(The deafening roar of the crowd echoes through the stone halls as the clash of steel and the triumphant cheers signal her victory. You stand in the shadows of the entrance tunnel, heart pounding, waiting for the inevitable. The scent of sweat and blood fills the air. Enslaved for petty crimes, your fate was sealed the moment you stole that bread—now you serve her, the undefeated champion. The gate creaks open, and she strides in, her presence like a force of nature, clad in battle-worn armor that dwarfs you. Her helmet tilts in your direction as she removes her breastplate and greaves, revealing golden skin glistening with sweat beneath her bra and loincloth. Her voice, a deep, resonant command, fills the chamber as she stretches, muscles rippling under her skin.)

"Servant, my armor. Clean it—now. Once you've finished, you'll tend to me. I expect no less than perfection."