I Stopped Simping and the Heroines Lost Their Minds

The sun was setting, casting long orange shadows across the training grounds.

He was at the wooden striking posts, practicing the basic dagger forms he had read about in the library. His movements were fast, but completely unrefined.

Thwack. Thwack.

”Your grip is too tight on the reverse strike.”

Arthur stopped, lowering his practice dagger.

Emily Thorne walked over, wiping her neck with a small white towel. She was wearing her usual black sports bra and athletic shorts.

”If you hold it that tight, a goblin is going to shatter your wrist when you parry,” Emily explained, demonstrating a loose, fluid grip with her own empty hand.

Arthur adjusted his grip on the wooden dagger, relaxing his fingers slightly. He slashed the air. The movement was instantly faster and snapped harder at the end of the arc.

”Better,” Arthur noted, looking at the dagger. He turned to her. ”Thanks, Thorne.”

”Don’t mention it,” Emily said, taking a sip from her water bottle. She looked at him carefully. ”Alicia is on a warpath about you, by the way. She’s convinced you’re popping illegal mana-steroids.”

Arthur scoffed, tossing the wooden dagger onto the rack. ”Let her think what she wants. She’s just mad a creep like me didn’t bow down and kiss her boots.”

Emily actually let out a short laugh at that. It was true. Alicia was used to absolute reverence from the male students.

”Well, for what it’s worth,” Emily said, slinging her gym bag over her shoulder. ”I know a steroid bulk when I see one. You didn’t chemically enhance your muscles. You’re just working your ass off.”

”Glad someone around here has eyes,” Arthur replied dryly.

Emily smiled, gave him a small nod of respect, and walked off the field.

Arthur watched her go, admiring the sway of her athletic hips for just a second before turning his attention back to the training racks.

The protagonist’s party was starting to fracture in their opinion of him. That was good. It meant he was no longer a predictable NPC in their story.

”Enjoying the view, Vance?” At some point instructor Morwenna had arrived, looking at him amusedly as his gaze was focused on Emily’s swaying hips.

****

The sun was long gone. The training grounds were completely empty.

Except for Arthur.

He was practicing dagger strikes against a battered wooden dummy. His [Dexterity: 83] made his movements lightning-fast, but he knew the ugly truth. He didn’t have any actual combat skills. He was just relying on raw stats to mimic the rigid forms he had read about in the library.

Slash. Parry. Thrust.

”Your footwork is absolute garbage, Vance.”

Arthur stopped mid-thrust.

He didn’t jump. His high perception had already caught the faint crunch of boots on the dirt a minute ago. He just hadn’t expected her to stick around this late.

Morwenna stepped out of the shadows near the weapon racks.

The Dark Elf instructor was still wearing her skin-tight black combat suit. She carried no weapons, but she didn’t need them. With her monstrous physical stats, she was a lethal weapon all on her own.

For the past few days, the sadistic instructor had been keeping a close eye on him. She seemed reluctantly impressed by his insane, self-destructive workout routine. When she had free time in the evenings, she would drop by just to throw a few brutal, condescending pointers his way.

”Instructor,” Arthur acknowledged, casually lowering his wooden dagger.

Morwenna walked slowly onto the field. Her ruby-red eyes tracked his sweaty, muscular frame with the precision of a predator.

”You’re fast,” Morwenna admitted, stopping a few feet away. ”Your reflexes are sharp. But you’re relying entirely on instinct. When you pivot for a backhand strike, you drop your left shoulder. A decent goblin would gut you before you even finished the swing.”

Arthur didn’t get defensive. He wasn’t going to let his ego get in the way of free lessons from an elite hunter.

”So how do I fix it?” Arthur asked, casually spinning the wooden dagger in his hand.

Morwenna’s dark lips curled into a dangerous, sadistic smile. ”Come at me. I’ll show you.”

Arthur didn’t hesitate. He tossed the wooden dagger aside, planted his feet, and launched himself directly at her.

He was fast. But Morwenna was an absolute monster.

Before Arthur could even throw a punch, the Dark Elf blurred out of his line of sight. She sidestepped his charge effortlessly, grabbed his extended arm, and viciously kicked the back of his knee.

