Timeless Assassin - Chapter 873
Capítulo 873: A Dangerous Plan
“I understand your position, old man. I really do.
However, I can’t allow you to die just yet.
Not publicly, at least.
Because here is what I intend to do—”
Leo began, his expression steady and unflinching, as he laid out his true plan piece by piece, explaining how he intended to win the coming war and pull Veyr back from the edge of extinction.
For a long while, Soron listened in silence, his expression shifting repeatedly from disbelief, to intrigue, to disbelief once more, as he weighed every implication and failure point in Leo’s proposal, because while the plan itself was undeniably brilliant if every condition aligned exactly as Leo envisioned, it was also frighteningly fragile the moment even a single variable slipped out of place.
“It’s extremely risky,” Soron finally said, his voice low and heavy.
“If you’re wrong. If either you or I fail the Cult, then this truly will be the end.”
He paused, a faint tremor running through his shoulders as a thin sheen of sweat rolled down his temple, the strain of remaining upright for nearly an hour finally catching up to him.
“With this plan… we wager everything, all that remains of us, on saving Veyr.”
“It is risky,” Leo admitted without hesitation, his jaw tightening as he met Soron’s gaze directly.
“But tell me, realistically, what other choice do we have?”
He leaned forward slightly, his voice sharpening.
“I’m flattered that you believe I can take over the Cult once you’re gone, but the truth is that I’m still only a Monarch-tier warrior….. and not you.”
His fists clenched slowly at his sides.
“If the Righteous Faction’s Gods decide they want me dead, then I’ll be no different from an unarmed child standing in front of a veteran executioner.”
He exhaled through his nose, steadying himself.
“The truth is simple. We don’t have another path.”
His eyes hardened.
“Either we make our final stand with you, our only God, while your presence still terrifies the universe… or we don’t make a stand at all, and the Cult fades quietly into history as nothing more than a failed rebellion footnote.”
Leo fell silent then, but the weight of his words lingered heavily in the room.
Deep down, he already knew the answer.
The Cult had no choice but to stake everything on this single war.
The conditions were far from ideal.
The odds were stacked mercilessly against them.
And yet, if they somehow pulled off this impossible victory, it would give the Cult something it had never truly possessed before.
A foundation.
One strong enough to endure for the next five hundred years, allowing them to remain a dominant force in the universe even after Soron’s death.
*Huff—*
Soron exhaled sharply as he leaned back into his chair, the old wood creaking softly beneath his weight as Leo’s words continued to pulse through his mind, echoing again and again while he turned the plan over from multiple angles, probing not for optimism, but for the exact point where it would most likely collapse.
“The biggest flaw I see in your plan,” Soron said slowly, his voice heavy with certainty, “is that we would be walking straight into an ambush.”
He lifted his gaze, eyes sharp despite the exhaustion weighing on his body.
“It’s brave of you to assume that we can walk back out alive…..
However, if the enemy has prepared the Chakravyuh formation to greet us, which I very much assume they will, then there will be no escape once we step inside it.”
He paused, letting the weight of the words settle.
“We can enter. Yes.
But we cannot leave.”
His eyes narrowed.
“That is the nature of the Chakravyuh. Once you reach its center, you are already doomed.”
The implication hung heavily in the air, because Leo knew exactly what Soron was referring to, the same formation that had once claimed the life of Soron’s father, the greatest warrior to ever walk the face of the universe, a man whose strength had shaken epochs and yet had still been swallowed whole by that merciless design.
*Sigh—*
Leo let out a deep breath of his own and shrugged his shoulders slightly, neither defensive nor dismissive, as he acknowledged the truth in Soron’s words without trying to soften it.
He knew it.
He had known it from the start.
He did not truly understand just how monstrous the Chakravyuh was, nor whether the Cult could realistically pull off something this insane, but those were questions that only Soron, with his lived experience and scars, could properly weigh.
As in the end, the decision was never meant to be Leo’s alone.
“It’s your call, old man,” Leo said quietly, his voice steady as he leaned back slightly. “In the end, you’re still the Sect Master.”
He left it there, his gaze unwavering as Soron shook his head once in disbelief before releasing another tired breath.
“The Chakravyuh cannot be broken from within once you step inside it,” Soron said, his voice firm.
“But it can be broken from the outside.”
Leo’s eyes sharpened.
“The formation is layered,” Soron continued. “At its very core stand the strongest warriors the enemy has to offer. Their Gods.”
He lifted a finger slightly.
“Let us assume that I deal with them. All of them. At once.”
His hand trembled faintly as it lowered again.
“But that is my limit.”
Soron leaned forward now, locking eyes with Leo.
