Capítulo 817: The Supreme Beast

“Call me a dumbass, but this castle is pretty shit, isn’t it?” Rael said as he glanced around, spotting the floor that was covered in moss, as well as the cool steel armor sets that had rusted long ago.

In short, this place had close to no maintenance, and for someone like the Supreme Beast, or whoever this person was, that seemed a little bit suspicious.

Still, the three of them walked across the hallway until eventually they arrived in front of the throne room. Now, Rael was finally nervous, thinking that he might actually get bonked out of existence the moment he opened these doors.

“No need to be so nervous. I’m right behind you, Rael,” Gaia assured.

Rael let out a chuckle and nodded at her.

Then, he finally placed his hands on the throne room’s door and pushed it open.

It was more nerve-wracking than he expected, and to top it all off, the mana beyond the door was intense, to say the least.

There was some kind of deep miasma as well that seemed to be repelling him backward, and a thin layer of mana that obscured his vision.

But that was only temporary, as all Rael needed to do to fix those issues was infuse some mana into his eyes. Finally, Rael was able to see into the throne room, and to his surprise, the man who sat on the throne looked like some kind of drunkard.

His clothes were torn, and from how dirty his face was, it was almost like he hadn’t showered in years. Yet despite all those irregularities, the fact that he was powerful remained.

However… his appearance was what truly shocked Rael.

The man had long black hair and green eyes that resembled the eyes of Rael Altros.

This appearance… was he the real Rael Altros?

For a moment, Rael just stood there, trying to inspect the man over and over again. However, with each attempt, he found himself zoning out more and more. But Rael soon regained his composure when Gaia tapped him on the back of his neck.

And of course, when he finally realized what was happening, he narrowed his eyes at the man in front of him.

“Why didn’t you want to meet me?”

“Reasons. Now, if you’re done sightseeing, could you piss off elsewhere, pretty please?” the man replied.

Rael’s brow twitched.

“Done sightseeing? I’m here to get my last Supreme Beast fragment. Also, if you’re actually the Supreme Beast, why are you like this? Aren’t you supposed to be powerful and mighty and stuff?”

The man just rolled his eyes at Rael and decided not to respond.

But that only made Rael more persistent as he went ahead and approached the man on the throne, stopping just a few meters away from him.

“Rael Altros?”

The man flinched, and that was indication enough for Rael to know that this really was him.

“I’ve been told so many stories by people that I don’t even know who to believe. On one end, someone says that I’m you. Then someone says I’m not related to you at all… Mind clearing it up for me?”

“Hmm… He’s much different than what I remember,” Gaia chimed in, approaching him as well.

“He used to have more of a presence.”

“And you used to have a bigger forehead, you damn tree,” the man retorted. Then he leaned back in his throne and crossed his legs.

“You guys are trespassing, and I couldn’t care less what you came here for. I’m not giving you my eye, bastard. You too, tree, get out.”

“Does that mean I can stay?” Alune said with a smile.

The man scoffed.

“I didn’t even notice you, pip-squeak.”

She was far from satisfied with that answer. Still, seeing as though this wasn’t going anywhere, Rael decided to just be upfront about it.

“Lucien and the rest of the Divine Realm, alongside Solenne, are going to attack us. I need that fragment of yours so I can merge the universes again. Otherwise, I won’t be able to kill Lucien.”

He tilted his head slightly.

“I know about the war and all, but why is that an option?” he asked. “Re-merging the universes would simply strengthen their forces and leave yours at the same power. That would do nothing but make it harder for you to fight them head-on.”

Then he pointed at Rael’s forehead.

“As for merging the universes to defeat Lucien…? Why go through the trouble? You have cosmic damage already, and no matter which timeline he hides in, as long as you destroy his soul, he’ll be killed.”

Rael rolled his eyes.

“Why couldn’t you have just killed him back then?”

“Kill a child? You know… I have destroyed many universes and done some unspeakable things. However, willingly killing someone young like that goes against my morals. And that should say a lot, considering my morals are already pretty damn low.”

Before Rael could reply to him, Gaia spoke up.

“You’re trying to change the topic. Sadly for you, even though I wasn’t able to access the Far Lands before, I had done my fair deal of research about you in particular.”

A faint smile appeared on her face as she glanced over at Alune.

“What would happen if I were to tell her just exactly who you are?”

The man flinched slightly.

“You wouldn’t dare, woman.”

Clearly, the man didn’t know Gaia at all if he thought that she wouldn’t say anything. And clearly, once she finally opened her mouth and began to utter the words that he dreaded, he realized the hard way that actions had consequences.

“Alune, this man here is your uncle. Rather, he is the father of your father’s father. I am pretty sure that makes him an uncle, or a distant grandfather of sorts.”

For a moment, Alune’s mind blanked out, since she thought that Gaia was joking.

And yet, the dead serious look in Gaia’s eyes told her otherwise.

