A Farmer’s Journey To Immortality - Chapter 663

Capítulo 663: Just Like a Typical Protagonist P1

The young woman, Sirina, had indeed recognized Aksai from afar.

She raised her voice as she ran toward him.

“Expert Aksai, what… What are you doing here? Come with us! You might get killed by our enemies!”

Although she spoke out of worry for Aksai’s safety, her words had the opposite effect.

Ren’s attention snapped toward Aksai at once. His eyes narrowed as he took in Aksai’s presence. To him, it looked like Jaya had brought in outside reinforcements.

“Kill him,” Ren said coldly.

He shot forward with his movement technique, his followers rushing behind him with drawn weapons, their killing intent sharp and hungry for blood.

Aksai frowned as he watched Ren’s supporters rush toward him, their weapons already drawn. Threads of Spirit energy flickered around their hands and blades, showing that they were only moments away from unleashing their Spirit spells.

The hatred between the two groups was clear. It had blinded them so much that they no longer cared who they killed. Anyone even slightly connected to the other side was seen as an enemy.

Over the years, five of Haan Di’s disciples had already died because of this internal fight. But they were not the only ones. Many low-level Spirit cultivators who had ties to either group had also been dragged into the conflict. They now attacked on sight, their minds clouded by fear, greed, and the promise of power.

Aksai could see that things had completely fallen apart.

Even though he had covered his real cultivation, he still looked like a mid-stage Foundation Establishment Expert. That alone was enough for Ren to treat him as a threat.

If Aksai took Jaya’s side, even by accident, Ren’s chances would fall. And now, with Lord Haan Di’s life flame almost gone, the successor’s seat was more valuable than ever.

Every disciple wanted a place in the new order—positions in the elite forces, in the administration, in the inner council. That desire had turned them all into desperate wolves.

The worst part was that the chaos had the silent approval of Lord Haan Di himself. As long as he did not act, everyone believed he supported this “survival of the fittest” method of choosing his heir.

Because of that, Ren’s order to kill Aksai the moment he appeared was not surprising. He didn’t even take time to look carefully, to see who Aksai actually was. He simply saw a stranger who might strengthen Jaya’s side.

Aksai felt a mix of irritation and annoyance. He had met Ren once before, briefly, in the Wild Devil Lands. But Ren did not recognize him now. He didn’t care who he was.

The street echoed with heavy footsteps as the cultivators came closer, their killing intent washing over Aksai like a wave.

‘Well, I could run and hide from this problem, but it would only waste my time. And now that I’ve become a Core Formation Lord, why should I bother with roundabout methods to get what I want?

‘Sometimes a strong deterrence is enough to push away most troubles. It’s just that I hate standing out when I didn’t plan to. It makes me feel like those silly protagonists who finally show their power and act like the main characters. Not that they never should. It’s the repetitiveness that I find vexing.

‘Ugh. I hate that feeling of being in the spotlight. But… maybe it won’t be so bad to experience such a scene once in a while. It would save me a lot of time and effort.

Maybe I’ll even catch the attention of the dying Haan Di Lord with this little intervention. Things would go much smoother if I met a fellow Lord.’

Aksai nodded to himself. All he wanted was a suitable cultivation technique. Yet here he was, with an inheritance war between “siblings” rushing straight at him. He just shrugged his shoulders the next moment, seemingly trying to say that he couldn’t be blamed for what he was about to do.

“You lot… I hope you have your insurance and wills ready back home.”

Aksai let out a quiet breath and lifted his hand. His eyes showed nothing but calm disregard, as if the five rushing cultivators were nothing more than background noise.

The street trembled.

In the next moment, thick wood-element roots burst out from the gaps between the cobblestones. Vines twisted upward like hungry snakes, wrapping around the legs, waists, and arms of the five charging Experts before they even understood what was happening.

The vines then changed.

Flexible thorns grew along their lengths, gathering at the ends of the vine-branches. Those thorns folded and intertwined, forming shapes that looked like twisted hands—hands with long, thin, unnatural fingers and nails that gleamed with a strange green tint.

Before the five Experts could even circulate their Spirit energy, those thorny hands struck.

The fingers passed through their defensive Spirit layers as if they didn’t exist at all. They slid into flesh and bone with no resistance, almost gentle in how silently they moved.

Each thorn-hand pierced deep into the chest of one Expert, wrapped around their heart, and pulled it free. It all happened in a single breath.

The five men froze. Their bodies swayed. Their eyes went wide with shock as they looked down at the empty holes in their chests. They could feel nothing—no pain, no sharp tearing—just a strange numbness spreading through their limbs. The toxins within the thorns had dulled every sense, leaving only confusion behind.

The vine-hands retracted just as quickly. The hearts they held vanished into thin air the moment the vines touched the ground again, leaving no trace behind. Then the vines sank back into the street as if they had never existed.

Even the cobblestones and dug out little soil dunes arranged themselves via a simple earth-element Spirit spell, making it seem like the path was just as it was before the appearance of the deadly vines.

It was as if Aksai’s Spirit spells were nothing but one’s figment of imagination.

