I Stopped Simping and the Heroines Lost Their Minds

"Sigh..." Arthur shifted against the leather seat and looked out through the vehicle window for what felt like the hundredth time. Another wall of trees rolled past outside, followed by more of exactly the same. "How long?"

The driver glanced at him through the rearview mirror and chuckled. "We haven’t even covered a quarter of the way to the transit point yet."

Arthur stared at him through the mirror for a second before dropping his head against the seat with a dull thud. "Man, kill me. I’m fucking bored."

"You were quieter on the way here."

"Emily was here on the way here," Arthur pointed out. She had spent half the trip talking shit, stealing his food, and leaning against him whenever she got bored. With her sitting beside him, the scenery had rarely been the most interesting thing in the vehicle.

The driver glanced at the empty seat through the mirror. "Missing her already?"

Arthur snorted. "Missing having someone to annoy. Different thing."

He considered dragging Emily along next time, remembered Kael almost immediately, and sighed. "Actually, never mind."

He leaned forward again. "Where exactly are we stopping?"

"Bellford. Big trade city," the driver replied. "You’ll find coaches and caravans going toward Lornfell all day."

Arthur pictured getting out of one vehicle only to spend another eight hours staring through another window. "Yeah, fuck that. I’m eating first."

The driver laughed. "Transportation afterward?"

"Future Arthur can deal with transportation."

The driver shook his head, still smiling. Arthur settled back against the seat and returned his attention to the window, although now he was thinking more about food than trees.

The Thorne vehicle dropped Arthur near Bellford’s transport district early that afternoon. He thanked the driver, watched the vehicle disappear back into traffic, then looked down at Seraphina’s ridiculous pile of luggage.

Arthur opened his inventory, dumped the whole lot inside, and headed into the city considerably lighter.

Bellford was busy without being impossible to move through. Freight carts rolled between warehouses while students, adventurers, merchants, and ordinary travelers filled the streets around them. Vendors shouted from both sides of the road, competing for anyone with loose money and time to kill.

Arthur made it a few streets before smoke from a roadside grill changed his priorities.

The owner handed him a skewer of dark, charred monster meat and warned him about the red seasoning. Arthur assured him it would be fine, took one confident bite, and spent the next few seconds trying not to cough his lungs onto the counter.

The owner’s daughter was openly laughing by the time he reached for the water pitcher. She leaned across the counter on both elbows, her loosely laced shirt giving Arthur an excellent view while he recovered.

"Still worth it?"

Arthur drank again, caught his breath, and let his eyes wander before answering. "I’m deciding."

She glanced down at her loosely laced neckline, caught exactly what he was looking at, and laughed harder before returning to the grill.

After eating, Arthur kept walking without bothering to choose a destination. He drifted with the crowds for a while, stopped whenever something caught his attention, and eventually found himself browsing a row of equipment stalls despite having no intention of buying anything.

By the time he checked his phone, nearly an hour had disappeared. Much better than staring at trees through a window.

Arthur eventually wandered back toward the transport yard and checked the direct coach for Lornfell. One look through the open door was enough. Every seat seemed occupied, the air already smelled unpleasant, and somebody near the back was loading a crate full of extremely vocal chickens.

Arthur met the stare of one particularly angry bird for a moment, then stepped away.

A merchant caravan was preparing near the outer gates, with several freight wagons and two passenger coaches mixed into the line. Arthur walked over to the round-faced man collecting fares beside the lead wagon.

"Heading toward Lornfell?"

"Oakhaven," the man replied. "Three stops before that. You can transfer toward Lornfell from there."

Arthur glanced at the passenger coaches. "How often do you stop?"

The man gave him a curious look. "More often than the direct coach."

"Perfect."

The man gave Arthur a strange look, then snorted and held out a hand for the fare. "Bram."

"Arthur."

Arthur paid and headed toward the second passenger coach.

There was plenty of room inside. Arthur took a seat opposite a woman somewhere in her late twenties whose fitted blouse dipped low enough to catch his attention before the caravan had even properly left Bellford. A high slit in her traveling skirt exposed most of one thigh whenever she shifted, and expensive perfume cut easily through the usual smell of road dust and wood.

She caught him looking and rested one arm against the window. "Do academy students always stare this much?"

Arthur made no attempt to pretend he’d been studying the scenery behind her. "Only when there’s something worth looking at."

She laughed. "Celia."

"Arthur," he replied just as one of the wheels dropped into a shallow rut.

Celia caught his arm to steady herself, then gave the muscle beneath his sleeve an experimental squeeze before letting go. "You don’t look like an archer."

"My bow is currently somewhere much more comfortable than I am."

A young man farther down the coach looked over when he heard archer. A battered sword case rested beside his leg.

"Lornfell?"

Arthur nodded.

"Derren. Guild hunter. Just finished a contract down south."

Arthur gave his own name, and the mention of guild work kept the conversation going.

"Four days," Derren complained a few minutes later. "Four days crawling through mud after burrowers. The contract called it minor pest removal."

Arthur snorted. "Anything described as minor usually tries to kill you."

Derren pointed at him. "Exactly."

