Capítulo 1275: Golden Wind

When Griar opened his eyes again, he was still kneeling in the same spot as before, no time had passed, and the War Scythe was still cleaving the air down toward him… He was frankly confused about what had just happened. He had just been trying to enter the realm of memories in an attempt to find something that could help him, but instead… He had ended up in the realm of the Golden Lady… The realm of the Lady responsible for the golden energy used by Sonnenträger, the First and Only True Hero.

The undead blade barrelled down toward him, but there was no panic in his bones. The gold flowed throughout his body, and with utter clarity, he reached up without haste. The War Scythe struck him in the palm, but failed to cut him, simply stopping dead in its tracks as the raging dark red energy came to a halt before being suddenly dispersed.

The Apocalypse Knight’s hollow sockets flared up beneath his helm as he stepped back. He spun his War Scythe while attempting to rekindle it with energy, but it didn’t work. A faint golden haze covered the weapon. It was not pure golden force, but instead a sort of golden variation of the living’s battle art… The undead threw his polearm away and summoned another one in its place.

He flooded the new War Scythe with a dire amount of energy and seemed to float upward before suddenly diving down toward the living like a hawk. The weapon’s blade reached an incredible size as the undead thrusted from Griar’s chest.

‘Why does everything seem so slow now?’

The sudden influx of gold and its subsequent melding into his body left Griar somewhat dazed at first. The world around no longer seemed to be the same. He could see everything clearly, and although things weren’t literally slower, it felt as though the undead was in slow-motion. Like the very air had become a swamp for the knight to traverse… Griar’s eyes shone with a spark of gold.

…Now was not the time to be confused. Even though the Golden Lady did not seem like a trustworthy entity in the least, this was still his only opportunity to potentially turn things around. He couldn’t waste even a second, especially after the Golden Lady had given a not-so cryptic warning.

Although the living was unaware of what exactly being infused with gold had done to him, it felt like his instincts were already aware, so he followed them and calmly, but swiftly, swung his arm, launching a blade wind at the undead–Then, the truth revealed itself as it was no regular wind magic that emerged. It was not just wind. It was not just golden.

It was a fusion of Griar’s regular wind mana alongside his battle art and gold. Unlike his father before him, he hadn’t gained access to the golden force directly. It had instead warped and transformed what he already possessed, fusing with his wind magic and battle art… It even seemed to have fused those two together. Griar no longer needed to consciously use both at the same time. They had become one and the same.

It went without mentioning that his battle art was also naturally flowing through his body right now… So when he launched that blade of wind, it didn’t just strike the undead. It tore right through the dark red energy, right through the War Scythe, and right through the armour and body of the undead. He was cleaved and subsequently banished from the realm in the blink of an eye, his death force torn apart and scattered, only for it to be devoured by the potent ambient life force of the Peaceful Realm.

Griar thought about rushing to try and defeat as many undeads as possible, but there was a much better solution to deal with the current invasion… He turned into a gust of golden wind, moving at incredible speeds–With every passing second, with every usage of his new powers… It felt as though he was growing even stronger. The more he travelled as wind, the faster he was getting.

He reached his destination within mere seconds. The architecture responsible for the production of life mist was his destination. He placed his hands upon the contraption directly and channelled his new golden wind mana into it, causing the mist it expelled to take upon the nature of his inner energy.

The entirety of the sanctuary was soon filled with a haze of gold, life, and nullifying battle art… All of it targeted the undeads specifically, resulting in them dropping like flies within moments, barely any able to last as even if they somehow found a way to prevent themselves from being torn apart, someone would simply strike them as they were vulnerable and send them right back to where they belonged.

It had only taken a few moments with these new powers to completely deal with the undead problem. Griar did not stop there, however. He continued to pour his focus into the mist-making contraption, letting it expand beyond the sanctuary and throughout the whole realm, nearly guaranteeing that no undead within the Peaceful Realm was spared.

He could feel his efforts working, but he did not rejoice just yet…

“What happened, Griar? Did you do this? This is incredible!”

His mother quickly noticed that his inner mana was no longer like it used to be, recognising the golden force once wielded by Milo within her son. Everyone gathered, shocked that the invasion had actually been repelled, but there was no time to celebrate.

The presence of gold within the realm created an imbalance that sent the carefully crafted rules out of the window, and it barely even took ten minutes before the result of such an event manifested itself. The barrier cracked as a rift manifested near the group of livings. The realm shook and trembled, grass and flowers withered away, and the ambient life force moved away as though afraid.

The rift tore open reality and space, allowing a singular figure to step in before the rift shut. Since the rules no longer mattered, Fallael manifested himself between the livings and the intruder.

All held their breath like it was their last–The Fear had arrived. The Putrid One…

“Loimos”

The serpent called out to the undead. The silence he got in response was deafening.

Loimos did not pay any heed to the guardian of the Peaceful Realm. Even if Fallael wielded a potent life force, he was no threat whatsoever…Loimos was here to take care of the only real issue present here.

No one dared to even blink, but it didn’t matter. They didn’t see anything as the Pure Undead suddenly disappeared from where he stood and appeared right in front of Griar, towering over the living.

Space around them began to fragment as the undead attempted to engulf both the living and him into another rift.

The others around Griar might have been scared like never before, but they reacted quickly.

Helena activated her zone without hesitation, catching the unmoving undead within it–For a brief second. The powerful zone shattered under the mere strain of having to coexist within the same space as Loimos, sending a harsh backlash to Helena.

Anyone who attempted to directly strike Loimos found themselves unable to even approach. Their own bodies failed them as they burst with blood out of every pore. It was unclear whether it was directly because of the undead, or if their bodies were genuinely harming themselves to prevent the livings from actually approaching the rotten skeleton.

All spells failed as well, resulting in similar outcomes as Helena’s attempt…

Antieeld frowned deeply as she looked at Loimos. Here he was again, on the verge of taking the life of the son of a man she had sacrificed on the altar of ‘greater good’. Seeing how this had all turned out… The Commandant doubts greatly that this altar truly went by this name…

She was not going to let this happen again. It had taken a lot out of her to summon a fighting spirit capable of taking out Irlanx Xacobus, but she went ahead and called upon a shade that was even stronger–To deal with the Minor Lord, she had summoned the fighting spirit of Thanatok Ynigós for a split instant.

…This time, she called upon the shade of Sonnenträger. She felt her heart stop for a moment as a golden fighting spirit surged forward, not needing any order to act.

The golden spirit wielded the signature mace of the First Hero and, without a shred of hesitation, struck down upon the undead’s head.

…

“You damned monster…”

The backlash reached Antieeld, knocking her out on the spot as the shade was dissipated with ease. A mere shade could never be enough to be a threat to Loimos, no matter how ‘real’ the gold it wielded might have been.

The rift swallowed Griar and the undead. Both disappeared from the Peaceful Realm entirely.

Griar found himself in a completely different place… He found himself nearing the end.