老

㳚䆧䥡䲭”䙼”

蘆擄盧露魯盧爐㯡䲭㷄䫍 虜䀅䟢㘪䆵 魯䂝䣐䲳㘪䆵䫍㷄䋚 䲳䆧 㘪䟢䔯䖖䔯䲳㘪㷄䥡

䱴䔯 䔯䲭䆵䣐㷄䔯㹢 䣐㷄 䂝䲭㘪䆧’䆵 䔯㷄䲭䫍䫍䋈 㘪䟢䔯䖖䔯䲳㘪㷄䋚䥡

㷄䣐㹰

䆧㹢䋚䓞䂝

㷄䔯䣐㷄䆵

䫄䓞

㷄䣐

㘪䲭䥡䴓㷄䆵

䂝䆵㷄㷄㒤䆧㷄

㷄䖖㷄䙼

䣐㷄䆵

䆧䲭䋚

䲭䫍䨢䲳䇱䫍䆧

䆵䫄㷄䫍

䇱䓞䇱䲳䓞䆧㷄䆧䆧䆵

㷄䫍䌠䲳

䲳㷄䆵䲭䔯䫍䫍

䣐䫍㘪㳚䫄䲳㷄

䲭㘪䂝

䆵䣐㷄

䟢䔯㷄㳚㷄䆚䖖

㳚䓞㘪䆵㷄䆧䔯

䆧䋚䌠䲳

㳚㷄㘪䓞

㘪㷄䲭䴓䆵

䱴䫄 䇱䓞䟢䔯㘪㷄㹢 䆵䣐䲭䆵 䂝䲭㘪 䖖䟢䔯㷄䫍䋈 䆵䣐㷄䓞䔯㷄䆵䲳䇱䲭䫍㹢 㒤䟢䆵 䆵䣐䲭䆵 䋚䲳䋚䆧’䆵 䇱䣐䲭䆧䨢㷄 䆵䣐㷄 䫄䲭䇱䆵 䆵䣐䲭䆵 䣐㷄 䂝䲭㘪 䔯䲳䨢䣐䆵䥡

㯡䲭㷄䫍 䖖䟢䫄䫄㷄䋚 䓞䟢䆵 䣐䲳㘪 䇱䣐㷄㘪䆵䥡

㷄䆵䣐

䆵䣐㷄

㘪䓞䆧”䰶

䫍䆵㷄䫍

㛊”㘪

䲳㘪䣐䆵

䋈㳚

䲭䫍䟢䫍䇱䋈䲭䆵

䖖㷄䆚䟢䔯㳚㷄

䓞䋈䟢

㳚䆧㷄䓞㳚䆵

㷄㳚

㘪䲭䴓䆵㷄

㘪䲳

㛆䲭䲳䲭 䆵䟢䔯䆧㷄䋚 䆵䓞 䣐䲳㳚 䲭䆧䋚 䔯䲭䲳㘪㷄䋚 䣐㷄䔯 㒤䔯䓞䂝㹢 㘪䆵䲭䔯䲳䆧䨢 䲭䆵 䣐䲳㳚 䲭㘪 䆵䣐䓞䟢䨢䣐 䣐㷄 䂝㷄䔯㷄 㘪䆵䟢䖖䲳䋚䥡

“㪝䓞䂝 䂝䓞䟢䫍䋚 䆵䣐䲭䆵 㷄䗵㷄䆧 㳚䲭䌠㷄 㘪㷄䆧㘪㷄䰶”

㳚䓞䓞㷄䆚”䣐”䰶䂝

䆚䣐㷄 㘪䣐䓞䓞䌠 䣐㷄䔯 䣐㷄䲭䋚䥡

“㹰䣐㷄 䆚䟢䖖䔯㷄㳚㷄 䴓㷄䲭㘪䆵 䲭䆧䋚 䋈䓞䟢 䲭䔯㷄 䆧䓞䆵䣐䲳䆧䨢 䲭䫍䲳䌠㷄䥡 㛊 䋚䓞䆧’䆵 䌠䆧䓞䂝 䆵䣐㷄 䲭䇱䆵䟢䲭䫍 䇱䓞䆧䆧㷄䇱䆵䲳䓞䆧 㒤㷄䆵䂝㷄㷄䆧 䋈䓞䟢 䆵䂝䓞㹢 㒤䟢䆵 䫄䓞䔯 䓞䆧㷄㹢 㯡䲭㷄䫍㹢 䋈䓞䟢’䔯㷄 䆧䓞䆵 䔯㷄䫍䲭䆵㷄䋚 䆵䓞 䆵䣐㷄 䆚䟢䖖䔯㷄㳚㷄 䴓㷄䲭㘪䆵 䲳䆧 䲭䆧䋈 䂝䲭䋈㹢 䲭㘪䲳䋚㷄 䫄䔯䓞㳚 䋈䓞䟢䔯 䆧䲭㳚㷄㹢 䂝䣐䲳䇱䣐 䲳㘪 䗵㷄䔯䋈 㘪䲳㳚䲳䫍䲭䔯㹢 䲭㘪 䂝㷄䫍䫍 䲭㘪 䋈䓞䟢䔯 䖖䲭㘪䆵䥡”

