I Stopped Simping and the Heroines Lost Their Minds

By the time Arthur finally stepped out of the suffocating darkness of the goblin den, the sun had completely set. The Whispering Woods were pitched in deep, nighttime shadows.

He pulled out his scroll and checked the time.

9:15 PM.

"Damn. That took a while," Arthur muttered, his voice sounding entirely different to his own ears. It was deeper. Stronger.

He opened his status window one last time just to admire the numbers. His base Strength was 26 now. It was slightly above average for a first-year combat student, but paired with his absurd [Dexterity: 83] and [Perception: 86], he was suddenly a lethal threat. He wasn’t a pathetic stalker anymore. He was an actual Hunter.

But right now, he looked like a walking corpse.

His uniform was torn to shreds. He was completely covered from head to toe in black goblin blood, dirt, and foul-smelling monster guts. His new muscles ached with a dull, heavy exhaustion, and his stomach let out a violent rumble.

He needed a shower and a massive steak.

Arthur navigated his way out of the forest, his high perception guiding him easily through the dark trees.

When he reached the border checkpoint, the two armored guards were dozing off, leaning against their spears. The crunch of Arthur’s boots on the gravel snapped them awake.

"Halt!" one guard shouted, instantly dropping into a combat stance and leveling his spear at the dark, blood-soaked silhouette stepping out of the treeline. "Identify yourself!"

"Relax. It’s me," Arthur called out, raising his hands. "The academy student who came through this morning."

He stepped fully into the light of the guardpost’s mana-lamp.

The guards lowered their spears, their eyes widening in shock.

"Damn, kid. You are an absolute mess," the older guard said, wincing at the stench of rotting blood rolling off Arthur. "What the hell happened to you?"

"Got unlucky," Arthur lied smoothly, rolling his shoulders. "Ran into a large group of monsters. Had to fight my way out."

The guards exchanged a look of pity. "Well, you’re alive. That’s what counts. Go on, get back to the academy."

Arthur nodded and walked past them. He was exhausted, starving, and crusty with dried blood. The academy dorms were miles away, and he doubted the cafeteria was still serving food.

He walked down the dirt road toward the cluster of buildings near the bus stop.

He looked toward The Leaping Stag.

Lucky for him, the warm, yellow glow of mana-lamps was still spilling out from the tavern’s windows.

Arthur didn’t hesitate. He sprinted the remaining distance, his new legs carrying him with effortless speed. He pushed open the heavy wooden doors and stepped inside.

The tavern was completely empty. The chairs were stacked on the tables, and the hearth fire had burned down to glowing embers.

Hearing the heavy thud of his boots, a figure emerged from the back kitchen.

It was Roxanne. She had taken off her apron, revealing a tight, low-cut white blouse that clung desperately to her massive boobs, and a simple brown skirt that stretched tightly across her wide hips. Her long bunny ears twitched as she stepped into the main room.

She stopped dead in her tracks, her ruby-red eyes going wide.

"Gods above," Roxanne gasped, dropping the rag she was holding.

She recognized the boy from this morning. But he looked completely different. The frail, scrawny kid who had blatantly grabbed her ass over breakfast was gone. Standing in her tavern was a man completely drenched in monster blood, his torn shirt exposing a chest and arms wrapped in tight, dense muscle.

He smelled like iron, dirt, and raw, primal violence.

For a demi-human rabbit-kin, that scent was a direct hit to the nervous system. Her thighs instinctively squeezed together under her skirt.

"Oh, you poor boy," Roxanne cooed, her maternal instincts warring with a sudden, heavy spike of lust. She hurried over to him, her heavy breasts bouncing with every step. "Look at you. Are you hurt? Is this your blood?"

"I’m fine. Not my blood," Arthur said, his voice a low, exhausted rasp. He looked down at his boots, which were leaving dark red footprints on her clean wooden floor.

"Sorry for dirtying your floor, Roxanne," he said, meeting her eyes. "I know you’re closed, but I can’t ride the magi-bus looking like a serial killer. Is there any place I could wash off? I’ll pay double whatever you want."

Roxanne looked at his sharp, dirty face, and then down at the ripped fabric clinging to his newly muscular chest.

She swallowed hard, her bunny ears folding back slightly.

"Don’t be silly. Keep your money," she said softly, her voice dropping into a breathy, heavy purr. "Come to the back. I’ll draw you a hot bath."

Roxanne led Arthur down a short, dimly lit hallway to the back of the tavern. She pushed open a heavy wooden door, revealing a large, steam-filled washroom with a deep wooden tub in the center.

"I’ll go grab some fresh towels and a change of clothes from my husband’s old chest," Roxanne said softly, not looking him in the eye. "Go ahead and get started."

She practically ran out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Arthur let out a breath and started peeling off his ruined, blood-soaked uniform. He threw the filthy rags into a corner and stepped up to the large mirror hanging over the washbasin.

He looked down, admiring the completely new physique the Troll Blood had given him. But his eyes naturally drifted lower.

He let out a low whistle.

His junk was impressive. Even in a completely limp state, it hung thick and heavy, easily five or six inches.

I guess I didn’t give it much thought before, Arthur thought, grabbing a bucket of warm water. With my old stamina and the Weak Lungs trait, I probably would have had a heart attack and died before I even got my pants off. Maybe that’s why the original Arthur was happy just being a pathetic simp.

But things were completely different now.

He stepped into the shallow washing area next to the tub and poured the warm water over his head. The water instantly turned black as the sticky, disgusting goblin blood began to wash off his skin. It was caked on tight, smelling like sulfur and rot.

As he was furiously scrubbing his own chest, the wooden door behind him clicked open.