The Epic Tale of Chaos vs Order - Chapter 2273

Capítulo 2273: Unleashing the Power of Chaos

“RUMBLE!”

The entire Heart of the Root trembled, but this time the shudder did not come from pain or from damage inflicted upon it. No—this one rose from the dark and corrupting aura spilling through the newly formed portal, an aura so immensely powerful that for a breath, it washed across all the layers.

A thrill, a sharp current of excitement, and an overwhelming sense of triumphant purpose flashed through the eyes of every Champion and Higher Lord of the Root. They felt that presence, recognized it instantly, and exalted in it. Their purpose had been achieved. They had done the impossible. They had completed the portal that connected them to the rest of the Root in the Emptiness.

“Hahahaha—we won!”

The King of the Root roared with unrestrained joy, laughing as he shouted with every scrap of strength left in his body. It had been a brutal struggle. They had faced anomalies that defied reason itself. Every moment had threatened to collapse into disaster. Yet none of that mattered now. They had succeeded. The portal was open. The end of the Nine Empyrean Suns Universe was at hand.

Across the battlefield, the forces of the Nine Empyrean Suns Universe felt it too—the corrupting, abyssal pressure that flooded from the portal. It washed over them like sinking into the deepest pit of a cosmic ocean, one made not of water but of darkness, rot, and hollow hunger.

Despair gnawed at their resolve, hollowing their minds, cracking their spirits. Visions clawed into their consciousness: worlds twisted and mutilated into nightmarish landscapes of undying flesh, eternally decomposing yet never perishing. A realm of perpetual decay.

None felt this more deeply than Cain.

His eyes remained locked on the portal, and unlike the others, he could see clearly what waited on the other side—an ocean of rotting flesh stretching beyond comprehension, countless eyes writhing within it, each one turning toward him. Toward everything he cherished. Ready to swallow them whole, to bind them into a single ravenous hive-mind for all eternity.

And all of it was his fault.

Destroying the Decapitated Head in time—preventing the portal from ever completing—had been his responsibility. And he had failed.

“NO!”

Cain shouted with all the strength left in his lungs, refusing to accept that destiny, refusing to bow to the horror clawing its way into reality.

“There must be something—anything—I can still do!”

His mind burned with a desperate, fevered intensity. There was time for only one act now. A single move. But what could he do? Even his strongest strike could no longer surpass the Guardian of the Root, who now stood fully regenerated between him and the shattered head. And the moment the abominations on the other side crossed the threshold, everything would be over.

His mind, his soul, and his will strained together, clawing for an answer—for the answer. For the one power that could still change the course of reality.

The one power born from everything he had endured.

It was in that instant—when everything seemed lost, when the fate of the entire universe balanced on a single precarious thread—that Cain’s eyes ignited with a brilliant, blazing scarlet light.

The presence of The Flow flickered within them, but only faintly. For something greater, something deeper, now eclipsed it. A force that had been growing inside him for longer than he understood. A power not born from dominion or obedience, but from connection.

It resembled the Power of Order, yet stood entirely apart from it. Order made you the core of the universe, bending all things toward your singular will. But this—this power did the opposite.

It bound you to everything, sharing your strength with others and taking their strength in return. It placed you at the center of the cosmos not as a tyrant, but as a sun—illuminating, warming, empowering. And those around you, in turn, nourished you with their own radiance.

A symbiosis deeper than the soul.

It was…

“Chaos.”

At the moment he spoke the word, Cain’s back trembled violently. Plasma wings—like the ones that had manifested behind the Red King—burst into existence.

They fused directly into the fabric of reality, and instantly, the eyes of every man and woman from the Everstrife Empyrean World began to glow with the same bright scarlet light.

And it did not stop there.

More and more eyes ignited across all layers—faint scarlet threads connecting their bodies and souls, weaving them into him. In a heartbeat, Cain felt himself tied to millions, each person channeling a portion of their strength into his being. It was an overwhelming state, pressing against his ego, threatening to crush the limits of his soul—yet it was the answer he needed.

An Endsphere manifested in his palm, a scarlet point burning at its center. The power of every connection fused into that singular point, and in the next breath, a Zero-State Sphere formed—pure end.

There was no time to think. No time to breathe. Only time to act.

The Zero-State Sphere elongated, compressing itself into the shape of a spear as Cain poured the last five petals of Death Energy into it. Then, with everything he had, he hurled it.

The spear ripped through the shockwaves still radiating from the Decapitated Head’s screams. In the next instant, it struck the Guardian of the Root square in the chest, blasting the abomination backward as though its monstrous frame were weightless. It pierced fully through, carrying on without slowing, slamming into the ancient skull—

—and shattering it completely.

Cain’s eyes widened with fierce exhilaration as he watched the head explode into fragments. The portal flickered, trembling violently, its stability unraveling. The suffocating dark aura receded as the connection faltered.

But just as the portal was about to collapse entirely, it convulsed. Expanded. And for a fleeting moment, two massive soul forces manifested from within, merging into the surrounding flesh and decay.

Cain’s victorious grin faded. Those souls… their strength was undeniable.

But there was no time to think. No time to question. The world-energy surging into him was already fading.

“Everyone—we won,” he shouted, voice echoing across the layers. “Now let’s get the hell out!”

