I Stopped Simping and the Heroines Lost Their Minds

Arthur’s legs complained the moment his feet touched the floor.

He stood beside the bed for a second, worked some of the stiffness out of his left shoulder, and gave up when his ribs objected to the stretch.

After washing and changing into loose training clothes, Arthur pushed one of the heavy guest-room chairs into the corner to clear some space on the rug.

Then he opened his inventory.

[Consume Skill Book: Silent Knife Technique — Lv.1?]

Arthur accepted.

The book vanished.

[Skill Acquired: Silent Knife Technique — Lv.1]

Arthur drew the blunt training dagger from his belt.

Step. Redirect. Cut. Turn. Recover.

He stopped.

That had been different.

Arthur reset and tried the sequence again. The redirect no longer left his dagger hanging uselessly in front of him. His wrist turned naturally into the next cut, his foot followed the shift in his weight, and when the imaginary strike missed, his body already knew where the recovery should go.

He tried it a third time.

Better.

A grin spread across his face.

Arthur got slightly more ambitious. He sped the sequence up, turning sharply off his back foot to transition into a new angle—and violently smashed his hip directly into the edge of the heavy guest-room table.

Arthur hissed through his teeth, grabbed the edge of the wood, and glared at it. He decided the furniture was currently undefeated against Silent Knife and headed downstairs to find someone who actually moved.

He found Emily already training in one of the smaller outdoor yards.

She wore tight training clothes and heavy linen wraps on her hands, working methodically through a series of forms against a heavy striking post.

Arthur approached, spinning the blunt dagger casually in his hand.

Emily finished a strike, exhaled, and noticed the expression on his face. She knew that exact look. It meant he had either discovered something incredibly stupid or highly interesting.

”I need you for something,” Arthur told her.

Emily glanced down at the training dagger. ”That sentence has become less reassuring lately.”

”I found something new,” Arthur said. ”I want to test it.”

She agreed immediately.

Emily raised her wrapped hands and stepped in with a measured straight strike.

Arthur redirected it. Instead of the movement dying there, his dagger rolled smoothly toward her weapon hand. His foot shifted naturally with the momentum. When Emily pulled away, Arthur followed seamlessly to another angle without having to pause and repair his stance first. He lightly tagged her ribs with the blunt steel.

Emily stopped. She looked at the imaginary mark on her side, then looked up at Arthur.

Arthur looked extremely pleased with himself. ”You may compliment me now.”

”Again,” Emily said.

The second exchange went just as well. Arthur slipped her guard and tapped her wrist, keeping his balance perfectly centered. He actually started thinking the book might have solved far more of his problems than he had expected.

That was when Emily stopped cooperating.

On the third exchange, she completely changed her timing. Arthur expected the same entry rhythm. She started the movement, then abruptly checked it halfway through. Arthur’s new technique desperately wanted to continue into the clean response it had just taught him—except Emily wasn’t where she was supposed to be anymore.

She caught his wrist mid-air.

Arthur tried the clean Silent Knife response to break the hold. Emily simply changed her grip, entirely ruining the leverage. The technique broke.

A second later, Arthur hit the mat.

Emily controlled the throw enough that Arthur landed on his back without another jolt through his ribs. A moment later, she was above him, kneeling beside his hip with his dagger arm pinned to the mat.

Arthur stared up at her.

”Very impressive,” Emily said.

”You sound unconvinced,” Arthur replied.

”You were impressive right until I stopped doing what you expected.”

Arthur let out a breath. Apparently, the skill book hadn’t included an Emily Thorne manual.

Arthur got back up, and they continued.

Emily tried to catch his wrist again, Arthur started the formal escape, felt her adjust her grip, abandoned the technique halfway through, and used one of Morwenna’s ugly, twisting escapes instead.

Emily’s fingers slipped from his wrist.

Arthur’s weight started backward out of habit.

He stopped himself, turned with the opening, and drove the blunt dagger toward her ribs.

Emily had to bring her arm across to block.

During the next scramble, Arthur slipped around Emily’s side and managed to catch her weapon wrist. His other arm locked around Emily’s waist and pulled her back against him. Her ass pressed firmly into his crotch, and the contact immediately made his cock hard inside his training trousers.

