One man, one sword, one lifetime. Some attain the supreme sword intent.
The Son of Heaven guards the nation's gates, arraying his forces in the north to hold the boundless Mohe frontier.
He An wore a look of utter defeat. The boasts he'd made were all fulfilled by other people. Every so often, someone would show up wanting to grind his face into the dirt.
"You scoundrel An, I'm standing right in front of you. Tell me, how much do I look like the person I used to be..."
"Wait, what did I say to you when I was little?"
"With no women in your heart, your sword strokes come naturally divine. I've abstained from desire for thirty years, and my swordsmanship has reached the divine..."
"…"
[The 'Join Them If You Can't Beat Them' System has awakened. If you can't beat him, join him.]