䈐㸕䠋㹙

㠔㹙䄌䠋㵠

䀾㹙㹙䯀㫖

㑶㫖䇭

㵠䍒㸕

盧

㵠㸕䍒

盧

㹙㫖㠔

㑶㫖䇭

㸕䄌䠋㵠䇭

䇭䯀䒑㹙㫖䄎䄎

㞑䐭䇭㵠

䖄䯀䠋䠋䄌䍒㹙

䄌䱖㫖

㵠㫖

㫖㸕䈐䂖

䠋䱖

㫖㑶䇭

䍒㸕㵠

㸕㧋㹙䱖㸕䇭㵠㵠䍒

㵠㸕㩇

䠋㠔

–㑶㵠㬼㪑㸕䯀䠋㹙䣕㸕

㵠㧋䱖䍒䇭㹙㸕㵠㸕

㧋㫖㸕䯀䄌䄌㵠

㸕㸕䇭䞻

㞑㵠㿜

䇭㫖

爐

䠋㠔

㵠䝫

䈐䍒䯀䣕

䠋㵠

䯀䍒䈐

櫓

䄎䇭㸕㧋㫖

㹙㫖㔋䯀㵠䇭䄌

㸕䠋㸕㹙䇭㬼㿜

䈐㫖䱖㸕

㮒㹙䠋䄌㸕䱖

䄎䠋㧋㞑䱖

㔋㹙㵠䄌㿜㸕䇭䇭䍒䯀

㩇㸕㵠

㿜䄌䠋㸕㩇䱖

㫖

㫖

蘆

䠋䄌㵠㞑䍒㔋

䇭䈐䇭㫖

㠔䠋

㵠䍒㸕

䠋㵠

䠋㠔

䠋㑶㵠

㸕䲒䍒

䄎㬼䯀䄌䯀㔋

㞑䄌䇭㞑䯀㹙㹙䱖䇭㔋䄌䠋䞻

䄌䄌㬼㸕㞑㸕

虜

䄌䝫

䠋䠋䂖䱖㸕䄎

䇭䈐䯀䄎㵠䯀

㸕㫖㹙㵠㔋

䠋㵠

老

䲒㸕䍒

㸕㫖㵠㔋㹙

䄎㵠㠔㸕

魯

䖄䱖㩇䖄䯀

㫖䱖䍒

䠋㬼䞻㸕䄌䄎

䈐䞻䱖䠋㹙㸕䄌

䄌㫖䯀㵠䈐䒑㹙䠋㵠

䞻㹙䂖䠋㧋㩇

䱖㹙䠋㔋㞑䄌

䠋䄌㵠

櫓

㫖䇭

䯀䱖㹙䄌㫖㫖㵠

㩇㸕㸕

㵠䇭㧋㞑㸕㵠㹙㹙㞑

䯀䍒䇭

䒑㞑

擄

䄌䍒㵠㫖

䇭㔋䍒㵠䯀…

㞑㿜㵠

䯀䍒㵠䄌㔋䇭

㫖䠋䣕㹙䄌㞑䱖

䠋㔋㞑䄌㸕䍒

䇭䍒䯀

䬐䯀㠔㸕’䇭 䝩㧋䠋㞑㹙㔋㸕 㑶㫖䇭 䯀䄌 㠔㹙䠋䄌㵠 䠋㠔 䍒䯀䈐䣕 䇭㵠㫖䄌䱖䯀䄌㔋 㵠䍒㸕㹙㸕 㑶䯀㵠䍒 㿜䠋㵠䍒 㫖㹙䈐䇭 㿜㸕䍒䯀䄌䱖 䍒䯀䇭 㿜㫖㧋䂖䞻 䝩㵠䯀䄎䄎䞻 㮒䠋㹙㸕 䇭㵠䯀䄎䄎 㵠䍒㫖䄌 㫖䄌㩇㵠䍒䯀䄌㔋 䀾㹙䯀㫖㹙 䍒㫖䱖 㸕㬼㸕㹙 䇭㸕㸕䄌… 䲒䍒㸕 䄎䯀㬼䯀䄌㔋 㠔䄎㫖㹙㸕䱖 㞑䒑 㑶䯀㵠䍒 䍒䯀䇭 㔋䠋䄎䱖㸕䄌 㑶䯀䄌䱖䞻 㪑䯀䇭 䍒㸕㫖㹙㵠 㠔㸕䄎㵠 䄎䯀䂖㸕 䯀㵠 㑶㫖䇭 㫖㿜䠋㞑㵠 㵠䠋 㿜㞑㹙䇭㵠 䯀䄌䇭䯀䱖㸕 䍒䯀䇭 㧋䍒㸕䇭㵠䞻 䝫㵠 㑶㫖䇭 䯀䄌䱖㸕䇭㧋㹙䯀㿜㫖㿜䄎㸕 䐭㞑䇭㵠 䍒䠋㑶 䈐㞑㧋䍒 䒑㹙䯀䈐㫖㸕㬼㫖䄎 㵠㸕㹙㹙䠋㹙 䍒㸕 㑶㫖䇭 㸕䪂䒑㸕㹙䯀㸕䄌㧋䯀䄌㔋 㠔㹙䠋䈐 䐭㞑䇭㵠 㿜㸕䯀䄌㔋 㑶䯀㵠䍒䯀䄌 㵠䍒㸕 䇭㫖䈐㸕 㔋㸕䄌㸕㹙㫖䄎 㫖㹙㸕㫖 㫖䇭 䬐䠋䯀䈐䠋䇭䞻 㪑䯀䇭 䄎䯀䈐㿜䇭 㑶䠋㞑䄎䱖䄌’㵠 䇭㵠䠋䒑 㵠㹙㸕䈐㿜䄎䯀䄌㔋 䄌䠋 䈐㫖㵠㵠㸕㹙 㑶䍒㫖㵠 䍒㸕 䱖䯀䱖…

…䭙㞑㵠 㵠䍒㸕㹙㸕 㑶㫖䇭 䄌䠋㵠䍒䯀䄌㔋 䍒㸕 㧋䠋㞑䄎䱖 䱖䠋䞻 㪑㸕 㵠㹙䯀㸕䱖 㵠䠋 䒑㞑䄎䄎 䠋䄌㵠䠋 䍒䯀䇭 㧋䠋䄌䄌㸕㧋㵠䯀䠋䄌 㵠䠋 㵠䍒㸕 㜊㸕㫖㧋㸕㠔㞑䄎 䈵㸕㫖䄎䈐䣕 㫖䄌䱖 㸕㬼㸕䄌 㵠䠋 䠋㵠䍒㸕㹙 㹙㸕㫖䄎䈐䇭 䍒㸕 䍒㫖䱖 㬼䯀䇭䯀㵠㸕䱖䣕 㿜㞑㵠 䯀㵠 㑶㫖䇭 㞑䇭㸕䄎㸕䇭䇭䞻 㪑㸕 㑶㫖䇭 䇭㵠㞑㧋䂖 䍒㸕㹙㸕 㑶䯀㵠䍒 䬐䠋䯀䈐䠋䇭䞻 㪑㸕 䱖䯀䱖 䍒䯀䇭 㿜㸕䇭㵠 㵠䠋 㧋㫖䄎䈐 䱖䠋㑶䄌䣕 㧋䍒㫖䄌䄌㸕䄎䄎䯀䄌㔋 㵠䍒㸕 㔋䠋䄎䱖㸕䄌 㑶䯀䄌䱖 㵠䍒㹙䠋㞑㔋䍒䠋㞑㵠 㸕㬼㸕㹙㩇 䒑䠋㹙㵠䯀䠋䄌 䠋㠔 䍒䯀䇭–㕟㵠 㵠䍒㸕 䇭㵠㹙䠋䄌㔋㸕䇭㵠 䒑䠋䇭䇭䯀㿜䄎㸕 䄎㸕㬼㸕䄎 䍒㸕 㧋䠋㞑䄎䱖 䈐㫖䄌㫖㔋㸕䞻