Arthur had already won the exchange, but instead of releasing her, he deliberately ground his erection once against the curve of her ass.

His hand slid from her waist, dragged over her hip, and closed around one thick ass cheek. He squeezed it firmly through her training pants.

Emily looked down at his hand, then turned her head to look back at him over her shoulder. ”That wasn’t part of the technique.”

”Distraction testing,” Arthur said, completely straight-faced.

Emily threw him.

Arthur landed flat on his back on the training mat, laughing as he caught his breath.

When they reset, Arthur got a little too confident after landing a couple of good touches in a row. Emily punished him for it instantly, sweeping his leg and sending him back to the mat.

She followed him down and pinned him. Emily shifted her hips and settled directly over the heavy erection straining against Arthur’s trousers.

Arthur looked down at where she was straddling him, then back up at her face.

”We’re getting very far away from knife training,” Arthur pointed out.

”You seemed interested in distraction testing,” Emily countered smoothly.

She gave one slow, deliberate grind, her crotch pressing hard against the rigid bulge in his trousers. Arthur let out a slow breath, reaching up toward her waist, but Emily caught that hand too, pinning both of his wrists to the mat.

”This seems unfair,” Arthur noted.

”Good.”

Arthur grinned and thrust his hips upward, grinding his hard cock deliberately against her crotch.

Emily’s eyes narrowed. Arthur tried to grind against her again, but she planted a hand on his chest and pushed herself to her feet.

Arthur got up, dusting off his shoulders. Before he could step back to his starting mark, Emily grabbed the front of his training shirt and pulled him down into a hard, breathless kiss, her sweaty breasts pressing against his chest through the thin fabric.

Arthur immediately grabbed her ass again, his fingers digging into the firm flesh through her training pants.

This time, she allowed him one hard squeeze before smacking his wrist away.

”Train,” she ordered.

”I thought we finished,” Arthur said.

Emily picked her practice weapon back up. ”Now we haven’t.”

They sparred for another twenty minutes. Arthur managed several clean touches, but Emily still threw, pinned, and tagged him often enough to keep his confidence under control.

When they finally slowed, Emily lowered her weapon.

”You’re harder to interrupt.”

Arthur wiped the sweat from his face. ”You make that sound almost complimentary.”

They finally stopped because Arthur had a match tomorrow. Emily insisted on stopping more than Arthur did.

”You are the person who just restarted the spar because I grabbed your ass,” Arthur complained, wiping sweat from his face.

”Those were entirely unrelated matters,” Emily informed him.

Arthur didn’t believe her for a second.

After washing up and eating, Emily mentioned that one match at the arena that afternoon would decide who Arthur faced tomorrow.

She was going to watch.

Arthur went with her.

They took one of the family carriages toward the civic center.

Arthur leaned back against the seat, rubbing his sore shoulder. ”I blame you for this.”

”I recall you grabbing things that were definitely not part of the spar,” Emily reminded him.

”I have no regrets.”

”I noticed,” Emily said dryly.

She reached over, and their fingers laced casually together on the seat between them.

The tournament venue felt distinctly different today. Some of the weakest competitors had already been weeded out, and the fighters wandering the halls now seemed to recognize each other.

For once, nobody called Arthur’s name or pointed him toward a competitors’ entrance. He and Emily wandered through the crowded venue until they found a viewing rail with a clear look at the mats below.

He and Emily found a spot near a viewing railing with a clear look at the mats below.

Arthur caught himself watching something unexpected. He wasn’t watching the flashing swords or the spectacular attacks. He kept staring at the fighters’ feet. He watched where someone landed after overextending, how they shifted their weight to recover, and how quickly their balance resettled.

Emily noticed his intense focus. ”My father ruined the way you watch fights.”

Down below, a fighter overcommitted on a heavy overhead swing, failed to recover his footing, and immediately took a brutal strike to the ribs for the mistake.

”Apparently,” Arthur agreed.

Darius Venn stepped into the ring a few minutes later.

Darius represented Ironwood Hall, and he fought with a single competition short sword. His opponent made him work for every exchange.

