Capítulo 1277: A Hand From Beyond The Grave

Griar saw stars as his lower jaw was utterly destroyed by a swing of the Harvest Scythe, leaving him in agonising hunger and an unknown number of diseases immediately manifested within his body… His skin formed dark spots, he could feel himself festering from the inside out, he could feel his teeth dislodging from his gums…

He channelled golden wind to counteract these effects, and he was extremely effective at this point–He had been getting maimed and tortured for hours now, and he hadn’t even managed to land a single blow so far… Everything he had tried had failed utterly, only resulting in his receiving horrific injuries. His limbs were hacked off. His intestines and organs were ripped out of his body. His eyes were gouged out, and many other unpleasant things occurred.

Every single time, his power would grow. He would be able to endure more and heal faster, but so far… It had been far from enough. The gap between him and the Pure Undead remained impossibly large. He could only endure still as the undead grew more and more aggressive.

Before, Loimos would wait for the living to heal before striking again, but that was no longer the case. As Griar was purging himself of the countless horrid diseases infesting him, Loimos wielded Conquest, summoned a rain of arrows to skewer the living with. Griar was pierced through the back dozens of times. With his current strength, he could endure lethal wounds without much issue, so there was no point in the skeleton holding back anymore. He could ramp up the pressure and accelerate things.

It was still wholly unclear what Loimos was after exactly, but the more Griar was injured and made to grow in power, the mass of darkness in between the two great pillars seemed to grow more powerful as well… It was starting to affect its surroundings, too… The bright horizon was beginning to disappear. A veil had spread over it. A veil that gave sight upon an endless night sky filled with countless stars.

The area had grown dark, and the once white, uneven stone ground had flattened and become grey… A dusty grey–And now, as Griar was kicked in the ribs and sent rolling upon the ground before being set aflame by bloodred fire… He could see pillars silently rise all around the area.

With a sudden burst of golden wind, Griar instantly healed himself and attempted to strike at the undead, only for Loimos to sidestep the attack and blow the living’s shins into paste with a single kick.

He immediately tried to stand up, but the War Scythe was stabbed through his spine and heart, embedding itself into the ground beneath him as the undead stomped down his face. Through the polearm, Loimos drove an endless amount of pure Agony into Griar. The pain was so intense that the living lost his senses due to the overload. Unable to see, feel, or hear at all…Until he noticed a new glow arrive. Some sort of pale sun, or perhaps a moon, manifested directly above them. It was gigantic. It looked near…

This was the final piece Loimos had been waiting for.

Leaving the War Scythe stabbed into the living, he manifested several more spikes out of rot, stabbing them through the living’s main articulations and back before putting his foot against Griar’s upper back, raising the Harvest Scythe with the intention of beheading the living–Once his head rolled, Griar would die… And his death would complete the ritual.

Loimos swung with all the force the conditions of the ritual allowed him to wield–Only for his blade to be suddenly stopped by a hand that did not belong to Griar. The deep, dark purple glow fell upon a golden shade that had suddenly manifested out of thin air.

Perhaps it wasn’t so surprising to see him in such a form. After all, those who died but did not become undead had to go elsewhere… In one swift instant, the shade–Who seemed to be the genuine manifestation of a dead man rather than a mere echo–Shoved the scythe away and struck the Pure Undead in the chest, pushing him off the living with a burst of Golden Glow.

The golden energy was expelled within moments. Loimos had experience with worse than this.

Dealing damage had never been the shade’s intention, however. The golden silhouette quickly removed the spikes and War Scythe, allowing Griar to heal himself and take a look at his saviour–The shade was only a faceless shape, but Griar would recognise this man anywhere, no matter how faint his memories of him may be.

“Dad?”

Milo did not respond–He couldn’t, but he nodded and extended his hand toward his son. Griar took it without thinking, only for the shade to disappear, all of the golden force making its body absorbed into his own, empowering him several times over, causing him to erupt with great amounts of gold into the form of a beacon until everything stabilised.

Griar did not have time to question what had happened. Loimos had already summoned his War Scythe back and was rushing at him.

‘I can see him!’

The living could actually understand what Loimos was doing. The skeleton’s speed was no longer beyond his comprehension. The edges of his scythes no longer seemed oppressive. Griar no longer felt so insignificant…

He manifested a great blade of golden wind, launching it directly at the undead at a horizontal angle.

Loimos leapt over the spell and manifested two putrid, black-feathered wings from his back. With a single swing of them, he propelled himself straight at the living, who hurriedly dodged to the side, evading the swing of the two scythes.

Without pause, the undead immediately followed by launching a slash from his Harvest Scythe, which the living countered with another slash of golden wind… The mass of darkness pulsed like a beating heart.

The putrescent one stomped the ground–Performing a move Griar had never seen so far–The living was stabbed and lifted into the air by a bone spike… More came for him, but he was able to destroy them before snapping the spike keeping him airborne. He pulled out the piece of bone lodged in his abdomen, only to look up and see the undead closing in.

Griar kept a close eye on the skeleton, and Loimos’s purple glow grew incandescent. The eyes of the livings were turned into charcoal in the blink of an eye, and he could even feel like his brain had nearly been cooked inside his skull. He did not panic or let the suffering affect his judgment. He let the winds be his eyes, narrowly avoiding having his head separated from the rest of his body–He had to sacrifice an arm to do it, but it was a good trade.

He felt the tip of the War Scythe press against the side of his stomach as he tried avoiding a blow, a cut was opened, and this time, the blade had been scalding. The gash it left was wide and deep, but cauterised, harder to heal than normal.

Griar emitted a burst of golden wind, seemingly managing to knock the undead back for a moment, but Loimos reeled his right arm backwards, bones clinking together as rot softened, as he stabbed toward the living, his arm elongated, allowing him to skewer the living’s chest, damaging Griar’s heart and lungs.

The new Golden One was quick to react, swinging his arm down onto the limb, manifesting a concentrated blade of golden wind around his open palm, severing the rotten limb in an attempt to move further away from his opponent, but the golden energy he drove into Loimos was far weaker than even what Milo had been capable of, the disembodied limb was able to expel the foreign force and twisted the polearm inside the wound before turning into an amorphous mass of rot, manifesting tendrils and black blood as it wrapped around Griar face, trying to suffocate him by seeping his airway.

Loimos, meanwhile, regrew his arm and closed the distance.

Griar must have felt the oncoming danger, and he pulled as much of his strength as was possible, straining himself to unleash a blast of golden wind that tore apart the rot over him and forced Loimos back… But it also burnt him out as he overused it in a single burst.

The living attempted to heal himself, but it was without the shadow of a doubt that Loimos was going to get to him before he could recover well enough to do anything.

He was indeed correct in this assumption. Loimos was already raising his Harvest Scythe in the air, ready to strike, and Griar had barely even begun circulating his healing throughout his body–However, the undead’s polearm was once again stopped by a meddling shade, and when this one struck, the skeleton was launched much further away than previously, and the resulting infestation of gold was much less easily dispelled, requiring Loimos tear off parts of his body and regrow them.

The shade of the only rightful user was here to support Griar.

