I Stopped Simping and the Heroines Lost Their Minds

The late afternoon sun struggled to pierce the thick smog of the industrial sector, but inside Warehouse 9, the lighting was perfect.

The Obsidian Hand was buzzing with life.

The long wooden appraisal tables in the center of the warehouse were completely covered. Mira and Garrick were hauling heavy crates of freshly harvested raw iron ore and jagged crawler carapaces from the weekend shifts. On the other side of the room, Tolan was carefully unpacking bundles of glowing, blue-tipped roots and medicinal moss from the newly secured Mutated Flora Grotto, logging everything onto a pristine parchment.

Up in the raised wooden office, Arthur sat casually in the guest chair, his Lornfell Academy uniform impeccably neat. He was looking over the weekend ledgers with Sylvia.

BAM!

The heavy, iron-banded doors of the warehouse were violently kicked off their rusted tracks. The massive metal sheets slammed against the inner walls with a deafening crash, instantly killing the lively atmosphere inside.

Mira dropped a crate of iron. Garrick’s hands instantly dropped to the dual daggers at his waist.

Standing in the doorway was a massive, heavily scarred man wearing thick steel plate armor. A crimson cloak hung over his broad shoulders, secured by a heavy golden clasp shaped like a snarling boar. Behind him stood two equally massive enforcers, their hands resting on the pommels of their broadswords.

Darius Holt stepped into the warehouse, expecting to find a dark, empty room and a weeping Guild Master.

Instead, he was hit by the heavy scent of raw, freshly mined mana ore and pungent alchemical herbs. He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the bright mana-lamps illuminating the appraisal tables. He looked at the massive stacks of raw iron. He looked at the crates of rare roots.

His smug, predatory grin completely vanished, replaced by a deep, furious confusion.

"Darius," Sylvia’s voice rang out from the raised office. She walked out onto the wooden balcony, resting her hands on the railing. She didn’t look tired. She didn’t look scared. "You’re letting the draft in. Close the door."

Darius scowled, his heavy boots echoing loudly against the floorboards as he marched toward the center of the room.

"What is this, Sylvia?" Darius demanded, his deep voice carrying a thinly veiled threat. "Where did you get all of this material? Did you hijack a merchant supply line? Because if you did, the City Guard is going to string you up by your neck."

Arthur calmly stood up from his chair in the office. He walked out onto the balcony, stopping right next to Sylvia. He looked down at the Red Boar vanguard captain with absolute, dead-eyed indifference.

"We farmed it," Arthur answered smoothly.

Darius stopped. He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing as he took in Arthur’s appearance. He saw the crisp, dark fabric of the Lornfell Academy uniform. He saw the youth in Arthur’s face.

Darius let out a loud, booming laugh that echoed off the high ceiling.

"Is this a joke?" Darius mocked, looking around at the tense rookies. "You’re running a daycare now, Sylvia? You’re hiring academy brats to balance your books because you can’t afford a real accountant?"

Darius pointed a thick, gauntleted finger up at Arthur.

"Run back to class, kid," Darius sneered. "The adults are talking. And I have a property deed for your boss to sign."

Arthur didn’t flinch. He didn’t get angry. He simply walked past Sylvia and began slowly descending the wooden stairs to the main floor.

"Darius Holt," Arthur stated, his voice completely calm, yet carrying a terrifying, authoritative weight. "Vanguard Captain for the Red Boar. A corporate faction that parades around the city acting like an elite independent guild, when in reality, you are nothing more than a front for the city’s banking syndicates."

Darius’s laughter died instantly. His two enforcers shifted uncomfortably.

Arthur stepped off the final stair, walking directly into Darius’s space. The size difference was massive—Darius was built like a brick wall—but Arthur carried himself with the cold, absolute confidence of an apex predator.

"You use infinite syndicate credit to buy up the public F-Rank and E-Rank dungeon permits," Arthur continued, verbally dissecting the man’s entire operation. "Then, you underprice your raw materials by fifteen percent to starve out the small, independent guilds like this one. You force them into bankruptcy, and then you swoop in and buy their properties for pennies to expand your warehouses."

Arthur stopped a few feet away from the captain, tilting his head slightly.

"But that strategy has a massive flaw, doesn’t it?" Arthur asked, a dark, mocking smile pulling at his lips. "To maintain that aggressive underpricing, you have to over-farm your existing dungeons. You’re bleeding the ambient mana dry. Your cores are degrading. You’re suffocating under your own overhead costs, and your syndicate backers are demanding their quarterly returns."

Darius stared at the academy student, completely stunned.

It wasn’t a secret that Red Boar was aggressive, but the internal logistics—the degrading cores and the mounting pressure from their shadow investors—was highly classified guild intelligence. How the hell did a first-year student know about their bleeding profit margins?

"You came here today to force Sylvia to sign over this warehouse so you could liquidate the property and cover your own deficit," Arthur finalized, gesturing casually to the massive stacks of loot on the appraisal tables. "But as you can see... we aren’t selling."

Darius’s face flushed a deep, violent red. His pride had just been completely dismantled in front of his own men by a teenager.

He took a heavy step forward, looming over Arthur, trying to use his sheer physical mass to intimidate him.

"You have a really smart mouth, kid," Darius growled, his voice dropping into a deadly, gravelly whisper.

Arthur didn’t back up a single inch. His dark eyes locked onto Darius’s, entirely devoid of fear.

"But smart mouths don’t stop blades in the dark," Darius threatened, a cruel, vicious light dancing in his eyes. "The industrial sector is a dangerous place. Accidents happen to small, arrogant guilds all the time. Tunnels collapse. Contraband somehow finds its way into their shipments right before an inspection."

He leaned in closer, the smell of stale ale and sweat radiating off his armor.

"You better watch your back, academy boy," Darius whispered. "Before you end up a statistic."

Arthur let out a soft, dark chuckle. The sound was so genuinely amused, it actually made one of the enforcers take a nervous step back.

Arthur looked Darius dead in the eye, his smile cold and razor-sharp.

"Then you better pray your accidents are better than your bookkeeping, Darius."

Darius’s jaw locked. He stared into Arthur’s lifeless, pitch-black eyes and felt a sudden, inexplicable chill run down his spine. The kid wasn’t just brave. He was completely unhinged.

"Let’s go," Darius barked at his men, violently turning on his heel.

He marched out of the warehouse, his heavy boots stomping against the floorboards. The two enforcers quickly followed, leaving the massive iron doors wide open to the smoggy street.

The warehouse was completely silent for a long moment.

Sylvia walked down the wooden stairs, her expression grim. She stopped next to Arthur, watching the crimson cloaks disappear into the industrial fog.

"He wasn’t making empty threats, Arthur," Sylvia warned quietly. "Darius is a thug. He’s going to hit us. Hard."

Arthur casually adjusted the collar of his academy uniform, his dark eyes fixed on the open doorway.

"I’m counting on it," Arthur replied softly.

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