I Stopped Simping and the Heroines Lost Their Minds

Saturday morning.

Arthur woke up just as the first rays of dawn began peeking through the gaps in the wooden shutters.

His body felt pleasantly exhausted, but his newly altered stamina meant he wasn’t dead to the world like a normal guy would be after last night’s rabid marathon.

Roxanne, however, was completely incapacitated.

She was sprawled face-down on the mattress, her long silver hair tangled over her bare, bite-marked shoulders. One of her thick thighs was thrown heavily over Arthur’s leg, and a soft, contented snoring sound was coming from her parted lips. She was completely drained.

Arthur carefully peeled her heavy leg off him and slid out of the bed.

He didn’t wake her. He washed his face in the basin, dried off, and started putting on his new gear.

The hardened boar-hide leather fit perfectly over his undershirt. It was stiff, smelling of tanning oil and fresh dye, but it didn’t restrict his shoulders at all. He strapped the two high-carbon steel daggers to his belt, one on each hip. Finally, he slung the heavy quiver over his back and picked up the ashwood longbow.

He looked at himself in the mirror.

He didn’t look like a pathetic academy simp anymore. He looked like a legitimate hunter.

Arthur slipped quietly out of the bedroom, leaving a few silver coins on the nightstand for breakfast, and headed downstairs. He let himself out the front door of the tavern and stepped into the cool, misty morning air.

The Whispering Woods were entirely different at dawn.

The oppressive, pitch-black darkness of the night had lifted, replaced by a thick, rolling white fog that clung to the roots of the massive oak trees. The morning sunlight pierced through the canopy in sharp, golden columns.

Arthur walked past the border checkpoint. The two guards on duty took one look at his new leather armor and focused posture and simply nodded, stepping aside to let him pass.

Arthur drew a deep breath of the pine-scented air.

Alright, he thought, pulling up his mental notes. Sylas’s Labyrinth. Where are you hiding?

The forum posts back on Earth had been frustratingly vague. But they all agreed on one key detail: the Elven Sniper’s hidden base was camouflaged by illusions, but the ambient mana of the dungeon naturally altered the surrounding flora.

Look for the blue moss, Arthur remembered.

He activated his silent footsteps and slipped into the tree line.

For two straight hours, Arthur navigated the dense brush. With his unnaturally sharp vision and hearing, tracking was almost too easy. He avoided three separate goblin patrols and completely sidestepped a sleeping dire-bear. He wasn’t here to farm trash mobs; he was here for the legendary piece.

Around ten o’clock, the terrain began to shift. The dirt grew rocky, and the trees grew taller, their branches twisting together to completely block out the sun.

Suddenly, his ears twitched.

Crack.

A twig snapped. It wasn’t the clumsy, heavy footstep of a goblin. It was light. Predatory.

Arthur instantly dropped into a low crouch, hiding behind the massive trunk of a dead tree. He peered around the bark.

Thirty yards away, stalking through the fog, were three Shadow Wolves.

They were large—easily the size of grown tigers—with sleek, pitch-black fur that seemed to absorb the light around them. Their eyes glowed a sickly yellow, and thick drool dripped from their massive, razor-sharp jaws.

Mid-level beasts, Arthur noted, his pulse quickening. Perfect target practice.

He unslung the longbow from his back. He reached over his shoulder and pulled a broadhead arrow from his quiver.

He knocked the arrow and pulled the string back to his cheek.

The heavy draw weight, which had paralyzed him a week ago, felt manageable. His newly dense back muscles locked perfectly into place. His vision zoomed in, the world slowing down to a crawl as he aimed right behind the ear of the lead wolf.

He released the string.

Thwip.

The arrow tore through the foggy air with a violent hiss. It struck the lead wolf directly in the skull, burying itself halfway down the wooden shaft.

The massive beast dropped instantly, dead before it even registered the sound.

The other two wolves snapped their heads toward their fallen packmate, letting out vicious, guttural snarls. Their yellow eyes locked onto Arthur’s hiding spot. They lunged forward, covering the thirty yards with terrifying speed.

Arthur didn’t panic. He remained perfectly cold.

He smoothly knocked a second arrow, tracked the right wolf’s erratic, sprinting movements, and fired.

Thunk!

The arrow punched clean through the wolf’s chest cavity, piercing its heart. It tumbled mid-sprint, crashing violently into the dirt.

But the third wolf was already too close. It leaped into the air, its massive jaws snapping wide open, aiming directly for Arthur’s throat.

Arthur didn’t try to shoot. At this range, a bow was a liability.

He dropped the longbow.

”Keep your center of gravity low,” Morwenna’s mocking voice echoed in his head.

Arthur instantly dropped his hips, pivoting his back foot and shifting his weight entirely out of the wolf’s trajectory. The massive beast sailed through the empty air where Arthur’s chest had just been.

As the wolf flew past him, Arthur drew his steel dagger in a blindingly fast reverse grip.

Relying on his raw speed, he drove the blade deep into the wolf’s exposed underbelly and dragged it backward as the beast’s own momentum carried it forward.

Squelch.

The wolf hit the ground in a bloody, tangled mess, its insides completely eviscerated. It twitched twice and died.

Arthur stood up, flicking the blood off his dagger with a sharp flick of his wrist before sheathing it.

He let out a slow breath. The new gear is definitely worth the debt, he thought.

He picked up his bow and walked over to the first corpse. He grabbed the wooden shaft of his arrow and gave it a hard yank. It didn’t budge. It was wedged tight in the wolf’s skull bone.

”Damn it,” Arthur grumbled.

He put his boot on the wolf’s head and pulled with both hands, finally ripping the bloody arrow free with a sickening crunch. He inspected the broadhead. It was slightly dulled, but still usable. He wiped it on the wolf’s fur and slid it back into his quiver.

This is the part video games always skip, Arthur complained internally, moving to the second wolf and digging his arrow out of its ribs. You don’t just get an infinite supply of ammo. I only have forty-eight of these damn things. Every shot has to count, or I’m fighting bare-handed.

He knelt in the dirt, pulled out his hunting knife, and got to work harvesting. It was disgusting, menial labor, cutting through thick hide and muscle to extract the dark purple mana stones. By the time he finished, his hands were coated in sticky, foul-smelling gore.

As he stood up to wipe the blood off on the grass, his sharp eyes caught something in the corner of his vision.

Right behind the rocky outcropping where the wolves had been nesting... there was a faint, unnatural glow.

Arthur pushed past the thick thorny bushes, stepping into a small, hidden clearing tucked against the side of a massive stone cliff.

His breath hitched.

Carved directly into the solid rock face was a massive, elegant stone archway. The architecture was completely alien to human design—smooth, flowing, and perfectly symmetrical.

And creeping up the sides of the ancient stone, pulsing with a faint, magical light, was thick, glowing blue moss.

A translucent system window abruptly flashed in front of Arthur’s face.

[Hidden Dungeon Discovered: The Trial of Sylas.]

[Requirement: Unawakened]

[Restraint: Solo]

[Warning: Entrance will seal upon entry. Survival is not guaranteed.]

Arthur stared at the glowing blue text.

Unawakened only, he realized. That’s why none of the elite hunters or instructors ever found this place. The moment you get your combat class, the dungeon locks you out forever.

It was the ultimate gamble. Go in weak, with no defensive skills or offensive magic, and rely purely on base stats and wits to survive. If he failed, the entrance sealed behind him, and he would die in the dark.

A cold, confident smirk spread across Arthur’s face.

He pulled a fresh arrow from his quiver, knocked it, and stepped through the blue moss, vanishing into the darkness.