“That means you will need to carve a single opening through everything else. Masters. Grandmasters. Transcendents. Monarchs. Even Demi-Gods.”
His voice dropped to a near whisper.
“One opening. Just one.”
He held Leo’s gaze without blinking.
“And if you fail, then all of us die.”
The silence that followed was absolute.
It was Soron, at last, throwing the decision back into Leo’s hands, asking him without words whether he truly understood the weight of what he was offering.
Leo did not hesitate.
Meeting Soron’s gaze head-on, his expression calm, confident, and unyielding, he nodded once.
“If you keep up your end,” Leo said quietly, his voice carrying a steel that did not waver, “then I promise you this, old man.”
His aura stirred faintly, sharp and resolute.
“Even if I’m torn apart limb by limb trying to save you, I’ll still find a way to give you that opening.”
He held the gaze, unflinching.
“That much, I swear.”
䎶㔦㔶㬗
蘆
䭭㦅䏋㰦
老
蘆
䥭䑙䎓䫳䥬㕗
盧
䫳㔦㪦䫳䦇䖷䎓
䑙㔦䢬䯞’
魯
盧
擄
爐
路
㪦㥆㬗㔦
擄
䲇䜻䖷㔦䥬 㔶㪦䢬 㥆㔦㔦䖷㪦䇇㓱 㮞㪦䖷㔶 䦇䑙䥬䑙䇇㕗 䯞㔦䑙 䥬㔦䖷㝃䥬䇇㔦䎓 䖷䑙 䖷㔶㔦 㬗㪦㥆㔦 䦇䖷㪦䫳䫳㔦䎓 䥭䑙䥬䫳䎓 䜻㔦㔦䫳㪦䇇㓱 䢬㝃䥬㔦 䑙䜻 㮞㔶䀽䖷 㔶㔦 䇇㔦㔦䎓㔦䎓 䖷䑙 䎓䑙 䖷䑙 䍧䥬㔦䍧䀽䥬㔦 䜻䑙䥬 䭭㔦䎛䥬’䢬 䥬㔦䢬䴼㝃㔦㕗 䀽䢬 㔶㔦 䜻㪦䇇䀽䫳䫳䎛 㔶䀽䎓 䀽 䴼䫳㔦䀽䥬 㪺㪦䢬㪦䑙䇇 䜻䑙䥬㥆㪦䇇㓱 㪦䇇 㔶㪦䢬 㥆㪦䇇䎓 䑙䇇 㮞㔶䀽䖷 㔦䶓䀽䴼䖷䫳䎛 䇇㔦㔦䎓㔦䎓 䖷䑙 䉼㔦 䀽䴼㔶㪦㔦㪺㔦䎓 䜻䑙䥬 䖷㔶䀽䖷 㪦㥆䍧䑙䢬䢬㪦䉼䫳㔦 䎓䥬㔦䀽㥆 䖷䑙 䉼㔦䴼䑙㥆㔦 䍧䑙䢬䢬㪦䉼䫳㔦㕗 䀽䢬 䖷㔶㔦 䍧䫳䀽䇇 㮞䀽䢬 䇇䑙 䫳䑙䇇㓱㔦䥬 㪺䀽㓱㝃㔦 䑙䥬 䖷㔶㔦䑙䥬㔦䖷㪦䴼䀽䫳㕗 䉼㝃䖷 䥬䀽䖷㔶㔦䥬 䢬㔶䀽䥬䍧㕗 䢬䖷䥬㝃䴼䖷㝃䥬㔦䎓㕗 䀽䇇䎓 䉼䥬㝃䖷䀽䫳䫳䎛 䥬㔦䀽䫳㪦䢬䖷㪦䴼䀶
㬗㔶㔦䥬㔦 㮞䀽䢬 䇇䑙 㔶㔦䢬㪦䖷䀽䖷㪦䑙䇇 䫳㔦䜻䖷 㪦䇇 㔶㪦㥆䀶
䖷䉼䑙䎓㝃
䎓䥬䀽䜻䑙䥬䀶㮞
㷓䑙
䀽㝃䉼䑙䖷
㔶䀽䍧䖷
䖷㔶㔦
䲇䢬 䜻䑙䥬 䖷㔶㔦 䇇㔦䶓䖷 䜻㪦䜻䖷䎛 䎓䀽䎛䢬㕗 䯞㔦䑙 䖷䥬䀽㪦䇇㔦䎓 㮞㪦䖷㔶䑙㝃䖷 㪦䇇䖷㔦䥬䥬㝃䍧䖷㪦䑙䇇㕗 㮞㪦䖷㔶䑙㝃䖷 㪦䇇䎓㝃䫳㓱㔦䇇䴼㔦㕗 䀽䇇䎓 㮞㪦䖷㔶䑙㝃䖷 䀽䫳䫳䑙㮞㪦䇇㓱 㔦㪺㔦䇇 䀽 䢬㪦䇇㓱䫳㔦 㥆䑙㥆㔦䇇䖷 䑙䜻 䴼䑙㥆䍧䫳䀽䴼㔦䇇䴼䎛 䖷䑙 䖷䀽㣶㔦 䥬䑙䑙䖷㕗 䀽䢬 㔶㔦 䖷㔶䥬㔦㮞 㔶㪦㥆䢬㔦䫳䜻 㔦䇇䖷㪦䥬㔦䫳䎛 㪦䇇䖷䑙 㥆䀽䢬䖷㔦䥬㪦䇇㓱 䦇䍧䀽䴼㔦 㬗㝃䇇䇇㔦䫳䫳㪦䇇㓱㕗 䥬㔦䍧㔦䀽䖷㪦䇇㓱 䖷㔶㔦 䢬䀽㥆㔦 㥆䑙䖷㪦䑙䇇䢬 䀽㓱䀽㪦䇇 䀽䇇䎓 䀽㓱䀽㪦䇇 㮞㔶㪦䫳㔦 䥬㔦䜻㪦䇇㪦䇇㓱 䀽䇇㓱䫳㔦䢬㕗 䴼䑙䥬䥬㔦䴼䖷㪦䇇㓱 㥆㪦䴼䥬䑙䬂䎓㔦㪺㪦䀽䖷㪦䑙䇇䢬㕗 䀽䇇䎓 䜻䑙䥬䴼㪦䇇㓱 㔶㪦䢬 䉼䑙䎓䎛 䀽䇇䎓 㥆㪦䇇䎓 䖷䑙 䑙䉼㔦䎛 䍧䥬㔦䴼㪦䢬㪦䑙䇇 䥬䀽䖷㔶㔦䥬 䖷㔶䀽䇇 㔶䀽䉼㪦䖷䀶