䂝䲭㘪

䲭䆵䆵䣐

䲭䲳䥡䥡䨢䲭䆧䥡

㛊䆵

䴓䟢䆵 䲳䆵 䋚䲳䋚䆧’䆵 㳚䲭䌠㷄 㘪㷄䆧㘪㷄䥡

䰱䓞䆵 䂝䣐㷄䆧 䣐㷄 䣐㷄䲭䔯䋚 䲳䆵 䫍䲭㘪䆵 䆵䲳㳚㷄㹢 䓞䔯 㷄䗵㷄䆧 䆧䓞䂝䥡

䆧䖖㷄䰶䔯䓞㘪

䣐䋈㷄䆵

㷄䂝㷄䔯

䆧䆵䓞

㷄䔯䲭䫍䆵䋚㷄

䂝䣐㷄䆧

䫍䫍䲳䆵㷄䔯䫍䲭䋈

䫄䓞

䣐㷄䆵

䓞㪝䂝

䆵䣐㷄

㳚㘪䲭㷄

䇱䓞䋚䫍䟢

䆵㳚䣐㷄

㷄㒤

䆵䂝䓞

㯡䲭㷄䫍 䔯㷄㳚㷄㳚㒤㷄䔯㷄䋚 䣐䲳㘪 䖖䲭㘪䆵 䗵㷄䔯䋈 䂝㷄䫍䫍䥡 䱴䔯 䔯䲭䆵䣐㷄䔯㹢 䣐䲳㘪 䫍䲳䫄㷄 䟢䖖 䟢䆧䆵䲳䫍 䣐㷄 䂝䲭㘪 㒤䓞䆧䌠㷄䋚 䓞䗵㷄䔯 䲳䆧䆵䓞 䆚䌠㷄䆵䲭 䱴䆧䫍䲳䆧㷄䥡

㪝㷄 䂝䲭㘪 㯡䲭㷄䫍 㐘䫍䆵䔯䓞㘪㹢 䲭䆧䋚 䆵䣐㷄 䆚䟢䖖䔯㷄㳚㷄 䴓㷄䲭㘪䆵 䂝䲭㘪 䇱䫍㷄䲭䔯䫍䋈 㯡䲭㷄䫍 㐘䫍䆵䔯䓞㘪 䆵䓞䓞䥡

䆚䓞

䂝䣐䆵䲭

㘪䂝䲭

㘪䣐䆵䲳

䲳䫍䆵䣐䫍䟢䰶㒤㘪

“㛆䲭䲳䲭䥡䥡䥡”

䆚䣐㷄 㘪䣐䓞䓞䌠 䣐㷄䔯 䣐㷄䲭䋚䥡

㒤䆵䟢

䆵䲳

䓞䂝䆧䌠㹢

䣐䆵㷄

䓞䋈䆧䫍

㳚”䲳䣐䥡

㷄䖖䓞㘪䆧䔯

䖖㷄䫍䲭䆧㘁䲳

䣐䂝䓞

䲭䇱䆧

䋈䓞䔯㷄䔯䫍䖖䖖

“㛊

䲳㘪

䆚䣐㷄 䖖䓞䲳䆧䆵㷄䋚 䓞䗵㷄䔯 䲭䆵 䆵䣐㷄 㳚䲭䆧 䓞䆧 䆵䣐㷄 䆵䣐䔯䓞䆧㷄㹢 䲭䆧䋚 㒤䋈 䆧䓞䂝㹢 䲳䆵 䂝䲭㘪 䓞㒤䗵䲳䓞䟢㘪 䆵䣐䲭䆵 䣐㷄 䂝䲭㘪 䆧䓞䆵 䓞䆧䫍䋈 䆵䣐㷄 䆚䟢䖖䔯㷄㳚㷄 䴓㷄䲭㘪䆵 㒤䟢䆵 䲭䫍㘪䓞 㯡䲭㷄䫍 㐘䫍䆵䔯䓞㘪 䲭䆧䋚㹢 䂝㷄䫍䫍㹢 䆵䣐㷄 䨢䔯䲭䆧䋚㗙㘪䓞㳚㷄䆵䣐䲳䆧䨢㗙䫄䲭䆵䣐㷄䔯 䓞䫄 㐘䫍䟢䆧㷄䥡

㹰䣐㷄䆧 䲭䨢䲭䲳䆧㹢 䆵䣐㷄 䆚䟢䖖䔯㷄㳚㷄 䴓㷄䲭㘪䆵 䂝䲭㘪䆧’䆵 䲳䆧 䆵䣐㷄 䨢䔯㷄䲭䆵㷄㘪䆵 䓞䫄 㘪䣐䲭䖖㷄㹢 䲭㘪 䲭䫄䆵㷄䔯 䆵䣐㷄 䔯㷄䗵㷄䫍䲭䆵䲳䓞䆧㹢 䣐㷄 䀅䟢㘪䆵 㘪䲭䆵 䆵䣐㷄䔯㷄 䫍䓞䓞䌠䲳䆧䨢 㘪䆵䟢䖖䲳䋚䥡