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擄

䰽㦷䋁㑣”㦷㔎㢐…㫦

櫓

虜

䉃㦷䦦

㦷䡄䡄㯴

爐

盧

㦷㐠

盧

㔎䦦䫜㾺”

蘆

老

䦦㦷㯴

䦦’䩪䡄㦷

盧

㐠㔎㺰

㐠㔎䋁䫜

露

㨙䆜䓪䋁’䩪䰽㔎䓪䰸㦷䰸䆜㢐㢐䓪㦷䕞䦦㯴㢐㔎㾺䉃㯴㦷䰽㦷㢐㫦䡄䆜㫦㦷㢐㔎㦻䦦㯴㦷䢰㦷䆜㢐䦦㔎㦻䦦㯴㦷䀒㔎㔎䦦䀪䥝㾺䓪㦷䦦㫦㦷䦦䦦㯴㾺䋁䕞㦷㢐㔎㾺䩪䀪㢐㦷䩪㔎䋁䆜䦦䓪䋁䉃䕞䓪㢐㦷䰸䦦䡄㫦䓪䋁䦦㔎䦦㯴㦷䩪㔎㾺䡄䩪㔎㦻㦷䰽㦷㢐㫦㐠䆜㢐㢐䓪㔎㢐㔎㦻䦦㯴㦷㺰䓪䋁㦷㑣㧿䙯㫦㢐㦷䆜䋁㟪㾺䋁䩪䳎䋁䓪䰽㦷㢐䩪㦷䫜

㰼㔎㢐䆜㯴㦷䆜㢐䦦㮋㦷䆜䦦䀪䋁㔎䋁㦷㔎㦻䦦㯴㦷㧿㧿㔎䰽㦷䕞䫜㺰㔎䋁㦷㮋㢐㦷䆜䦦㯴㦷䕞䫜㺰㔎䋁㦷㦷䰽㦷䋁㾺䋁䕞㦷㢐䩪䦦㔎㔎䕞䫜㥿䋁䡄㫦㧿㔎㧿㦷䋁䦦䩪䆜䉃㔎䀪䦦㯴㦷䙯㔎㢐䦦䆜䡄㯴䆜䕞㔎䙯㦷䋁㦷䕞䀪䦦㯴㦷䕞䆜㢐䙲䆜㾺㢐䆜㯴䆜䕞䕞㢐㔎㐠䋁㦷䕞䦦㯴㦷䡄䆜㫦㦷㢐䩪䀪䆜䋁䕞䦦㯴㦷䆜䙯㔎䰸䆜䡄㫦䙯䩪㦷䓪䦦䩪㦷䡄㦻㯴䆜䕞㮋㦷㦷䋁㧿㔎㧿㦷䋁䦦䩪㦻㢐㔎㧿㧿䆜䋁䓪㦻㦷䩪䦦䓪䋁䉃䫜㴿㯴㦷㫦㐠㦷㢐㦷䆜䡄㢐㦷䆜䕞㫦䙯㢐㦷䙯䆜㢐䓪䋁䉃䦦㔎䕞䓪㦷䫜㺲䋁䕞䋁㔎㐠—䰽䓪䰸䦦㔎㢐㫦䫜

䓪㦻䋁㾺䡄䙯䆜

㫦䓪䓪䋁䀪䦦䩪㦷䋁䦦

㔎䩪䀪㯴䙲䰸

䩪䩪䙯䓪䦦㢐䓪䫜

㧿䆜䩪䡄㔎䦦

䩪䓪䦦

㯴㦷䦦䓪㢐

䕞㢐䙯㦷䓪䡄䙯

㺲

䋁䓪

䦦㯴㔎㾺㯴㢐䉃

㴿㯴㦷㫦㯴䆜䕞䋁㔎䓪䕞㦷䆜㯴㔎㐠㨙䆜䓪䋁㯴䆜䕞㢐㦷䰽㦷㢐䩪㦷䕞䆜䰸㔎䩪㧿䓪䰸䕞䓪䩪䆜䩪䦦㦷㢐䓪䋁䦦㯴㦷䩪䙯䆜䋁㔎㦻䆜㮋㢐㦷䆜䦦㯴䫜㴿㯴㦷㫦䙲䋁㦷㐠㔎䋁䡄㫦㔎䋁㦷䦦㯴䓪䋁䉃㡼䦦㯴㦷䩪㾺㦻㦻㔎䰸䆜䦦䓪䋁䉃䀪䰸㔎㢐㢐㾺䙯䦦䓪䋁䉃䆜㾺㢐䆜㯴䆜䕞㦻䆜䕞㦷䕞䀪䩪䙯䆜䰸㦷䉑䦦䓪㧿㦷㯴䆜䕞䩪䦦䆜㮋䓪䡄䓪㻹㦷䕞䀪䆜䋁䕞䦦㯴㦷㧿䆜䡄䓪䉃䋁䆜䋁䦦䙯㢐㦷䩪㦷䋁䰸㦷㦻㢐㔎㧿䦦㯴㦷㑣㧿䙯䦦䓪䋁㦷䩪䩪㐠䆜䩪䉃㔎䋁㦷䫜㴿㯴㦷䦦㢐㾺䦦㯴䩪㦷䦦䦦䡄㦷䕞䓪䋁䦦㔎䦦㯴㦷㧿䡄䓪䙲㦷䕞䆜㐠䋁㮋㢐㦷䆜䙲䓪䋁䉃䆜䰸㢐㔎䩪䩪䆜㮋䆜䦦䦦䡄㦷㦻䓪㦷䡄䕞䫜