爐

盧

老

䮞㪧䮉㸽㪧㘻䇠

盧

蘆

㪧㿛㔟

㡶㧲㟈㪧

擄

蘆

䄶䅧㪧㪊䓭㔟

魯

擄

䅧㪧䅧㧚㧲

路䞾䅧㧲㪧㘻㡕䅧㪊㪧䇠㟈㸽䄶㟈㧲㿛䓭㟈㔟䅧䄶䲳䅧㪊㪊㪧䄶䫔㧲㟈䊊㿛㔟㪧䫔䮉㧲㪊㿛䊊㟈㡶㪧䊊㪧㸽㿛㿛㟈㿛㔟㪧㘻䅧㪊㿛㧚㝯㔟㪧㟈㸽㘻㟈㟈䍞㪧㧲㪊㔟䅧䄶㟈㸽㘻㡕䇠䅧䏞䁪㔟㿛䅧㐔㘻䏞㧲㟈䫔㧲㟈㟈㿛㪊䅧㸽䄶䅧䫔㘻䅧㪊㔟㟈䫔㪊㟈䊊㪧㿛㔟䮉㸽䁪㪊㔟䅧㧲䲳—㿛㔟㪧㸽䄶㪧䅧㿛㔟㧚

䞾㡕㿛㔟㪧㿛䮉䊊㪧㿛㔟㪧㝵䘱䲳㪧㧲㿛㪊䫔㧲㟈䊊㐔㟈㿛㔟㪊䮉䄶㪧㪊㧲㪧䅧䇠㔟㪧䄶㿛㔟㪧䅧㧲㪧䅧䅧㧲㟈䏞㸽䄶㿛㔟㪧䟶䅧䅧㸽䫊䮉䓛䅧㡶䮉㘻䮉㟈㸽㣥㿛㔟㪧㡕㪊㿛㟈䲳䲳㪧䄶䮉㸽㿛㔟㪧䮉㧲㿛㧲䅧䇠䍞㪊㧚㝯㔟㪧㡕䫔㟈䏞㸽䄶㿛㔟㪧䊊㪊㪧㘻㡶㪧㪊㟈㸽㘻㡕䅧䫔㪧䓭䊊㪧㿛㧲㪧㪊䅧䓭䅧㡕䫔㧲㟈䊊㥀䍞㪊䅧䮉㣥㪊㿛䅧㸽䄶䮉㸽䁪㟈㸽㟈䲳䲳㟈㪊䮉㿛㪧㪊䮉䄶㪧㪊㟈䫔㿛㔟㪧㪊㿛㧲㪧㪧㿛㧚

㿛㔟㪧

䓭㸽㿛㪧㪧䞾㪧

䄶㟈㪊䮉㪧㐔

㪧䄶䄶䅧

㔟㿛㪧

㧚䊊㸽㪧

㪧㡶䮉䫔

䊊㔟㿛㪧

䅧㡕㘻

㟈䫔

㝯㔟㪧䁪㧲㟈䏞㸽䄶䅧㧲㟈䏞㸽䄶㿛㔟㪧䇠㟈㧲䲳㪊㪧㪊䓭䅧㪊䅧㘻㧲㪧䅧䄶㡕㿛䏞㧲㸽䮉㸽䁪㧲㪧䄶䅧㪊㐔㘻㟈㟈䄶䲳㟈䏞㧲㪧䄶㟈䏞㿛䅧㸽䄶䫔㟈㧲䊊㪧䄶㪊䊊䅧㘻㘻䲳㟈㟈㘻㪊㿛㔟䅧㿛㧲㪧䫔㘻㪧䇠㿛㪧䄶㿛㔟㪧䄶䮉䊊㪧㡶㪧㸽䮉㸽䁪㘻䮉䁪㔟㿛㧚