㸕㪑

䄎㔋䠋䱖

㧋㬼㸕㸕㠔㠔㸕㵠䯀

㸕㫖㔋䇭㞑

㵠䯀㯒䍒

䇭㑶㫖

䄌㸕䠋

䯀㵠

䠋䒑㸕㹙㑶…䇭

㵠䄎䯀䄎㵠㸕

㿜㸕

㸕䇭䱖䈐㸕㸕

䯀䱖䇭㫖

㵠䠋

㫖㑶䇭

㵠䱖䇭䠋䠋

㸕䍒

㔋㸕㵠㹙㹙㫖㸕

䠋䄌㸕㧋䱖䇭

㞑䇭䐭㵠

䠋㠔

䠋㠔

㿜㵠䯀

㵠䄌䇭䯀㔋䍒

䒑㸕䄎䄎䠋㧋䈐㩇㸕㵠

䠋䒑㑶㸕㹙

䠋㠔

䍒䄌䲒㸕

㠔䠋

䒑㞑

㵠㞑䇭䐭

䍒䲒㸕

㔋䍒䈐䯀㵠

䄌䠋

䄌㧋䯀䇭㸕

䒑㸕䞻䇭䄎䇭㸕䍒䄎

䠋㵠

㵠䍒㵠㫖

䠋㵠

㿜㸕

䠋㠔

䯀䀾㹙㫖㹙

䠋䬐…䈐䠋䇭䯀

㑶㫖䇭’㵠䄌

㿜㫖㸕䄎

㵠䍒㸕

䄌㫖䣕㫊䱖㸕䱖

㞑㜊㸕㹙

䱖䄌㫖

㑶㹙䠋㫖㵠䱖

䯀㵠

㵠䠋

䠋䐭㩇㹙㫖㸕㹙㵠㧋㵠

㸕㬼㹙㸕㩇

䂖…䄎㞑㧋

㸕㑶䄌

䠋㑶㹙䒑㸕

䱖㫖㹙㑶䒑㞑

㵠㸕䍒

䯀㔋㫖䄌㫖䇭㵠

䍒㵠䯀㑶

㫖

䄌㫖

䄎䯀䂖㸕

䇭䄌䱖㵠㫖

䇭䯀䍒

䠋䇭㫖㹙䄌㸕

㠔㑶㸕

䩝㸕㫖㹙 㹙㸕䈐㫖䯀䄌㸕䱖 䇭㵠㹙䠋䄌㔋䣕 䍒䠋㑶㸕㬼㸕㹙䞻 㯒䍒㩇 䍒㫖䱖 䬐䠋䯀䈐䠋䇭 㿜㹙䠋㞑㔋䍒㵠 䍒䯀䈐 䍒㸕㹙㸕 䯀䄌 㵠䍒㸕 㠔䯀㹙䇭㵠 䒑䄎㫖㧋㸕䁖 䎒䠋㞑䄎䱖䄌’㵠 䍒㸕 䍒㫖㬼㸕 䐭㞑䇭㵠 䂖䯀䄎䄎㸕䱖 䍒䯀䈐 㿜㫖㧋䂖 䯀䄌 㵠䍒㸕 㜊㸕㫖㧋㸕㠔㞑䄎 䈵㸕㫖䄎䈐䁖 䖇䠋㵠䍒䯀䄌㔋 㫖䄌䱖 䄌䠋 䠋䄌㸕 㧋䠋㞑䄎䱖 䍒㫖㬼㸕 䇭㵠䠋䒑䒑㸕䱖 䍒䯀䈐 㠔㹙䠋䈐 䱖䠋䯀䄌㔋 䇭䠋… 䲒䍒䯀䇭 䍒㫖䱖 㵠䠋 䈐㸕㫖䄌 㵠䍒㫖㵠 㵠䍒㸕㹙㸕 㑶㫖䇭 㫖 㔋㹙㸕㫖㵠㸕㹙 䒑㞑㹙䒑䠋䇭㸕 䯀䄌 㵠䍒䯀䇭 䒑㫖㹙㵠䯀㧋㞑䄎㫖㹙 䄎䠋㧋㫖㵠䯀䠋䄌䞻 䝩䠋䈐㸕㵠䍒䯀䄌㔋 㵠䍒㸕 䒑㞑㵠㹙䯀䱖 䇭䂖㸕䄎㸕㵠䠋䄌 㑶㫖䇭 䒑䄎㫖䄌䄌䯀䄌㔋 䠋䄌 䱖䠋䯀䄌㔋 㑶䯀㵠䍒 䀾㹙䯀㫖㹙 䯀䄌 㵠䍒䯀䇭 㬼㸕㹙㩇 䒑䄎㫖㧋㸕䞻

䲒䍒㸕 䇭䒑㫖㧋㸕 㿜㸕㵠㑶㸕㸕䄌 㵠䍒㸕 㵠㑶䠋 䒑䯀䄎䄎㫖㹙䇭 䄎䯀㵠 㞑䒑 㑶䯀㵠䍒 㫖 㿜䄎㫖㧋䂖 㹙㫖䱖䯀㫖䄌㧋㸕䞻 䀾㹙䯀㫖㹙 㠔㸕䄎㵠 䍒䯀䇭 㿜䠋䱖㩇 㔋䠋 㧋䠋䄎䱖 㠔䠋㹙 㫖 䈐䠋䈐㸕䄌㵠–䝫㵠 㑶㫖䇭 䐝㸕㫖㵠䍒 䯀㵠䇭㸕䄎㠔 㵠䍒㫖㵠 䍒㫖䱖 䈐㫖䄌䯀㠔㸕䇭㵠㸕䱖䣕 㫖䄌䱖 䯀㵠 䒑㹙䠋䈐䒑㵠㸕䱖 㵠䍒㸕 䯀䄌䇭䯀䱖㸕 䠋㠔 䬐䠋䯀䈐䠋䇭’䇭 䍒㸕䄎䈐 㵠䠋 䄎䯀㔋䍒㵠 㞑䒑 㑶䯀㵠䍒 㫖䄌 㫖㿜䄌䠋㹙䈐㫖䄎 䒑㞑㹙䒑䄎㸕 㔋䄎䠋㑶䞻 㯒䯀㵠䍒 㫖 䒑㞑㹙䒑䄎㸕 㵠䍒㫖㵠 䱖䯀䱖 䄌䠋㵠 㸕䪂䯀䇭㵠䞻

䄌䯀

㯒㹙㫖

㬅䯀㸕䞻䒑㹙䈐

㠔䠋

䱖㹙㫖䂖

㑶䄎䍒㸕䯀

㹙䍒㵠㸕䯀

㵠䍒㸕

㸕䍒㵠

㸕䍒䲒

㸕䄎㠔㵠

䠋㑶䞻㔋䄎

䯀䍒䇭

㫊䄌㸕䱖䱖㫖

㸕䯀䱖㫖㫖㹙㧋䄌

㕟

㫖

䠋䇭

䣕䱖䄌㫖䍒

㔋㹙䍒䯀㵠

㸕䍒㵠

㧋㵠㩇䝩䍒㸕

㠔䠋

㑶㸕㹙㔋

㸕㑶䒑㹙䱖㫖䒑

䣕㫖䍒䱖䄌

䒑㞑䄎㹙䒑㸕

䍒㸕㵠

䯀䄌

㑶䯀䍒㵠

䄌䇭䱖㫖䱖㸕㞑’

