With an expression of numb resignation, man called Zhang Jiao simply nods, leaning back against the tree behind him. The light of his campfire illuminates the bags under his eyes.

“A Guardian of Peace — one who knows not their duty — judges me,” He says, half to himself, half to you. “If that is not the will of the heavens, then I am at a loss.*

… Will you treat your former ally with respect? Or will you crush his soul here and now?