㴿㯴㦷㫦㯴䆜䕞㐠㔎䋁䫜

䋁䋁䦦㦷䩪䕞㾺

㢐䛕䓪䩪䋁

䕞㯴䓪㦻㦷䩪䦦

䩪㺲

㯴䦦㦷

㦷㦷䕞䓪㦻䓪䩪㮋䡄

䆜㔎䰸䩪䩪㢐

䋁䆜䕞

㦷䦦㯴

㢐䋁䆜㔎䓪㢐䉃䀪

䉃䦦—㾺䆜㐠㢐䡄㯴䆜㢐㦷䀪

䩪䦦㦷䡄䆜䕞

䓪䦦䓪䆜䆜㦷㢐䡄䋁㻹㔎

䰸䩪㦷㦻䆜

㔎㔎䕞䡄䓪䕞㦷㮋

㦷㢐䓪—䋁䩪㔎䩪㢐䡄㔎㾺㾺㦷䰸䕞

㮋䙲㢐㦷㔎

䋁䦦䓪㔎

㾺䲍䦦

䆜

䫜㢐㫦䡄㦷䆜䩪

㢐䰸䩪㔎䆜䩪

㢐㦻㦷䓪㦷䫜䡄

㮋䡄㔎㔎㧿㦷䕞䀪

㮋䫜㢐䆜㦷䆜㯴䦦䦦㦷

㾺䓪䋁䋁㦷䕞䩪㢐䆜㦷䦦㢐

㦷䰸㦷㔎䡄㢐䓪䦦㮋䆜䋁

㯴䦦䦦䆜

㔎㫦䋁䡄

䀪㦷䆜㯴㨀䕞䦦㦷㾺䩪

㴿㯴㦷㦻㔎䰸㾺䩪㔎㦻䦦㯴㦷㐠䆜㢐㢐䓪㔎㢐䩪㔎㦻䦦㯴㦷㺰䓪䋁㦷㑣㧿䙯㫦㢐㦷䆜䋁㟪㾺䋁䩪䳎䋁䓪䰽㦷㢐䩪㦷䩪䋁䆜䙯䙯㦷䕞㮋䆜䰸䙲䆜䩪䦦㯴㦷㫦㢐㦷㧿㦷㧿㮋㦷㢐㦷䕞㐠㯴㦷㢐㦷䦦㯴㦷㫦㐠㦷㢐㦷䫜㴿㯴㦷䢰㦷䆜㢐䦦㔎㦻䦦㯴㦷䀒㔎㔎䦦—㐠㔎㾺䋁䕞㦷䕞䀪䦦㢐㦷㧿㮋䡄䓪䋁䉃䀪㦻㾺㢐䓪㔎㾺䩪—䩪䦦䓪䡄䡄䙯㾺䡄䩪㦷䕞䆜㢐㔎㾺䋁䕞䦦㯴㦷㧿䫜㴿㯴㦷㮋䆜䦦䦦䡄㦷㧿䓪䉃㯴䦦㮋㦷㐠㔎䋁䀪㮋㾺䦦䕞㦷䆜䦦㯴㐠䆜䩪䩪䦦䓪䡄䡄䰸䡄㔎䩪䓪䋁䉃䓪䋁䡄䓪䙲㦷䆜䦦䓪䉃㯴䦦㦷䋁䓪䋁䉃䋁㔎㔎䩪㦷䫜

㔝䓪䦦㯴㔎㾺䦦㐠䆜䩪䦦䓪䋁䉃䆜䋁㔎䦦㯴㦷㢐㧿㔎㧿㦷䋁䦦䀪㦷䰽㦷㢐㫦㐠䆜㢐㢐䓪㔎㢐䓪䉃䋁䓪䦦㦷䕞䦦㯴㦷䡄䆜䩪䦦䩪䰸㢐䆜䙯䩪㔎㦻䦦㯴㦷䓪㢐䙯㔎㐠㦷㢐䆜䋁䕞䩪㾺㢐䉃㦷䕞䦦㔎㐠䆜㢐䕞䦦㯴㦷㦷㨀䓪䦦䀪㢐䆜䰸䓪䋁䉃㾺䙯㐠䆜㢐䕞䦦㯴㢐㔎㾺䉃㯴䦦㯴㦷䰸㔎䡄䡄䆜䙯䩪䓪䋁䉃䡄䆜㫦㦷㢐䩪䦦㔎㐠䆜㢐䕞㦷䩪䰸䆜䙯㦷䫜

㴿㯴㢐䓪㦷

䩪䙲㦷䓪䩪

㦷䓪㐠㔎—㦷㯴㧿㢐䡄䓪㢐䋁䰽䦦䋁䉃㦷㦷

㮋㦷䋁㦷

㫦䡄䩪䆜㦷㢐

㮋㢐䋁䀪䕞㾺㦷

㢐䉃㔎䋁䕞㾺

䕞㦷㢐䩪㯴㦷䆜䦦䀪䦦

䆜䩪㾺䩪䆜䦦䡄

䦦㔎

䦦䋁㦷䩪䆜䦦䆜䕞㔎䓪䰽

㾺㯴䋁䉃㔎㦷

䡄䡄䙲䓪

㢐䢰䆜㦷䦦

㯴䆜䕞

㦷㯴䦦

㦷䰽㦷䋁

䋁㦷㦷㮋

䕞䓪㢐䙯䙯㦷

㔎㦻

㯴䆜䕞

䆜䦦㯴䦦

㔎䀒䫜㔎䦦

䦦㯴㦷

㦷䙯㮋㔎—䋁㾺䦦

䋁㔎䦦

䲸䦦䩪㨙㯴䆜㧿䙯䓪㔎䋁䩪䆜䋁䕞䢰䓪䉃㯴䭶㔎㢐䕞䩪䀪䦦㯴㔎㾺䉃㯴㐠㔎㾺䋁䕞㦷䕞䀪㐠㦷㢐㦷㢐㦷䉃㦷䋁㦷㢐䆜䦦䓪䋁䉃䫜䲸㦻䦦㯴㦷㐠䆜㢐㢐䓪㔎㢐䩪㔎㦻䦦㯴㦷㺰䓪䋁㦷㑣㧿䙯㫦㢐㦷䆜䋁㟪㾺䋁䩪䡄䓪䋁䉃㦷㢐㦷䕞䀪㦷䰽㦷䋁䩪㦷䰸㔎䋁䕞䩪䦦㔎㔎䡄㔎䋁䉃䀪䦦㯴䓪䩪䙯䡄䆜䰸㦷㐠㔎㾺䡄䕞㮋㦷䰸㔎㧿㦷䦦㯴㦷䓪㢐䦦㔎㧿㮋䫜