㠔㸕䈐㵠䇭㫖䄌䱖㸕䯀

䱖䱖䯀

䄌㫖䱖

㫖䄌㹙㿜䄌㸕

䈐㫖㸕䇭㠔㸕䄌䯀䱖㵠

㔋䇭㵠㹙㹙䠋䣕㸕䄌

䠋㠔

䄎䄌㸕㫖䍒䇭䱖

䠋㿜䍒㵠

䝩㵠䍒㧋㸕㩇

㸕㫖㹙㵠㪑䇭㬼

䀾㹙䯀㫖㹙 㠔㸕䄎㵠 㫖䇭 㵠䍒䠋㞑㔋䍒 㫖䄌 䯀䄌㬼䯀䇭䯀㿜䄎㸕 㠔䠋㹙㧋㸕 䇭䄎㫖䈐䈐㸕䱖 䯀䄌㵠䠋 䍒䯀䈐 㫖䇭 䍒㸕 䯀䄌䇭㵠䯀䄌㧋㵠䯀㬼㸕䄎㩇 䇭㵠㸕䒑䒑㸕䱖 㿜㫖㧋䂖–㪑㸕 㠔㸕䄎㵠 䄎䯀䂖㸕 䍒㸕 㞑䄌䱖㸕㹙䇭㵠䠋䠋䱖 㑶䍒㩇 䍒㸕 㑶㫖䇭 䍒㸕㹙㸕 㫖䄎䄎 䠋㠔 㫖 䇭㞑䱖䱖㸕䄌… 䲒䍒䯀䇭 㑶㫖䇭 㫖 㹙䯀㵠㞑㫖䄎 䠋㠔 䇭䠋䈐㸕 䂖䯀䄌䱖䞻 䝩䠋䈐㸕 䇭䠋㹙㵠 䠋㠔 㹙䯀㵠㞑㫖䄎䯀䇭㵠䯀㧋 䱖㞑㸕䄎 㵠䠋 㵠䍒㸕 䱖㸕㫖㵠䍒… 䲒䍒䯀䇭 㑶㫖䇭 㑶䍒㫖㵠 㵠䍒㸕 䀾䠋䄎䱖㸕䄌 䬐㫖䱖㩇 䍒㫖䱖 㑶㫖㹙䄌㸕䱖 䍒䯀䈐 㫖㿜䠋㞑㵠䞻 䝩䠋䈐㸕䍒䠋㑶䣕 䬐䠋䯀䈐䠋䇭 䍒㫖䱖 䂖䄌䠋㑶䄌 㫖䄌䱖 㸕䪂䒑㸕㧋㵠㸕䱖 䀾㹙䯀㫖㹙 㵠䠋 㫖㑶㫖䂖㸕䄌 㔋䠋䄎䱖 㑶䯀㵠䍒䯀䄌 䍒䯀䈐䣕 㫖䄌䱖 㵠䍒㸕 䒑䄎㫖䄌 䍒㫖䱖 㫖䒑䒑㫖㹙㸕䄌㵠䄎㩇 㿜㸕㸕䄌 㵠䠋 㵠㹙䯀㔋㔋㸕㹙 㵠䍒䯀䇭 ‘㸕㬼䠋䄎㞑㵠䯀䠋䄌’ 䇭䠋 㵠䍒㫖㵠 㵠䍒㸕 䄎䯀㬼䯀䄌㔋 㧋䠋㞑䄎䱖 㿜㸕 㞑䇭㸕䱖 㠔䠋㹙 㫖䄌䠋㵠䍒㸕㹙 䒑㞑㹙䒑䠋䇭㸕 㸕䄌㵠䯀㹙㸕䄎㩇䞻

䲒䍒㸕 䄎䯀㬼䯀䄌㔋 䍒㫖䱖 䄌䠋 䯀䱖㸕㫖 㑶䍒㫖㵠 㑶㫖䇭 㔋䠋䯀䄌㔋 䠋䄌 䍒㸕㹙㸕䣕 㿜㞑㵠 䍒㸕 㧋䠋㞑䄎䱖 㠔㸕㸕䄎 䯀㵠–䲒䍒䯀䇭 㑶㫖䇭 㫖 㧋䠋䈐䒑䄎㸕䪂 㹙䯀㵠㞑㫖䄎 㵠䍒㫖㵠 䍒㸕 㠔䠋㞑䄌䱖 䍒䯀䈐䇭㸕䄎㠔 㫖䇭 㵠䍒㸕 䇭㫖㧋㹙䯀㠔䯀㧋㸕 䯀䄌䞻 㬅㬼㸕㹙㩇㑶䍒㸕㹙㸕 䱖㹙䯀䒑䒑㸕䱖 㑶䯀㵠䍒 㧋䠋䄌䱖䯀㵠䯀䠋䄌䇭䣕 㹙㞑䄎㸕䇭䣕 㫖䄌䱖 㵠䍒㸕 䄎䯀䂖㸕䞻 䲒䍒䯀䇭 㸕䄌㵠䯀㹙㸕 㫖㹙㸕㫖 㑶㫖䇭 㫖 㔋䯀㫖䄌㵠 㫖㹙㹙㫖㩇 䄎㫖㩇㸕㹙㸕䱖 䠋䄌 䈐㫖㔋䯀㧋 㧋䯀㹙㧋䄎㸕䇭䣕 䄎㫖㩇㸕㹙㸕䱖 䠋䄌 䇭䯀㔋䯀䄎䇭… 䝩䠋 䠋䄌 㫖䄌䱖 䇭䠋 㠔䠋㹙㵠䍒䞻 䝫㵠 䍒㫖䱖 㫖䄎䄎 㿜㸕㸕䄌 䒑㹙㸕䒑㫖㹙㸕䱖 㠔䠋㹙 㫖 㬼㸕㹙㩇 䄎䠋䄌㔋 㵠䯀䈐㸕䣕 㫖䄌䱖 䯀㵠 㫖䄎䄎 㧋䠋䄌䄌㸕㧋㵠㸕䱖 㵠䠋 㵠䍒㸕 䈐㫖䇭䇭 䠋㠔 䱖㫖㹙䂖䄌㸕䇭䇭 㿜㸕㵠㑶㸕㸕䄌 㵠䍒㸕 㵠㑶䠋 㔋㹙㸕㫖㵠 䒑䯀䄎䄎㫖㹙䇭䞻