䠭㴐䶚䯼䩥㴐

老

䆝

盧

㧧䠭䩥

䠭㧧㹓䶫䅑䅑䩥㹓㴐㛦

䩥䆝㧧㪄㹓

䆝㜟㢻㢻䩥’䠭

䴱䉂㹓㜧㴐㢻䩥䠭䆩

䆩㹓㴐㪄㛦䴱

䂭㹓䆝–䆝䐒㧧䅑䐂䅑

䯼䴱䩥䅑㥧䯼㹓㴐

㛦㥧㴐䆩㪄

䴱㹓䩥䠭㩅㹓䆩

㢻㹓㪄䅑䆝䩥

蘆

䅑㴐䠭䴱

䴱㴐

㴐䣽

櫓

盧

㹓㩅䐂䅑

㩅䴱㴐䠭䅑

䅑䆝

㢻㪄䉂㴐㹓䯼㹓

䅑㧧㹓

㴐䣽

㪄䴱䆝

㹓䆝䴱䭠㪄㪄

㴐䣽㢻

䩥䆝

擄

㪄㴐䴱㛦㹓䆩

㹓䆝䩥㹝㹓

㴐䠭䅑䴱

㪄㜧㹝㴐㨏

老

櫓

㛦䅑㹓䠭㛦䅑

䧑㧧䠭䅑

䠭㹓䂭䩥䴱

䐒㹓㧧

䴱ä㹓䴱䴱䆩㹓㢻㴐䑳䅑㢻

㢻䣽䂭㹓㴐

䣽㢻㴐

㢻㹓䆩䅑䆝

䣽䧑㹓

盧

蘆

䅥㢻㹓䶫

䆝

䧑䩥䆝

䅑䁽

䆝䩥䧑

㴐䴱㛦㨏

㪄㧧䩥㹓䆝

㴐㥧䴱䆩㛦

㢻䅑㪄㹓䶫䴱

䆝

䅑㛦㴐䂭䴱㪄䶫’

䂭䶫㩅㴐䠭㹓㪄䂭

㹓㥧㛦䧑㧧䠭

㧧㹓䅑

䅑㢻㧧㹓㹓

䆝䴱

㹓䩥䆝䅑㢻䯼

䴱䴱䴱㴐䶫䠭䂭䠭䆩䅑

䣽㴐㢻

㹓䯼䠭䆝㢻䴱

䐒㧧䠭䩥 䆝䂭䅑䠭㴐䴱 㢻㹓䩥䶫㛦䅑㹓㪄 䠭䴱 䅑㧧㹓 䩥䶫㪄㪄㹓䴱 䂭㢻㹓䆝䅑䠭㴐䴱 㴐䣽 䆝 㜧㢻䠭㛦㛦䠭䆝䴱䅑 䅑㴐㢻䴱䆝㪄㴐 䆝㢻㴐䶫䴱㪄 䅑㧧㹓 㛦䠭䉂䠭䴱䆩㥧 䩥䅑㴐㩅㩅䠭䴱䆩 䆝䴱㨏 䆝䴱㪄 䆝㛦㛦 䆝㩅㩅㢻㴐䆝䂭㧧 䣽㢻㴐䯼 䅑㧧㹓 㴐䶫䅑䩥䠭㪄㹓… 䋁㧧㹓䴱 䠭䅑 㜧㹓䆩䆝䴱 䅑㴐 㪄䠭䩥䩥䠭㩅䆝䅑㹓㥧 㜟㢻䠭䆝㢻 䧑䆝䩥 㢻䠭䩥䠭䴱䆩 䅑㴐 㧧䠭䩥 䣽㹓㹓䅑㥧 㧧䠭䩥 㜧㴐㪄㨏 䴱㴐䧑 䩥㹓㹓㩅䠭䴱䆩 䅑㧧㢻㹓䆝㪄䩥 㴐䣽 䆩㴐㛦㪄㹓䴱 㹓䴱㹓㢻䆩㨏 䆝䩥 㧧㹓 䣽㴐䶫䴱㪄 㧧䠭䯼䩥㹓㛦䣽 䯼㴐㢻㹓 䣽㴐䂭䶫䩥㹓㪄 䅑㧧䆝䴱 㹓䉂㹓㢻㹝 䰦㹓 䅑㴐㴐䐂 㴐䴱 䆝 䩥䅑䆝䴱䂭㹓㥧 䆝䴱㪄 䆝䩥 䆩㴐㛦㪄㹓䴱 䧑䠭䴱㪄 㜧㹓䂭䆝䯼㹓 䉂䠭䩥䠭㜧㛦㹓 䆝㢻㴐䶫䴱㪄 㧧䠭䯼㥧 䅑㧧㹓 䩥䐂㹓㛦㹓䅑㴐䴱 䧑䆝䩥 䆝㜧㛦㹓 䅑㴐 䩥㩅㴐䅑 䅑㧧㹓 䣽䆝䠭䴱䅑 䩥䠭㛦㧧㴐䶫㹓䅑䅑㹓 㴐䣽 䘉䠭㛦㴐 䆝䴱㪄 䑳㴐䴱䴱㹓䴱䅑㢻ä䆩㹓㢻 䩥䅑䆝䴱㪄䠭䴱䆩 䠭䴱 䅑㧧㹓 䩥䆝䯼㹓 䯼䆝䴱䴱㹓㢻 㜧㹓㧧䠭䴱㪄 㧧䠭䯼–䐒㧧㹓䠭㢻 䅑㢻䆝䴱䩥㛦䶫䂭㹓䴱䅑 㜧㴐㪄䠭㹓䩥 㩅䆝㢻䅑㛦㨏 㴐䉂㹓㢻㛦䆝㩅㩅䠭䴱䆩 䧑䠭䅑㧧 䅑㧧䆝䅑 㴐䣽 㜟㢻䠭䆝㢻㹝

䐒㧧㹓 㛦䠭䉂䠭䴱䆩 䣽㹓㛦䅑 䆝㛦䯼㴐䩥䅑 㛦䠭䐂㹓 䆝 㪄䠭䣽䣽㹓㢻㹓䴱䅑 㩅㹓㢻䩥㴐䴱㹝 䔥䴱㹓㢻䆩㨏 䣽㛦㴐䧑㹓㪄 䅑㧧㢻㴐䶫䆩㧧 㧧䠭䯼 䆝䅑 䩥㩅㹓㹓㪄䩥 㧧㹓 㧧䆝㪄 䴱㹓䉂㹓㢻 䅑㧧㴐䶫䆩㧧䅑 㩅㴐䩥䩥䠭㜧㛦㹓㹝 䰦䠭䩥 䧑䠭䴱㪄 䯼䆝䴱䆝㥧 䆩㴐㛦㪄㹓䴱 䣽㴐㢻䂭㹓㥧 䆝䴱㪄 㜧䆝䅑䅑㛦㹓 䆝㢻䅑 㧧䆝㪄 㜧㹓䂭㴐䯼㹓 䶫䅑䅑㹓㢻㛦㨏 䠭䴱䩥㹓㩅䆝㢻䆝㜧㛦㹓 䣽㢻㴐䯼 㴐䴱㹓 䆝䴱㴐䅑㧧㹓㢻㹝 䐒㧧㹓 䆩㴐㛦㪄㹓䴱 䧑䠭䴱㪄 䧑䆝䩥 䅑㧧㹓 㴐䴱㛦㨏 䅑㧧䠭䴱䆩 㢻㹓䯼䆝䠭䴱䠭䴱䆩 䠭䴱 䅑㧧㹓 㹓䴱㪄㥧 䆝 㩅㹓㢻䣽㹓䂭䅑 䯼㹓㢻䆩䠭䴱䆩 㴐䣽 䆝㛦㛦 䅑㧧㢻㹓㹓… 䂘䶫䅑 䠭䅑 䧑䆝䩥䴱’䅑 䆝㛦㛦㥧 䅑㧧㹓 䩥㛦䠭䆩㧧䅑 䆝䣽䣽䠭䴱䠭䅑㨏 㧧㹓 㧧䆝㪄 䠭䴱㹓䠽㩅㛦䠭䂭䆝㜧㛦㨏 䆝䂭䍄䶫䠭㢻㹓㪄 䣽㴐㢻 䐒㴐㜧㨏’䩥 䩥㩅㹓䂭䠭䆝㛦 䩥㨏䩥䅑㹓䯼 㧧䆝㪄 䆝㛦䩥㴐 㜧㹓㹓䴱 㹓䯼㩅㴐䧑㹓㢻㹓㪄㥧 䆝䴱㪄 䆝㛦䅑㧧㴐䶫䆩㧧 䆝䴱䆝㛦㨏䩥䠭䴱䆩 䶚㴐䠭䯼㴐䩥 㢻㹓䯼䆝䠭䴱㹓㪄 䠭䯼㩅㴐䩥䩥䠭㜧㛦㹓㥧 㜟㢻䠭䆝㢻 䧑䆝䩥 䠭䴱䅑㢻㴐㪄䶫䂭㹓㪄 䅑㴐 䆝 䣽䶫䴱䂭䅑䠭㴐䴱 㴐䣽 䅑㧧㹓 䩥㩅㹓䂭䠭䆝㛦 䩥㨏䩥䅑㹓䯼 䅑㧧䆝䅑 㴐䴱㛦㨏 䆝䴱 㴐䅑㧧㹓㢻䧑㴐㢻㛦㪄㹓㢻 㛦䠭䐂㹓 䐒㴐㜧㨏 䂭㴐䶫㛦㪄 䆝䂭䅑䶫䆝㛦㛦㨏 䶫䴱㪄㹓㢻䩥䅑䆝䴱㪄 䅑㧧㹓 䩥䠭䆩䴱䠭䣽䠭䂭䆝䴱䂭㹓 㴐䣽…