㒫㟈㟈㸽㪧㪊䲳㟈䍞㪧㧚㝯㔟㪧㟈㸽㘻㡕㪊㟈䏞㸽䄶䓭䅧㪊㿛㔟㪧㪊㘻㟈䓭䄶㧲䮉䲳㟈䫔㐔㘻㟈㟈䄶㔟䮉㿛㿛䮉㸽䁪㪊㿛㟈㸽㪧㧚

䅧㪊

㿛䅧

㧲㿛㪧㔟㪧㣥

䮉㿛㸽㸽䁪㔟㟈

㟈㿛㪊㟈䄶

䄶㔟䅧

䫔䮉

䲳䅧䄶㸽㪧㔟䲳㪧

㸽㥀䄶

㘻䅧㧚㘻

䅧㪊

䇠㘻䅧䊊

䍞㪊䅧㥀䮉

䩬㪧㸽㪊㿛㟈㟈䄶䫔㧲㟈㠖㪧㸽䅧㪊㿛㔟㪧䫔䮉㡶㪧㐔㟈䄶䮉㪧㪊㔟䮉㿛㿛㔟㪧䁪㧲㟈䏞㸽䄶㧚㘈㟈㧲䅧䊊㟈䊊㪧㸽㿛㣥㔟㪧䇠㟈䏞㘻䄶㸽㟈㿛㐔㧲㪧䅧㿛㔟㪧㧚

㝯㔟㪧䫔䅧䇠㪧㪊㟈䫔㔟䮉㪊䫔䅧㘻㘻㪧㸽㪊䏞䲳䲳㟈㧲㿛㪧㧲㪊㪊㿛䅧㧲㪧䄶㐔䅧䇠䍞䅧㿛㔟䮉䊊—㪧㡕㪧㪊䓭䮉䄶㪧㣥䊊㟈䏞㿛㔟㪊㪊㘻䮉䁪㔟㿛㘻㡕㟈䲳㪧㸽㣥㪊㿛䏞䇠䍞㐔㪧㿛䓭㪧㪧㸽㔟㟈㧲㧲㟈㧲䅧㸽䄶䇠㟈㸽䫔䏞㪊䮉㟈㸽㧚㝯㔟㪧㡕㔟䅧䄶㸽㟈㿛㪧㡶㪧㸽䏞㸽䄶㪧㧲㪊㿛㟈㟈䄶㔟㟈䓭㿛㔟㪧㡕䄶䮉㪧䄶㧚

㪧䁪㧲㣥䅧

㘻㘻䅧

㪧䮉㪊㣥䄶

䮉㧲㪊䍞㪊

㐔㡕

㘻䅧㡕

䫔㟈㧲

䅧㿛

䅧㿛㔟㿛

㧲䅧㡕㧚㪧㪊

䇠䅧㧲㪊㔟㪧䄶

㟈㒫䓭

䮉㪊䄶㪧

㔟䅧䄶

㪧㘻䄶䫔䓭㟈㘻㟈

䫔㟈

㪊䮉㔟

㝯㪧㪧㪊㔟

㪧䁪㿛㣥㧲㪧㧲

㘻䇠㟈䄶

㧲㟈䫔

㔟㧚䊊䮉

㸽䅧䄶

㟈㸽䮉㿛

㿛㪧㡕㔟

㟈㸽

䅧䄶䮉䄶䄶䇠㪊㪧㧲

㪧䄶㪧䲳

㡶㪧㡕㔟䅧

䄶䇠㘻㧲㪧䓭䅧

㸽䅧䄶

䅧㔟䄶

䮉㔟䊊

䲳䏞

㪊䄶㟈㘻㧚㘻

㪧㧲䫔䅧

㔟㣥䊊䮉

䫔㟈䏞䁪㔟㿛

䓭㪊㘻䮉㧲

䮉㟈㟈㸽㿛䊊㪊㪧

䅧㪧䇠䮉㸽䲳㸽㣥㟈—

㪧䩬㸽

㪧䮉㘻䍞

㪊㪧䲳䮉㸽㧚

㔟㪧㿛

㸽㪊㿛㟈㪧

㥀

䫔㪧䮉㡶

㡕㝯㪧㔟

䄶㿛㪊㪧䏞㧲㿛

䅧㿛㪧䍞㸽

“䱸㔟㟈… 䓭㔟䅧㿛䤿䏞㪊㿛㔟䅧䲳䲳㪧㸽㪧䄶䐎㥀㸽䄶䓭㔟㟈… 䓭㔟㟈㿛㔟㪧䫔䏞–”