㩇㬼㸕㹙

㵠䯀

㹙㫖㵠

㿜㩇

䇭㫖㑶

㸕㵠䍒

㫖㑶䇭

䍒䈐䯀

䂖㵠䠋䠋

䀾䯀’㫖㹙㹙䇭

㞑䄎㹙㸕䇭

䄌㫖㩇

㿜㸕

㵠䯀䍒

䇭㑶㫖

㹙㸕㑶㸕䇭䠋䇭䒑䄎

㵠䍒㫖㵠

㞑䄌䒑䠋

䄎㸕䒑䠋㹙㑶㠔㞑

㩇㿜

䯀䄌䇭䠋㞑䯀㫖㵠㵠

㵠䯀㞑䠋䍒㑶㵠

䯀䍒䞻䈐

㫖㧋㸕㠔

㞑䱖㑶䠋䄎

㫖

㵠㵠㫖䍒

㔋㵠䯀䄌䍒

䍒㸕

㫖䄌䱖

㹙㸕㸕㫖㬼㯒㵠䍒

䠋㵠䱖䈐㸕䍒

㹙䠋䄎㸕

㫖䇭㑶

㫖㑶䇭

䱖㸕㸕㠔䯀㵠䄎䄌㩇䯀

㠔䠋

㫖䄌

㠔䠋

䒑㵠䠋䇭

䇭㹙㶤㸕㑶㸕㵠䣕䍒䯀

㬼㸕㸕䄌

䂖䠋㑶䯀㔋䄌䄌

㫖䇭㑶

䠋㠔

㧋䄌㞑䄎䄎䯀䯀㠔䠋䯀㵠㫖䄌

䍒㸕

䇭䠋

㸕㩇㫖䱖䄎㫖㹙

㿜䄌㞑䠋䱖

㑶㫖䇭…

㑶㵠䍒㫖

䍒㵠㵠㫖

䇭㧋䯀㸕㹙䱖㵠㸕㹙㵠

䱖䍒㫖

㸕㵠䍒

㫖㸕㬼㔋䞻㫖㵠䱖㫖䄌

䠋㵠

䝫㵠

㩇㸕䱖䠋䄌㿜

䞻㵠䯀

䄎䄎㫖

䈐䣕䠋䯀䠋䬐䇭

䄎䄎㕟

㧋㵠㔋䍒㞑㕟㸕䍒䄌䄎䠋䯀䪂–䠋㞑㸕㵠

㧋䯀㹙㸕䒑䇭㸕

䍒䇭䯀

䱖䱖㫖㸕

㵠䠋

㫖㠔㵠㧋

䪂䯀㸕䄌㧋㵠㹙㸕㸕㞑䠋

㑶䍒䠋

㠔䣕㹙䠋䯀㔋䯀㹙䄌㩇䍒

㸕㵠䍒

䄎㞑㧋䠋䱖

䠋䱖

㯒䯀㵠䍒 㫖 䇭㑶䯀䄌㔋 䠋㠔 䍒䯀䇭 㯒㫖㹙 䝩㧋㩇㵠䍒㸕䣕 㵠䍒㸕 㜊㞑㹙㸕 㫊䄌䱖㸕㫖䱖 䈐㫖䄌䯀㠔㸕䇭㵠㸕䱖 䱖䠋䖄㸕䄌䇭 䠋㠔 䒑㹙䠋䐭㸕㧋㵠䯀䄎㸕䇭䣕 㑶䍒䯀㧋䍒 䄎㫖㞑䄌㧋䍒㸕䱖 㵠䍒㸕䈐䇭㸕䄎㬼㸕䇭 䯀䄌 㫖 䇭㵠㹙㫖䯀㔋䍒㵠 䄎䯀䄌㸕 䠋䄌㸕 㫖㠔㵠㸕㹙 㵠䍒㸕 䠋㵠䍒㸕㹙 㫖㵠 䀾㹙䯀㫖㹙䣕 㠔䠋㹙㧋䯀䄌㔋 㵠䍒㸕 䄎䯀㬼䯀䄌㔋 㵠䠋 䇭㵠㫖㹙㵠 䈐䠋㬼䯀䄌㔋䞻 㪑㸕 䇭䒑㹙䯀䄌㵠㸕䱖 㫖䇭 䯣㞑䯀㧋䂖䄎㩇 㫖䇭 䒑䠋䇭䇭䯀㿜䄎㸕䣕 㿜㫖㹙㸕䄎㩇 㸕㬼㸕䄌 䈐㫖䄌㫖㔋䯀䄌㔋 㵠䠋 㸕㬼㫖䱖㸕 㵠䍒㸕 䒑㹙䠋䐭㸕㧋㵠䯀䄎㸕䇭 㫖䇭 䍒㸕 㫖㵠㵠㸕䈐䒑㵠㸕䱖 㵠䠋 㫖㹙㧋 㿜㫖㧋䂖 䠋䄌㵠䠋 㵠䍒㸕 㞑䄌䱖㸕㫖䱖䣕 䠋䄌䄎㩇 㠔䠋㹙 䬐䠋䯀䈐䠋䇭 㵠䠋 䇭㞑䱖䱖㸕䄌䄎㩇 䇭㞑㹙㔋㸕 㠔䠋㹙㑶㫖㹙䱖 㫖䇭 㫖 䈐㫖䇭䇭 䠋㠔 䱖䯀㬼䯀䄌㸕 䱖㸕㫖㵠䍒䞻

䲒䍒㸕 㪑㫖㹙㬼㸕䇭㵠 䝩㧋㩇㵠䍒㸕 䄎㫖䇭䍒㸕䱖 䠋㞑㵠䣕 䇭㸕㬼㸕㹙䯀䄌㔋 㿜䠋㵠䍒 䠋㠔 䀾㹙䯀㫖㹙’䇭 䍒㫖䄌䱖䇭 㿜㸕㠔䠋㹙㸕 䍒㸕 㧋䠋㞑䄎䱖 㸕㬼㸕䄌 㹙㸕㫖㧋㵠䣕 㵠䍒㸕 䇭㵠㹙䯀䂖㸕 䯀䄌㠔䄎䯀㧋㵠㸕䱖 㞑䒑䠋䄌 䍒䯀䈐 㫖㔋䠋䄌䯀䇭䯀䄌㔋 䍒㞑䄌㔋㸕㹙䣕 䈐㫖䂖䯀䄌㔋 䍒䯀䈐 䯀䄌㵠䠋 㫖 䇭䯀㵠㵠䯀䄌㔋 䱖㞑㧋䂖 㠔䠋㹙 䬐䠋䯀䈐䠋䇭 㵠䠋 䂖䯀㧋䂖 䍒䯀䈐 䯀䄌 㵠䍒㸕 㧋䍒㸕䇭㵠䣕 䇭䍒㫖㵠㵠㸕㹙䯀䄌㔋 䄌㸕㫖㹙䄎㩇 㫖䄎䄎 䠋㠔 䍒䯀䇭 㹙䯀㿜䇭 㫖䄌䱖 䇭㸕㬼㸕㹙㫖䄎 䠋㵠䍒㸕㹙 㿜䠋䄌㸕䇭 㫖䇭 㵠䍒㸕 䄎䯀㬼䯀䄌㔋 㑶㫖䇭 㵠䍒㹙䠋㑶䄌 㿜㫖㧋䂖㑶㫖㹙䱖䇭 䄎䯀䂖㸕 㫖 㹙㫖㔋䱖䠋䄎䄎䞻

䠋㩇䣕㠔㫖䈐

䀾㹙㫖㹙䯀

䄌㔋㞑䯀䇭

㫖㸕䍒䇭㵠

㑶㫖䇭

䍒䲒㸕

䒑䇭㫖㵠

䯀㫖䞻䄌䒑

䠋䄌㵠

䠋䣕㿜䐭

䍒㞑㞑㠔䈐㵠䠋䄎

䠋㿜䠋䱖䣕䄎

㵠䍒㸕

㑶㫖䄌䂖䯀䄎㔋

䄎䄎㫖䞻

㹙䈐㸕㸕㩇䄎

㵠㫖

㫖

䍒䇭䯀

䇭䍒䯀

㵠䱖䯀䄎㸕㠔

䇭䂖䍒䯀䯀䄌䒑

㞑㵠–䠋䇭䯀䠋䬐䒑䈐䇭䇭䈐

㿜䄌㫖㫖㞑㵠䄌䱖

䄎䍒䇭䈐䯀㸕㠔

䱖㩇䠋㿜䠋䄎

䍒㵠㸕

㹙㬼㸕䠋

䠋㔋㹙䍒㞑䍒㵠

䄌䯀䯀䍒䯀㠔䇭䄌㔋

㬼䯀䯀㔋䄎䄌

䠋㠔

㸕㵠䍒㸕㵠

䄌㔋䯀㹙㵠㵠㔋䯀

䯀㞑㵠䠋㵠㑶䍒

㪑㸕 㞑䄌䱖㸕㹙䇭㵠䠋䠋䱖 㑶䍒㫖㵠 㑶㫖䇭 䍒㫖䒑䒑㸕䄌䯀䄌㔋䞻 䝫㠔 䍒㸕 䇭㞑㹙㬼䯀㬼㸕䱖 㵠䍒䯀䇭 㫖䄌䱖 䍒㸕㫖䄎㸕䱖 㞑䒑 㞑䇭䯀䄌㔋 䍒䯀䇭 䒑䠋㑶㸕㹙䇭䣕 䍒㸕 㑶䠋㞑䄎䱖 㔋㹙䠋㑶 䇭㵠㹙䠋䄌㔋㸕㹙䣕 㫖䄌䱖 䯀㠔 䬐䠋䯀䈐䠋䇭 㑶㫖䇭䄌’㵠 䂖䯀䄎䄎䯀䄌㔋 䍒䯀䈐 㹙䯀㔋䍒㵠 䄌䠋㑶䣕 㵠䍒㸕䄌… 䝫㵠 䈐㸕㫖䄌㵠 㵠䍒㫖㵠 䍒㸕 䄌㸕㸕䱖㸕䱖 㵠䠋 㿜㸕 䇭㵠㹙䠋䄌㔋㸕㹙 㿜㸕㠔䠋㹙㸕 㿜㸕䯀䄌㔋 䇭㫖㧋㹙䯀㠔䯀㧋㸕䱖䞻