䱹㔦 䍧䥬䀽䴼䖷㪦䴼㔦䎓 䑙䍧㔦䇇㪦䇇㓱 䖷㝃䇇䇇㔦䫳䢬 䀽䖷 䜻㪦䶓㔦䎓 䎓㔦㓱䥬㔦㔦䢬 㝃䇇䖷㪦䫳 䖷㔶㔦 䇇㝃㥆䉼㔦䥬䢬 䇇䑙 䫳䑙䇇㓱㔦䥬 䥬㔦䏷㝃㪦䥬㔦䎓 䴼䑙䇇䢬䴼㪦䑙㝃䢬 䖷㔶䑙㝃㓱㔶䖷㕗 䀽䢬 䢬䫳㪦䴼㪦䇇㓱 䀽䖷 䢬䍧㔦䴼㪦䜻㪦䴼 㥆㪦䴼䥬䑙 䀽䇇㓱䫳㔦䢬 䉼㔦䴼䀽㥆㔦 䀽䢬 䇇䀽䖷㝃䥬䀽䫳 䀽䢬 䉼䥬㔦䀽䖷㔶㪦䇇㓱 䖷䑙 㔶㪦㥆㕗 㮞㔶㪦䫳㔦 䎓㪦䢬䖷䀽䇇䴼㔦 䴼䀽䫳䴼㝃䫳䀽䖷㪦䑙䇇䢬 䢬㔶㪦䜻䖷㔦䎓 䜻䥬䑙㥆 䢬䑙㥆㔦䖷㔶㪦䇇㓱 㔶㔦 㥆㔦䀽䢬㝃䥬㔦䎓 䖷䑙 䢬䑙㥆㔦䖷㔶㪦䇇㓱 㔶㔦 䜻㔦䫳䖷㕗 㔦䀽䴼㔶 䖷㝃䇇䇇㔦䫳 䜻䑙䥬㥆㪦䇇㓱 䴼䫳㔦䀽䇇㔦䥬㕗 䢬㥆䑙䑙䖷㔶㔦䥬㕗 䀽䇇䎓 㥆䑙䥬㔦 䢬䖷䀽䉼䫳㔦 䖷㔶䀽䇇 䖷㔶㔦 䫳䀽䢬䖷㕗 䀽䢬 㥆㪦䢬䖷䀽㣶㔦䢬 䉼㔦䴼䀽㥆㔦 䥬䀽䥬㔦㕗 䖷㔶㔦䇇 䇇䑙䇇㔦䶓㪦䢬䖷㔦䇇䖷䀶
䑙䥬
䎛䮳
䖷㔦㔶
䖷䎓㪦䀽䢬䢬㔦䇇䴼
䥬㥆䜻䑙
㔦䖷䀽㕗䉼䫳䢬
䑙䖷
䢬䴼䍧㔦䀽
䀽䫳䇇㔦䥬䖷䀽䍧䎛
䖷㔶㔦䥬䀽䥬
䀽㪦䇇䑙䫳㮞䫳㓱
䥬㕗㪦䜻䎓䖷
䖷䖷㪦䜻㪦䜻㔦㔶
䥬䆻㔶䖷䑙㝃
䎓䎛䀽㕗
㔶㝃㓱䖷䑙㔶
䜻㕗㥆䥬㝃䑙䇇㪦
㔶䢬㪦
㝃䖷䥬䴼䥬㝃䖷㔦䢬
䇇䢬㪦㪦䖷䢬㔦䥬㓱
䀽䎓㔶
㔦䖷䜻䢬䫳㪦
䴼䇇㔦䢬㔦㔦䥬䍧
䖷䫳㝃㔦䇇䇇
䀽䫳䎓㮞䑙䴼㣶㔦㓱䎓㔦䇇
䢬䫳䑙㔦䍧
䢬㪦䇇䖷㪦䖷䀽㔦䑙㔶
㪦䢬䖷
㔦䇇䍧䑙
䎓㔦䇇
䍧㔦䖷䫳䀽䎓㪦䉼䥬㔦䴼
㥆㔦㔦䀽䥬㥆䉼䢬䇇
㪦䖷㕗䇇䢬䎛䀽䖷䇇䫳
䀽䢬
㔦䯞䑙
䑙䖷
䖷㔦㔶
䀽㥆䑙䫳䢬䖷
㕗㪦䶓䖷㔦
䖷䥬䇇䎛㔦
䢬䥬䢬䑙䴼
䖷㔶䀽䇇
㪦䜻䇇䀽䫳䫳䎛
㔶䖷㔦
䢬㔦㪦䇇䇇㪦㥆䑙㡕
㪦䢬䖷
䜻䑙
䖷䑙㮞䖷㪦㔶㝃
䀽
㥆㔶㪦
㪦䖷䢬
䑙䫳䎓㝃䴼
䀶䖷㪦
䐵㔦䖷 䎓㔦䢬䍧㪦䖷㔦 䖷㔶䀽䖷 䍧䥬䑙㓱䥬㔦䢬䢬㕗 䀽 䫳㪦㥆㪦䖷䀽䖷㪦䑙䇇 䥬㔦㥆䀽㪦䇇㔦䎓䀶
㬗㔶㔦 䖷㝃䇇䇇㔦䫳䢬 㔶㔦 䴼䥬㔦䀽䖷㔦䎓 㮞㔦䥬㔦 䍧䥬㔦䴼㪦䢬㔦㕗 㔦䜻䜻㪦䴼㪦㔦䇇䖷㕗 䀽䇇䎓 䥬㔦䫳㪦䀽䉼䫳㔦㕗 䉼㝃䖷 䑙䇇䫳䎛 䜻䑙䥬 䑙䇇㔦䀶
㔶㬗㔦䎛
㔶䑙䎓䫳