What caught Arthur’s attention was what happened whenever Darius got close. The other fighter had a hell of a time getting him back out. When he created space, Darius stole it again. When he tried to disengage, Darius followed without losing his footing.

Arthur gradually stopped joking with Emily and leaned against the railing, watching carefully. At one point, the opponent actually landed a solid, glancing hit on Darius’s shoulder. Darius simply accepted the impact, used the fraction of a second to obtain a better angle, and immediately began pressing again.

Eventually, the referee blew the whistle and stopped the match. Darius won.

Arthur exhaled slowly. He understood well that tomorrow was going to suck.

”Worried?” Emily asked, watching his face.

”I preferred the spear,” Arthur admitted.

They passed the updated bracket board on their way out.

Arthur Vance — Thorne Main Dojo vs. Darius Venn — Ironwood Hall

Arthur studied the names briefly. As he turned away, Corwin Vale passed them in the crowd, accompanied by a few members of his own group. Corwin paused, checked the freshly updated board, and looked at Arthur.

”Better than Mercer,” Corwin remarked.

”I noticed,” Arthur said.

Corwin nodded and kept walking.

They returned to the Thorne compound by late afternoon.

Back at the compound, Arthur had barely pulled out the training dagger before Emily took it from his hand.

Arthur looked at his empty fingers. ”I only wanted ten minutes.”

”You said that this morning.”

”That was before I saw something useful.”

Emily set the dagger on the table. ”Tomorrow.”

Arthur waited until she left, did ten minutes of light footwork without the blade, and stopped before she could come back and catch him.

The guest wing was noticeably busier that evening. Visiting tournament competitors and family members were coming and going, filling the corridors with noise.

After washing up, Arthur stepped out of his washroom wearing trousers, his chest bare, running a towel through his damp hair.

A sharp knock sounded at his door before Nessa entered, carrying his freshly pressed tournament clothes for tomorrow over one arm.

She stopped just inside the doorway when she found him shirtless. Her eyes lingered for barely a beat before her usual composure returned.

”I can return when you are dressed,” Nessa offered.

”You’ve already come this far,” Arthur pointed out.

Nessa gave him exactly the dry look that comment deserved, but she stepped fully into the room and went about her work anyway.

Arthur leaned against the heavy wardrobe while they exchanged a few polite lines about the schedule for tomorrow’s match. Nessa moved efficiently, hanging the jacket and turning to place his polished boots into the bottom of the wardrobe.

Nessa bent farther into the wardrobe, and her maid skirt pulled tight across her ass. The position made both cheeks stand out beneath the dark fabric, round and heavy, with a shallow crease forming where the skirt tucked between them.

Arthur’s eyes stayed there.

Her ass looked soft enough that his palm almost itched to slap it just to see how much it would bounce.

Nessa finished straightening the clothes. As she stood up, she smoothed the back of her skirt down with one hand, her fingers tightening slightly on the fabric. She turned around and found him openly staring.

Silence stretched in the quiet room.

Arthur’s eyes traveled slowly from her ass back to her face.

”Mr. Vance,” Nessa said, her voice perfectly even.

”Nessa,” Arthur replied.

”Is there something you require?”

Arthur glanced at her ass once more before answering. ”Nothing I should probably ask for tonight.”

Nessa’s expression tightened just a fraction.

”How unusually sensible of you,” she said softly.

She gave him a crisp nod and walked out of the room.

The door clicked shut behind her.

Alone in the quiet room, Arthur looked at his prepared clothes resting neatly on the chair. The competition dagger sat on the small table. Whisperwind was leaning against the wall nearby, even though it couldn’t enter the ring with him tomorrow.

He opened his system interface and checked one thing.

[Silent Knife Technique — Lv.1]

Still level one.

Arthur closed the window. He drew the blunt training dagger, squared his shoulders, and ran through one short, fluid sequence. It felt incredibly smooth. His body automatically started resetting its weight for another repetition.

Arthur stopped himself.

Tomorrow he actually needed his legs.

He put the dagger down on the table beside Whisperwind. For once, Arthur left both weapons alone and went to bed.