I Stopped Simping and the Heroines Lost Their Minds

Chapter 27: Matron

The walk back to the city border was a completely miserable blur.

Arthur’s left arm hung uselessly at his side, wrapped in a filthy, blood-soaked rag. His stamina was completely bottomed out, and the caustic poison was making his vision swim with dark, dizzying spots. He used the Whisperwind Longbow like a makeshift cane, dragging his heavy boots through the dirt.

By the time he finally stumbled out of the treeline and onto the gravel road of the checkpoint, the sun had completely dipped below the horizon.

The same two border guards from yesterday were standing by the barricade, sipping from tin thermoses.

One of them turned, squinting through the dim evening light. His jaw dropped, and his thermos clattered onto the gravel.

"What the hell... you again?" the guard blurted out, staring wide-eyed at the mangled, bloody mess stumbling out of the woods.

Arthur stopped. He tried to give them a confident, roguish smirk. He opened his mouth, his brain queuing up a perfectly timed, cynical one-liner about the local wildlife.

Instead, his eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he collapsed face-first into the dirt. freёwebnovel.com

He woke up to the sharp smell of antiseptic and crushed mint.

Arthur blinked slowly. His vision was blurry, adjusting to the harsh, bright magical lights overhead. He wasn’t face-down in the dirt anymore. He was lying on a soft, perfectly clean mattress, covered in crisp white sheets.

The academy infirmary, Arthur realized, staring at the familiar white-tiled ceiling. Those two checkpoint guards actually flagged down a transport and dragged my heavy ass all the way back to campus.

He let out a dry, rattling sigh. Next time I go to the city, I need to buy those guys a bottle of top-shelf whiskey.

He grunted, planting his good right hand on the mattress, trying to push himself up.

"If you sit up, Cadet Vance, I will personally break your legs so you are forced to stay in that bed."

The voice was stern, sharp, and laced with absolute authority.

Arthur froze. He turned his head to the side.

Standing next to a tray of glowing medical tools was a woman in a pristine white coat. She looked to be in her late thirties, with soft, elegant features, warm hazel eyes, and light brown hair tied into a loose bun.

She looked like the quintessential, gentle mother figure.

But right now, she looked furious.

Arthur instantly recognized her. Matron Beatrice Cross. She was the head of the academy’s medical ward and an S-Class Healer. In the game’s lore, Beatrice was famous for having a heart of gold and an incredibly low tolerance for academy bullshit. She was fiercely protective of the students, and she was literally the only staff member on campus who would regularly scream at the elite combat instructors—including the sadistic Morwenna—whenever a student got unnecessarily hurt.

Arthur offered a weak, apologetic smile. "Good evening, Matron."

"It is Monday morning, you absolute fool," Beatrice snapped, walking over to the side of his bed.

Arthur blinked. Monday morning? I was out cold for another twelve hours?

Beatrice picked up a glowing clipboard, her hazel eyes scanning the diagnostic runes.

"Let’s review your weekend itinerary, shall we?" Beatrice listed off, her voice dripping with maternal sarcasm. "Severe mana exhaustion. Three torn ligaments in your left shoulder. Extreme blood loss. And, my personal favorite, Level Two Caustic Poison actively trying to melt your radial artery."

She slammed the clipboard down onto the metal bedside table with a loud CLACK.

"What in the name of the Goddess were you thinking?!" Beatrice scolded, crossing her arms over her chest. "You are just a first-year student. You have absolutely no business wandering into the Whispering Woods alone! If those border guards had brought you to me twenty minutes later, I would be writing your death certificate right now!"

Arthur just lay there and took it.

He didn’t argue. He didn’t make a sarcastic quip. He knew her anger came from genuine care, a terrifyingly rare commodity in this ruthless academy.

"I misjudged the danger," Arthur said simply, his voice hoarse. "It won’t happen again, Matron."

Beatrice’s sharp glare softened just a fraction. She let out a long, heavy sigh, reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose.

"You boys and your reckless pride," she muttered, shaking her head. "I spent four hours pumping high-tier restorative mana into your veins just to stabilize you. Your shoulder is fully healed, but the poison took a heavy toll on your nervous system. You will experience phantom pains in that arm for at least a week."

"Understood. Thank you for saving my life."

Beatrice looked at him carefully. She had expected him to act like a typical arrogant noble—making excuses, bragging about his kills, or demanding to be released immediately. Instead, he was being shockingly polite and practical.

Arthur let out a breath, feeling the tension leave the room. Then, his eyes widened in sudden panic. He quickly snapped his head around, looking frantically around the sterile room.

The bow. Where is the Unique-Tier bow?

Seeing his sudden panic, Beatrice completely understood what he was looking for.

"Your gear is in the secure locker next to the bed," Beatrice said, her tone returning to a gentle, professional calm. "You were clutching that wooden bow so tightly in your unconscious state, I practically had to pry your fingers backward to get it loose. I presumed it must be very important to you."

Arthur let out a massive sigh of relief. "Thank you, Matron. It... has sentimental value."

"Uh-huh," Beatrice said flatly, clearly not buying it.

She reached out and pressed a warm, glowing hand against his forehead to check his temperature. Her touch was incredibly soothing, radiating a soft, maternal warmth that completely erased the lingering ache in his skull.

"Your temperature is stable," Beatrice noted, pulling her hand back. "You are excused from morning lectures today. You will stay in this bed and rest until noon. Drink the blue potion on the nightstand. Am I clear?"

"Crystal clear, Matron Cross."

She gave him one last stern, motherly warning look before turning and walking out of the private ward, her white coat billowing behind her.

Arthur waited until the door clicked shut.

He immediately reached over, grabbed the blue potion, and downed it in one gulp. It tasted like cold mint and instantly cleared the remaining fog from his brain.

He threw the white sheets off and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He felt sore, but whole. His left arm tingled with a phantom burning sensation, but the muscles responded perfectly.

Matron Beatrice is a miracle worker, Arthur thought, stretching his neck until it popped. But I don’t have time to sleep until noon.

He stood up and walked over to the metal locker. It was time to test out his newly awakened class.