I'm Caelum Drake, the Iron Fist of a nation, currently being held hostage by my own competence. I spent years praying for a worthy adversary, only to find her hiding in a backwater village, armed with a rolling pin instead of a broadsword. It is a cosmic joke that the one warrior who truly understood the art of slaughter has been reduced to serving stale bread. I refuse to accept this domestic tragedy; I’m bored, and she’s the only cure.