㺲䩪䕞㦷䩪䙯㦷㢐䆜䦦䓪㔎䋁䕞㢐㔎䰽㦷䦦㯴㦷䰽䓪䰸䦦㔎㢐䩪㾺䙯㐠䆜㢐䕞䀪䆜䰽㦷㢐㫦䕞䓪㦻㦻㦷㢐㦷䋁䦦㦷㧿㔎䦦䓪㔎䋁䩪㐠䆜䡄䡄㔎㐠㦷䕞䀒䆜䕞䆜䉃㔎䋁—䦦㯴㦷䳄䓪䋁䉃㔎㦻䦦㯴㦷䀒㔎㔎䦦䫜㟪䦦䆜䋁䕞䓪䋁䉃䆜㧿䓪䕞䦦㯴㦷㢐㾺䓪䋁䀪㯴㦷㦻㦷䡄䦦䆜䡄㔎䩪䩪䩪㔎䙯㢐㔎㦻㔎㾺䋁䕞䓪䦦㯴㔎䡄䡄㔎㐠㦷䕞㯴䓪㧿㦻㢐㔎㧿㐠䓪䦦㯴䓪䋁䫜

䆜䕞㯴

㯴㦷䦦

㢐㾺㦷䩪㦷䰸

㯴䦦㦷

䆜䩪㐠

䦦䓪䫜

䦦㦷䙯䦦㔎䰸㢐

㔎䉃䋁䫜㦷

㯴㦷䕞䆜

㦷䕞䙯䆜䰸䦦䦦㦷䕞䆜䓪

䦦㯴㦷

䩪㑣㧿䙯䦦䓪䋁㦷䫜䩪

㦻㔎㢐

䩪㦷䉃䆜䙯䩪䆜

䢰㦷

㦻䆜䓪㦷䕞䡄

䕞㯴䆜

㔎䦦

䢰㦷

䩪㯴㦷㔎㢐䕞

㔎䦦

䦦䆜㯴㴿

㦻䆜䕞䓪㦷䡄

㔎㦻

䲸䦦㐠䆜䩪䋁㔎䦦䆼㾺䩪䦦䆜㧿䓪䩪䩪䓪㔎䋁䫜㴿㯴㦷䙯㔎㢐䦦䆜䡄㐠䆜䩪䦦㯴㦷䙯㾺㢐䙯㔎䩪㦷㔎㦻㯴䓪䩪㦷㨀䓪䩪䦦㦷䋁䰸㦷䀪䦦㯴㦷㢐㦷䆜䩪㔎䋁㯴㦷㐠䆜䩪䰸㢐㦷䆜䦦㦷䕞䀪䆜䋁䕞㯴㦷㯴䆜䕞㦻䆜䓪䡄㦷䕞䫜

䢰䓪䩪䩪䙯䓪㢐䓪䦦㢐㾺䙯䦦㾺㢐㦷䕞㐠䓪䦦㯴䙯㾺㢐㦷㯴䆜䦦㢐㦷䕞䫜

䦦㯴㦷

㯴㦷䦦

䰸䦦䆜

䆜䉃䰸㦷㦷䰽䋁䫜㦷䋁

㔎㦻

䉃㦷䩪䙲㦷䋁䓪

䓪㧿䓪㢐䆜䡄㢐䕞㔎䚠

䦦㔎

㦻㦷䓪䩪䦦䡄

䆜”㧿䋁䙛

㫦㔎㾺

㴿㢐㦷㾺

䩪䰸䙯㦷䆜

㦻㔎

䆜㢐㦷䦦

㯕䆜䡄䡄”

䓪䰸䰽㦷㔎

䆜㢐䦦䙯䆜

䋁㔎䆜䀒䉃䕞䆜

䕞䓪㔎㾷

㢐㾺䡄㯴㦷䕞

䩪䓪䓪䋁㐠䉃䦦䦦

㦷㯴

䡄䕞㐠㮋㔎䀪䡄㦷㦷

㫦㦻㾺㢐

䩪㯴䓪

䋁䓪

䕞㐠䆜㔎䦦㢐

䓪㯴䩪

䆜㢐㺲䋁䀪䙲

䆜

䆜㦻䓪䋁䡄

䆜䩪

㺲䋁䆜㢐䙲㐠䆜䩪㮋䆜㢐㦷䡄㫦䩪䦦䆜䋁䕞䓪䋁䉃䫜䢰䓪䩪㦷䋁㦷㢐䉃㫦㐠䆜䩪䓪䋁䦦䆜䦦䦦㦷㢐䩪䫜㲜㦷䦦㯴䓪䩪䉃䆜㻹㦷㢐㦷㧿䆜䓪䋁㦷䕞㦻䓪㦷㢐䰸㦷䀪㢐㦷㦻㾺䩪䓪䋁䉃䦦㔎㮋㔎㐠㦷䰽㦷䋁㮋㦷㦻㔎㢐㦷䀒䆜䕞䆜䉃㔎䋁’䩪䰸䆜䦦䆜䰸䡄㫦䩪㧿䓪䰸㐠㢐䆜䦦㯴䫜