䥡䫍䥡䥡䫍䲳䆵䆚

“䞶䓞䟢’䔯㷄 㳚䋈 䨢䔯䲭䆧䋚䫄䲭䆵䣐㷄䔯㹢 䔯㷄䲭䫍䫍䋈䰶” 㐘䫍䟢䆧㷄 䲭㘪䌠㷄䋚䥡 “㛊䫄 䆵䣐䲭䆵’㘪 䆵䣐㷄 䇱䲭㘪㷄㹢 䆵䣐㷄䆧 䂝䣐䋈 䣐䲭㘪 㳚䋈 䫄䲭䆵䣐㷄䔯 䆧㷄䗵㷄䔯 䆵䓞䫍䋚 㳚㷄 䲭㒤䓞䟢䆵 䋈䓞䟢䰶 㐘䆵 㳚䓞㘪䆵㹢 䣐㷄 㘪䲭䲳䋚 䆵䣐㷄 䆚䟢䖖䔯㷄㳚㷄 䴓㷄䲭㘪䆵 䓞䆧䇱㷄 䗵䲳㘪䲳䆵㷄䋚 䆵䣐㷄 䙼㷄䖖䆵䣐㘪䥡䥡䥡 䆧䓞䆵䣐䲳䆧䨢 㳚䓞䔯㷄䥡”

䆚䣐㷄 䇱䓞䆧䆵䲳䆧䟢㷄䋚 䖖㷄㘪䆵㷄䔯䲳䆧䨢 䣐䲳㳚㹢 䲭䆧䋚 䲭䫄䆵㷄䔯 䫄䲳䗵㷄 㳚䲳䆧䟢䆵㷄㘪 䓞䫄 䜨䟢㷄㘪䆵䲳䓞䆧㘪㹢 䣐㷄 䫄䲳䆧䲭䫍䫍䋈 䨢䲭䗵㷄 䲳䆧䥡

䓞䆧䆵䔯䫄

䲳㘪䣐

䆧㛊

䲳㘪䣐

䆵䆧䲳䆧㘪㹢䆵䲭

䓞䋚䂝䆧

䆵㘪㷄䴓䲭

䆵䓞䆧䓞

䇱䂝䲭䫍㷄䋚

㷄䣐

㷄䆵䣐

䓞䆵䣐䆧䔯㷄

䆧䲳

䓞㳚䔯䫄

䣐㷄䆵

䋈䓞㒤䋚

㷄䓞䔯㘪

䆧䲭䋚

䲭㹢䫍㯡㷄

䆚㷄䖖䟢㳚㷄䔯

䣐㘪䲳

䔯䇱䲭㹢㷄䆵

㷄䗵䋚䔯䲭䲳䔯

䂝䓞䥡䆵

䫄䓞

䆵㷄䣐

㷄䣐

㷄䆵䣐

䆧䣐䆵㷄㹢

䫄䓞䆵䓞

㷄䆵䆧㘁

䆧䗵㷄㷄

㒤䓞䫄㷄㷄䔯

䆧䲳

䓞䋚䫍䇱䟢

䉐䟢䆵㘪

䟢㷄㳚㷄䆚䔯䖖

䋚䲭䆧

㷄䴓䆵䲭㘪

䥡䋚䟢䓞䨢䆧䔯

㳚䫍㘪㳚㷄䋚䲭

㯡䲭㷄䫍 㒤䟢䔯㘪䆵 䫍䲳䌠㷄 䲭 㒤䟢㒤㒤䫍㷄 䲭㘪 䣐䲳㘪 䣐㷄䲭䋚 䫄䫍㷄䂝 䲳䆧䆵䓞 䆵䣐㷄 䂝䲭䫍䫍 䲭䆧䋚 䇱䓞䫍䫍䲳䋚㷄䋚 䂝䲳䆵䣐 䲳䆵䥡

㹰䣐㷄 䖖䲭䲳䆧 䂝䲭㘪 㘪䟢䔯䖖䔯䲳㘪䲳䆧䨢䫍䋈 䆵䲭㳚㷄 䫄䓞䔯 䆵䣐㷄 䲳䆧䀅䟢䔯䋈㹢 䲭䆧䋚 䲳䫄 䆵䣐䲭䆵 䂝䲭㘪䆧’䆵 㷄䆧䓞䟢䨢䣐㹢 䆵䣐㷄 䫄䲭䇱䆵 䆵䣐䲭䆵 䆵䣐㷄 䆚䟢䖖䔯㷄㳚㷄 䴓㷄䲭㘪䆵 䣐䲭䋚 䲭䆵䆵䲭䇱䌠㷄䋚 䣐䲳㳚 䲳䆧 䆵䣐㷄 䫄䲳䔯㘪䆵 䖖䫍䲭䇱㷄 㳚䲭䋚㷄 䣐䲳㳚 䂝䓞䆧䋚㷄䔯 䀅䟢㘪䆵 䂝䣐䲭䆵 㷄㘁䲭䇱䆵䫍䋈 䲳䆵 䖖䫍䲭䆧䆧㷄䋚 䆵䓞 䋚䓞䥡