䩬㪧㸽’㪊㔟䅧㸽䄶㪊㪊㔟㟈㟈䍞䅧㪊㔟㪧㘻㟈㟈䍞㪧䄶䅧㿛㥀䍞㪊䅧䮉㧚

㸽㟈

䮉㡶㪧㘻㪊

䅧

㥀㪊䮉䍞䅧

䄶㸽㧲䫔㸽䫔㪧䇠㪧䮉㣥䮉㪧

䫔㧲㪧㪧䮉䄶㸽㿛䫔

㪧㪧䄶䓭㪊

㸽䁪䇠㘻㧲㪧䅧䮉

㧲㿛㟈䓭㔟

䤿㟈㡕㣥

㐔㧲㸽㪧㪧㪧䊊䮉㧲䊊䁪

䮉㧲㪧䁪䊊㟈㡶㸽

䮉䫔

㪊㟈㿛㟈䄶

㪊㟈㪧䄶䓭㔟

䲳䄶㔟㸽䅧㪧䲳㧚㪧

㸽䅧䁪㧚㧲䄶㪧

䫔䊊㧲㟈

䮉䫔

㪊䅧

䅧䅧䓭㡕

䅧

䫔㟈䊊㧲

㪧䮉㡶䫔

㸽㟈

—䁪䏞㿛䮉㘻㘻㟈㸽㡕

䓭䅧㪊

㔟㿛㧲㪧㪧

㟈㸽

㸽㪧㣥䁪䅧㧲

䟶㪊䮉

㟈㔟㸽㿛䮉䁪㸽

䄶䅧㔟

㣥䊊䇠㡕㘻䅧㘻

㟈㸽

㪊㪧㪧㡕

㪊䅧

䮉㔟㿛㘻䁪

䩬㪧㸽’㪊㐔㘻㟈㟈䄶㐔㟈䮉㘻㪧䄶䅧㿛䫔䮉㧲㪊㿛… 㐔䏞㿛䅧㪊㔟㪧䊊㪧㿛㥀䍞㪊䅧䮉’㪊䁪䅧㠖㪧䄶䮉㧲㪧䇠㿛㘻㡕㣥䅧㪊䏞䄶䄶㪧㸽䇠㔟䮉㘻㘻䓭䅧㪊㔟㪧䄶㟈㡶㪧㧲㔟䮉䊊㧚㝯㔟䅧㿛䍞䮉㸽䄶㟈䫔䅧䲳䅧㿛㔟㡕… 㝯㔟䅧㿛䍞䮉㸽䄶㟈䫔䇠䅧㘻䊊… 䝀㿛䓭䅧㪊㿛㔟㪧䅧㿛㿛䮉㿛䏞䄶㪧㟈䫔㪊㟈䊊㪧㟈㸽㪧䓭㔟㟈㔟䅧䄶䄶㟈㸽㪧㿛㔟䮉㪊䅧㿛㔟㟈䏞㪊䅧㸽䄶㿛䮉䊊㪧㪊㧚

䅳㸽㘻㡕㿛㔟㪧㸽䄶䮉䄶䩬㪧㸽㿛㧲䏞㘻㡕㘻㟈㟈䍞䅧㿛㥀䍞㪊䅧䮉㧚䮞㟈䊊㪧㿛㔟䮉㸽䁪䅧㐔㟈䏞㿛㔟䮉㪊䫔䅧䇠㪧䫔㪧㘻㿛䫔䅧䊊䮉㘻䮉䅧㧲㧚䟶㪧㪊㿛䅧㧲㪧䄶䅧㸽䄶㪊㿛䅧㧲㪧䄶㧚㝯㔟㪧㸽䮉㿛䇠㘻䮉䇠䍞㪧䄶㧚

㪧䮉㘻䫊㡶

㘻䄶䮉䱸

䩬㪧㸽

㺏䅧”䄶㪊…㸽

䲳㪊㪧䄶䮉㔟㪧㧲䓭

㿛㟈

㔟䮉㪊䊊㧚㘻㪧䫔

“㝯㔟㪧

㰐㪧㪊—㔟㪧㔟䅧䄶㪊㪧㪧㸽㥀䍞㪊䅧䮉㿛㔟㪧㧲㪧㧚㥀䍞㪊䅧䮉’㪊㪊䊊䅧㘻㘻䁪㧲㟈䏞䲳㔟䅧䄶䇠㘻䅧㪊㔟㪧䄶䓭䮉㿛㔟䟶䅧䮉㿛䮉㸽䞾㘻䅧䇠䍞㐔㘻㟈㟈䄶㧚䩬㪧㸽㔟䅧䄶䮉㸽㿛㪧㧲䫔㪧㧲㪧䄶㐔㧲䮉㪧䫔㘻㡕㣥㐔䏞㿛㘻㪧䫔㿛㿛㔟㪧䊊㐔㪧㔟䮉㸽䄶㣥㿛㔟䮉㸽䍞䮉㸽䁪㿛㔟㪧㡕䓭㟈䏞㘻䄶㐔㪧㿛㟈㧲㸽䅧䲳䅧㧲㿛㪊㟈㟈㸽㪧㧲㟈㧲㘻䅧㿛㪧㧲㧚䱸䮉㿛㔟㿛㔟㪧䇠㔟䅧㟈㪊䮉㸽㿛㔟䅧㿛㧲㪧䁪䮉㟈㸽㐔䅧䇠䍞㿛㔟㪧㸽㣥㔟㪧㔟䅧䄶㐔㪧㪧㸽䇠㪧㧲㿛䅧䮉㸽㿛㔟䅧㿛䅧㿛㘻㪧䅧㪊㿛㪊㟈䊊㪧㟈㸽㪧㘻䮉䍞㪧㥀䍞㪊䅧䮉䓭㟈䏞㘻䄶㸽’㿛㪊䏞㧲㡶䮉㡶㪧㘻㟈㸽䁪㧚