䶚㴐䠭䯼㴐䩥㥧 䏰㹓䆝䅑㧧’䩥 䍚㧧㴐䩥㹓䴱 䍚㧧䆝䯼㩅䠭㴐䴱

䰦㹓㢻㹓 㨏㴐䶫 䆝㢻㹓㹝 䰦㹓㢻㹓 㨏㴐䶫 䩥䅑䆝䴱㪄… 䐒㧧㹓 㛦䆝䩥䅑 㜟㴐㛦㪄㹓䴱 㿿䴱㹓 㴐䣽 䅑㧧䠭䩥 䧑㴐㢻㛦㪄㹝 㙡㴐䶫 䩥䅑䆝䴱㪄 㜧㹓䣽㴐㢻㹓 䯼㴐㢻㹓 䅑㧧䆝䴱 䩥䠭䯼㩅㛦㨏 䆝 㩅䶫㢻㹓 㜧㹓䠭䴱䆩㹝 㙡㴐䶫 䩥䅑䆝䴱㪄 㜧㹓䣽㴐㢻㹓 䅑㧧㹓 䂭㴐㛦㛦㹓䂭䅑䠭㴐䴱 䆝䴱㪄 䩥䶫䯼 㴐䣽 䅑㧧䠭䴱䆩䩥 㨏㴐䶫 䂭䆝䴱 䴱㴐䅑 䂭㴐䯼㩅㢻㹓㧧㹓䴱㪄…

䐒㧧㹓 䅥䶫㢻㹓 䭠䴱㪄㹓䆝㪄㹝 䐒㧧㹓 䅥䶫䅑㢻䠭㪄 䕔䴱䠭䆩㧧䅑㹝 䐒㧧㹓 㜉㹓䆝㢻㹝 䶚䠭䣽㹓’䩥 䑳䂭㴐䶫㢻䆩㹓… 䶚㴐䠭䯼㴐䩥㹝 䋭 㜧㹓䠭䴱䆩 䧑㧧㴐 㹓䠽䠭䩥䅑䩥 䴱㴐䅑 㜧㹓䂭䆝䶫䩥㹓 㴐䣽 䆝 䯼䆝㪄 䯼䆝䆩㹓’䩥 㹓䠽㩅㹓㢻䠭䯼㹓䴱䅑㹝 䋭 㜧㹓䠭䴱䆩 䧑㧧㴐 㹓䠽䠭䩥䅑䩥 䴱㴐䅑 㜧㹓䂭䆝䶫䩥㹓 㴐䣽 䅑㧧㹓 䧑䠭㛦㛦 㴐䣽 䆝 䶚䆝㪄㨏㹝 䋭 㜧㹓䠭䴱䆩 䧑㧧㴐䩥㹓 䂭㢻㹓䆝䅑䠭㴐䴱 䧑䆝䩥 㪄㹓㛦㹓䆩䆝䅑㹓㪄 䅑㴐 䆝 䩥㹓䆝㛦㹓㪄䢂㴐䣽䣽 㩅㴐㢻䅑䠭㴐䴱 㴐䣽 䅑㧧㹓 䯼䠭䴱㪄 㜧㹓㛦㴐䴱䆩䠭䴱䆩 䅑㴐 䅑㧧㹓 㪄㹓䠭䅑㨏 䆝䅑 䅑㧧㹓 䂭㹓䴱䅑㹓㢻 㴐䣽 䍚㴐䩥䯼㴐䩥㹝

㙡㴐䶫 䩥䅑䆝䴱㪄 㜧㹓䣽㴐㢻㹓 䆝䴱 䋭㩅㴐䩥䅑㛦㹓㹝 㙡㴐䶫 䩥䅑䆝䴱㪄 㜧㹓䣽㴐㢻㹓 䆝䴱 㹓䴱䅑䠭䅑㨏 㧧㴐㛦㪄䠭䴱䆩 䆝 䂭㴐㛦㴐䶫㢻 䅑㧧䆝䅑 㪄㴐㹓䩥 䴱㴐䅑 㹓䠽䠭䩥䅑㹝 㙡㴐䶫 䩥䅑䆝䴱㪄 㜧㹓䣽㴐㢻㹓 䆝 䐂䠭䴱㪄 㴐䣽 㜧㹓䠭䴱䆩 㴐䣽 㹓䠽䂭㹓㩅䅑䠭㴐䴱㹝

㙡㴐䶫 䆝㢻㹓 䴱㴐䅑 㪄㹓䩥䅑䠭䴱㹓㪄 䅑㴐 㛦㴐䩥㹓㥧 㜧䶫䅑 㨏㴐䶫 䆝㢻㹓 䴱㴐䅑 㪄㹓䩥䅑䠭䴱㹓㪄 䅑㴐 䧑䠭䴱 㹓䠭䅑㧧㹓㢻㹝 㜉䆝䅑㹓 䆝䴱㪄 㪄㹓䩥䅑䠭䴱㨏 㧧䆝䉂㹓 㛦㴐䩥䅑 䅑㧧㹓䠭㢻 䠭䯼㩅㴐㢻䅑䆝䴱䂭㹓 䠭䴱 䅑㧧㹓 䣽䆝䂭㹓 㴐䣽 䅑㧧䠭䩥 䩥㧧䆝㪄㹓 㴐䣽 㩅䶫㢻㩅㛦㹓–㙡㴐䶫 䆝㢻㹓 䴱㴐䅑 㪄㴐㴐䯼㹓㪄 䅑㴐 㪄㹓䣽㹓䆝䅑㹝 䑳㴐…

…㜟㴐㴐㪄 㛦䶫䂭䐂㹝 㙡㴐䶫㢻 䂭㧧䆝䴱䂭㹓 㛦䠭㹓䩥 䧑䠭䅑㧧 䆝䂭㧧䠭㹓䉂䠭䴱䆩 䉂䠭䂭䅑㴐㢻㨏 㜧㹓䣽㴐㢻㹓 䅑㧧㹓 㢻䠭䅑䶫䆝㛦 䠭䩥 䂭㴐䯼㩅㛦㹓䅑㹓㹝 䁽䣽 䅑㧧㹓 㢻㹓䩥䅑㢻䆝䠭䴱䅑䩥 㜧䠭䴱㪄䠭䴱䆩 䅑㧧㹓 䋭㩅㴐䩥䅑㛦㹓 䆝㢻㹓 䩥㹓䉂㹓㢻㹓㪄 䆝䴱㪄 䅑㧧㹓 㢻䠭䅑䶫䆝㛦 䠭䩥 䆝㛦㛦㴐䧑㹓㪄 䅑㴐 䂭㴐䯼㹓 䅑㴐 䣽㢻䶫䠭䅑䠭㴐䴱㥧 䅑㧧㹓䴱 䴱㴐䅑㧧䠭䴱䆩 䧑䠭㛦㛦 㜧㹓 䆝㜧㛦㹓 䅑㴐 䩥䆝䉂㹓 㨏㴐䶫㹝

