I Stopped Simping and the Heroines Lost Their Minds

The wagon’s rear left wheel hit a deep, hardened rut in the quarry road.

The wagon lurched sideways. The injured merchant screamed, his head thrashing against the floorboards as the impact jolted his shattered leg. Felix grabbed the man’s shoulders, throwing his own weight forward to keep him from sliding, while Emily caught his good knee to stabilize him.

”Hold him steady!” Felix shouted over the rattle of the wheels.

The other merchant sat against the sideboards, his knees pulled up to his chest. He looked terrified, his eyes darting between the trees and the bloody Hunters surrounding him.

Arthur sat near the tailgate, watching the dust kick up behind them. His left wrist throbbed with a hot, steady pulse every time he flexed his fingers. He shifted his grip on Whisperwind, trying to keep the weight off the inflamed joint. Across from him, Mira pressed a folded piece of coarse cloth against the tear in her leather shoulder guard.

”Let me,” Emily said, leaving the merchant to Felix.

She moved across the swaying wagon bed and took the cloth from Mira, pressing it firmly over the bleeding graze.

”It’s not deep,” Mira said, though she didn’t push Emily’s hands away.

The road worsened as it sloped downward toward the valley. The wagon bounced over a patch of exposed rocks, and the injured merchant let out another breathless, agonizing cry.

Felix looked toward the front of the wagon. ”Garrick, we need to stop.”

Garrick didn’t turn around. ”We’re barely a mile from a camp full of pissed-off bandits.”

”His leg is taking all the impact,” Felix said, keeping his hands braced against the man’s shoulders. ”We hit another rut like that, the bone is going to tear through the skin.”

Arthur looked at the merchant’s leg. The shin was bowed at a sickening angle, the fabric of his trousers pulled tight over the swelling flesh.

”Find a spot, Garrick,” Arthur said.

Garrick kept the horses moving for another five minutes before pulling off the main track. He stopped the wagon near a sharp bend where a rocky overhang provided cover from one side, leaving a long, clear sightline down the road behind them.

Arthur hopped down over the tailgate. He activated Eagle Eye, scanning the tree line and the road they had just traveled.

”Clear,” Arthur said.

Felix knelt beside the injured man.

”Hold him still,” he told Emily.

Emily supported the man’s shoulders while his companion crouched beside him and took his hand.

Felix found two loose wooden slats among the empty cargo crates. He placed them along either side of the injured leg, leaving it at its bent angle. Emily passed him some folded cloth, which he stuffed between the wood and the swollen flesh before securing everything with leather straps.

The merchant cried out when Felix tightened the second strap. His companion gripped his hand harder and kept talking to him until he settled.

Felix checked that the makeshift splint would hold, then moved back to give the man some room.

Arthur was climbing back into the wagon when the healthy merchant pointed toward the faded green crest on its side.

”That’s our wagon.”

Arthur looked at the scraped paint. ”Seriously?”

”They took it when they robbed us. Three days ago.” The man glanced at his injured companion. ”They took everything else too.”

Near the driver’s bench, the bound bandit let out a low groan.

He blinked against the late afternoon sun, shifting on the floorboards. He tried to push himself up, froze, and stared at his tightly bound wrists. He looked up at Garrick, then at Mira’s bloody broadsword resting against the bench.

”I—I just drive the horses,” the man stammered. ”I just drive.”

The uninjured merchant glared at him. ”He was with them when they took the wagon.”

Mira nudged the driver’s boot with her own. ”Keep your mouth shut.”

The driver swallowed hard and pressed himself backward against the wooden paneling.

Once everyone was settled, Garrick took the reins and guided the wagon back onto the road.

The dirt track widened, merging into a better-maintained trade route leading out of the foothills. The ride smoothed out, and the tension in the wagon began to settle. Arthur leaned back against the sideboards.

Felix rested his shield across his knees, examining the dents in its iron face.

”That’s another repair bill.”

”It stopped a heavy bolt,” Arthur pointed out.

”It did,” Felix agreed. ”Brokk’s still going to charge me for it.”

Garrick slowed the wagon as they passed the turnoff toward the upper quarry road. ”Arthur. Our hired horses are still up there.”

Arthur stared at him. Going back for them meant turning the wagon around, delaying the merchants’ medical treatment, and driving straight back toward Kaelen’s surviving men.

Arthur dragged a hand down his face. ”Leave them.”

”The stable owner isn’t going to like that,” Garrick said.

”He has my deposit,” Arthur muttered. ”I’ll deal with the screaming later.”

The wagon rolled on.

”You wanted Kaelen dead pretty badly,” Mira said.

”He was trying to take Garrick’s head off.”

”Before that.”

Arthur looked at her.

Mira waited a moment, then leaned back against the wagon. ”Fine. Don’t tell me.” She closed her eyes.

Arthur slipped his right hand into his jacket pocket. His fingers closed around the jagged piece of metal he’d taken from Kaelen.

Two keys.

The Black Prayer Bead was all he needed now.

Of course, that one was fucking randomized. It could be sitting in some noble’s collection or gathering dust in an antique shop. Arthur had no clue where to begin looking.

He shifted against the wooden siding, trying to find a position that didn’t hurt his back.

Tomorrow. He’d worry about that shit tomorrow.

Emily shifted on the bench across from him. She was watching his right hand resting in his pocket.

”Checking to make sure you didn’t drop it?” Emily asked.

Arthur pulled his hand out of his pocket and rested it on his knee. ”Something like that.”

Emily gave him a knowing half-smile and went back to watching the tree line.

By the time they reached Lornfell, the sun was going down.

Two city guards stepped into the middle of the road, their halberds lowered.

”Pull it over,” the older guard commanded.

Garrick brought the horses to a halt.

The guard looked over the wagon. Much of the original paint had been scraped from the wooden sideboards, but part of a green merchant crest remained. There was blood on the floor, a crossbow bolt lodged in the tailgate, and five filthy Hunters riding inside.

He stopped at the driver’s bench, his eyes narrowing as he spotted the bound driver sitting on the floorboards. ”Explain.”

”Obsidian Hand,” Garrick said, keeping his hands clearly visible on the reins. ”We pulled these two merchants out of a camp in the eastern foothills. Captured one of the men holding them.”

The guard looked into the back of the wagon. One merchant sat against the sideboards, while the other lay pale and sweating with his leg strapped between two wooden slats.

”Which crew?” the guard asked.

”Kaelen’s Company,” Garrick said. ”Kaelen himself is dead out by the old quarry.”

The guard’s posture changed instantly. He stepped back from the wagon and signaled his partner.

”Get a healer out here for that leg,” the guard ordered sharply. ”Then get the watch captain. We’re going to need a full statement.”

Arthur watched one guard hurry back through the gate while the other started asking Garrick for names.

Just inside the city, a street vendor was turning meat skewers over a charcoal grill.

Arthur could smell them from the wagon.

Fuck. He was starving.