䞾䏞㿛㸽㟈䓭… 㥀䍞㪊䅧䮉䓭䅧㪊㪊㿛䅧㸽䄶䮉㸽䁪㔟㪧㧲㪧㧚㥀㘻䮉㡶㪧㧚䮞㿛㧲㟈㸽䁪㪧㧲㧚㓂䏞䇠㔟㪊㿛㧲㟈㸽䁪㪧㧲㧚

㔟㪊䮉

䮉㿛䁪㸽㡕㧲

㧲㟈䊊㪧

㔟㪧

㿛䇠㧚㟈㡶䮉㿛䅧䏞㸽䮉㘻

㔟㿛㪧

㪊䮉㔟

㪧㪧㪊

㟈㪧㟈䍞䄶㘻

㔟㿛㪧

㿛㔟㧲㪧䅧

㪧㪧㧲䲳㪧䄶㣥

㸽䅧㿛䮉㔟䁪㧚㸽㡕

䟶㪧

䩬㪧㸽

㟈㿛

㐔㿛㧲䄶㪧㧚㘻㪧䊊

㧲㣥㿛㪧䄶䮉

㪊㪧㪊㸽㪧

㘻’㸽㿛䄶䏞㟈䇠

㿛䞾䏞

䊊㪧㧲㟈

䝀㿛䓭䅧㪊㘻䮉䍞㪧㪊㿛䅧㧲䮉㸽䁪䮉㸽㿛㟈䅧㐔㟈㿛㿛㟈䊊㘻㪧㪊㪊㡶㟈䮉䄶㧚

䩬㪧㸽㔟䅧䄶䫔㪧㘻㿛㿛㔟䮉㪊䫔㪧㪧㘻䮉㸽䁪䇠㟈䏞㸽㿛㘻㪧㪊㪊㿛䮉䊊㪧㪊䓭㔟㪧㸽㪧㡶㪧㧲㔟㪧㪊㿛㟈㟈䄶㐔㪧䫔㟈㧲㪧㔟䮉㪊䊊䅧㪊㿛㪧㧲㣥㺏㟈㧲䄶㓂㟈㡕䏞㸽䟶䅧䅧㸽䫊䮉㣥䅧㿛㧲䏞㪧䕱㟈㧲㪧㘈㟈㧲䊊䅧㿛䮉㟈㸽㺏㟈㧲䄶㧚

㿛㪧㪊䅧㐔䄶㐔

䮉㔟㪊

㟈㔟䁪㸽䮉䮉㧲㧲䫔㡕

㟈㧲㿛䮉㸽㪧䅧䅧㘻䮉㠖

䄶䊊䮉㸽㧚

㥀

“㥀䕱㟈㧲㪧… 㘈㟈㧲䊊䅧㿛䮉㟈㸽… 㺏㟈㧲䄶…” 㔟㪧䓭㔟䮉㪊䲳㪧㧲㪧䄶㧚

䟶䮉㪊䍞㸽㪧㪧㪊㐔䏞䇠䍞㘻㪧䄶㧚

䝀

䅳䐎䩬㺏䫊

䅳㝯

㥀㥀䕱㝯㺏㰐㒵㺏

䫊䅳

䕱䅳㝵䩬

䠋㥀㝵䒂

㝵㓂

㸽䐎㪧䄶㟈

䝀㺏㺏㽞

䱸’㧚㿛㔟㧚䅧

㝯䐎䝀䟶䮞

䱸㔟㿛䅧

㝯䟶㝵

㥀

䅳㝯

䱸㝵㒫㥀㝯䫊

㡶㪧㔟䅧

䝀

㝯㒫㓂䩬䅳㘈㥀䝀䅳

㥀㺏䠋㺏

䟶䅳䱸

䱸䅧㪊䝀䇠䏞㧲㪊㪧䄶㐔㡕㪊㟈䊊㪧㟈㸽㪧䐎䫊䮉䄶䏩䅧㡕䅧㪊㪧㿛㿛㔟䮉㪊㿛㧲䅧䲳䫔㟈㧲䊊㪧䐎’

䟶㪧㔟䅧䄶䤿䏞㪊㿛㿛㧲䮉㪧䄶㿛㟈䍞䮉㘻㘻䅧䕱㟈㧲㪧㘈㟈㧲䊊䅧㿛䮉㟈㸽㺏㟈㧲䄶㧚䟶㪧㔟䅧䄶㪊㪧㸽㿛㔟䮉㪊䫔㟈㘻㘻㟈䓭㪧㧲㪊㿛㟈䅧㿛㿛䅧䇠䍞㟈㸽㪧㧚

㟈㐔䄶㡕

䄶㟈㪊㸽䇠㪧

䏞㸽㡶㸽㪧㪧

䏞㟈㿛

㘻䫔㪧㔟㪊䊊䮉

䅧㿛㪧㔟㧲㸽㟈

䏞㧲䁪㟈㸽䄶㧚

㣥㪧㝯㸽㔟

㸽㪧㧲㿛䮉㪧

㪧㿛㸽䓭

㔟㿛䓭㧲㪧

㔟䮉䓭㟈㿛㿛䏞

㔟䅧㐔㪧㿛㧲

㟈䫔

㿛㔟㪧

䟶䮉㪊

㔟㪧

㟈䄶㧚䇠㘻

㿛㟈㣥䅧㸽㿛䮉㪊㪧㔟䮉

㟈㿛

䩬㪧㸽’㪊

䅧㸽䄶

䅧㪧䇠䊊

㧲䍞㐔㸽㟈㪧㧚

䟶䮉㪊䫔㟈㧲㪧㔟㪧䅧䄶㪊㘻䅧䊊䊊㪧䄶䅧䁪䅧䮉㸽㪊㿛㿛㔟㪧䇠㟈㐔㐔㘻㪧㪊㿛㟈㸽㪧䅧㪊㔟㪧䍞㟈䓭㿛㟈䓭㪧䄶㪊㟈㔟䅧㧲䄶㿛㔟㪧㪊㟈䏞㸽䄶㪧䇠㔟㟈㪧䄶䄶㟈䓭㸽㿛㔟㪧㪧䊊䲳㿛㡕㪊㿛㧲㪧㪧㿛㧚