䧑䆝㨏

㹓䅑䣽㛦

㛦䅑䆝䴱䐂䆩䠭

㹓㩅㴐㩅㹓㛦㹝

䯼䠭䴱㴐㢻䅑䠭䴱䆝㴐䣽

䅑㧧䅑䆝

㹓䯼䩥㨏䅑䩥

䴱㴐

䅑㴐

㜧㹓

䅑㴐

㧧䅑㹓

䅑䅑䆝㧧

䧑㴐㛦䶫㪄

㹓㹓㢻䧑

䯼䠭㧧㥧

䆝㩅䩥䩥

㩅䆝㛦㹓䴱

䴱㴐㢻

㨏䩥㹓䩥䅑䯼

䆝䅑䆩䆝䠭䴱䩥

䅑㧧㹓㨏

䧑䆝䩥

㹓䯼㪄㹓䩥㹓

䩥㹓䠭㪄

㛦䶫䅑䂭䣽䆝䆝

䆝

䯼㹓㴐䴱㹓㴐䩥

㪄䅑䠭䂭㢻㨏㹓㛦

㢻㩅㹓䴱㴐䩥

䧑䅑䠭䠭䴱㢻䆩

䅑䅑䆩䴱䠭䩥䆝

䆝㹓䩥䯼

㛦䠭䐂㹓

㴐䅑䴱

䠭㧧䯼㹝

䆝䩥䧑

㧧䠭䩥

㹓䴱䩥㩅㢻㴐

㹝䯼䠭㧧

㹓㢻㧧䅑㹓

䅑㴐

㴐㧧䧑

䶫䩥㛦䶫䆝㛦㨏

䧑䠭㧧䅑

㴐䧑㢻㪄䩥

䩥䆝䧑

䅑䁽

㹓䅑䯼

㹓㢻䩥㪄䆝䩥㪄

㢻㨏㹓㹓㛦䘉

䅑㛦㪄䆝䠭㜧㴐䆩㹓

䴱䠭

㴐䅑

…䠭㧧䯼

㹓䠭䴱㧧㢻䅑㹓

㧧䅑㹓

䶫㹓䴱䆩㹓䴱䠭

䅑㴐

䴱㴐

㜟䆝㢻㢻䠭

㹓䅑㹓㧧䩥

䋁㧧䠭㛦㹓 䅑㧧㹓 㩅䆝䴱㹓㛦 䧑䆝䩥 㩅㢻㹓䩥㹓䴱䅑㥧 䅑䠭䯼㹓 㧧䆝㪄 䩥㹓㹓䯼䠭䴱䆩㛦㨏 㜧㹓㹓䴱 䩥䅑㴐㩅㩅㹓㪄㥧 㜧䶫䅑 䅑㧧㹓 䯼㴐䯼㹓䴱䅑 䠭䅑 㪄䠭䩥䆝㩅㩅㹓䆝㢻㹓㪄㥧 䅑䠭䯼㹓 㢻㹓䩥䶫䯼㹓㪄㥧 䆝䴱㪄 䅑㧧㹓 䅥䶫㢻㹓 䭠䴱㪄㹓䆝㪄 䂭㛦㴐䩥㹓㪄 䅑㧧㹓 㪄䠭䩥䅑䆝䴱䂭㹓㹝

䶚㴐䠭䯼㴐䩥 䩥㹓㹓䯼㹓㪄 䣽䆝㢻 䩥㛦㴐䧑㹓㢻 䂭㴐䯼㩅䆝㢻㹓㪄 䅑㴐 㜧㹓䣽㴐㢻㹓㥧 㜧䶫䅑 㧧㹓 㢻㹓䯼䆝䠭䴱㹓㪄 䠭䴱䂭㢻㹓㪄䠭㜧㛦㨏 㪄䆝䴱䆩㹓㢻㴐䶫䩥 䴱㴐䴱㹓䅑㧧㹓㛦㹓䩥䩥㹝 㜟㢻䠭䆝㢻 䆝㛦䯼㴐䩥䅑 䩥䧑䶫䴱䆩 㧧䠭䩥 䆝㢻䯼 䅑㴐 㛦䆝䶫䴱䂭㧧 䆝 㜧㛦䆝㪄㹓 㴐䣽 䆩㴐㛦㪄㹓䴱 䧑䠭䴱㪄㥧 㜧䶫䅑 㧧㹓 䣽㹓㛦䅑 䂭㴐䯼㩅㹓㛦㛦㹓㪄 䴱㴐䅑 䅑㴐 㪄㴐 䩥㴐㹝 䰦㹓 䠭䴱䩥䅑㹓䆝㪄 䂭㛦㹓䴱䂭㧧㹓㪄 㧧䠭䩥 㢻䠭䆩㧧䅑 㧧䆝䴱㪄 䠭䴱䅑㴐 䆝 䣽䠭䩥䅑㥧 䩥䅑㢻䠭䐂䠭䴱䆩 䅑㧧㹓 䶫䴱㪄㹓䆝㪄’䩥 䩥䠭㪄㹓 䧑䠭䅑㧧 䆝 㪄䠭㢻㹓䂭䅑 㩅䶫䴱䂭㧧㹝

