I Stopped Simping and the Heroines Lost Their Minds

The transition from a relaxing Sunday to the grueling reality of Monday at Lornfell Academy was always harsh. By 6:00 PM, the sun was already setting behind the western spires, casting long, deep shadows across the manicured courtyards. Most first-year students were either studying in the grand library or resting in their dorms.

Arthur walked in the opposite direction.

He descended the spiraling stone stairs beneath the martial faculty wing, leaving the bright, airy architecture of the academy behind. Down here, the underground training rings felt like a completely different world. The air was damp, heavily stagnant, and smelled sharply of oxidized iron, old sweat, and crushed chalk. This was the domain of the vanguard, the berserkers, and the close-quarters specialists.

Arthur stepped into the dimly lit cavern. He wore a simple, sleeveless black training tunic and dark leather trousers.

Standing in the center of the primary sparring ring, methodically wrapping her knuckles with coarse linen tape, was Professor Morwenna.

She didn’t bother looking up until Arthur’s heavy boots hit the stone mat. When she finally raised her head, her crimson eyes narrowed in predatory amusement.

”Vance,” Morwenna noted, her voice echoing slightly in the empty hall. She finished tying off the linen wrap and flexed her long fingers. ”You’re lost. The archery ranges are three floors up and significantly brighter.”

”I’m exactly where I need to be,” Arthur replied, stopping a few paces away from her. ”During the practical exams, you pointed out my close-quarters defense was a massive liability. Yesterday, a mutated Hobgoblin in the lower veins proved you right. I killed it, but it got entirely too close. I need you to break my habits.”

Morwenna’s lips curled into a sharp, highly dangerous smirk.

”You want me to teach you how to fight?” she asked, dropping into a low, completely fluid stance. ”Or do you just want me to beat you into the stone until you figure it out yourself?”

”Whichever is faster,” Arthur said.

He barely had time to raise his guard.

Morwenna exploded forward. She didn’t cast a spell. She simply closed the ten-foot gap in a fraction of a second, moving with the terrifying, silent grace of an apex predator.

Her hand clamped onto his wrist like a steel vice. Before Arthur could even tense his muscles, she stepped inside his guard, twisted his arm, swept his lead leg, and slammed him flat onto his back. The impact against the hard stone mat completely knocked the wind out of his lungs.

”Too slow,” Morwenna mocked, looking down at him. ”An archer relies on distance. When you lose that distance, your mind completely blanks. Your center of gravity is entirely wrong.”

Arthur grimaced, forcing himself back to his feet. He rolled his shoulder, ignoring the dull, throbbing ache.

They went again. And again. For twenty brutal minutes, Morwenna completely dismantled him. She used grappling techniques that relied on leverage, joint manipulation, and sheer, ruthless efficiency. Every time Arthur tried to establish a conventional, rigid academy stance, she punished him for it, throwing him to the mat with humiliating ease.

Arthur lay on the cold stone, breathing heavily, the smell of chalk dust filling his nose.

Playing by academy rules against an assassin is stupid, Arthur realized, his mind rapidly shifting gears. If someone closes the gap on an archer, they aren’t looking to spar. They are looking to kill. I need to fight like a cornered animal.

Arthur pushed himself up. He stepped back into the center of the ring. He didn’t take a standard stance. He dropped his shoulders, loosening his entire frame, keeping his hands dangerously low.

Morwenna raised an eyebrow. ”Giving up on form entirely? Bold.”

She lunged again, aiming a brutal palm strike directly at his chest.

This time, Arthur didn’t try to block or retreat. He stepped directly into her guard, sacrificing his own safety. As she committed to the strike, Arthur violently kicked his heavy boot into the chalk dust coating the mat, sending a blinding cloud of white powder directly into her eyes.

Morwenna flinched instinctively, her strike completely missing his chest and grazing his ribs.

Arthur capitalized instantly. He used the momentum of her miss to pivot sharply, dropping his weight and driving his elbow in a vicious, upward arc directly into her exposed ribs.

Thud.

The brutal strike connected cleanly with her leather armor.

The dark elf didn’t even gasp.

The moment his elbow touched her ribs, she grabbed the back of his neck with bone-crushing force. She twisted her hips, hooked her leg behind his knee, and slammed him onto the mat so hard the entire ring vibrated. She immediately dropped her weight onto him, pinning him completely flat, her knee pressing dangerously against his throat.

The chalk dust settled around them. Arthur didn’t struggle. He just looked up at her from the floor.

Morwenna was breathing slightly heavier than before. A thin sheen of sweat glistened on her skin. She looked down at him, rubbing her side where his elbow had struck, then looked back up to his deadpan expression. The annoyance in her eyes slowly melted into a dark, entirely genuine smirk.

”A pocket-sand feint into a blind rib-breaker,” Morwenna panted softly, leaning her weight down just enough to make him uncomfortable. ”That was incredibly dirty, Vance. No honor at all.”

”Honor gets you killed,” Arthur rasped out under her knee.

Morwenna chuckled, a dark, throaty sound. She released his neck and stood up in one fluid motion, looking down at him with an entirely new level of respect.

”You’re still garbage up close,” Morwenna stated, wiping the chalk from her cheek. ”Come back tomorrow.”

The academy medical wing was a stark contrast to the training rings. It was brightly lit, smelling of ozone, sterilized linens, and the crisp, minty tang of pure healing mana.

Arthur walked through the double doors at 7:00 PM, rolling his left shoulder. His ribs throbbed painfully, and a massive purple bruise was already forming on his bicep from Morwenna’s grappling.

He walked down the pristine white hallway and pulled back the privacy curtain to bay four.

Chloe was standing beside a supply cart, organizing glass vials of low-grade stamina potions. When she heard the metal curtain rings scrape against the rod, she turned around.

The moment her blue eyes landed on Arthur, she froze entirely.

The small glass vial in her hand slipped, but she caught it against her chest in a panicked, jerky motion. Her face instantly flooded with a deep, vibrant crimson.

”A-Arthur,” Chloe stammered, her voice incredibly small. ”W-What are you doing here?”

”Sparring injury,” Arthur said smoothly, stepping into the small, enclosed bay. He walked over to the edge of the examination cot and sat down.

He didn’t ask her for healing. He didn’t complain about the pain. He simply sat on the edge of the cot and spread his knees slightly, leaving just enough space between them.

Chloe swallowed hard. To heal his ribs and chest, she would have to step directly into his personal space. Right between his knees.

Her hands began to tremble. She placed the vial down on the cart so she wouldn’t drop it. Taking a shallow, shaky breath, she slowly walked over to him, her white healer’s robes brushing against the floor.

She stopped right in front of him, forced to step into the V of his parted legs. The proximity was completely suffocating. She kept her eyes glued entirely to the bruised skin of his chest, terrified to look up.

”I... I’ll just...” Chloe whispered, raising her hands.

Her palms began to glow with a soft, warm green light. She gently pressed her trembling hands against his ribs, channeling the soothing healing mana into his bruised muscles.

Arthur didn’t bring up the tavern. He just sat perfectly still and let the silence stretch.

The psychological pressure was crushing her. Chloe’s hands were shaking so badly she could barely maintain the spell. Beneath the sterile smell of the medical wing, Arthur’s heightened perception caught the unmistakable, musky scent of her rising arousal mixed with sheer panic.

As the purple bruise on his ribs finally faded into normal skin, Chloe hastily tried to pull her hands back.

Arthur didn’t let her.

He casually raised his hands, resting his large palms firmly on the outside of her soft hips to keep her exactly where she was.

Chloe let out a sharp squeak. She completely stopped breathing, her blue eyes snapping up to meet his dark, highly amused gaze.

Arthur leaned forward. He invaded her space entirely, his face stopping mere inches from hers. He could feel her trembling like a trapped rabbit under his grip.

”Your mana feels incredibly... warm today, Chloe,” Arthur whispered, his voice a low, dark rumble.

Chloe’s lips parted, but no sound came out. Her mind completely short-circuited. The implication shattered whatever remaining composure she had.

Arthur held her gaze for two more agonizing seconds. Then, he smoothly released her hips and stood up, stepping around her frozen form.

”Thanks for the patch-up,” Arthur said normally, not looking back as he pushed the curtain aside. ”See you in class.”

He left her standing completely alone in the medical bay, her face burning, her knees practically giving out under the weight of her own paranoid tension.

****

Arthur walked back across the dark, moonlit courtyards toward the student dormitories.

He pulled up his mental ledger. Between the 60,000 credits he had extorted from Leon and received from the academy last week, plus the massive haul of spider silk, venom glands, and F-Rank cores they had just harvested from the Iron-Vein crypts, his total liquid capital sat at just over 70,000 credits.

For an academy student, it was a fortune. But to hijack the Obsidian Hand, he still needed more. He had the money to keep them afloat, but he needed the leverage to make them his. He needed an asset so inherently valuable that the guild manager would sign away her life’s work just to get her hands on it.

Arthur entered his private dorm room and locked the door. He sat on the edge of his bed, finally allowing the tension of the weekend raid to bleed out of his muscles. He needed to review his progress.

With a mental command, he opened his interface.

Status Window: Arthur Vance

Class: Phantom Sniper (Unique)

Level: 22

Strength: 40

Mana: 250

Dexterity: 105

Perception: 103

Intelligence: 27

Stamina: 35

Unallocated Stat Points: 0

Active Traits & Skills

Traits:Soundless Steps (Lv.4): Allows for completely silent movement.

Eagle Eye (Lv.7): Enhanced visual zoom and extreme long-distance focus.Ghost in the Woods: User’s presence naturally blends with the environment; movement, breathing, and drawing a bow generate zero sound.

Skills:

Mana Quiver (Lv.2): Passive/Active conversion of raw mana into physical ammunition.

Mirage Shot (Lv.2): Creates perfect visual and auditory illusions to deceive targets.

Phantom Shots (Lv.1 - Passive): 10% chance for arrows to become intangible, bypassing physical armor and magical shields.

Shadow Step (Lv.1 - Active): Teleport up to 15 yards to any location obscured by shadows; zero sound generation.

Inventory Status

Equipped Gear:

Whisperwind Longbow (Unique / Growth-Type): Living elven wood; utilizes a mana-string.

Arthur nodded in satisfaction, dismissing the translucent blue screen. Taking down the mutated Cave Spider Matriarch had cleanly pushed his level over the threshold. More importantly, his relentless spamming of Mana Quiver and Mirage Shot during the raids had finally forced both skills to level up, increasing their efficiency.