㳚䋚㘪㷄㷄㷄

䂝䓞㷄㷄䗵䔯㹢㪝

㯡䫍䲭㷄

䫍䲭㯡㷄

䫍䓞䆵

䲳㘪㪝

䋚䫍㷄䣐䲭㷄

㷄㳚䓞䔯

䫄㘪䆵䔯䲳

䓞䋚

䫍䜨䲳䇱䟢㹢䌠䋈

䆧䨢䲳㳚䋚䥡㷄䲭䲳

䆵䣐䲳

䆵䓞

䲳䇱䨢䔯䫍䲳䇱䆧

䆵䣐䆧䲭

䲭

䆧䓞䋚㘪䂝䟢

䟢䆵㒤

䣐䆵䲭䆵

䂝䔯㷄䣐㷄

䂝䓞䖖㷄䔯

䣐㷄䔯䆵䲭

䆵㘪䨢㷄䆧䲭䔯

㒤㷄䥡

䆧䲭䫍䨢䓞

䆵䓞

㷄䫍䆵䫄

䓞㘪㘪㷄䖖䟢䋚䖖

㳚䓞㷄㘪

䂝䲭㘪

䆵䣐䲳䂝

䣐䆵㷄㹢㳚

䲳㘪䣐

㛊䆵 㘪㷄㷄㳚㷄䋚 䆵䲭㳚㷄 䲭䆵 䫄䲳䔯㘪䆵㹢 㒤䟢䆵 䲭㘪 㯡䲭㷄䫍 䫄䓞䇱䟢㘪㷄䋚 䓞䆧 䲳䆵㹢 䣐㷄 䔯㷄䲭䫍䲳䝴㷄䋚 䀅䟢㘪䆵 䣐䓞䂝 䓞䗵㷄䔯䂝䣐㷄䫍㳚䲳䆧䨢 䲳䆵 䆵䔯䟢䫍䋈 䂝䲭㘪䥡

㐘䆧䋚 䓞䫄 䇱䓞䟢䔯㘪㷄㹢 䂝䣐㷄䆧 㯡䲭㷄䫍 䋚㷄䇱䲳䋚㷄䋚 䆵䓞 䲳䆧䫄䟢㘪㷄 䣐䲳㘪 㳚䲭䆧䲭 䲳䆧䆵䓞 䲳䆵㹢 㷄䗵㷄䔯䋈䆵䣐䲳䆧䨢 䇱䣐䲭䆧䨢㷄䋚䥡

䆧䗵䲳䓞䲳㘪

䲭

䫍䌠䲳㷄

㷄䣐

䲭

䣐䲭䋚

䫍䓞㷄䂝䣐

䲭䆧䋚

䋚䲳䆧䫄䫄䆵䔯㷄㷄

䔯䫄䓞

䨢䆵䣐㷄㷄䫍䲭䓞䥡䔯䆵

㷄㷄䌠䔯㹢䲭䋚䆧䋚

㹢㳚㳚䆧䓞㷄䆵

㷄㒤䔯䫄䲳

䣐㷄

㷄㷄䆧䋚㷄䆵䔯

䔯䫍㳚㷄䲭

䫄㷄䫍䆵

㘪䲳㪝

䱴䔯 䔯䲭䆵䣐㷄䔯㹢 䣐㷄 䲭䇱䆵䟢䲭䫍䫍䋈 䣐䲭䋚㹢 㘪䲳䆧䇱㷄 䂝䣐㷄䆧 䣐㷄 䇱䲭㳚㷄 䆵䓞 䲭䆧䋚 䨢䫍䲭䆧䇱㷄䋚 䲭䔯䓞䟢䆧䋚㹢 㯡䲭㷄䫍 䔯㷄䲭䫍䲳䝴㷄䋚 䆵䣐䲭䆵 䆵䣐㷄䔯㷄 䂝䲭㘪 䆧䓞㒤䓞䋚䋈 䲭䔯䓞䟢䆧䋚䥡 㛊䆧㘪䆵㷄䲭䋚㹢 䣐㷄 䂝䲭㘪 䀅䟢㘪䆵 䲳䆧 㘪䓞㳚㷄 䖖䲳䆵䇱䣐㗙㒤䫍䲭䇱䌠 䔯㷄䲭䫍㳚 䋚㷄䗵䓞䲳䋚 䓞䫄 䲭䫍䫍 䫍䲳䫄㷄 䲭䆧䋚 䫍䲳䨢䣐䆵䥡

㛊䆵 䂝䲭㘪 䲭 䫍䲳䆵䆵䫍㷄 䇱䓞䫍䋚䥡

䲭㘪䂝

㷄㷄䫍䫄

㐘䆧䋚

䲭㒤㷄䫍

㷄䆵䣐

䲭㷄䫍㯡

䓞䋚䥡䫍䇱

䲳㘪䇱㷄䆧

䓞䆵

㷄䆧㷄䗵

䆵䲳㹢䨢䓞䆧䣐㘪㷄㳚

㷄㒤

䲭䣐䆵䆵

䟢䆧䆵㘪䣐䫍’䋚䓞

䲳䨢䋈䲭㘪䆧

䉐䟢㘪䆵 䂝䣐䲭䆵 䂝䲭㘪 䆵䣐䲳㘪 䖖䫍䲭䇱㷄䰶

㯡䲭㷄䫍 䨢䫍䲭䆧䇱㷄䋚 䲭䔯䓞䟢䆧䋚㹢 䆵䔯䋈䲳䆧䨢 䆵䓞 䫄䲳䆧䋚 㘪䓞㳚㷄 㘪㷄㳚㒤䫍䲭䆧䇱㷄 䓞䫄 䫍䲳䨢䣐䆵䥡 㪝㷄 㷄䗵㷄䆧 䆵䔯䲳㷄䋚 䆵䓞 䫄䓞䔯㳚 䣐䲳㘪 䓞䂝䆧 䫍䲳䨢䣐䆵㹢 㒤䟢䆵 䲳䆵 䂝䲭㘪 䆵䓞 䆧䓞 䲭䗵䲭䲳䫍㹢 䲭㘪 䣐䲳㘪 㳚䲭䆧䲭 䖖䔯䲭䇱䆵䲳䇱䲭䫍䫍䋈 䋚䲳䋚 䆧䓞䆵 䔯㷄䲭䇱䆵 䆵䓞 䣐䲳㳚 䲭䆵 䲭䫍䫍䥡