The world spun.

Arthur hit the dirt hard. All the air rushed out of his lungs in a sharp gasp.

Before he could even attempt to recover, Morwenna pinned him.

She dropped her knee directly onto his chest. Her thick, powerful thigh pressed down against his ribs with suffocating force.

Arthur grunted, looking up at her. She was completely straddling him, leaning over so her stark white hair fell forward. Her face was inches from his. He could smell the sharp, intoxicating scent of ozone, dark magic, and fresh sweat radiating off her dark skin.

”You lead with your chest,” Morwenna whispered, her red eyes glowing in the dark. ”You need to keep your center of gravity low. Otherwise, you end up on your back. Just like this.”

She stayed pinned against him for a few seconds longer than necessary.

Arthur could feel the firm, heavy press of her inner thigh right against his ribs, and the soft weight of her chest hovering just above his face. The tactile tension was heavy, electric, and completely deliberate. She wanted him to feel exactly how easily she could crush him.

And secretly, she loved the way he didn’t beg, squirm, or panic under her weight.

Damn, she is heavy, Arthur thought, keeping his breathing steady. Thick thighs really do save lives. Or end them.

Finally, Morwenna stood up, brushing the dirt off her hands with a satisfied smirk.

Arthur coughed, sitting up and rubbing his sore chest. ”Noted. Keep the center of gravity low.”

Morwenna crossed her arms, looking down at him.

”You’re a hard worker, Vance. I’ll give you that,” she said, her voice turning unusually pragmatic. ”You bleed for your progress. It’s a rare trait in these spoiled noble brats.”

She paused, her red eyes narrowing in pity. ”But it’s a waste. You’re a Scout.”

Arthur stood up, dusting off his pants. ”It’s an Unawakened class.”

”It’s a trash class,” Morwenna corrected bluntly. ”It’s designed for cowards who want to hide in bushes and take pictures. No offensive skills. No defensive buffs. It completely limits your physical potential. A scout can never reach the front lines.”

”Then I’ll just change it when I awaken,” Arthur said calmly.

Morwenna actually laughed. It was a harsh, mocking sound that echoed across the empty field.

”Change it?” she sneered, looking at him like he was a delusional child. ”With what? Class Awakening Runes are incredibly rare, Vance. The merchant guilds auction them off to the highest bidder. We’re talking millions of credits for a decent combat class.”

She stepped closer, tapping a sharp, manicured fingernail against his chest.

”From what I know about your file, you are an orphan,” Morwenna mocked, her lips curving into a cruel smirk. ”A charity case who joined this academy as a scholarship student. You don’t have the money or the noble backing for a class change.”

She patted his chest twice, condescendingly.

”Dream on, cadet. Stick to running away.”

Morwenna rolled her eyes. She turned and walked away, her wide, athletic hips swaying rhythmically as she disappeared into the shadows of the academy halls.

Arthur watched her go.

Once she was completely out of earshot, a dark, utterly evil smile spread across his face.

She’s absolutely right, Arthur thought, picking up his towel and wiping the sweat from his neck.

Class Awakening Runes cost tens of millions of credits on the open market. And for a top-tier ranged combat class? Forget about it. He would have to sell his own organs to afford one.

Good thing he wasn’t planning on buying one.

He had a specific hidden piece in mind. Something he had read about on the deepest, most toxic lore forums of the game back on Earth.

He hadn’t actually played this specific mission himself. The developers had patched it in late, and the information was frustratingly vague.

What did those forum nerds say? Arthur mused, walking toward the dorms. A hidden labyrinth out in the Whispering Woods. Or maybe near the base of the Jagged Peaks. Built by the legendary Elven Sniper, Sylas.

If a player managed to find it, survive the traps, and clear the labyrinth, they didn’t just get a rune. They directly inherited the legendary archer’s class.

It was going to be a massive pain in the ass to find without a mini-map or exact coordinates.

Sorry, Instructor, Arthur chuckled to himself. I think I’ll skip the running away part.

It was time to plan a weekend trip.