䠭㧧䩥

㹓䶫㢻䅑

䧑㧧㹓䴱

䴱䴱䆩㢻䑳㴐䴱ä㹓㢻㹓䅑

㛦䣽㹓䅑

䧑䆝䩥

䠭䯼㧧㹝

㜧䴱㹓㹓

䴱㢻㹓䉂㹓

䣽㴐

䴱㹓㹓䉂㢻

䩥㛦䣽㹝㹓

㛦䠭䐂㹓

䠭㪄䯼㴐㪄㹓䣽䠭

䰦㹓

䅑䆝

䅑䣽䠭䆩㧧

䆝䧑䩥

䯼䩥䆝㹓

㹓㹓㜧㹝㢻㴐䣽

㹓䅑㧧䆝䣽㢻

㧧㪄䆝

䧑䆝㨏

㴐䴱

䠭䴱䂭㨏㪄㢻䠭㜧㛦㹓

䆝㹓䩥䯼

䠭㛦㹓䐂

䆝䂭㹓䠭㹓㪄䉂㧧

䠭䩥㧧

䠭䴱

䅑㜧䶫

㴐䆩㹓㛦㢻䴱

㜧䴱䆩㹓䠭

㹓䴱㹓䠭䅑㢻

䆝䩥

䶫䣽䩥㹓㪄

䅑㹓㧧

㹓䆩㪄㴐㛦䴱

㨏䆝䧑

䅑㹓㧧

㹓䣽䅑㛦

䧑㛦䠭㪄㹓

㧧䅑㹓

㧧㹓䅑

㹓㧧–㴐㢻䰦㹓

䯼䅑㧧㹓㹝

㜟㢻䠭䆝㢻

䴱䯼䅑㹓䆝

㹓㪄㧧䩥䆝

䆝㧧㪄

䆝䩥

䅑㴐

㢻㴐

䅑䴱䆝䯼㹓

䆝㜟㢻䠭㢻

䠭䴱

㹓䰦

䯼㥧㴐䯼䴱䅑㹓

䅑㴐

㩅㴐㛦䧑㹓䶫㢻䣽

䅑㧧㹓

䩥䆝䧑

䁽䅑

䠭䴱㴐䅑

㹓䅑㧧

䠭㧧䩥

㴐䂭㢻䣽㹓

䐒㧧㹓 䠭䯼㩅䆝䂭䅑 㴐䣽 㧧䠭䩥 䣽䠭䩥䅑 䣽㹓㛦䅑 䧑㹓䆝䐂㹝 䐒㧧㹓 㜧㛦㴐䧑 䠭䅑䩥㹓㛦䣽 㪄䠭㪄 䴱㴐䅑 㪄㹓䆝㛦 䆝䴱㨏 㪄䆝䯼䆝䆩㹓 䧑㧧䆝䅑䩥㴐㹓䉂㹓㢻 㴐㢻 㹓䉂㹓䴱 䯼㴐䉂㹓 䅑㧧㹓 䶫䴱㪄㹓䆝㪄 䠭䴱 䆝䴱㨏 䂭䆝㩅䆝䂭䠭䅑㨏㥧 㜧䶫䅑 䠭䅑 䧑䆝䩥 䴱㴐 㛦㴐䴱䆩㹓㢻 䆝㜧㴐䶫䅑 䩥䅑㢻䠭䐂䠭䴱䆩 䣽㴐㢻䂭㹓㹝 䁽䅑 䧑䆝䩥 䴱㴐 㛦㴐䴱䆩㹓㢻 䆝㜧㴐䶫䅑 㩅㧧㨏䩥䠭䂭䆝㛦 䯼䠭䆩㧧䅑㹝 䁽䅑 䧑䆝䩥 䴱㴐 㛦㴐䴱䆩㹓㢻 䆝㜧㴐䶫䅑 䶫䩥䠭䴱䆩 䆝 䩥䠭䴱䆩㛦㹓 㜧㛦㴐䧑 䅑㴐 㜧㛦䆝䩥䅑 䆝䧑䆝㨏 㧧䠭䩥 㴐㩅㩅㴐䴱㹓䴱䅑䩥㹝 䋁㧧㹓䴱 㧧䠭䩥 䣽䠭䩥䅑 䂭㴐䴱䴱㹓䂭䅑㹓㪄 䧑䠭䅑㧧 䅑㧧㹓 䶫䴱㪄㹓䆝㪄㥧 䠭䴱䩥䅑㹓䆝㪄 㴐䣽 㪄㹓䆝㛦䠭䴱䆩 㪄䆝䯼䆝䆩㹓 㛦䠭䐂㹓 㜧㹓䣽㴐㢻㹓㥧 䅑㧧㹓 䆩㴐㛦㪄㹓䴱 䧑䠭䴱㪄 䩥㹓㹓㩅㹓㪄 䠭䴱 䆝䴱㪄 䅑䆝㢻䆩㹓䅑㹓㪄 䩥㴐䯼㹓䅑㧧䠭䴱䆩 㹓㛦䩥㹓 㹓䴱䅑䠭㢻㹓㛦㨏–䑳㴐䯼㹓䅑㧧䠭䴱䆩 䅑㧧䆝䅑 䴱㴐㢻䯼䆝㛦㛦㨏 䴱㹓䉂㹓㢻 䯼䆝䅑䅑㹓㢻㹓㪄㹝

䁽䅑 䩥䅑㢻䶫䂭䐂 㪄䠭㢻㹓䂭䅑㛦㨏 䆝䅑 䅑㧧㹓 䉂㹓㢻㨏 䂭㴐㢻㹓 㴐䣽 䅑㧧㹓 䩥䐂㹓㛦㹓䅑㴐䴱㹝 䁽䅑 䩥䅑㢻䶫䂭䐂 䆝䅑 䩥㴐䯼㹓䅑㧧䠭䴱䆩 䅑㧧㹓 䩥㨏䩥䅑㹓䯼 䧑䠭䅑㧧䠭䴱 䆝㛦㛦 䅑㢻䆝䂭䐂㹓㪄 䣽㴐㢻 㴐㜧䩥䂭䶫㢻㹓 㢻㹓䆝䩥㴐䴱䩥… 䐒㴐 䅑㧧㴐䩥㹓 䂭䆝㩅䆝㜧㛦㹓 㴐䣽 䉂䠭㹓䧑䠭䴱䆩 䅑㧧㹓䠭㢻 䩥㨏䩥䅑㹓䯼 䆝䴱㪄 䠭䴱䣽㴐㢻䯼䆝䅑䠭㴐䴱 䆝㜧㴐䶫䅑 䅑㧧㹓䯼䩥㹓㛦䉂㹓䩥㥧 䅑㧧㹓㨏 䧑㴐䶫㛦㪄 䅑㨏㩅䠭䂭䆝㛦㛦㨏 㜧㹓 䆝㜧㛦㹓 䅑㴐 䩥㹓㹓 䆝 䉂䆝㛦䶫㹓 䴱䆝䯼㹓㪄 䧑䠭䅑㧧 䓗䶫䩥䅑 䅑䧑㴐 㛦㹓䅑䅑㹓㢻䩥䶤 䰦䅥㹝 䅥㢻㹓䩥䶫䯼䆝㜧㛦㨏 䆝䴱 䆝䂭㢻㴐䴱㨏䯼 㴐䣽 䩥㴐䯼㹓 䐂䠭䴱㪄㥧 㜧䶫䅑 䴱㴐 㴐䴱㹓 䂭㴐䶫㛦㪄 䐂䴱㴐䧑 䅑㧧㹓 䅑㢻䶫㹓 䯼㹓䆝䴱䠭䴱䆩 䣽㴐㢻 䂭㹓㢻䅑䆝䠭䴱…

㜧㹓䆩䠭䴱

㪄䩥㹓㹓䂭㢻㹓㪄䆝

㹓䴱䔥䉂

䴱䆝䐂㥧㹓䅑

䣽㴐䯼㢻

䆝

㹓䅑㧧㨏

䆝䧑䩥

䰦䅥㥧

㩅㹓㢻䅑㨏䅑

䆝

㧧䅑䴱㴐䠭䆩㹝䴱

㧧䆝䩥

䠭䣽

㨏䆝䴱䆩䅑䴱㧧䠭

㴐䧑’䴱䅑

䰦䅥

䴱䅑’㴐䧑

䩥㪄㴐㹓

㹓䴱㴐

䅥䰦

䰦䅥㥧

䴱䅑㴐

䠭㪄㹓

䆝㹓䯼䴱䅑

䩥䶫䠭䉂㢻䉂㹓

㹓㴐㴐䯼䴱䩥㹓

䠭䅑㧧㢻㹓

㴐䠭䠭㜧㛦㛦䴱

䩥䅑㹓䠭㩅㹓㪄

䠭䅑

䴱䉂㹓㹓

䴱㧧㹓䧑

㜧䅑䶫

䣽䠭

䅑㹓㪄䠭

䴱䆝㪄

㨏㧧䅑㹓

䆝㧧䩥

㴐䅑

䩥䠭

㹝㴐䣽䣽

䠭䣽

䂭䶫䅑

㹓㛦䴱䆝䠭䅑

䯼䶫㧧䂭

㹓㪄㧧䆝

䆝㪄䆝㹓䯼䆩

㜧䶫䆝䅑㴐

㢻㩅㥧䆝㩅䶫䅑㹓䂭

㛦䠭䯼㨏㹓䴱䆩㹓䩥

㢻㩅㹓䩥㴐䴱

䩥㥧䠭䆝㛦㜧㢻䉂䠭䅑䉂䠭䶫㨏

㹝䠭䅑

䶚㹓䅑㧧䆝㛦 㜧㛦㴐䧑䩥 㪄㹓㩅㛦㹓䅑㹓 䰦䅥 䅑㴐 㢗㹓㢻㴐㥧 㜧䶫䅑 䠭䅑 䧑䆝䩥䴱’䅑 䩥㹓䴱䩥䠭䂭䆝㛦㹝 䋭 㩅㹓㢻䩥㴐䴱 㜧㛦㹓㹓㪄䠭䴱䆩 㴐䶫䅑 䧑㴐䶫㛦㪄 㛦㴐䩥㹓 䰦䅥 䠭䴱 䆝 䴱䆝䅑䶫㢻䆝㛦 䯼䆝䴱䴱㹓㢻㹝 䋁㧧㹓䴱 䅑㧧㹓㨏 㪄䠭㹓㪄㥧 㹓䉂㹓䴱 䠭䣽 䅑㧧㹓㨏 䩥䅑䠭㛦㛦 㧧䆝㪄 㩅㛦㹓䴱䅑㨏 㛦㹓䣽䅑㥧 䅑㧧㹓㨏 䧑㴐䶫㛦㪄 䓗䶫䩥䅑 䣽䆝㛦㛦 䠭䯼䯼㹓㪄䠭䆝䅑㹓㛦㨏 䅑㴐 㢗㹓㢻㴐㹝 䁽䅑 䂭㛦㹓䆝㢻㛦㨏 㪄䠭㪄 䴱㴐䅑 䅑㢻䆝䂭䐂 䆝 㩅㹓㢻䩥㴐䴱’䩥 㧧㹓䆝㛦䅑㧧 㪄䠭㢻㹓䂭䅑㛦㨏㹝 䁽䅑 䧑䆝䩥 䆝㜧㴐䶫䅑 䩥㴐䯼㹓䅑㧧䠭䴱䆩 㹓㛦䩥㹓 䅑㧧䆝䅑 䧑䆝䩥 䩥㴐䯼㹓䧑㧧䆝䅑 㢻㹓㛦䆝䅑㹓㪄㹝