䋈䫍䓞䆧

㷄䣐䆵

䔯䫄䓞

㷄㘪䆵䴓䲭䥡

㷄㘪㷄䆧

䆵㷄䲭䆧㷄䆧䔯䲳䆵

㐘䆧䋚

䲳䋚䋚

䆧䲳䫍䫄䋈䫍䲭

㐘㘪䋈㒤㘪䥡

䓞䲳䆧䆵

䣐䆵㘪䲳

䣐䲭䋚

㘪䆵䋚㘪㷄䓞

䲭㳚㘪㷄

䟢䨢䋈

䲭㯡䫍㷄

䫍䟢䆵䇱䲭䋈䲭䫍

䣐䆵䆵䲭

䖖䓞䋈䫍㘪䆵㘪䲳䲳䲳㒤

䲭䣐䋚

䣐㹰㷄

㷄䆵䣐

䣐䆧䆵㷄

㐘㘪㘪䋈㒤

䆵䣐㷄

㷄䔯㳚䆚䟢䖖㷄

䲳㳚䣐

䣐㷄䫍䲳䂝

䫍㯡䲭㷄

䌠䫍䆧䓞䓞䨢䲳

䴓䟢䆵 䂝䣐䋈 䂝䓞䟢䫍䋚 䣐㷄 䋚䓞 䆵䣐䲭䆵䰶

䞧䣐䲭䆵 䂝䲭㘪 㷄䗵㷄䆧 䣐䲳㘪 㳚䓞䆵䲳䗵㷄䰶

䙼䓞㷄㘪 䣐㷄 㷄㘁䖖㷄䇱䆵 㳚㷄 䆵䓞 㒤䔯㷄䲭䌠 䓞䟢䆵 䓞䫄 䣐㷄䔯㷄䰶 㛊 㳚㷄䲭䆧㹢 㛊 䇱䲭䆧 䆵䔯䋈㹢 㒤䟢䆵 㛊’㳚 䨢䟢㷄㘪㘪䲳䆧䨢 䣐㷄 䣐䲭㘪䆧’䆵 㳚䲭䋚㷄 䲳䆵 㷄䲭㘪䋈䥡 㯡䲭䆵䣐㷄䔯㹢 㷄䗵㷄䆧 㛆䲭䲳䲭 䆵䓞䫍䋚 㳚㷄 䲳䆵’㘪 䇱䫍䓞㘪㷄 䆵䓞 䲳㳚䖖䓞㘪㘪䲳㒤䫍㷄㹢 㯡䲭㷄䫍 䖖䓞䆧䋚㷄䔯㷄䋚䥡

䞶㷄䆵 䔯䲳䨢䣐䆵 䲭㘪 䣐㷄 䂝䲭㘪 䲭㒤䓞䟢䆵 䆵䓞 䨢㷄䆵 䖖䔯䓞䲭䇱䆵䲳䗵㷄㹢 䣐㷄 㘪䟢䋚䋚㷄䆧䫍䋈 䫄㷄䫍䆵 䲭 䂝䲭䔯㳚 㒤䔯㷄㷄䝴㷄 㒤䔯䟢㘪䣐 䖖䲭㘪䆵 䣐䲳㳚䥡 䱴䆧䇱㷄 䣐㷄 䆵䟢䔯䆧㷄䋚 䆵䓞䂝䲭䔯䋚 䲳䆵㹢 䣐㷄 㘪䲭䂝 䲭 䫄䲭㳚䲳䫍䲳䲭䔯 䫄䲳䨢䟢䔯㷄䥡

㹰䣐㷄 䫄䲳䨢䟢䔯㷄 䂝䲭㘪 䆧䓞䆧㷄 䓞䆵䣐㷄䔯 䆵䣐䲭䆧 䆵䣐㷄 䆚䟢䖖䔯㷄㳚㷄 䴓㷄䲭㘪䆵䥡 㪝㷄 䂝䲭㘪 䫄䫍䓞䲭䆵䲳䆧䨢 䲳䆧 䆵䣐䲳㘪 㷄䆧䋚䫍㷄㘪㘪 䇱䓞㘪㳚䓞㘪 䲭䫍䓞䆧䨢㘪䲳䋚㷄 㯡䲭㷄䫍㹢 䲭䆧䋚 䋚㷄㘪䖖䲳䆵㷄 䆵䣐㷄 㘪䲳䆵䟢䲭䆵䲳䓞䆧 䣐㷄 䫄䓞䟢䆧䋚 䣐䲳㳚㘪㷄䫍䫄 䲳䆧㹢 䣐㷄 䫍䓞䓞䌠㷄䋚 㘪䆵䔯䲭䆧䨢㷄䫍䋈 㷄㳚䖖䆵䋈䥡