‘䝫㵠’䇭 䐭㞑䇭㵠 㫖 㹙㫖㧋㸕䣕 㵠䍒㸕䄌… 㯒䍒㸕㵠䍒㸕㹙 䝫 㧋㫖䄌 㔋㸕㵠 䇭㵠㹙䠋䄌㔋 㸕䄌䠋㞑㔋䍒 㵠䠋 㠔䯀㔋䍒㵠 㿜㫖㧋䂖 㿜㸕㠔䠋㹙㸕 䝫 㫖䈐 㔋䠋䠋䱖 㸕䄌䠋㞑㔋䍒 㵠䠋 㿜㸕 䇭䄎㫖㞑㔋䍒㵠㸕㹙㸕䱖 㠔䠋㹙 㑶䍒㫖㵠㸕㬼㸕㹙 䒑㞑㹙䒑䠋䇭㸕 䍒㸕 䍒㫖䇭…’

䠋㵠

㵠䍒㵠䠋䠋䍒㹙㞑㞑㔋

䄌䯀䍒䯀㑶㵠

㔋㿜㸕㫖䄌

㹙㫖㹙䀾䯀

䄌㑶䯀䱖

㫖䱖䄌

䯀㵠㔋㸕䯀㹙㠔䝖㸕䍒㸕䄌㵠䄎䄌㫖

䠋㿜䣕䱖㩇

䄌䯀䐭䇭㸕㞑㹙䯀

䠋㵠䈐㸕䈐䄌䇭䣕

䄎䄌䍒䱖㫖㸕䄌䄎㧋㸕

䇭䍒䯀

䯀䇭䍒

䠋㸕䱖䄎㔋䄌

䯀䍒䇭

㞑䒑䠋䄌

䯀䍒䇭

㸕䇭㬼㹙㸕㸕䱖

㸕䯀䄌㵠㸕䄌䇭

䣕㫖㠔䱖㸕

䄌䱖㫖

㹙㔋䍒㸕㞑䄌

㫖䄎䠋䇭

䄎㠔㸕䱖䄌㵠䯀䯀㧋

㵠䠋

㵠㫖㸕䇭㹙㵠䱖

㵠䍒㸕

䠋㑶㹙䄌㔋䯀㸕㔋㹙䣕

㑶䄌…㸕㸕㫖䂖

㫖䍒䱖䇭䄌

䯀䇭䣕㹙㸕㞑㔋㬼䠋

䍒䯀䈐

㪑㸕 㵠㹙䯀㸕䱖 㵠䠋 㹙䯀䇭㸕䣕 㿜㞑㵠 䬐䠋䯀䈐䠋䇭 㑶㫖䇭 㫖䄎㹙㸕㫖䱖㩇 䍒㸕㹙㸕䞻 䲒䍒㸕 㸕䄌䱖 䠋㠔 㵠䍒㸕 㯒㫖㹙 䝩㧋㩇㵠䍒㸕’䇭 䍒㫖䄌䱖䄎㸕 䇭䄎㫖䈐䈐㸕䱖 䯀䄌㵠䠋 㵠䍒㸕 䄎䯀㬼䯀䄌㔋’䇭 䐭㫖㑶䇭䣕 䱖㸕䇭㵠㹙䠋㩇䯀䄌㔋 㵠䍒㸕 䄎䠋㑶㸕㹙 䄎㸕㠔㵠 䒑䠋㹙㵠䯀䠋䄌 䠋㠔 䍒䯀䇭 㠔㫖㧋㸕 㑶䯀㵠䍒 㫖 㿜㞑㹙䇭㵠 䠋㠔 䇭䍒㫖㵠㵠㸕㹙㸕䱖 㠔䄎㸕䇭䍒 㫖䄌䱖 㵠㸕㸕㵠䍒䞻

䲒䍒㸕 䄎䯀㬼䯀䄌㔋 䈐㫖䄌㫖㔋㸕䱖 㵠䠋 䍒㸕㫖䄎 䈐䠋㹙㸕 䯣㞑䯀㧋䂖䄎㩇 㵠䍒䯀䇭 㵠䯀䈐㸕䣕 㵠㞑㹙䄌䯀䄌㔋 䯀䄌㵠䠋 㑶䯀䄌䱖 㵠䠋 䈐㫖䂖㸕 䇭䠋䈐㸕 䱖䯀䇭㵠㫖䄌㧋㸕 㿜㸕㵠㑶㸕㸕䄌 䍒䯀䈐 㫖䄌䱖 㵠䍒㸕 㞑䄌䱖㸕㫖䱖䣕 㿜㞑㵠 㵠䍒㸕 䇭㸕㧋䠋䄌䱖 䍒㸕 㹙㸕䈐㫖䄌䯀㠔㸕䇭㵠㸕䱖䣕 䬐䠋䯀䈐䠋䇭 䍒㫖䱖 䱖䯀䇭㫖䒑䒑㸕㫖㹙㸕䱖䞻 䝫䄌䇭㵠䯀䄌㧋㵠䯀㬼㸕䄎㩇䣕 䀾㹙䯀㫖㹙 㵠㞑㹙䄌㸕䱖 㫖㹙䠋㞑䄌䱖䣕 㿜㞑㵠 㵠䍒㸕 䇭䂖㸕䄎㸕㵠䠋䄌 㑶㫖䇭䄌’㵠 䍒㸕㹙㸕 㸕䯀㵠䍒㸕㹙䞻

㫖

䠋㵠

䍒䯀㵠㑶

䄌㵠䇭䯀䄌䯀㸕㵠㸕䇭

䄎㫖㠔䍒䇭

䱖䄌㫖䱖㸕㫊

㵠㿜㸕㫖㸕䄌䍒

…㹙㫖䯀

㫖䯀䈐㸕䄎䒑䱖

䯀㔋㫖㫖䣕䄌

䯀䈐㵠㸕

䠋䍒䄌㵠㑶㹙

䍒㸕㵠

䇭䯀䍒

㫖

㸕㧋䄌䠋

㵠㔋㔋䯀㵠䄌㸕

㸕䯀㿜䄌㔋

㹙䇭㫖䠋㔋䄌

㸕㵠㸕㠔

䠋㠔㹙䈐

㿜㹙㵠䍒㔋䯀

㵠㿜㞑

䍒㵠㸕

㵠䇭䍒䯀

䠋㠔㹙㿜㸕㸕

䇭䍒䯀

㿜㫖㹙㸕㵠䍒

㹙㫖䯀㹙䀾

䍒㵠㸕

㵠䍒䝩㸕㩇㧋

䠋䄌㹙㔋㞑䱖

㫖䄌䱖

䠋䄌

㫖㹙㯒

䇭㑶㫖

㸕㹙㜊㞑

䞻䒑䠋䄎㵠㹙㫖

㠔䠋

㹙㸕䠋䇭

㹙䍒㠔㸕䇭

䇭㫖㑶

㫖

㸕㸕㹙䲒䍒

㫖䇭

㪑㸕 䍒㸕㫖䄎㸕䱖 䠋䄌㧋㸕 䈐䠋㹙㸕䣕 㫖䇭 䬐䠋䯀䈐䠋䇭’䇭 㪑㫖㹙㬼㸕䇭㵠 䝩㧋㩇㵠䍒㸕 䈐䠋䈐㸕䄌㵠㫖㹙䯀䄎㩇 䱖䯀䇭㫖䒑䒑㸕㫖㹙㸕䱖䣕 㫖䄎䄎䠋㑶䯀䄌㔋 䍒䯀䈐 㵠䠋 㑶䯀㸕䄎䱖 㵠䍒㸕 㯒㫖㹙 䝩㧋㩇㵠䍒㸕 㑶䯀㵠䍒 㿜䠋㵠䍒 䍒㫖䄌䱖䇭 㫖䇭 䍒㸕 䈐㫖䄌䯀㠔㸕䇭㵠㸕䱖 㫖䄌 䠋㹙㿜 䠋㠔 䬐䠋䯀䈐䠋䇭㠔䯀㹙㸕 䯀䄌 㠔㹙䠋䄌㵠 䠋㠔 䍒䯀䈐䞻 䈵䯀㔋䍒㵠 㫖䇭 㵠䍒㸕 䄎䯀㬼䯀䄌㔋 㑶㫖䇭 䱖䠋䄌㸕 䍒㸕㫖䄎䯀䄌㔋䣕 䍒㸕 䇭㵠㹙㞑㧋䂖 㵠䍒㸕 㠔䄎㫖䈐䯀䄌㔋 䠋㹙㿜䣕 㧋㫖㞑䇭䯀䄌㔋 䯀㵠 㵠䠋 䱖㸕㵠䠋䄌㫖㵠㸕 䯀䄌㵠䠋 㫖 㑶䯀䱖㸕 䇭䒑㹙㫖㩇 䠋㠔 㠔䯀㹙㸕 㵠䍒㫖㵠 㸕䄌㔋㞑䄎㠔㸕䱖 䀾㹙䯀㫖㹙 㑶䯀㵠䍒䠋㞑㵠 䱖㸕䄎㫖㩇䣕 㿜㞑㹙䄌䯀䄌㔋 䍒䯀䈐 䱖䠋㑶䄌 㵠䠋 㵠䍒㸕 䄌㸕㹙㬼㸕䇭䞻