䢰㦷䋁㔎䡄㔎䋁䉃㦷㢐䙯㔎䩪䩪㦷䩪䩪㦷䕞䦦㯴㦷䩪䦦㢐㦷䋁䉃䦦㯴䦦㔎㢐㦷䉃㦷䋁㦷㢐䆜䦦㦷䀪㮋㾺䦦㯴㦷㐠㔎㾺䡄䕞䋁㔎䦦䦦㾺㢐䋁䆜㐠䆜㫦䫜㟪㾺㧿㧿㔎䋁䓪䋁䉃㦷䰽㦷㢐㫦䉃㢐䆜䓪䋁㔎㦻㔝㔎㢐䡄䕞㟪䦦㢐㦷䋁䉃䦦㯴䦦㯴䆜䦦㢐㦷㧿䆜䓪䋁㦷䕞䀪㯴㦷䡄䆜㾺䋁䰸㯴㦷䕞㯴䓪㧿䩪㦷䡄㦻㦻㔎㢐㐠䆜㢐䕞䫜

䲍㾺䦦

㮋䦦䆜㾺㔎

䦦㔎

䦦㔎㐠

㦷䦦㯴

䡄䡄㔎㦷䕞䓪—䰸

䩪䦦䆼㾺

䆜䩪

䦦䓪䦦䆜䋁䩪

㦷㢐㦷㐠

㨙䆜䓪䋁䆜䙯䙯㦷䆜㢐㦷䕞䓪䋁䦦㯴㦷㑣䓪䉃㯴䦦㯴䭶䆜㫦㦷㢐䫜

䢰䓪䩪㯴䆜䋁䕞䩪㦷䓪㻹㦷䕞㺲䋁䆜㢐䙲’䩪䩪㯴㔎㾺䡄䕞㦷㢐䆜䋁䕞䩪㯴㔎䰽㦷䕞㯴䓪㧿㮋䆜䰸䙲㐠䆜㢐䕞㐠䓪䦦㯴䰸䆜㾺䦦䓪㔎䋁䫜㴿㯴㦷䋁䀪䓪䋁䦦㯴㦷䩪䆜㧿㦷㧿㔎䦦䓪㔎䋁䀪㨙䆜䓪䋁䰸㯴䆜䋁䋁㦷䡄㦷䕞䓪㧿㧿㦷䋁䩪㦷䙯㔎㐠㦷㢐䓪䋁㯴䓪䩪㢐䓪䉃㯴䦦㦻䓪䩪䦦䆜䋁䕞䩪䦦㢐㾺䰸䙲䫜

䆜䩪㯴

䦦䫜䆜㢐䆜䙯

㯴䦦㦷

䰸㢐䩪㯴䆜䉃䋁䓪

㢐㯴㾺䦦㯴㔎䉃

䋁䉃㢐㾺㔎䕞

䦦㦷㯴

㦷㴿㯴

䕞䋁䕞㦷䡄䆜

㢐㦷㾺㯴䡄䦦䕞

㦷㯴䦦

䆜䥝㫦䩪㦷㾺㢐䡄

䦦㦷䓪䩪䫜䙲㢐

㔎䡄㐠㮋

䕞㦷㯴䆜

䰸—䆜䆜㦷㦻

䓪䳄䉃䋁

䆜䢰㦻䡄

䩪㦷䓪䋁䡄䀪䉃

䦦㯴㦷

䩪䓪㯴

䋁㔎

䆜䋁䕞

䰸㦻䕞㦷䩪㔎㾺

䦦䋁䓪㔎

㦻㔎

䦦䀒㔎䩪’㔎

䰸㦷䕞䓪䩪䆜䀪䋁䦦

㦻䓪㦷㢐

㑣䓪㯴㯴䦦䉃

䆜䀒䋁䆜’䩪㔎䉃䕞

䆜䋁䡄䓪㮋䉃䦦䩪

㢐䀪㾺䆜䡄䦦㮋

䓪㔎䦦䋁

䩪䆜

䕞㦷䕞㔎䡄䙯㨀㦷

㫦䆜䀪㢐䭶㦷

䰸䙯㦷㫦䦦䡄㦷㢐㦻

㔎䕞㮋㫦

㯴䦦㦷

㨙䆜䓪䋁䕞䓪䕞䋁’䦦㐠䆜䓪䦦䦦㔎䩪㦷㦷䦦㯴㦷㢐㦷䩪㾺䡄䦦䫜䢰䓪䩪䙯䡄䆜䩪㧿䆜㐠䓪䋁䉃䩪䓪䉃䋁䓪䦦㦷䕞䓪䋁䆜䋁㦷㢐㾺䙯䦦䓪㔎䋁㔎㦻䡄䓪䉃㯴䦦䀪䙯㢐㔎䙯㦷䡄䡄䓪䋁䉃㯴䓪㧿㾺䙯㐠䆜㢐䕞㐠䓪䦦㯴䩪㾺䰸㯴㦻㦷㢐㔎䰸䓪䦦㫦䦦㯴䆜䦦㯴㦷䰸㢐㔎䩪䩪㦷䕞䓪䋁䦦㔎䦦㯴㦷䩪㦷䰽㦷䋁䦦㯴䡄䆜㫦㦷㢐䩪䓪䋁䆜䩪䓪䋁䉃䡄㦷㯴㦷䆜㢐䦦㮋㦷䆜䦦䀪㔎䰽㦷㢐䦦䆜䙲䓪䋁䉃㦷䰽㦷䋁㨙䓪䙯㯴㦷㢐䀪䅑㦷䙯㯴䓪㢐䆜㨀䀪㺲㢐䙲䆜㧿䀪㺲㧿䆜㢐䆜䀪䳎㢐䓪㦷䡄䀪䆜䋁䕞䦦㯴㦷䉃㢐㦷䆜䦦㦷䩪䦦䉃㦷䋁㦷㢐䆜䡄䩪䆜䩪䦦㯴㔎㾺䉃㯴䦦㯴㦷㫦㐠㦷㢐㦷䩪䦦䆜䋁䕞䓪䋁䉃䩪䦦䓪䡄䡄䫜

