I Stopped Simping and the Heroines Lost Their Minds

Corwin drove forward again.

Arthur’s heel dragged along the line. His dagger arm was still heavily jammed against Corwin’s side, the route to the right walled off and the left just as unyielding. He had almost no room left behind him.

He stopped pulling backward.

Corwin’s weight was already driving forward, leaning into the resistance. Arthur stepped deep into the clinch instead, driving his shoulder against Corwin and shifting his feet sharply inward. They stumbled through an ugly, grinding turn together. Corwin caught his balance quickly enough to keep Arthur’s dagger away, but Arthur’s boot planted safely back inside the ring.

They remained tangled for another heavy second before the referee stepped in and separated them.

The referee gave neither man a point. Arthur rolled his shoulder once as they returned to their marks.

When the whistle blew again, Arthur met Corwin’s next approach without giving ground immediately. Corwin did not let it turn into momentum.

They went through three rapid exchanges. Arthur’s eyes stayed on Corwin’s shoulders and hips, moving a fraction earlier whenever he recognized the shift.

On the next approach, Corwin started with a familiar high-line attack. Arthur caught the shoulder movement early and shifted his weight to slip the strike before the saber fully developed.

Corwin shortened the swing instantly. He changed direction while Arthur was already entirely committed to the expected evasion. The saber caught Arthur cleanly across the side of his upper arm.

The whistle shrieked.

Corwin retook the lead.

The touch left a sharp sting along his upper arm, but nothing that changed the way he moved. Corwin resettled into his guard across the mat without a single word of smugness.

Arthur took a slow breath before the restart.

The next time he stepped in and saw the angle closing, he left it alone.

Corwin gave him ground a moment later. Arthur let him have it.

When the saber came back, Arthur blocked, moved away, and resisted the urge to force a counter into the shrinking space.

The equalizer came from something small.

Corwin attacked, and Arthur slipped close enough that the saber had to be pulled back before the next strike could develop. Arthur initially aimed a high strike toward the guard. Corwin shifted to close the line.

Arthur let the attack go without trying to rescue it.

As Corwin pulled the saber back into guard, his near arm opened for a fraction of a second. Arthur took it, snapping the blunted dagger firmly against Corwin’s exposed arm.

The whistle blew, and the referee pointed to Arthur.

The score was level again.

Corwin looked at the touched spot on his arm. ”Another ugly one.”

Arthur was breathing hard enough that the answer came in pieces. ”I’m developing a style.”

Corwin laughed once.

Neither of them scored on the next exchange, or the one after it. Corwin checked an entry before Arthur could complete the step, and Arthur abandoned another angle rather than force his way through a closing gap. Corwin nearly caught his shoulder on a retreat; Arthur crowded him on the next pass but had to back out before the saber trapped him there.

When they reset again, both were breathing hard.

Corwin initiated the next exchange.

He showed Arthur a clean opening around the weapon arm. It looked real enough to take, and Arthur drove his weight forward to take it.

Corwin’s saber began changing line almost as soon as Arthur committed.

Arthur caught the shift through his shoulder and lead foot and killed his own attack before the counter finished forming.

Corwin’s counter cut sharply through the empty space where Arthur would have been.

Corwin’s counter carried the saber farther across his body than he could pull it back in time. His upper chest and throat were open for barely a moment.

Arthur was already close enough. The familiar sequence of Silent Knife carried his wrist cleanly from the abandoned body strike into the new line. He took one step.

The blunted dagger stopped cleanly against the guard at the base of Corwin’s throat.

The whistle shrieked.

The arena fell silent for half a beat, and then the noise crashed down from the stands. The referee stepped between them, pointing decisively toward Arthur.

Arthur kept the dagger lowered, his chest rising and falling heavily.

Corwin looked at where the weapon had stopped. He exhaled a long, tired breath and looked back up at Arthur.

”That one wasn’t ugly.”

”High praise,” Arthur managed.

Corwin offered a tired grin, and they shook hands before turning toward the edge of the mat.

The Thorne family converged on him the moment he stepped off the ring, arriving as one messy, overlapping group. Kael got there first, loudly talking over the surrounding crowd.

”You’re welcome.”

Arthur looked at him. ”For what?”

”Everything.”

Emily reached him at almost the exact same time, grabbing the front of his jacket and kissing him before Kael could finish explaining his vital contributions to the victory. Kael complained about the display while Adrian simply smiled and offered Arthur a firm clap on the shoulder.

Gareth arrived a moment later, stopping near the edge of the group. Arthur met his eyes.

”Good,” Gareth said.

Arthur smiled.

Seraphina was pleased, but practical enough to cut through the celebration. She reminded everyone that Arthur still had the formal award ceremony to attend before Kael dragged him off to celebrate.

A tournament healer caught Arthur near the competitor corridor before he could get far. His shoulder was badly bruised, his forearm ached, and the long bout had left his muscles heavy, but nothing required more than routine treatment. A short restorative spell took the edge off the bruising before the healer waved him back toward the arena.

Arthur returned to the central platform. The crowd hadn’t thinned at all.

The announcer’s voice echoed across the arena, calling his name and declaring the academy guest fighting under the Thorne Main Dojo as the tournament champion.

Thorne members shouted from the lower sections, a few academy references rose from the general spectators, and Arthur easily picked out Kael being considerably louder than necessary. Corwin received his runner-up recognition nearby, and the two of them exchanged a respectful nod as the noise rolled over the platform.

A tournament official brought forward a compact case bearing the tournament seal. Inside sat a heavily protected vial of dark, metallic-toned liquid.

Arthur recognized the vial immediately. Ironblood Refinement Elixir. He had spent the entire tournament chasing something that now sat quietly inside a reinforced case small enough to hold in one hand. For someone whose body had always lagged behind his eyes and reflexes, the little vial was worth every bruise he had collected getting here.

He took it from the official, feeling the weight in his hands.

Gareth found him looking at the sealed vial after the ceremony concluded and the crowds began to disperse.

”Don’t use it carelessly,” Gareth told him.

Arthur glanced up. ”I was planning to drink it.”

Gareth gave him a long, flat look. ”That isn’t what I meant.”

Arthur smiled.

He carried the case down from the platform, letting the noise of the arena wash over him. Emily fell into step comfortably beside him. Kael was waiting near the corridor exit, looking between Arthur, the prize in his hands, and the lingering crowds still dissecting the final.

Kael looked deeply dissatisfied. ”I’ve decided you’re never representing our dojo again.”

Arthur looked at him, not slowing his pace. ”I thought I represented it pretty well.”

Kael’s expression darkened. ”Exactly.”

Emily laughed out loud, and Adrian caught up right behind them as they headed away from the ring together.