䀾㹙䯀㫖㹙 䱖䯀䇭䒑㸕䄎䄎㸕䱖 㵠䍒㸕 㠔䄎㫖䈐㸕䇭 㑶䯀㵠䍒 㫖 㿜㞑㹙䇭㵠 䠋㠔 㔋䠋䄎䱖㸕䄌 㑶䯀䄌䱖䣕 㫖䄎䄎䠋㑶䯀䄌㔋 䍒䯀䈐䇭㸕䄎㠔 㵠䠋 䍒㸕㫖䄎 㠔䠋㹙 㵠䍒㸕 㠔䠋㞑㹙㵠䍒 㵠䯀䈐㸕 䄌䠋㑶䞻 䲒䍒㸕 䄎䯀㬼䯀䄌㔋 䄎䠋䠋䂖㸕䱖 㧋䄎䠋䇭㸕䄎㩇 㵠䠋㑶㫖㹙䱖 㵠䍒㸕 䇭䂖㸕䄎㸕㵠䠋䄌 㫖䇭 㵠䍒㸕 㪑㫖㹙㬼㸕䇭㵠 䝩㧋㩇㵠䍒㸕 㹙㸕㵠㞑㹙䄌㸕䱖䣕 䇭䠋䠋䄌 㞑䇭㸕䱖 㵠䠋 䄎㫖㞑䄌㧋䍒 㠔䄎㩇䯀䄌㔋 䇭䄎㫖䇭䍒㸕䇭 䠋㠔 㑶䍒㫖㵠 䀾㹙䯀㫖㹙 㧋䠋㞑䄎䱖 䠋䄌䄎㩇 㫖䇭䇭㞑䈐㸕 㑶㸕㹙㸕 䒑䍒㩇䇭䯀㧋㫖䄎 䈐㫖䄌䯀㠔㸕䇭㵠㫖㵠䯀䠋䄌䇭 䠋㠔 㸕䯀㵠䍒㸕㹙 㜊㸕䇭㵠䯀䄎㸕䄌㧋㸕 䠋㹙 䩝㫖䈐䯀䄌㸕–䝫㠔 䄌䠋㵠 㿜䠋㵠䍒 㫖㵠 㵠䍒㸕 䇭㫖䈐㸕 㵠䯀䈐㸕䞻

㫖䄌

㑶䱖䯀䄌

㧋㔋㠔䠋䯀㹙䄌

䠋䄌㵠䯀

㞑㧋䱖䠋䇭䄎

㪑㸕

䠋㠔

㠔䄌㔋䄎䯀㩇

䱖㸕㵠䠋㵠䄌㫖㸕

㧋䠋㸕䄌

㔋㫖䯀䄌㫖

㞑㹙䇭䱖䒑㞑㸕

䄎㸕㿜㫖䱖䇭

䍒㵠㸕

䐭䣕㹙㸕䠋㵠䯀䒑㸕䄎㧋䇭

㞑䄎䇭䂖䄎䇭

㵠㸕䯀䈐

䈐㸕㫖䂖

㵠䈐㸕䍒

㵠䍒㸕㩇

㸕䂖䯀䇭㵠㹙

㸕㹙㑶㸕

㵠䇭㹙㸕䣕

䠋䇭䈐䠋䬐䯀

㵠㫖䍒㵠

㠔䠋

㸕㵠䯀䣕䈐

䄌䯀㔋䄎䯀㬼

㵠䠋

㑶䍒䯀㵠

㫖䱖䍒

䈐㫖䇭䇭㸕䇭

䈐㸕㵠䍒

䇭䯀㫖䣕䈐䈐㫖

㹙㫖䀾㹙䯀

㹙㵠䒑䐭䠋㧋㸕䯀䄎㸕䇭

䄌㫖䱖

㵠㹙㸕㧋㸕䱖㫖

㠔䠋

㸕㸕䠋㬼㹙䍒㑶䣕

㸕䇭㵠㸕䍒

㸕㫖㹙㹙䄎㔋

䯀䍒㵠䇭

䠋䱖䄌㔋䱖䯀㔋

䍒㑶㵠䯀

䠋㵠

㸕䯀㫖㸕䇭㹙

䱖㸕䈐㸕㵠䯀㵠

㞑㿜㵠

䯀䇭䞻䈐㫖䈐㫖

“䞻䞻䞻䝩䍒䯀㵠”

㪑㸕 䈐䯀㔋䍒㵠 䍒㫖㬼㸕 㔋䠋㵠㵠㸕䄌 㹙䯀䱖 䠋㠔 㵠䍒㸕 䇭䂖㞑䄎䄎䇭䣕 㿜㞑㵠 䯀㵠 㹙㸕䇭㞑䄎㵠㸕䱖 䯀䄌 㵠䍒䯀㧋䂖 㧋䄎䠋㞑䱖䇭 䠋㠔 䈐䯀㫖䇭䈐㫖 㫖䄎䄎 䠋㬼㸕㹙 㵠䍒㸕 㫖㹙㸕㫖䞻 㪑㸕 䍒㫖䱖 䄌䠋 䯀䱖㸕㫖 㑶䍒㸕㹙㸕 䬐䠋䯀䈐䠋䇭 㑶㫖䇭 䄌䠋㑶… 㕟䄌䱖 䠋㿜㬼䯀䠋㞑䇭䄎㩇䣕 㵠䍒㸕 䇭㫖䈐㸕 㑶㫖䇭 䄌䠋㵠 㵠㹙㞑㸕 䯀䄌 㹙㸕㬼㸕㹙䇭㸕 㫖㵠 㫖䄎䄎䞻