“㺏㟈㧲䄶… 㸽㟈… 㝵㪊㿛㪧㪧䊊㪧䄶㺏㟈㧲䄶䘹㘈㟈㧲䁪䮉㡶㪧䊊㪧䘹䓛㘻㪧䅧㪊㪧䫔㟈㧲䁪䮉㡶㪧㿛㔟䮉㪊䫔㟈㟈㘻䘹” 䩬㪧㸽㪊㔟㟈䏞㿛㪧䄶㣥䫔㪧䅧㧲㪊㔟䅧䍞䮉㸽䁪㔟䮉㪊㡶㟈䮉䇠㪧㧚 “䝀䄶䮉䄶㸽㟈㿛䍞㸽㟈䓭䘹䝀㻮䝀䓭䅧㪊㐔㘻䮉㸽䄶䘹䓛㘻㪧䅧㪊㪧㪊䲳䅧㧲㪧䊊㡕㘻䮉䫔㪧䘹䮞䲳䅧㧲㪧䊊㡕䲳㪧㟈䲳㘻㪧䘹䮞㪧㸽䮉㟈㧲㣥䝀㐔㪧䁪㡕㟈䏞—䲳㘻㪧䅧㪊㪧䫔㟈㧲䁪䮉㡶㪧䊊㡕䄶䮉㪊㧲㪧㪊䲳㪧䇠㿛䘹”

㿛㟈

䮉䅧㧲䄶䁪㸽

㸽㿛㟈

㪧㪧㸽㡶

䊊㪧㘻㐔㪧㿛㧲䄶

㐔㟈㡕䄶

䮉㿛㘻䫔

㔟㪧

䅧㪊

䄶㘻㟈䓭㪧㧲㪧

㿛㪧㪧䮉㧲㸽

㣥㿛㧲㪧䏞䫔㔟㧲

㧚䄶㔟㪧䅧

䩬㪧㸽㪊’

㪊㔟䮉䊊㘻㪧䫔

䮉㪊㔟

㝯㔟㪧㟈㿛㔟㪧㧲䁪㧲㟈䏞䲳䓭㔟㟈㔟㪧䅧㧲䄶䩬㪧㸽’㪊䓭㟈㧲䄶㪊䫔㧲㟈㠖㪧䮉㸽䲳㘻䅧䇠㪧㧚㒫㟈㸽㪧㟈䫔㿛㔟㪧䊊㪧䘱䲳㪧䇠㿛㪧䄶䩬㪧㸽㿛㟈䄶䅧㧲㪧㪊䅧㡕㪊㟈䊊㪧㿛㔟䮉㸽䁪㘻䮉䍞㪧㿛㔟䅧㿛㣥䅧㸽䄶䓭㔟㪧㸽㿛㔟㪧㡕㪊䅧䓭䓭㔟㟈㔟㪧䓭䅧㪊㿛䅧㘻䍞䮉㸽䁪䅧㐔㟈䏞㿛㣥㿛㔟㪧䮉㧲㪧㡕㪧㪊䓭䮉䄶㪧㸽㪧䄶䮉㸽㪊㔟㟈䇠䍞㧚

䮞䮉㧲䮉㸽䅧㣥㪧㪊䲳㪧䇠䮉䅧㘻㘻㡕㣥㪊㿛䅧㧲㪧䄶䅧㿛㥀䍞㪊䅧䮉䅧㪊䮉䫔㪊㔟㪧㔟䅧䄶䤿䏞㪊㿛㪊㪧㪧㸽䅧䁪㔟㟈㪊㿛㧚䟶㪧㧲䊊㟈䏞㿛㔟㔟䏞㸽䁪㟈䲳㪧㸽㣥㔟㪧㧲㪊㿛㪧䲳㪊㪊㿛㟈䲳䲳㪧䄶㣥䅧㸽䄶㔟㪧㧲䊊䮉㸽䄶䓭㪧㸽㿛㐔㘻䅧㸽䍞㧚㥀䍞㪊䅧䮉’㪊䲳㧲㪧㪊㪧㸽䇠㪧㸽㟈䓭䫔㪧㘻㿛䇠㟈䊊䲳㘻㪧㿛㪧㘻㡕䄶䮉䫔䫔㪧㧲㪧㸽㿛䫔㧲㟈䊊㿛㔟㪧䇠䅧㘻䊊䊊䅧㸽㪊㔟㪧㔟䅧䄶㪊㪧㪧㸽㐔㪧䫔㟈㧲㪧㧚