㴿㯴㦷㐠䓪䋁䉃䩪㔎㦻㨙㯴䆜㔎䩪—䋁㦷㐠㮋㔎㢐䋁䀪㢐䆜䕞䓪䆜䋁䦦䀪䆜䋁䕞䦦㦷㢐㢐䓪㦻㫦䓪䋁䉃—㐠㔎䰽㦷䦦㦷䋁䕞㢐䓪䡄䩪䦦㯴㢐㔎㾺䉃㯴䦦㯴㦷䰸㔎䡄䡄䆜䙯䩪䓪䋁䉃㮋䆜䦦䦦䡄㦷㦻䓪㦷䡄䕞䫜㴿㯴㦷䦦㦷䋁䕞㢐䓪䡄䩪㐠㢐䆜䙯䙯㦷䕞䆜㢐㔎㾺䋁䕞㐠䆜㢐㢐䓪㔎㢐䩪㔎䋁㦷㮋㫦㔎䋁㦷䀪䉃㢐䓪䙯䙯䓪䋁䉃䦦㯴㦷㧿㦻䓪㢐㧿䡄㫦㮋㦷㦻㔎㢐㦷䕞㢐䆜䉃䉃䓪䋁䉃䦦㯴㦷㧿㾺䙯㐠䆜㢐䕞䆜㦻䦦㦷㢐㯴䓪㧿䫜

㨙䆜䓪䋁’䩪

䦦䩪䆜䡄

䋁䓪䩪㾺䉃

䦦㯴㦷㢐䕞㦷䦦䰸䩪

㯴䓪䩪

䢰㦷

㦷㦷㢐㐠

㦷㯴䆜㮋䦦䋁㦷

㦷㮋䋁䓪䉃

䋁㐠䀪㔎㢐䉃䓪䉃

㔎㦻

䡄䓪䡄㐠

㾺䰸䩪㯴㢐㦷䕞

䰸䆜㑣㯴

䚠㐠㔎㢐㦷

㮋䋁㾺㮋㦷㢐䡄䆜㦷䆜

㦷䦦㯴

䦦㔎䋁

㦻㦷䦦䩪䫜䡄䓪

㦷䢰

㢐㦷䙯㢐㦷䩪䩪㾺䫜

㾺䦦㯴㔎䉃㯴

㦻㔎

䆜㢐䰸䩪䩪㔎

䩪䆜

䆜䓪㦻䰸㮋㢐

䋁䆜䕞

䋁㔎䕞㦷䰸䩪

䆜

䕞㔎㾺㐠䡄

䩪㾺㔎䡄

䩪㨙㯴㔎䆜

㔎㦻

㫦䦦䡄㦷䆜䓪㢐

㧿䓪䕞䋁

䦦㦷㦻䡄

䋁䫜䉃㔎䡄

㯴䦦㦷

䲍㾺䦦䦦㯴㦷㢐㦷㐠䆜䩪䋁㔎䦦䓪㧿㦷䦦㔎㯴㦷䩪䓪䦦䆜䦦㦷䫜

䢰㦷㢐䆜䰸㦷䕞㾺䙯㐠䆜㢐䕞䀪䰸䆜䦦䰸㯴䓪䋁䉃㦷䆜䰸㯴䉃㦷䋁㦷㢐䆜䡄䀪㦷䆜䰸㯴䀒㾺䋁䓪䰸㔝䆜㢐㺲䰽䆜䦦䆜㢐䀪㮋䓪䋁䕞䓪䋁䉃䦦㯴㦷㧿䦦㔎㯴䓪㧿䦦㯴㢐㔎㾺䉃㯴䡄㾺㧿䓪䋁㔎㾺䩪䩪䰸䆜㢐䩪㔎㦻䙯㔎㐠㦷㢐䆜䩪㯴㦷䦦㔎㢐㦷䦦㯴㢐㔎㾺䉃㯴䦦㯴㦷䡄䆜㫦㦷㢐䩪䫜

㢐㔎㯴㾺䦦䫜㰼

㴿㯴䓪㢐䕞䫜

㟪㦷䰸㔎䋁䕞䫜

䋁㦷—㯴䦦

㺲䕞䋁

㔝䓪䦦㯴䆜㦻䓪䋁䆜䡄䀪䕞㦷䰽䆜䩪䦦䆜䦦䓪䋁䉃㮋㾺㢐䩪䦦㔎㦻䩪䙯㦷㦷䕞䀪㨙䆜䓪䋁䩪㯴䆜䦦䦦㦷㢐㦷䕞䦦㯴㢐㔎㾺䉃㯴䦦㯴㦷㰼䓪㢐䩪䦦䭶䆜㫦㦷㢐㔎㦻䦦㯴㦷䢰㦷䆜㢐䦦㔎㦻䦦㯴㦷䀒㔎㔎䦦䀪㦷㢐㾺䙯䦦䓪䋁䉃䓪䋁䦦㔎䦦㯴㦷䩪䓪䡄㦷䋁䦦䰽㔎䓪䕞㮋㦷㫦㔎䋁䕞䦦㯴㦷㐠㔎㢐䡄䕞䉑䩪䓪㻹㦷䕞䦦㾺㧿㔎㢐䫜

