“You asked for it!”, he shouted, charging at me.

He lifted up his scimitar, ready to strike with an oblique descending slash. The moment he entered my defence area, I sprung into action. I let go of the mace and raised my shield. The scimitar slid along its surface and was diverted towards the ground.

“I have two weapons, you moron!”

He thrusted his knife towards my lower abdomen. I let go of my mace and grasped his wrist, stopping his momentum before it made contact with my skin. I then retaliated with a headbutt.

The sound produced by our foreheads hitting one another reached the audience. His eyes went white and he collapsed to the ground, like a puppet whose threads have been cut.

Silence spread across the attending crowd. It was interrupted only by the weapon distributor entering the rings.

“You’ve won, son. This is yours,” he told me with an intrigued look in his eyes, removing a stripe from the defeated opponent’s bracelet and handing it to me.

He then loaded the defeated opponent on his shoulder and carried him outside of the ring. I put the blue stripe around my bracelet, picked up my mace and looked towards the crowd.

“Next,” I simply uttered, emulating the previous winner.

Soon enough the morning was gone. The bouts I fought in were a sequence of uneventful events. Most of my opponents quickly ended falling limp to the ground similarly to what had happened with the scimitar-wielding foe. After three or four similar rounds, rumours of my exploits started to spread around and seemingly reached the respective “kings of the hill” of the surrounding rings.

Many of them then came to challenge me repeatedly. The most resilient between them lasted for a bit longer than the others against me, but they were ultimately put to sleep by a single vigorous swing of my mace.

When noon came, a temporary stop to the matches was enforced. This gave everyone the time to restore themselves with some food and drinks and get a good wash if necessary.

During the break I had many people follow me around, cheering for me and trying to come up with a nickname for me. After a long series of conflicting deliberations, the crowd ultimately came to the decision of assigning to me the title of “The Apathetic Ram”, due to how emotionlessly I had heabutted and sent to sleep the first person I had challenged.

Some people even went out of their way to present me as a gift a new set of “battle clothes”. They were nothing fancy, a simple set of dark-reddish shirt, trousers and shoes, but they were comfortable to the touch and were seemingly made with a far more resilient fabric than what I had worn until now. They came right on cue, as the set I had been donning had gotten ruined during the fights. Due to those clothes being tight-fitting, they had ripped in various places while I had been moving around.

Once the lunch break had stopped, the matches resumed. I maintained dominance of the ring throughout the afternoon. I mostly dealt with familiar faces, who repeatedly came to look for a rematch. I encountered the scimitar-wielding foe a total of seventeen times. After the umpteenth defeat, he gave up and dragged himself towards others rings, looking for better opponents.

The sun had lowered significantly, my bracelet was completely covered in blue stripes and I had yet to fight someone who could make me break a sweat. I looked around, searching for people willing to challenge me, but there were none. The crowd had mostly grown bored, due to the sequence of unexciting matches.

I needed to look for someone else to fight, someone who could pose me a challenge or even defeat me. It was the only way to try and show my full capabilities to the onlookers. For some time now, I had noticed a couple of people scrutinising me. From their bearings and serious countenances, I had determined them to be some sort of talent scouts. If I wanted to capture their attention, I needed to prove myself once and for all.

Luckily, the opportunity to show what I was capable of presented by itself.

“Hey, are you the “Ram” everyone is talking about?”, a cheerful voice got my attention.

I turned towards the origin of the voice. I blinked twice in rapid succession.

“Who are you?”, I inquired.

“Hi, I’m Lily! Wanna fight?”, she replied with a smile.

Her appearance was awfully familiar to someone I knew well. Her raven hair framed her perfect features, while her turquoise eyes shone brightly. Her athletic body was apparent under the tight battle garments she was wearing. Two twin swords dangled from her waist, while a massive greatsword rested on her back.

She was a little bit taller, fitter and exuded far more strength, but anyone could see she was Faye’s spitting image. Had I not known for a fact that it was impossible, I would have sworn the two had to be twins. Their resemblance was almost frightening. It was like someone had taken Faye’s appearance and had printed it over someone else.

Anyway, this was the occasion I had been looking for. I knew this person.

“You are Lily Miller, am I correct?”, I asked for confirmation.

“Yep!”, she confirmed with an energetic nod.

It was an opportunity I couldn’t allow to get away from me. Lily Miller was a member of the main cast, the spearhead of the hero’s team. All throughout the story I had conceived, except for the final battle against the final boss, she would be the member of the group with the highest firepower, capable of decimating most of the enemies she would find along her way. Although not far behind, not even the hero could generate her level of destructive power.

She was still young, but her name was certainly already known far and wide. If I were to be able to hold my own in a fight against her, I would definitely find a Household willing to support me with everything they had.