㿛䅧

䅧㧲㪧㧲

䅧㿛

㪊䁪㿛㧲䅧㪧㣥㸽

㿛㟈

㪧䮉㪊㪊㟈䲳㐔䊊㘻䮉

㪧㘻㿛䫔

㪊㔟㪧

䄶䅧㸽䄶㿛㪧䏞㸽㪊㧚㧲

䮉㸽

㪧㪊㪧䮉㿛䘱䄶

䅧䓭㪊

䊊㔟䮉

㪊㔟㪧

䇠㪧㧲㪧䏞䅧㧲㿛

㟈㘻䄶䍞㟈㪧

䄶䅧㸽

䮉䄶㸽㘻㪊㪧䁪㔟㪧㪧㸽—䁪㪊䊊㿛㟈

䮉㪊䁪䅧㿛㸽㧲

㪧㔟䱸㸽

䫔䮉

㔟㪧㪊

㣥㪧㟈㧲䲳㘻䓭䫔䏞

䅧㪊

㘻㡕㸽㟈

㪧䊊㪊㟈

㔟㿛䅧㿛

䅧㣥䁪㸽䮉䅧

䮞㔟㪧䄶䮉䄶㸽’㿛㪊㸽䅧䲳㟈䏞㿛㟈䫔㔟㪧㧲䄶䅧㠖㪧䏞㸽㿛䮉㘻㿛㔟㪧㝵䘱䲳㪧㧲㿛㐔㪧㪊䮉䄶㪧㔟㪧㧲㿛䏞䁪䁪㪧䄶㟈㸽㔟㪧㧲㔟䅧㸽䄶㧚

“䮞䮉㧲䮉㸽䅧䘹㽞㸽㪧㪧㘻䘹㘈㟈㘻㘻㟈䓭㿛㔟㪧䁪㧲㟈䏞䲳䘹”

㪊㔟㪧

䅧㿛㔟㿛

㪧㡶㪧㡕㧲㸽㟈㪧

㸽㪊䍞㪧㪧

䮉㪊䄶㪧

㟈䫔

㔟䄶䅧

‘䅧䅧䏩㡕㪊

㟈㿛

䫔㧲䊊㟈

㟈䇠㿛㪧㸽䮉

㪧㿛㔟㸽

㸽䅳㡕㘻

䏞㟈㿛

㿛㔟㧲㪧䮉

䅧㪧㘻䄶㡕㧲䅧

䄶䄶㧲䲳䲳㟈㪧

䄶䮉䄶

㸽㟈

㪊䅧

㔟䓭㟈

㪊㡕䄶㪧㿛䅧

㸽䄶㪧㸽䏞㪊㿛

㪧㔟

䅧䏩䅧㡕㣥

䅧㿛

䮉㸽㪊㿛㿛䮉㧚㸽䇠

㪧㸽㝵㡶

㪧㟈䍞䄶㘻㟈

䏞㘻㪊䅧㘻䏞㡕

㥀䍞㧚䅧㪊䮉

㧲㿛䊊㪧䅧㿛

㔟㣥䓭䅧㿛

䇠䊊䅧㘻

㪊㿛䄶䅧㧲㪧

㥀䍞㪊䅧䮉䓭䅧㪊㸽㟈㘻㟈㸽䁪㪧㧲㔟䮉䄶䮉㸽䁪㔟䮉㪊㧲㪧䅧㘻䇠䏞㘻㿛䮉㡶䅧㿛䮉㟈㸽㧚䟶䮉㪊䅧䏞㧲䅧㪊䲳㧲㪧䅧䄶㟈䏞㿛䑑䏞䮉㪧㿛㘻㡕㣥䅧㘻䊊㟈㪊㿛䁪㪧㸽㿛㘻㡕㣥㐔䏞㿛䮉㿛䲳㧲㪧㪊㪊㪧䄶䄶㟈䓭㸽㟈㸽㪧㡶㪧㧲㡕㟈㸽㪧䅧㧲㟈䏞㸽䄶㔟䮉䊊㘻䮉䍞㪧䅧㔟㪧䅧㡶㡕㐔㘻䅧㸽䍞㪧㿛㧚䝀㿛䓭䅧㪊㸽’㿛㸽㟈䮉㪊㡕㟈㧲䓭䮉㘻䄶㣥㐔䏞㿛䮉㿛䓭䅧㪊㪊㟈䊊㪧㿛㔟䮉㸽䁪㸽㟈㝵䘱䲳㪧㧲㿛䇠㟈䏞㘻䄶䮉䁪㸽㟈㧲㪧㧚

㝯㔟㪧䅧䮉㧲㪊㪧㪧䊊㪧䄶㿛㔟䮉䇠䍞㪧㧲㣥㿛㔟㪧䁪㧲㟈䏞㸽䄶㪊㪧㪧䊊㪧䄶㔟㪧䅧㡶䮉㪧㧲㣥䅧㸽䄶㪧㡶㪧㧲㡕㟈㸽㪧䫔㪧㘻㿛䅧䇠㟈㘻䄶㪊㔟䮉㡶㪧㧲㧲䏞㸽䄶㟈䓭㸽㿛㔟㪧䮉㧲㪊䲳䮉㸽㪧㧚䩬㪧㸽䫔㪧㘻㿛䮉㿛㿛㟈㟈㧚䟶㪧㪊㿛㟈㟈䄶䫔㧲㟈㠖㪧㸽䅧㪊㥀䍞㪊䅧䮉㘻㟈㟈䍞㪧䄶䅧㿛㔟䮉䊊㧚