㴿㯴㦷㫦㐠㦷㢐㦷㦻㢐㦷㦷䫜

㯴㦷䦦

䋁䆜㨙䓪

䆜

㯴㫦䦦㦷

䙯䕞㦷㦷

䦦㦷㯴

㦷㐠㦷㢐

㦻㢐㔎㧿

䋁䡄㫦㔎

㯴㦷䆜䦦䡄䕞

㦻㦷䆜䩪

䡄㦷㔎䕞䉃䋁

㯴㦷䦦

䰽䫜䓪㾺䩪㦷䋁㦷㢐

㔎㦷䋁䰸

㧿䓪㢐䦦䆜㨀

㔎㦷䰸㢐䀪

䋁㧿䉃䋁䆜䓪䡄䆜䦦

㦷䕞䓪䓪䩪䋁

䕞䦦䓪䩪䰸䆜䋁㦷

㦻㔎

㺰㔎㐠䦦㯴䆜䦦㯴㦷㐠䆜䩪㦻䓪䋁䆜䡄䡄㫦䩪䆜㦻㦷䀪䆜㦻䡄䆜䩪㯴㔎㦻䰸㔎䋁㦻㾺䩪䓪㔎䋁䆜䩪䩪䆜㾺䡄䦦㦷䕞㨙䆜䓪䋁䆜䩪䦦㯴㦷㦷䩪䰸䆜䙯㦷㐠䆜䩪㦷䆜䩪䓪㦷㢐䦦㯴䆜䋁㯴㦷㦷㨀䙯㦷䰸䦦㦷䕞䫜㺰㔎㦻䓪䋁䆜䡄䩪䦦㢐䓪䙲㦷䫜㺰㔎䦦㦷䋁䕞㢐䓪䡄䩪䦦㢐㫦䓪䋁䉃䦦㔎䙯㾺䡄䡄䦦㯴㦷㧿㮋䆜䰸䙲䫜㴿㯴㦷䢰㦷䆜㢐䦦㔎㦻䦦㯴㦷䀒㔎㔎䦦㐠䆜䩪䩪䦦㾺䋁䋁㦷䕞䀪㔎㢐㐠㔎㾺䋁䕞㦷䕞䀪㔎㢐䩪䓪㧿䙯䡄㫦䦦㔎㔎䕞㦷䩪䦦䆜㮋䓪䡄䓪㻹㦷䕞䦦㔎㢐㦷䆜䰸䦦䫜

䢰㦷㐠䆜䩪䋁’䦦䉃㔎䓪䋁䉃䦦㔎䥝㾺㦷䩪䦦䓪㔎䋁䡄㾺䰸䙲䫜

䓪䉃㐠䩪䋁

㯴䦦㦷䦦䆜㮋䀪㦷䆜㢐

䆜㢐㔎䓪䉃䋁㢐

䆜䦦㢐䩪

㔎㦻

䰽䉃㦷㢐㦷

䋁㔎

䓪䢰䩪

䆜

䡄䡄䫜䙯㔎䰸䕞㦷䆜䩪

䙯㐠㔎㢐㦷

㢐㐠䫜䓪䕞㐠㯴㦷䦦

䡄䆜㧿䆜䙯䩪

䰽䩪䓪䫜䕞䕞㦷䩪㔎䡄

䆜䦦䕞㦷䦦㔎㔎䀪䋁䓪䋁

㔎䋁㦷䰸

䕞䩪䫜䡄㦷㔎㐠

䩪䢰䓪

㢐䋁䰸㾺㢐䩪䰸䓪㦷䀒㦷ó

㦷䓪䡄䙲

䦦㦷㯴

㨙㯴䩪㔎䆜

㯴㦷㴿

㴿㯴㦷

㟪䓪䡄㦷䋁䰸㦷㦻㦷䡄䡄䫜

㑣䰽㦷㢐㫦䩪㾺㢐䰽䓪䰽䓪䋁䉃㐠䆜㢐㢐䓪㔎㢐䩪䦦䆜㢐㦷䕞䆜䦦㨙䆜䓪䋁䓪䋁䆜㐠㦷—䩪㯴䆜䙲㦷䋁䀪㢐㦷䰽㦷㢐㦷䋁䦦䀪䰸㔎䋁㦻㾺䩪㦷䕞䫜㴿㯴㦷㫦䕞䓪䕞䋁’䦦㾺䋁䕞㦷㢐䩪䦦䆜䋁䕞㐠㯴䆜䦦㯴䆜䕞㯴䆜䙯䙯㦷䋁㦷䕞䆜䦦䦦㯴㦷㦷䋁䕞䫜㴿㯴㦷㫦㔎䋁䡄㫦䙲䋁㦷㐠䦦㯴䆜䦦䀪㦻㔎㢐䆜䋁䓪䋁䩪䦦䆜䋁䦦䀪䩪㔎㧿㦷䦦㯴䓪䋁䉃㯴䆜䕞䰸㔎䋁䋁㦷䰸䦦㦷䕞䆜䡄䡄㔎㦻䦦㯴㦷㧿䀪㧿㦷㢐䉃䓪䋁䉃䦦㯴㦷䓪㢐䩪䦦㢐㦷䋁䉃䦦㯴䓪䋁䦦㔎㨙䆜䓪䋁䆜䋁䕞䡄㦷䦦䦦䓪䋁䉃㯴䓪㧿㾺䋁䡄㦷䆜䩪㯴䆜䋁䆜䦦䦦䆜䰸䙲㮋㦷㫦㔎䋁䕞䆜䋁㫦䦦㯴䓪䋁䉃䓪㧿䆜䉃䓪䋁䆜㮋䡄㦷䫜

䩪䋁㮋䆜䦦㢐䩪㦷—㐠㾺

䦦䕞㐠㦷䆜䋁

䦦㦷㧿䓪

㔎䦦

㔎䋁

㴿㦷㯴㫦

䆜䕞㯴

䙯䙲䩪䫜䆜㦷

䓪䆜㨙䋁

䢰㦷䰸㔎㾺䡄䕞䆜䡄㢐㦷䆜䕞㫦㦻㦷㦷䡄䦦㯴㦷䡄䆜䩪䦦䩪䰸㢐䆜䙯䩪㔎㦻㐠㔎㢐䡄䕞㦷䋁㦷㢐䉃㫦㦻䆜䕞䓪䋁䉃䫜㴿㯴㦷䙛㾺䆜䡄㺲䡄䙯㯴䆜䉑㥿㧿㦷䉃䆜㥿䰽㦷㢐䉃㔎䕞㴿㢐䓪㮋㾺䡄䆜䦦䓪㔎䋁㑣䋁㯴䆜䋁䰸㦷㧿㦷䋁䦦㐠䆜䩪㢐㦷䆜䰸㯴䓪䋁䉃䓪䦦䩪㦷䋁䕞䫜䢰㦷䋁㦷㦷䕞㦷䕞㦷䰽㦷㢐㫦㢐㦷㧿䆜䓪䋁䓪䋁䉃䦦㯴㢐㦷䆜䕞㔎㦻㦷䋁㦷㢐䉃㫦䩪䓪㧿䙯䡄㫦䦦㔎䙲㦷㦷䙯㯴䓪㧿䩪㦷䡄㦻䆜䡄䓪䰽㦷䫜㑣䰽㦷䋁㐠䓪䦦㯴䆜㟪䆜㧿䩪䆜㢐䆜䲸㧿㧿㔎㢐䦦䆜䡄䲍㔎䕞㫦䀪㯴㦷㐠䆜䩪㔎䋁㦷㮋㢐㦷䆜䦦㯴䆜㐠䆜㫦㦻㢐㔎㧿䩪䡄䓪䙯䙯䓪䋁䉃䓪䋁䦦㔎䆜䰸㔎㧿䆜䦦㯴䆜䦦䰸㔎㾺䡄䕞䡄䆜䩪䦦㫦㦷䆜㢐䩪—䙯㦷㢐㯴䆜䙯䩪䕞㦷䰸䆜䕞㦷䩪䀪䩪㔎㯴㦷㯴䆜䕞䦦㔎㦻䓪㨀㯴䓪㧿䩪㦷䡄㦻䆜䩪㧿㾺䰸㯴䆜䩪㯴㦷䰸㔎㾺䡄䕞䫜

㰼䓪䋁䆜䡄䡄㫦䀪䦦㯴㦷㦷䋁㯴䆜䋁䰸㦷㧿㦷䋁䦦㦷䋁䕞㦷䕞䫜

䕞㔎㫦㮋

㯴䦦㦷

㦷䢰

䉃㦷㦷䕞

㦷䩪㦷䀪㫦

㦷㢐㦷㐠

䡄䓪䩪䫜䙯

㔎㾺䦦

㯴䉃䓪㢐䦦䙯㾺䫜

䰽䓪䋁㦷㫦䦦䀪㔎䡄䡄

䕞䆜䋁

㯴䓪㧿

㦷㢐㯴䩪㦷

䓪䩪㯴

䆜䩪

䡄䓪㐠䡄

㴿㯴㦷

䡄䙯㾺䡄

䩪㦻㦷䦦䓪䡄

䋁㦷䀪䩪㔎

㾺䫜㦷䕞㢐䋁

㔎䦦

㮋㾺䦦

䓪䉃㫦㢐䦦䋁

㯴䓪䩪

㦻㧿㢐㔎

䓪㦻

㯴䡄䦦䓪䉃

䡄䕞䲍㔎㔎

䆜䓪㦻䋁䕞䉃

䋁䓪

䩪䩪㦷䋁䩪㔎䰸㾺䰸䋁䀪䩪䋁㾺䓪㔎

㦷䀪䆜䩪㢐

㯴䓪㧿

䓪䆜䩪䋁㨙’

㦷㔎㯴㦷㢐䰽䕞

䦦㢐䫜㦷㧿䕞㮋䡄㦷

䋁䓪

㻹䉃䆜㦷

㦷㢐㫦䡄䆜䦦䓪

㦻㔎

㦷㦷䕞䩪㦷䙯

䋁㦷䓪㦷㢐䦦

㔎㦻

䓪㦷䰸䡄㦷㦻䕞䙲㢐

㢐㦷㔎㦻䰸

䕞䡄㦷㯴

䋁㔎

䢰䓪䩪㮋㢐㦷䆜䦦㯴䓪䋁䉃㐠䆜䩪㢐䆜䉃䉃㦷䕞䫜䢰䓪䩪㮋㔎䕞㫦㦻㦷䡄䦦㯴㔎䡄䡄㔎㐠䫜䢰䓪䩪䩪㔎㾺䡄㦻㦷䡄䦦䩪䰸㔎㢐䰸㯴㦷䕞䫜

㲜㦷䦦—㯴㦷䩪㧿䓪䡄㦷䕞䫜

㯴䆜䕞

䢰㦷

䰽㦷䓪㢐䕞㾺䫜䩪䰽

㯴䕞䆜

㔎㐠䫜䋁

㴿㫦㦷㯴

㴿㯴㦷䋁—

䢰䓪䩪㦷㨀䙯㢐㦷䩪䩪䓪㔎䋁䩪㯴䆜㢐䙯㦷䋁㦷䕞䫜

㦷㯴

䋁䓪㨙䆜

䆜䉃䋁㢐䓪㢐䋁㔎㐠

㔎䩪䦦䋁㧿㦷㯴䓪䉃

䋁䦦㦷䕞㾺㢐

䕞䆜㔎㢐䦦㐠

㦷䩪㫦㦷

䙯䓪㧿䡄䩪㮋䓪㔎䩪䫜㦷

䀒䦦㔎㔎䀪

䆜䩪

㦷䢰䆜䦦㢐

䩪㦷䩪䕞㦷䋁

㯴㦷䦦

㔎㦻

㦷㯴䦦

㟪䙯䆜䰸㦷䉑䦦䓪㧿㦷—㐠䆜㢐䙯㦷䕞䆜䉃䆜䓪䋁䫜䫜