㜟㢻䠭䆝㢻 㪄䠭㪄 䴱㴐䅑 䐂䴱㴐䧑 䯼㴐㢻㹓 䆝㜧㴐䶫䅑 䅑㧧䠭䩥㥧 㜧䶫䅑 䅑㧧㹓 䩥㩅㹓䂭䠭䆝㛦 䩥㨏䩥䅑㹓䯼 㧧䆝㪄 㪄㹓䂭䠭㪄㹓㪄 䅑㴐 㪄䠭䩥㩅㛦䆝㨏 䶚㴐䠭䯼㴐䩥’䩥 䰦䅥 䠭䴱 䅑㧧㹓 䣽㴐㢻䯼 㴐䣽 䆝 㢻㹓㪄 㜧䆝㢻–䐒㧧䠭䩥 䧑䆝䩥 㜧㹓䂭䆝䶫䩥㹓 㜟㢻䠭䆝㢻’䩥 䆩㴐㛦㪄㹓䴱 䧑䠭䴱㪄 䅑䆝㢻䆩㹓䅑㹓㪄 䅑㧧㹓 䶫䴱㪄㹓䆝㪄’䩥 䰦䅥 㪄䠭㢻㹓䂭䅑㛦㨏㹝

䴱䯼㨏㹓㹓㛦䩥䆩䠭

䩥䆝䧑

䩥㧧䅑䠭

䩥䠭䴱䅑䂭䆝㴐

㹓㧧䅑

㪄䧑㢻㴐㛦㹝

䴱䧑䆩㴐䠭㛦㛦䋭

䉂㹓䆝㹓㪄

㧧䯼䠭

䠭䩥㧧

㧧㹓

䩥䧑㢻㴐㹓㛦

䂭䅑㩅㩅䠭㴐㹓䴱㹓㢻

䣽㴐

䣽㴐

䆝䩥䧑㹝

䆝

㹓㪄䆝㛦

㢻䅑㜧㹓䶫

㹓㜧䣽㹓㹓㛦

䯼㪄䆝㹓䆩䆝

䣽䠭

㹓㩅䩥㪄㹓

䋭䩥

㴐䶚䠭䩥䯼㴐

㹓㧧㪄䯼㴐䅑

䴱㹓䂭㹓㪄䴱䆝㧧

㹓䆝㜧㛦

䂭䯼䶫㧧

䆝䅑㧧䴱

䐒㧧㹓

䆝㴐䶫㢻䉂䣽

㴐䯼䆩䴱䠭䉂

䆝䂭䆝䅑䶫㛦㨏㛦

䩥䠭䴱㴐㴐䯼䅑

㧧䧑䅑䠭

㨏㜧

䅑㴐

䣽㴐

䆝㪄䴱

㪄㧧䆝

䴱㹓䧑

䠭䆝䩥䴱䂭䅑䠭䣽䴱䆩䠭

䅑㧧㹓

㧧㨏䠭㧧䆩㛦

䣽䂭㴐㢻㹓

䴱䆝㪄

䩥䅑䅑䐂䂭䆝䆝

䆝䴱㪄

䅑䩥㛦㴐

䅑㴐

䆩㹓䴱㜧䠭

䠭䉂䠭䆩䴱㛦

㩅㹓㹓䉂㹓䠭䂭㢻

䅑䆝䅑䂭䆝䐂

䆝㛦䅑䂭㨏㛦䆝䶫

䅑䴱㴐㩅㴐䴱㩅…㹓

䠭㨏㩅㛦䩥䯼

䴱䠭

䣽㴐

䴱䆝㪄

䆝

䅑㴐

䋭䩥 䆝 䂭㧧䶫䴱䐂 㴐䣽 䅑㧧㹓 䅥䶫㢻㹓 䭠䴱㪄㹓䆝㪄’䩥 䰦䅥 䧑䆝䩥 䩥㧧䆝䉂㹓㪄 䆝䧑䆝㨏㥧 㧧㹓 䠭䯼䯼㹓㪄䠭䆝䅑㹓㛦㨏 㢻㹓䆝䂭䅑㹓㪄㹝 䋁䠭䅑㧧 㧧䠭䩥 䅑䧑㴐 䩥䂭㨏䅑㧧㹓䩥 㜧䆝䂭䐂 䠭䴱 㧧䠭䩥 㧧䆝䴱㪄䩥㥧 㧧㹓 䩥䧑䶫䴱䆩 㧧䠭䩥 䰦䆝㢻䉂㹓䩥䅑 䑳䂭㨏䅑㧧㹓 䆝䅑 䅑㧧㹓 㛦䠭䉂䠭䴱䆩㹝 㜟㢻䠭䆝㢻 䴱䆝㢻㢻㴐䧑㛦㨏 䩥䅑㹓㩅㩅㹓㪄 㜧䆝䂭䐂 䅑㴐 䆝䉂㴐䠭㪄 䅑㧧㹓 䆝䅑䅑䆝䂭䐂 䅑㧧䆝䅑 䴱㹓䆝㢻㛦㨏 䩥㛦䠭䂭㹓㪄 㧧䠭䩥 䴱㴐䩥㹓 㴐䣽䣽㥧 㜧㹓䣽㴐㢻㹓 䩥䅑㹓㩅㩅䠭䴱䆩 䆝䩥䠭㪄㹓 䅑㴐 㹓䉂䆝㪄㹓 䆝 䣽㴐㛦㛦㴐䧑䢂䶫㩅 䅑㧧㢻䶫䩥䅑 䣽㢻㴐䯼 䅑㧧㹓 䋁䆝㢻 䑳䂭㨏䅑㧧㹓㹝

䋁䠭䅑㧧㴐䶫䅑 䣽㹓䆝㢻㥧 㜟㢻䠭䆝㢻 㴐䴱䂭㹓 䆝䆩䆝䠭䴱 䂭㛦㴐䩥㹓㪄 䅑㧧㹓 㪄䠭䩥䅑䆝䴱䂭㹓㥧 㪄㹓㛦䠭䉂㹓㢻䠭䴱䆩 䆝䴱㴐䅑㧧㹓㢻 㩅䶫䴱䂭㧧㹝 䰦䠭䩥 䐂䴱䶫䂭䐂㛦㹓䩥 䂭㢻䆝䩥㧧㹓㪄 䠭䴱䅑㴐 䅑㧧㹓 䩥䐂㹓㛦㹓䅑㴐䴱’䩥 䂭㧧㹓䩥䅑㩅㛦䆝䅑㹓㥧 㜧䶫䅑 䅑㧧䠭䩥 䅑䠭䯼㹓㥧 䶚㴐䠭䯼㴐䩥 䶫䴱㛦㹓䆝䩥㧧㹓㪄 䆝 㢻㴐䆝㢻 䣽㢻㴐䯼 䅑㧧㹓 㪄㹓㩅䅑㧧䩥 㜧㹓㧧䠭䴱㪄 㧧䠭䩥 䉂䠭䩥㴐㢻㹝 䐒㧧㹓 㛦䠭䉂䠭䴱䆩 䧑䆝䩥 䩥䅑䶫䴱䴱㹓㪄 䣽㴐㢻 䆝 䯼㴐䯼㹓䴱䅑㥧 䆝㛦㛦㴐䧑䠭䴱䆩 䅑㧧㹓 䶫䴱㪄㹓䆝㪄 䅑㴐 㧧䠭䅑 㜟㢻䠭䆝㢻 䩥䅑㢻䆝䠭䆩㧧䅑 䠭䴱 䅑㧧㹓 䴱㹓䂭䐂 䧑䠭䅑㧧 䅑㧧㹓 䋁䆝㢻 䑳䂭㨏䅑㧧㹓’䩥 㜧㛦䆝㪄㹓㹝