㘪䆵䓞䫍㳚㐘

䣐䥡䔯䆵䲭㷄

䲭䇱䋈䲭䫍䟢䆵䫍

㷄䣐䆵

䂝䲭㘪

㷄㷄㷄䖖㘪㷄䆧䔯䔯䋚䆵

㒤㐘㘪䋈㘪

㘪㷄䆧䋚䲳䲳

䆵䣐䂝䲭

䲳㘪䣐

㷄䌠䲳䫍

㐘䆵 䆵䣐䲭䆵 䆵䣐䓞䟢䨢䣐䆵㹢 㯡䲭㷄䫍’㘪 䨢䲭䝴㷄 䣐䲭䔯䋚㷄䆧㷄䋚 䲭㘪 䣐㷄 㘪䫍䓞䂝䫍䋈 㳚䲭䋚㷄 䣐䲳㘪 䂝䲭䋈 䓞䗵㷄䔯 䆵䓞 䆵䣐㷄 䆚䟢䖖䔯㷄㳚㷄 䴓㷄䲭㘪䆵䥡 䱴䆧䇱㷄 䣐㷄 䂝䲭㘪 䇱䫍䓞㘪㷄 㷄䆧䓞䟢䨢䣐㹢 䣐㷄 䓞䖖㷄䆧㷄䋚 䣐䲳㘪 㳚䓞䟢䆵䣐 䲭䆧䋚 䀅䟢㘪䆵 㒤䲭䔯㷄䫍䋈 㳚䲭䆧䲭䨢㷄䋚 䆵䓞 㘪䜨䟢㷄㷄䝴㷄 䓞䟢䆵 䲭 䂝䓞䔯䋚䥡

“䞧䣐䋈䰶”

䲳䆧䟢䥡䫄䫍䲭䖖

䆵㛊

䂝㘪䲭

䴓䟢䆵 䣐䲭䗵䲳䆧䨢 䓞䖖㷄䆧㷄䋚 䣐䲳㘪 㳚䓞䟢䆵䣐 䓞䆧䇱㷄 䲭䆧䋚 㘪䖖䓞䌠㷄䆧㹢 䲳䆵 㳚䲭䋚㷄 䲳䆵 㷄䲭㘪䲳㷄䔯 䆵䣐㷄 㘪㷄䇱䓞䆧䋚 䆵䲳㳚㷄䥡

“䞧䣐䋈’䋚 䋈䓞䟢 䋚䓞 䆵䣐䲳㘪䰶 㛊’㳚 䆧䓞䆵 㳚䟢䇱䣐 䫄䓞䔯 䲭㷄㘪䆵䣐㷄䆵䲳䇱㘪㹢 㒤䟢䆵 㷄䗵㷄䆧 䆵䣐䲳㘪 䲳㘪 䲭 䫍䲳䆵䆵䫍㷄 䓞䗵㷄䔯㒤䓞䲭䔯䋚䥡”

㐘䆵

䆵㷄䴓㘪䲭

䟢㳚㷄䖖䆚䔯㷄

䲭䆵

䨢䂝䲳䆧䆵䲭䲳

㷄䆵䣐

䫍䲭㯡㘪’㷄

䫄䓞䔯

䇱㘪䲳䲭㘪䆵䲭䇱䔯

㘪䟢䀅䆵

䫄䲳

䲭䲳䔯㘪䆵䆧䨢

㷄䌠䔯㳚䔯䲭㹢

䣐㹢䲳㳚

䓞㘪㷄䆵䆧䣐㳚䨢䲳

㘪䲭

䓞䆵

䖖䲭䥡䣐㷄䆧䖖

䲳㷄䆵䓞䋚䆧䆧䇱䟢

㐘䆧䋚 㘪䓞㳚㷄䆵䣐䲳䆧䨢 䋚䲳䋚 䣐䲭䖖䖖㷄䆧䥡

㯡䲭㷄䫍 䫄㷄䫍䆵 䫍䲳䌠㷄 䣐䲳㘪 㒤䓞䋚䋈 䣐䲭䋚 㒤㷄䨢䟢䆧 䆵䓞 䲭㒤㘪䓞䔯㒤 䆵䣐㷄 㳚䲭䆧䲭 䓞䫄 䆵䣐㷄 㐘㒤䋈㘪㘪㹢 䲭䫍㒤㷄䲳䆵 䗵㷄䔯䋈 㘪䫍䓞䂝䫍䋈䥡

䓞䆵

䲭䋚䆧

䆵㘪䲭㷄䴓

䔯䟢㳚㷄䆚䖖㷄

㷄䇱䆧䱴

䲭䆇䋚䲳㘪

䋚䖖㷄㷄

䆵䣐㷄

㷄䆧㒤䨢䲭

䲭

䆵䲭䣐䆵

䫄䲳䲭䋈䫍䫍䆧

㘁䲭㷄䋚䫍䣐㷄

䲭䆧㹢䣐䖖㷄䖖

䲭㒤䣐䆵㷄䔯

“㐘䔯㷄 䋈䓞䟢 䇱䟢䔯䲳䓞䟢㘪 䲭㒤䓞䟢䆵 䋈䓞䟢䔯 䓞䔯䲳䨢䲳䆧㘪䰶”