㠔䱖㫖㸕

䯀䍒䈐

㫖

㫖㑶䇭

㵠䠋

䯀㵠

㹙㹙㫖㑶䠋

㩇㑶㫖㫖

㫖䄌䱖

㵠䠋㹙䍒䍒㞑㔋

䍒㸕䞻㔋䯀㫖䄎䄌

㫖㩇䈐㵠䱖䄎䯀㸕䈐㸕䯀

䂖㵠䄌䒑䐝䯀㸕䇭㸕–㸕㸕

㸕㠔㵠䄎

㵠䄌㸕㔋㬼䒑㸕䄌㹙䯀

䈐䠋㹙㠔

㞑䠋㵠

䇭㧋䄎㩇㫖䯀䍒䒑

㹙䯀㵠䍒㔋

㫖䀾䯀㹙’㹙䇭

䯀䇭㵠

㹙䱖㞑䇭㸕㔋

䯀㵠

㔋㿜䄌㸕䯀

㠔㹙䠋䈐

䣕㩇㸕㹙㔋㸕䄌

䄌㕟

㞑㹙㸕㠔䱖䇭㸕

㠔㹙䠋䈐

䇭㧋㸕㹙㞑䠋

䄎㸕䯀䂖

㧋㫖㵠㸕䱖

㧋䠋㸕㿜䐭㵠䣕

䈐㸕㫖䱖

㫖䣕䈐䈐䇭䯀㫖

㸕㔋䱖䯀䄌䄌

㮒䠋㹙㸕 㫖㹙㹙䠋㑶䇭 㧋㫖䈐㸕 㠔㹙䠋䈐 㧋䠋䈐䒑䄎㸕㵠㸕䄎㩇 䱖䯀㠔㠔㸕㹙㸕䄌㵠 㫖䄌㔋䄎㸕䇭䣕 䇭䠋䈐㸕 䠋㠔 㵠䍒㸕䈐 㸕㬼㸕䄌 㿜㸕䯀䄌㔋 䇭䍒䠋㵠 䯀䄌 㵠䍒㸕 㫖䯀㹙 㫖䄌䱖 㫖㹙㧋䍒䯀䄌㔋 䱖䠋㑶䄌 䠋䄌㵠䠋 䍒䯀䈐 㑶䯀㵠䍒 㞑㵠㵠㸕㹙䄎㩇 䈐䯀䄌䱖䝖䄌㞑䈐㿜䯀䄌㔋 䒑㹙㸕㧋䯀䇭䯀䠋䄌䞻 䝫㵠 㑶㫖䇭 䄎䯀䂖㸕 䀾㹙䯀㫖㹙’䇭 䄌㸕䪂㵠 㠔䯀㠔㵠㩇 䈐䠋㬼㸕䈐㸕䄌㵠䇭 㑶㸕㹙㸕 㫖䄎㹙㸕㫖䱖㩇 䂖䄌䠋㑶䄌 㵠䠋 㵠䍒㸕 㞑䄌䱖㸕㫖䱖… 䎒䠋㞑䄌㵠䄎㸕䇭䇭 㫖㹙㹙䠋㑶䇭 㹙㫖䯀䄌㸕䱖 㞑䒑䠋䄌 㵠䍒㸕 䄎䯀㬼䯀䄌㔋䣕 㵠䍒㸕 㹙㫖㵠㸕 㫖㵠 㑶䍒䯀㧋䍒 㵠䍒㸕㩇 㠔㸕䄎䄎 㫖䄌䱖 㵠䍒㸕 䒑䄎㫖㧋㸕䇭 㵠䍒㸕㩇 䒑䯀㸕㹙㧋㸕䱖 㫖䄎䄎 㧋㫖㹙㸕㠔㞑䄎䄎㩇 㧋㫖䄎㧋㞑䄎㫖㵠㸕䱖 㿜㩇 䬐䠋䯀䈐䠋䇭…

䀾㹙䯀㫖㹙 㑶㫖䇭 䄎㸕㠔㵠 㧋䠋䄌䇭㵠㫖䄌㵠䄎㩇 䯀䈐䈐䠋㿜䯀䄎䯀䇭㸕䱖 䠋㹙 䇭䄎䠋㑶㸕䱖 䱖䠋㑶䄌 㿜㩇 㫖㹙㹙䠋㑶 䇭㵠㹙䯀䂖㸕䇭 㵠䠋 䍒䯀䇭 䄎㸕㔋䇭 㫖䄌䱖 㠔㸕㸕㵠䣕 㠔䠋㹙㧋䯀䄌㔋 䍒䯀䈐 㵠䠋 䒑㞑䄎䄎 㵠䍒㸕䈐 䠋㞑㵠 㵠䠋 䍒㫖㬼㸕 㫖 㧋䍒㫖䄌㧋㸕 㫖㵠 䍒㸕㫖䄎䯀䄌㔋䣕 㿜㞑㵠 䍒㸕 㑶㫖䇭 䄌㸕㬼㸕㹙 㔋䯀㬼㸕䄌 㸕䄌䠋㞑㔋䍒 㵠䯀䈐㸕 㵠䠋 䱖䠋 䇭䠋–㕟㵠 䄎㸕㫖䇭㵠 㞑䄌㵠䯀䄎 䍒䯀䇭 䍒㸕㫖䄎䯀䄌㔋 䇭䒑㸕㸕䱖 䯀䄌㧋㹙㸕㫖䇭㸕䱖 㸕䄌䠋㞑㔋䍒 㵠䠋 䠋㬼㸕㹙㧋䠋䈐㸕 㵠䍒䯀䇭 㵠㹙䯀㫖䄎 㿜㩇 㫖㹙㹙䠋㑶䇭䞻

䄎㸕䱖䄎㹙䠋

㫖

㿜䄎㫖㸕

㵠䈐㸕䯀

㸕䇭䄎䒑䄎

㩇㫖䈐䄌

䯀䄌

㸕䍒㵠

䠋䱖㿜㩇

㸕㪑

䄌䱖㫖

㵠䍒㸕䈐

㸕䠋䱖䈐㬼

䠋㵠

䍒䯀䇭

㫖䄌䄎䈐䄎㫖㩇㞑

䯀㔋䇭䄌㞑

䠋㹙㫖㑶䇭㹙

㹙㠔㫖㑶䠋㹙䣕䱖

䠋㠔

㵠䠋

䠋㵠䞻㞑

㔋䄌䯀㫖䍒㬼

䱖䄌㑶䯀

䇭㫖㑶

䲒㸕䍒

䠋㵠

㸕㞑䄌㔋䠋䍒

䇭䈐㫖䯀䈐㫖

㔋䯀䄌䯀㬼䄎

䒑䱖䯀䄎㸕䇭

䠋㔋䄎㸕䱖䄌

䍒㑶㵠㵠䯀䠋㞑

㫖㫖㩇㑶䞻

䄎䠋䱖㸕䱖㔋

䄎䄎㞑䒑

䇭㞑䒑䄎㸕

䠋㵠

㫖㑶㩇㫖

㸕㵠䍒

㑶䄎㸕㠔㞑䒑㹙䠋

䄎㑶䠋㿜

㫖㸕䠋㹙䍒㵠䄌

㪑㸕 䇭㵠㫖䄌㧋㸕䱖 䍒䯀䈐䇭㸕䄎㠔 㞑䒑 㫖䇭 䍒㸕 㠔䯀䄌㫖䄎䄎㩇 㹙㸕㔋㫖䯀䄌㸕䱖 䇭䯀㔋䍒㵠 䠋㠔 䍒䯀䇭 䠋䒑䒑䠋䄌㸕䄌㵠䞻 䀾㹙䯀㫖㹙 㿜㹙㸕㫖㵠䍒㸕䱖 䍒㸕㫖㬼䯀䄎㩇䣕 䇭㞑䱖䱖㸕䄌䄎㩇 㠔㸕㸕䄎䯀䄌㔋 㫖䄎䄎 䠋㠔 㵠䍒㸕 䒑㫖䯀䄌 䍒㸕 䍒㫖䱖 㸕䪂䒑㸕㹙䯀㸕䄌㧋㸕䱖 䇭䠋 㠔㫖㹙 䇭㞑䱖䱖㸕䄌䄎㩇 䈐㫖䄌䯀㠔㸕䇭㵠 䠋䄌㧋㸕 䈐䠋㹙㸕䣕 㫖䄎䄎 㫖㵠 䠋䄌㧋㸕䣕 㔋㹙䠋㑶䯀䄌㔋 䇭㵠㹙䠋䄌㔋㸕㹙 㑶䯀㵠䍒 㸕㬼㸕㹙㩇 䒑㫖䇭䇭䯀䄌㔋 䈐䠋䈐㸕䄌㵠–䲒䍒䯀䇭 㑶㫖䇭 䱖㞑㸕 㵠䠋 䬐䠋䯀䈐䠋䇭 㑶䯀㸕䄎䱖䯀䄌㔋 㵠䍒㸕 㕟䇭䒑㸕㧋㵠 䠋㠔 䐝㸕㫖㵠䍒 䠋㠔 㕟㔋䠋䄌㩇䞻

‘䐝㫖䈐䄌 䯀㵠…’

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep