fine,” she squeaked out, her voice cracking. ”Just... just a little sore from casting yesterday. That’s all.”

”Are you sure?” Arthur tilted his head slightly, locking eyes with her. ”You didn’t go wandering around in the dark last night? The tavern can be a dangerous place for a healer all by herself.”

Chloe’s breath hitched. Her heart hammered so violently against her ribs that Arthur could see the pulse beating in her neck.

”N-No,” she stammered, gripping her knees tightly under the table to hide her shaking hands. ”I stayed in my room. The whole night.”

Arthur let her sweat for three more agonizing seconds, enjoying the raw terror rolling off her.

Then, he casually leaned back.

”Good,” Arthur said dismissively, reaching for a piece of bread. ”A healer needs her rest. We have a lot of work to do this week.”

Chloe let out a long, shaky exhale, deflating slightly. She survived the interaction, but the deep, burning flush on her cheeks didn’t fade. Every time Arthur shifted his legs under the table, she flinched, hyper-aware of his presence.

The magi-transport ride back to Lornfell Academy was uneventful.

They arrived at the eastern gates just before noon. Dozens of students milled about the courtyards, enjoying their quiet Sunday afternoon.

Arthur stopped the squad just inside the gates.

He pulled a heavy leather pouch from his inventory. It clinked loudly with the sound of silver and copper. He tossed it to Felix.

”That’s your cut of the standard F-Rank cores from yesterday,” Arthur instructed. ”Split it evenly. Keep your gear maintained.”

Emily’s eyes lit up at the weight of the bag. ”Hell yes. Real hazard pay.”

”Take the rest of the day off to decompress,” Arthur ordered. ”Don’t go looking for fights. I need you rested for the upcoming week.”

”You aren’t coming back to the dorms?” Felix asked, noticing Arthur adjusting his satchel.

”No,” Arthur said flatly, his eyes scanning the towering spires of the academy’s faculty wing in the distance.

”I have business to attend to,” Arthur said, turning away from the squad. ”Dismissed.”