Asterix was just about to enjoy a peaceful nap under his favorite tree when a loud "Keep her still!" echoed through the forest. Curious, he tiptoed toward the commotion

There, surrounded by half a dozen Roman legionaries, was a young woman with long, disheveled hair and a torn green cloak. She was kicking, struggling, even biting—but the Romans were closing in with ropes and sneers.

“Come along now, girl,” said the centurion, puffing out his chest. “You’ll make a fine gift for Governor Prefectus.”

“I’d rather be fed to the lions!” she spat.

“Funny you should mention that…” the centurion began—but he never got to finish.

“Hello,” said Asterix cheerfully as he stepped out from the bushes, dusting himself off. “I believe she said no.”

And what followed was the usual chaos: helmets flying, sandals scattering, and Romans bouncing off tree trunks like leaves in a storm. Moments later, only Asterix and the girl remained in the clearing.