By the time he pulled a battered deck of cards from his jacket, the conversation had already wandered through bad contracts, worse clients, and roadside inns neither of them intended to visit again.

Eventually Derren produced a battered deck of cards and they started betting loose credits to pass the time. Arthur survived two hands before catching Celia collecting his money with three sevens of leaves sitting suspiciously in front of her.

"You’re cheating."

Celia swept the coins toward herself with a perfectly straight face. "I’m very lucky."

Derren laughed loudly enough to ruin any remaining attempt at secrecy. Celia only pulled the coins closer and started dealing the next hand.

Somewhere between losing twenty credits to her and listening to Derren complain about roadside inn prices, Arthur stopped checking the time.

By late afternoon, the farms outside the windows had disappeared and taller trees crowded both sides of the road. Derren eventually put the cards away and leaned toward the open window.

"Normally decent hunting around here."

One of the caravan guards walking beside them glanced over. "Usually. Fewer hunters coming through Bellford this week, though."

Celia looked up from reorganizing the coins she’d stolen from Arthur. "Road trouble?"

"Nothing officially closed."

They hadn’t gone much farther when the lead driver shouted and hauled on his reins.

A damaged wagon was coming toward them far too quickly. Its horse was drenched in sweat, one section of the rear rail hung broken, and the driver looked nearly as exhausted as the animal.

Bram brought the caravan aside and rode out to meet the driver. Arthur leaned closer to the open window as the man hauled his exhausted horse to a stop.

"What happened?" Bram asked.

"Blacktusks. Six, maybe eight." The driver wiped the sweat from his face with one shaking hand. "Came straight out of the trees."

Bram glanced over the broken rear rail. "How long did they chase you?"

"Nearly a mile."

Bram’s eyes moved from the driver to the damage on the wagon. "Anything larger with them?"

The man shook his head. "Didn’t see anything."

Bram rode back along his own line and raised his voice. "Close the gaps. Guards stay near the horses and keep your weapons ready until we’re out of the woods."

Drivers pulled the wagons closer while the escorts shifted around the horses. Bram waited until the line had tightened, then signaled them forward again.

The first Blacktusk hit the side of the lead freight wagon hard enough to shake the frame. Two more tore through the ferns behind it before the caravan had fully stopped.

Guards closed around the horses while the drivers fought to keep the frightened teams under control. Derren shoved the coach door open, drew his broadsword, and jumped down beside the nearest pair of escorts.

Arthur moved with him, pulling Whisperwind from his inventory on the way to the door. Celia stared at the bow appearing in his hand.

"You were carrying that?"

Arthur was already outside. He climbed onto the coach roof, found stable footing, and drew in the same motion. His first arrow caught a Blacktusk angling toward Bram’s horse and dropped it before the beast reached him.

A second boar rushed through the gap between two freight wagons. Arthur shifted along the roof and sent an arrow into it just before it could slam into the wheel.

Below him, one of the guards planted his spear against a charging Blacktusk and forced its head aside. Derren came in from the flank and drove his broadsword across the exposed side of its neck before the beast could turn on the guard.

A heavily scarred Blacktusk forced its way through the gap beside Arthur’s coach and charged straight beneath him.

Arthur dropped from the roof. His boots struck the road hard, but he kept his balance, letting Whisperwind fall against its sling while his free hand reached into the inventory.

The Necrotic Dagger appeared as one tusk swept toward his thigh. Arthur stepped outside the charge, drove the blade deep behind the boar’s foreleg, and moved clear while several hundred pounds of furious Blacktusk thundered past him. It staggered several more steps before collapsing into the road.

Arthur sent the dagger back into his inventory just as another Blacktusk came charging down the road. He brought Whisperwind up and put an arrow through its skull before it reached him.

The attack was already falling apart. One wounded Blacktusk limped into the brush, and the last two turned after it, crashing through the undergrowth until the road fell quiet again.

Nobody had been seriously hurt. One guard sat beside a wagon with a shallow tusk graze along his leg, already drinking a minor healing potion while another checked the horses for injuries.

Arthur still had Whisperwind in hand when he crossed to one of the Blacktusks he’d killed from the coach roof. Dark veins showed through the thinner skin around its muzzle and eyes, disappearing beneath the coarse hair along its neck. Its eyes were badly bloodshot, and yellowish foam clung around the jaws.

Derren wiped his sword and crouched opposite him. His attention moved from the foam to the dark veins around the animal’s eyes. "Blacktusks don’t foam like that."

Arthur followed one of the veins disappearing beneath the coarse hair. "I figured."

A roar carried through the trees before either of them could look closer.

The guard beside the injured man stopped talking. One of the drivers looked up from calming a horse, and heads began turning toward the forest all along the caravan.

The sound came again faintly through the trees.

One of the guards tightened both hands around his spear. "That wasn’t a Blacktusk."

Arthur rose with Whisperwind still in his hand. Instead of returning to the coach, he stayed where he was, staring into the forest.

Celia leaned toward the open window. "Don’t."

Arthur glanced back at her. "I didn’t say anything."

"You didn’t have to."

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