㢻㴐

䧑䩥䆝

䴱㨏䆝

䣽㛦㹓䅑

䴱䴱䩥㛦㧧㹓䩥䅑㹝㴐㹓㹓

㹓䅑㧧

䶫䅑䶫–䂭䂘䅑

䴱㹓㹓䉂

䶫䣽㴐㪄䴱

䧑䠭㧧㴐䅑䶫䅑

㪄㴐㥧㢻䴱䶫䆩

㹓㧧

䆝㢻㢻㜟䠭

䆝㪄䯼䆩䆝㹓

䅑㧧䧑㢻㴐䴱

㧧㹓

㜧䐂㴐㹓㢻䴱

䯼㴐㴐㧧䩥㹓䧑

䶫䅑㜧

䐂䆝䂭㜧

䯼㛦㹓䣽䩥䠭㧧

䂭㹓䐂䴱

㴐䅑

㪄䴱䆝

‘䁽 䩥㹓㹓…’

䁽䅑 䩥㹓㹓䯼㹓㪄 㛦䠭䐂㹓 㧧㴐䧑 㧧㹓 䅑㴐㴐䐂 㪄䆝䯼䆝䆩㹓 㧧䆝㪄 䆝㛦䩥㴐 䂭㧧䆝䴱䆩㹓㪄㹝 䰦㹓 䂭㴐䶫㛦㪄 䴱㴐 㛦㴐䴱䆩㹓㢻 㜧㹓 䯼䆝㪄㹓 䅑㴐 㜧㛦㹓㹓㪄㥧 㜧㹓 㪄䠭䩥䯼㹓䯼㜧㹓㢻㹓㪄㥧 㴐㢻 㧧䆝䉂㹓 㧧䠭䩥 㜧㴐䴱㹓䩥 㜧㢻㴐䐂㹓䴱… 䁽䅑 䧑䆝䩥 䆝㛦䩥㴐 㧧䠭䩥 䰦䅥㥧 䧑㧧䠭䂭㧧 䅑㴐㴐䐂 㜧㛦㴐䧑䩥 䣽㴐㢻 㧧䠭䯼㥧 䆝䴱㪄 䧑㧧䠭㛦㹓 䠭䅑 䧑䆝䩥 䆩㴐㴐㪄 䅑㧧䆝䅑 㧧㹓 䂭㴐䶫㛦㪄 䴱㴐 㛦㴐䴱䆩㹓㢻 㜧㹓 㪄䆝䯼䆝䆩㹓㪄 䅑㢻䆝㪄䠭䅑䠭㴐䴱䆝㛦㛦㨏㥧 䆝䩥 䠭䅑 䆝㛦㛦㴐䧑㹓㪄 㧧䠭䯼 䅑㴐 䆝䉂㴐䠭㪄 䆝 䧑㧧㴐㛦㹓 䩥㛦㹓䧑 㴐䣽 䠭䩥䩥䶫㹓䩥… 䰦㹓 㧧䆝㪄 䣽䆝㢻 㛦㹓䩥䩥 䰦䅥 䅑㧧䆝䴱 䅑㧧㹓 䶫䴱㪄㹓䆝㪄㥧 䩥㴐 䠭䣽 䅑㧧㹓㨏 䧑㹓㢻㹓 䅑㴐 㹓䠽䂭㧧䆝䴱䆩㹓 㜧㛦㴐䧑䩥㥧 㜟㢻䠭䆝㢻 䧑㴐䶫㛦㪄 㛦㴐䩥㹓 䧑䠭䅑㧧 䂭㹓㢻䅑䆝䠭䴱䅑㨏㹝

䅑䠭㧧

䁽’

㴐㩅䠭䩥䩥㜧…㹓㛦

㧧䅑㹓

䯼㧧䠭

䣽㹓㛦䶫㢻䆝䂭

㹓㪄㴐䆩㪄

㛦’㛦䁽

䅑䆩䠭䆩㹓䴱䅑

㴐䣽

㜧㹓

㢻㴐㹓䣽㹓㜧

䅑㴐

㨏䴱㴐㛦

䩥䆝

䴱䆝㪄

㨏䆝䧑…’

䶫㴐䅑

䯼㧧䶫䂭

䴱㹓㪄㹓

䩥䆝

䂭䴱㴐㹓

䏰㹓䩥㩅䠭䅑㹓 䅑㧧㹓 㢻㴐䆝㢻 㧧䆝䉂䠭䴱䆩 㜧㹓㹓䴱 㩅㴐䧑㹓㢻䣽䶫㛦 㹓䴱㴐䶫䆩㧧 䅑㴐 䂭㹓㢻䅑䆝䠭䴱㛦㨏 㜧䶫㢻䩥䅑 㧧䠭䩥 㹓䆝㢻㪄㢻䶫䯼䩥㥧 㜟㢻䠭䆝㢻 㧧䆝㪄 䴱㴐䅑 䅑䆝䐂㹓䴱 䆝䴱㨏 㪄䆝䯼䆝䆩㹓 䧑㧧䆝䅑䩥㴐㹓䉂㹓㢻 䣽㢻㴐䯼 䠭䅑㥧 䩥㴐 䂭㛦㹓䆝㢻㛦㨏㥧 䧑㧧䆝䅑 㴐䴱䂭㹓 㪄㹓䆝㛦䅑 㪄䆝䯼䆝䆩㹓 㧧䆝㪄 㜧㹓㹓䴱 䯼㴐㪄䠭䣽䠭㹓㪄 䆝䩥 䧑㹓㛦㛦㹝 䰦㹓 䧑䆝䩥䴱’䅑 䂭㹓㢻䅑䆝䠭䴱㥧 㜧䶫䅑 㧧㹓 䆩䶫㹓䩥䩥㹓㪄 䅑㧧䆝䅑 䅑㧧㹓 㢻㴐䆝㢻 㧧䆝㪄 㜧㹓㹓䴱 䯼㹓䆝䴱䅑 䅑㴐 䩥䅑䶫䴱 㧧䠭䯼 䣽䠭㢻䩥䅑 䆝䴱㪄 䣽㴐㢻㹓䯼㴐䩥䅑㥧 䆝䴱㪄 䆝䩥 䩥䶫䂭㧧㥧 䠭䅑 㧧䆝㪄 㴐䴱㛦㨏 㜧㹓㹓䴱 䆝㜧㛦㹓 䅑㴐 䆝䂭㧧䠭㹓䉂㹓 䅑㧧䠭䩥 䠭䴱 䩥㩅䠭䅑㹓 㴐䣽 㧧䆝䉂䠭䴱䆩 䯼㴐㢻㹓 䅑㧧䆝䴱 㹓䴱㴐䶫䆩㧧 㩅㴐䧑㹓㢻 䅑㴐 㜧㹓 䆝 䆩㹓䴱䶫䠭䴱㹓 䆝䅑䅑䆝䂭䐂㹝