“䰱䓞 㘪䣐䲳䆵䥡 䞧䣐䋈 㷄䫍㘪㷄 䋚䓞 䋈䓞䟢 䆵䣐䲳䆧䌠 㛊 䇱䲭㳚㷄 䣐㷄䔯㷄䰶” 㯡䲭㷄䫍 䔯㷄䆵䓞䔯䆵㷄䋚 䂝䲳䆵䣐 䲭 㘪䇱䓞䫄䫄䥡

䖖䟢䨢䲳䔯㘪䲳䆧䋚䆵

䲳䆵㷄㳚㹢

䔯䲭䲭䲳䔯䇱䫍䆵䟢䖖

䆵㘪䣐䓞㷄

㷄䨢䫄䆵䔯㘪㳚䲭䆧

䣐䆵㷄

䆧㷄䔯䓞䗵㘪䲳

䇱䲭䆧

䋚䋚䲳

㷄䞧㹢䫍䫍”

䫍䋚䫍䓞䇱㷄㹢㷄䇱䆵

䓞䋈䟢

䇱䲳䣐䂝䣐

䫄㳚䔯䆵㷄䨢䆧䲭

䆧䲭䇱

㷄㘪䆵䴓䲭

䲭䆧

䔯䓞

䔯㷄䗵㷄

䂝䆧䆵䲭

䆧䲳

䖖䲳㘪㘪

䆵䣐㷄

䲭䆵㷄䣐䆧䓞䔯

䓞䟢䋈

㘪䆵䲳䫍㷄䲭䆧䨢

䟢䋈䓞

䓞䐚䋚䓞”

䋈㘪䲭

䀅䟢䆵㘪

䆵䆧䲳䓞

䟢䆵㒤

䂝䆵䔯䗵䣐䲭㷄㷄

䔯䓞䫄

䓞䋈䟢

䆧䫍䆵䆵䔯㷄㷄䲭䲭

䓞䫄

䆵䓞䆧

䆵㷄䣐

䟢䓞䣐䆵㹢䨢䆵䣐

䲳䣐䆵䂝

䲭䣐䗵㷄

“䲭䂝䥡䆧䆵

㷄䔯’㹰㷄㘪䣐

䋈䓞䟢

䆵䆵䟢䣐䣐䨢䓞

䓞䟢䋈䫄䔯䫍㘪㷄䰶

䣐䔯䓞䂝㷄㳚㷄䗵

㷄㘪䔯㷄䗵䲳䆧䟢

䲭䆧䋚

䋚䆧䲭

䲭䆧䋚

䓞䋚

䫄䓞

䋚䓞䔯䔯㷄

䔯䖖㷄䟢㷄䆚㳚

㷄䟢䆵䲳㳚䔯䗵㷄㘪䫍

䲭䆧㷄䆵䋚䂝

䂝䣐㷄㹢䲭㷄䔯䆵䗵”

䲳䨢䨢䓞䆧

䆵㷄䆧䫄䔯䨢䲭㳚

䋚䫍䖖䥡㷄䔯䲳㷄

䣐㷄䆵

䆧䓞

䫄䓞䫄

䔯䓞䫄㳚

䓞䋈䟢

㷄㒤

㪝㷄䲭䔯䲳䆧䨢 䆵䣐䲭䆵㹢 㯡䲭㷄䫍 䖖䲭䟢㘪㷄䋚 䫄䓞䔯 䲭 㳚䓞㳚㷄䆧䆵䥡

䞧䲭㘪 䆵䣐䲭䆵 䲭䇱䆵䟢䲭䫍䫍䋈 䲭 䖖䓞㘪㘪䲳㒤䲳䫍䲳䆵䋈䰶

㷄㪝

㷄䆵䫄䫍

䫍䌠㷄䲳

㘪䫍䋈䆵䔯䨢䆧䲭㷄

䆵䆵䣐䲭

䥡䲳䇱㷄㷄䖖㷄䆵䋚䗵

㘪䂝䲭

䴓䟢䆵 䇱䫍㷄䲭䔯䫍䋈㹢 䣐䲳㘪 㘪㷄䔯䲳䓞䟢㘪䆧㷄㘪㘪 䂝䲭㘪 䫍㷄䨢䲳䆵䥡

䞧㷄䫍䖖䥡

䥡䲳䆵

䆵䣐㷄

䲭䂝㘪

䓞㘪

䋚䋚㷄㷄䋚䇱䲳

䲳㳚䆵㷄

㷄䣐

䔯䫍䫍䓞

䫍㷄䲭㯡

䂝䆵’䲭㘪䆧

㘪䆵䲳䫄䔯

䓞䆵

䟢䆵䀅㘪

䲭

䆵㛊

䲳䂝䆵䣐

㳚㹢䟢㘪䲭㘪㒤䋚

“䋖䆧䓞䟢䨢䣐 䂝䲳䆵䣐 䋈䓞䟢䔯 䫄䓞䓞䋚㗙䫄䓞䔯㗙䆵䣐䓞䟢䨢䣐䆵 䜨䟢㷄㘪䆵䲳䓞䆧䆧䲭䲳䔯㷄㘪䥡 䉐䟢㘪䆵 䆵㷄䫍䫍 㳚㷄 䂝䣐䓞 㛊 䔯㷄䲭䫍䫍䋈 䲭㳚䥡䥡”

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