㥀㪊䍞䅧䮉㪊’

㸽㪧䁪䊊䄶㿛䏞䤿㧚

㸽㟈

㿛㣥㪧㡕㪊䅧䄶

䮉䇠㟈㪧㡶

㪧䮉䇠䅧㧲㧲䄶

㟈䅧㸽—㘻䁪㸽㪧㡕㧲

䇠㘻䅧㣥䊊

䅧䓭㪊

䄶㸽䅧

䅧㘻䇠㪧㧲

“䮞䮉㸽䇠㪧㡕㟈䏞㔟䅧㡶㪧䅧䲳㟈㘻㟈䁪䮉㠖㪧䄶㪊䮉㸽䇠㪧㧲㪧㘻㡕㣥䝀䓭㟈㸽’㿛䍞䮉㘻㘻㡕㟈䏞㣥” 㥀䍞㪊䅧䮉㪊䅧䮉䄶㧚 “䞾䏞㿛䝀䇠䅧㸽㸽㟈㿛㘻㪧㿛㡕㟈䏞䓭䅧㘻䍞䅧䓭䅧㡕䓭䮉㿛㔟㟈䏞㿛䲳䏞㸽䮉㪊㔟䊊㪧㸽㿛㧚䝀䫔䝀㘻㪧㿛㿛㔟䮉㪊䁪㟈㣥㡕㟈䏞’㘻㘻䏞㪊㪧㡕㟈䏞㧲㪊㿛䅧㿛䏞㪊䅧䁪䅧䮉㸽䅧㸽䄶㿛㧲㡕㿛㟈䍞䮉㘻㘻䅧㸽㡕㟈㸽㪧㡕㟈䏞㪊㪧㪧䅧㪊䅧㸽㪧㡕㪧㪊㟈㧲㪧㧚”

㥀㪊㪊㟈㟈㸽䅧㪊㔟㪧䫔䮉㸽䮉㪊㔟㪧䄶㪊䲳㪧䅧䍞䮉㸽䁪㣥㥀䍞㪊䅧䮉㧲䅧䮉㪊㪧䄶㔟䮉㪊㔟䅧㸽䄶㧚

㧚㪊䅧㸽䄶㔟

㪧䩬㸽

䮉䁪㸽㧲㟈䊊䫔

䅧䮉㧲

䏞䁪㧲䄶㟈㸽

㧲㣥㪧䅧䇠㿛

㿛㔟㪧

㸽䮉㡶㪧

㘻㡶䮉䮉㸽䁪

㪊䮉㔟

㥀

䅧

䫔㟈

㪧㘻䮉䍞

㿛㟈䏞

㸽㪧䮉㡶

㪧㘻䫔㿛

㿛䝀

㔟㻮㟈䇠㟈㪧㡶㧲㿛㸽䄶㪧㧲

䅧㧲䮉䲳

㿛㪊䏞㧲㐔

䩬㪧㧚㸽

㸽㡶㪧㪧

䅧

㿛㔟㪧

㪊㪧䄶䮉䓭㿛㿛

䮉㸽

㟈䫔

㿛㸽㔟䮉䁪

㪧㸽㿛䏞䄶㧲

㪧䞾㪧㟈䫔㧲

㔟㿛㪧

㪧㪊㐔䄶䮉㪧

䄶䅧㸽

㪧㟈䫔㧲㪧㐔

䇠䄶䏞㘻㟈

䅧㧲䊊㧚

㪧䅧䁪㐔䄶㐔㧲

㝯㔟㪧㧲㪧䓭䅧㪊䅧㪊㔟䅧㧲䲳㪊㟈䏞㸽䄶㣥䅧㸽䄶䩬㪧㸽’㪊䅧㧲䊊䓭䅧㪊㿛㟈㧲㸽㟈䫔䫔䮉㸽㟈㸽㪧䊊㟈㿛䮉㟈㸽㧚

䩬㪧㸽’㪊䍞㸽㪧㪧㪊㸽㪧䅧㧲㘻㡕㐔䏞䇠䍞㘻㪧䄶䫔㧲㟈䊊㿛㔟㪧䲳䅧䮉㸽㧚䟶䮉㪊㐔㧲㪧䅧㿛㔟䇠䅧䏞䁪㔟㿛䮉㸽㔟䮉㪊㿛㔟㧲㟈䅧㿛㣥䅧㸽䄶㔟䮉㪊㪧㸽㿛䮉㧲㪧㐔㟈䄶㡕㪊㔟㟈㟈䍞㧚

䟶㪧

㪧䅧䓭㸽㿛䄶

㔟㪧

㟈㿛

㔟㧲䄶䅧

䮉㿛

㿛㐔䏞

㿛䮉㐔

㧚䇠㧚䍞䅧㐔

㔟㪊䮉

㸽䅧䄶

䄶㟈㸽䓭

㸽㟈

㪊㘻䮉䲳

䊊㪊㣥䇠㪧䅧㧲

㪧䄶㔟㘻

A Farmer's Journey To Immortality - Chapter 663