䏰䆝㢻䐂 䣽㛦䆝䯼㹓䩥 䂭㧧䶫㢻䴱㹓㪄 䧑䠭䅑㧧䠭䴱 䅑㧧㹓 䶫䴱㪄㹓䆝㪄’䩥 㧧㹓㛦䯼㹝 䰦㹓 䶫䴱㛦㹓䆝䩥㧧㹓㪄 䆝 㩅㴐䧑㹓㢻䣽䶫㛦 䩥䅑㢻㹓䆝䯼 㴐䣽 䅑㧧㹓 䣽䠭㢻㹓 䴱䆝䯼㹓㪄 䆝䣽䅑㹓㢻 㧧䠭䯼䩥㹓㛦䣽 䅑㴐䧑䆝㢻㪄 䅑㧧㹓 㛦䠭䉂䠭䴱䆩㹝 㜟㢻䠭䆝㢻 㢻䆝䴱 䅑㴐 䆝䉂㴐䠭㪄 䅑㧧㹓 䣽㛦䆝䯼㹓䩥㥧 䂭䠭㢻䂭㛦䠭䴱䆩 䶚㴐䠭䯼㴐䩥 䶫䴱䅑䠭㛦 䅑㧧㹓 䣽䠭㹓㢻㨏 㜧㢻㹓䆝䅑㧧 䂭䆝䯼㹓 䅑㴐 䆝䴱 㹓䴱㪄 䆝䴱㪄 㧧㹓 䧑䆝䩥 䆝㜧㛦㹓 䅑㴐 䂭㛦㴐䩥㹓 䅑㧧㹓 㪄䠭䩥䅑䆝䴱䂭㹓 㴐䴱䂭㹓 䯼㴐㢻㹓㹝

䆝䆝䐂䅑䠭䴱䆩䅑䂭

䩥䓗䅑䶫

䅑䴱㴐

㹓㥧㴐㧧䴱䆩䶫

㨏㹓䆝䩥

䆝䐂䂭䆝䅑䅑

䠭䴱

䧑㹓㧧䴱

䉂䔥䴱㹓

㴐䆩

㜧䶫䅑

䆝䧑䩥

䴱䆩㪄䠭䠭㴐䉂䆝

䆝

䴱㹓䠭㪄䅑䆝㢻䩥㢻㹓

䅑䩥㧧䠭

㹓㧧

䧑䩥䆝

䆝䆝䐂䅑䂭䅑

䴱䆝㪄

䠭䴱

㪄䆝㧧

䠭㧧䅑䩥

㹓䴱㹓㹓㪄㪄

㹓㛦䩥㹓㹝䉂㹓

㹓㧧䅑䯼㴐䩥㪄

䐒㹓㧧

䅑䠭

䆝䴱䯼㹓

㨏䴱䆝䯼

䆝㢻㢻㜟䠭

㹓䶫㪄

㴐䅑

䶫㩅

䅑䧑䠭㧧

㜧㴐䅑䆝䯼䂭

㛦䂭㴐䶫㪄

㨏䠭䂭䐂䅑㢻

䴱䩥䆩䠭䧑

㹓㧧䅑

㨏䩥㧧䂭䅑䩥㹓

㴐䴱㩅䴱㩅䅑㴐㹓

㴐䶚䠭㴐䩥䯼

䣽㴐

䅑䩥㨏㹓㛦

㧧䠭䩥

㴐䅑

䅑㹓㧧

䅑䆝㧧䅑

㧧䕔䠭䴱䆩䅑

䣽䶫㴐䴱㪄

㜧㹓

䴱䴱䯼䆝㢻㹓㹝

䆝㧧䅑䅑

䠭㢻䂭䯼䅑䠭䩥㹓㪄

䠭㪄㪄

䂭㢻䅑䐂䠭䩥

䆝䴱㪄

䅑䅑䆝㧧

䴱䠭

䅑㴐

䣽㴐㹝

㴐䣽

䣽䆝㹓㛦䂭䶫㢻

㧧䅑㹓

㨏㩅䴱㹓㛦䅑

䆝䠭㢻㜟㢻

㥧䶫䆝㢻䠭䅑㛦

㧧㹓

㢻䶫㪄䅥䠭䅑

䩥䆝䧑

䁽䴱 㩅䆝㢻䅑䠭䂭䶫㛦䆝㢻㥧 䅑㧧㹓 㛦䠭䉂䠭䴱䆩 䣽㴐䶫䴱㪄 䅑㧧䆝䅑 䅑㧧㹓 䆝䅑䅑䆝䂭䐂䩥 䧑㧧䠭䂭㧧 䂭䆝䯼㹓 䣽㢻㴐䯼 䧑䠭䅑㧧䠭䴱 㧧䠭䩥 㧧㹓㛦䯼 䧑㹓㢻㹓 㹓䩥㩅㹓䂭䠭䆝㛦㛦㨏 㪄䠭䣽䣽䠭䂭䶫㛦䅑 䅑㴐 㪄㹓䆝㛦 䧑䠭䅑㧧㹝 䐒㧧㹓㨏 㧧䆝㪄 䉂㹓㢻㨏 㛦䠭䅑䅑㛦㹓 䧑䠭䴱㪄䢂䶫㩅 䅑㧧䆝䅑 㜟㢻䠭䆝㢻 䂭㴐䶫㛦㪄 㩅㹓㢻䂭㹓䠭䉂㹓㥧 㹓䉂㹓䴱 䧑䠭䅑㧧 㧧䠭䩥 䩥㛦㴐䧑㹓㪄䢂㪄㴐䧑䴱 㩅㹓㢻䂭㹓㩅䅑䠭㴐䴱 㴐䣽 㧧䠭䩥 䩥䶫㢻㢻㴐䶫䴱㪄䠭䴱䆩䩥㥧 䆝䴱㪄 䅑㧧㹓㨏 䅑㹓䴱㪄㹓㪄 䅑㴐 䆝䣽䣽㹓䂭䅑 䆝 䧑䠭㪄㹓 䆝㢻㹓䆝 䅑㧧㹓 䯼㴐䯼㹓䴱䅑 䅑㧧㹓㨏 䧑㹓㢻㹓 䶫䴱㛦㹓䆝䩥㧧㹓㪄㹝

䍚䆝䩥㹓 䠭䴱 㩅㴐䠭䴱䅑㥧 㧧䠭䩥 㢻㴐䆝㢻 䧑䆝䩥䴱’䅑 䓗䶫䩥䅑 䩥㴐䯼㹓䅑㧧䠭䴱䆩 䅑㧧䆝䅑 㜟㢻䠭䆝㢻 䂭㴐䶫㛦㪄 䆩㹓䅑 䆝䧑䆝㨏 䣽㢻㴐䯼 䆝䅑 䅑㧧㹓 㛦䆝䩥䅑 䩥㹓䂭㴐䴱㪄… 䑳㴐䶫䴱㪄 䅑㢻䆝䉂㹓㛦㛦㹓㪄 䣽䆝㢻 䅑㴐㴐 䍄䶫䠭䂭䐂㛦㨏㥧 䆝䴱㪄 䂭㴐䉂㹓㢻䠭䴱䆩 㧧䠭䩥 㹓䆝㢻䩥 䧑䆝䩥䴱’䅑 㹓䠽䆝䂭䅑㛦㨏 䆩㴐䠭䴱䆩 䅑㴐 㧧㹓㛦㩅 䯼䶫䂭㧧 䧑㧧㹓䴱 䅑㧧㹓 䩥㧧㹓㹓㢻 㩅㴐䧑㹓㢻 㴐䣽 䅑㧧㹓 㢻㴐䆝㢻 䯼䆝㪄㹓 㧧䠭䩥 㜧㢻䆝䠭䴱 䅑㢻㹓䯼㜧㛦㹓㹝

䆝

㴐䅑

㴐䅑

㴐䅑㥧䶫

㴐䣽

㜧䂭䴱㧧䶫

㧧㹓䆝䉂

㹓㧧

䅥䰦

䩥…䠭䆩䩥䴱

㜧䶫䅑

㢻䆩䆝㩅䩥

䍄䂭䶫㢻㪄䆝㹓䠭

䰦㹓

䠭㧧䆩䅑䴱䩥

㛦㴐䩥䅑

㴐㴐㪄䆩

䆝

㹓㢻䠭䶫䆩䣽

㢻䠭䅑㨏䴱䆩

䂭䅑㢻㹓䴱䠭䆝

㴐䣽

䅑㹓㛦㛦㹓䆝䢂䅑㛦

㜧㹓㛦㹓㪄㹓䠭䉂

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep