I Stopped Simping and the Heroines Lost Their Minds

The mechanical target blurred across the back wall of the Applied Magical Weapons range. Arthur stood on the firing line, tracking the wooden dummy. He drew Whisperwind’s string, forced a surge of mana into the arrow, and released.

The mana arrow struck dead center, but it shuddered violently on impact. Excessive mana bled off in a visible haze, and a harsh shock ran straight back through the grip, leaving Arthur’s wrist trembling.

Professor Garran Voss stood nearby, his arms crossed over his soot-stained coat. ”Accurate,” Voss grunted. ”And technically awful.”

Arthur lowered the bow. ”It hit the center.”

”Your eyes put the arrow in the center. The rest of your body fought the bow the entire way,” Voss said, stepping onto the firing line. ”You flood the arrow at the absolute last second, lock your shoulder too early, jerk the release, and fire at maximum power when half would work perfectly fine. You are relying on your Perception and Dexterity to hide your mistakes.”

Arthur rubbed his wrist. His class and attributes had built him to see first, move first, and hit weak points. Raw Strength and formal archery technique had never been his priorities.

”I brought a visual aid,” Voss said, gesturing toward the equipment tables.

Elara stood near the racks with her own elven longbow resting against one shoulder.

”Cadet Aurelian has the cleanest conventional archery technique in your year,” Voss said. ”She is here to show me which of your problems belong to the bow and which belong to you.”

She walked over, her posture flawless. She clarified her presence immediately. ”I am not here as a personal favor.”

”I was worried you had developed concern for me,” Arthur said.

Elara’s expression remained perfectly dry. ”Recover quickly, Vance. I would hate for people to think this is your best.”

”Draw the bow again,” Voss ordered.

Arthur raised Whisperwind and drew the string.

Elara didn’t even need a full second to diagnose the structural disasters. ”Elbow too high. Wrist turned inward. Grip is entirely too tight. Your draw extends slightly beyond the stable anchor point, and your shoulder is holding unnecessary tension.”

Elara moved to his right side. She pressed his elbow lower, straightened his wrist, and pried his fingers slightly looser around the grip.

”Do not squeeze the grip,” Elara instructed, stepping back. ”The bow is not attempting to escape.”

”Its judgment has been questionable,” Arthur muttered.

Elara ignored him, stepping up to the firing line and raising her own bow.

She drew in one smooth motion, settled the string beside her cheek, and released. The arrow crossed the range and struck the moving target cleanly. The shaft remained perfectly still, with no excess mana bleeding from the impact.

It did not possess the overwhelming raw mana of Arthur’s shot, but it was technically perfect.

She turned to look at him. ”You try to kill the target and the wall behind it. Accuracy is not the same as control.”

”Try it,” Voss told him.

Arthur raised Whisperwind again. A Mana Quiver arrow formed on the string. This time, he consciously lowered his elbow and relaxed his shoulder. He anchored the string exactly where Elara had placed it, loosened his grip on the wood, and channeled a steady, continuous thread of mana rather than a violent flood.

He released.

The shot snapped forward cleanly. It struck the mechanical target dead center and buried itself much deeper than the first shot. Arthur had used barely half the effort.

Elara examined the target. ”Acceptable.”

Arthur lowered the bow. ”That sounded painful to admit.”

”It was.”

Voss walked over and took Whisperwind from Arthur’s hand, replacing it with a weighted throwing knife.

”Painted eye,” Voss said, pointing toward a smaller moving dummy.

Arthur weighed the knife, adjusted his stance, and threw it.

The blade struck the painted eye with flawless precision, but it barely sank an inch into the reinforced wood before sagging downward. His throwing strength and technique were entirely mediocre.

Elara raised an eyebrow. ”Your accuracy is offensive.”

Arthur looked at the shallow blade.

”The rest of the throw is less impressive,” she added smoothly

Voss wasn’t finished. He handed Arthur a compact magical bolt launcher. It had no string, only a metal grip attached to an enchanted barrel.

Arthur raised it and fired three rapid shots.

The first blue bolt struck the target’s throat. The second hit its chest. By the third shot, the unfamiliar grip had shifted awkwardly in his hand, and the final bolt clipped the target’s shoulder.

Voss took the weapon back. ”Your class helps you find the target and the line of fire. It does not teach your hand how an unfamiliar weapon works.”

The professor pointed down the range toward a series of markers.

”Weapon transitions,” Voss ordered. ”Whisperwind shot. Draw a dagger, cut that moving strap. Resheathe the dagger. Reposition with one controlled Shadow Step. Redraw Whisperwind, and fire.”

Arthur took a breath. He raised the bow and fired into the first target. The moment the string snapped, he dropped the bow to his side, drew a dagger with his right hand, and sliced cleanly through a heavy leather strap swinging across his path.

He sheathed the blade and fixed on the shadow cast by the final range marker.

Shadow Step.

His body vanished and reappeared ten yards to the left.

Pain flared in his cracked ribs. He fought through it, snapping Whisperwind up for the final shot.

The arrow struck the center of the final target, but his wrist alignment completely collapsed. The mana release was wildly unstable, the shaft shook, and his hand trembled fiercely around the grip.

”Your grip changed after the movement,” Elara noted immediately.

Voss reached out and caught Arthur’s forearm. ”Exactly.”

The professor turned Arthur’s arm to demonstrate. ”You twist the forearm whenever you switch back from the dagger to the bow,” Voss said. ”Protecting those ribs makes it worse. Shadow Step leaves your mana uneven for a breath, and the armor cuff catches when you redraw. Your aim hides the mistake. Your wrist pays for it.”

Reaching into his pocket, Voss pulled out a temporary leather wrist brace and tossed it to him, followed by a sheet of written specifications.

”That brace is temporary,” Voss said. ”You need a custom mana-thread bracer. It needs to steady the wrist, smooth the mana entering the bow, stay clear of your armor cuff, and remain secure when you switch weapons or use Shadow Step.”

Arthur looked at the complex specifications. ”Who makes this?”

”Take the specifications to the Iron Anvil,” Voss said, turning back toward his equipment tables. ”Ask for Brunhilda.”

The next morning introduced the first of the newly added post-midterm classes.

In Advanced Alchemy, Professor Ilyra Fen proved to be a strict, razor-sharp instructor. Her lecture focused entirely on battlefield toxins, unstable monster reagents, and identifying injuries that ordinary healing magic could accidentally worsen.

Chloe rapidly recorded every example involving injuries that ordinary healing could worsen.

Later that afternoon, Professor Halbrecht Rune took the stage for Advanced Combat Theory. The scarred veteran taught them how to survive fights where the enemy held every obvious advantage.

”Dirty tactics are excellent,” Rune explained to the hall, ”provided they are supported by proper fundamentals. Throwing dirt in an enemy’s eyes only works if your footwork doesn’t leave your throat exposed while you do it.”

Arthur liked him immediately. Rune cared about surviving the fight, not whether the method looked honorable.

Following classes, Arthur separated from the squad, carrying the Grid 4-7 records to Dungeon Logistics.

Professor Caelum Rusk sat behind his desk, surrounded by organized stacks of requisition forms. He accepted the folder and opened it directly to the route map.

”Grid 4-7,” Rusk said calmly.

Arthur watched him. ”You remember it?”

”I maintain the dungeon maps, Vance. It is my job,” Rusk replied, his tone perfectly flat. ”This passage was supposed to be sealed. Someone closed the physical entrance but left the route active in the dungeon system. An administrative failure.”

Rusk made a note on the parchment. ”I will dispatch a team to seal the passage properly and correct the active maps. You are dismissed.”

Arthur left the office and pulled the door shut behind him.

Rusk’s explanation fit the evidence. Someone had sealed the wall without removing the route from the dungeon system.

Arthur had delivered a structural problem and received a structural answer.