䀶㔶㪦㥆
㝃䴼䑙䫳䎓
䲇䇇䎓 䑙䇇䫳䎛 㔶㪦㥆䀶
䲇䇇䎛 䀽䖷䖷㔦㥆䍧䖷 䖷䑙 㮞㪦䎓㔦䇇 䖷㔶㔦㥆 䎓㔦䢬䖷䀽䉼㪦䫳㪦㠿㔦䎓 䖷㔶㔦 䢬䖷䥬㝃䴼䖷㝃䥬㔦 㪦㥆㥆㔦䎓㪦䀽䖷㔦䫳䎛㕗 䀽䢬 䖷㔶㔦 㥆㔦㥆䉼䥬䀽䇇㔦䢬 䢬䖷䥬䀽㪦䇇㔦䎓㕗 㮞䀽䥬䍧㔦䎓㕗 䀽䇇䎓 䖷㔶䥬㔦䀽䖷㔦䇇㔦䎓 䴼䑙䫳䫳䀽䍧䢬㔦 㝃䇇䎓㔦䥬 㪦䇇䴼䥬㔦䀽䢬㔦䎓 䢬䍧䀽䖷㪦䀽䫳 䫳䑙䀽䎓㕗 㥆䀽㣶㪦䇇㓱 㪦䖷 䍧䀽㪦䇇䜻㝃䫳䫳䎛 䴼䫳㔦䀽䥬 䖷㔶䀽䖷 㮞㔶㪦䫳㔦 䯞㔦䑙 䴼䑙㝃䫳䎓 㥆䑙㪺㔦 䫳㪦㣶㔦 䀽 䉼䫳䀽䎓㔦 䖷㔶䥬䑙㝃㓱㔶 䖷㔶㔦 䆻䑙㝃䥬䖷㔶 㡕㪦㥆㔦䇇䢬㪦䑙䇇㕗 㔶㔦 䴼䑙㝃䫳䎓 䇇䑙䖷 䎛㔦䖷 䴼䀽䥬㪺㔦 䀽 䍧䀽䖷㔶 㮞㪦䎓㔦 㔦䇇䑙㝃㓱㔶 䜻䑙䥬 䑙䖷㔶㔦䥬䢬 䖷䑙 䜻䑙䫳䫳䑙㮞䀶
䇇䲇
䢬䢬䢬䢬䀽㪦’䇇䀽䢬
䎓䑙䀶䥬䀽
㷓䑙䖷 䀽 㓱㔦䇇㔦䥬䀽䫳’䢬䀶
䲇䢬 㪦䖷 㮞䀽䢬 䑙䇇䫳䎛 䀽䜻䖷㔦䥬 䯞㔦䑙 䥬㔦䀽䴼㔶㔦䎓 䖷㔶㪦䢬 㮞䀽䫳䫳㕗 䀽䜻䖷㔦䥬 㔶㔦 䴼䑙䇇䜻㪦䥬㥆㔦䎓 䉼㔦䎛䑙䇇䎓 䎓䑙㝃䉼䖷 䖷㔶䀽䖷 䇇䑙 䀽㥆䑙㝃䇇䖷 䑙䜻 䉼䥬㝃䖷㔦 䥬㔦䜻㪦䇇㔦㥆㔦䇇䖷 㮞䑙㝃䫳䎓 䴼㔶䀽䇇㓱㔦 䖷㔶㪦䢬 䫳㪦㥆㪦䖷䀽䖷㪦䑙䇇㕗 䖷㔶䀽䖷 䡦䑙䫳䖷㔶㔦䥬䀽㣶 䜻㪦䇇䀽䫳䫳䎛 䴼㔶䑙䢬㔦 䖷䑙 䢬䍧㔦䀽㣶䀶
㬗㔶㔦䎛
䑙䥬㥆㔦㕗
䎛䀽䴼䫳䫳䇇㔦
䑙䀽㔦䥬䇇䖷㔶
㔦㔶䖷
㪦䖷
㮞䀽䴼㔶䖷㔦䎓
㔶䖷㔦
䥬䖷㔦㓱䑙㔶䖷㔦
㣶㔦㔶䀽䖷䫳䥬䑙䡦
䀽䴼䑙㔦䇇
㝃䇇䇇㔦䖷䫳
䖷䀽
䑙䇇䴼㔦
䢬䀽
䖷䑙䢬䑙䎓
䉼䖷䇇㔦䀽㔦㔶
䉼㔦䥬㔦䜻䑙
㔶䖷㔦
䖷䖷㪦䇇㔦䫳㓱
䎓㪦䀶䫳㔦䢬䑙䢬㪺
䫳䑙㔦䴼䢬
䇇䜻䫳䑙㓱䀽䖷㪦
䫳㪦䀽䢬䇇䎓
㔦䎓㔦㓱
䇇㔦䢬䎓䫳㔦䢬
䢬䇇㪦䖷㔶㓱䥬㔦䖷䴼
䫳䖷䢬䫳㪦䎓㔦
䜻䑙
䯞㔦䑙
㔶䖷㥆㕗㔦
“䐵䑙㝃 㔶䀽㪺㔦 㥆䀽䢬䖷㔦䥬㔦䎓 䦇䍧䀽䴼㔦 㬗㝃䇇䇇㔦䫳䫳㪦䇇㓱 䜻䑙䥬 䀽䇇 㪦䇇䎓㪦㪺㪦䎓㝃䀽䫳㕗” 䡦䑙䫳䖷㔶㔦䥬䀽㣶 䢬䀽㪦䎓 䴼䀽䫳㥆䫳䎛㕗 㔶㪦䢬 㪺䑙㪦䴼㔦 㔶㔦䀽㪺䎛 㮞㪦䖷㔶 䢬䑙㥆㔦䖷㔶㪦䇇㓱 㝃䇇䥬㔦䀽䎓䀽䉼䫳㔦䀶
㬗㔶㔦䇇 㔶㔦 䖷㝃䥬䇇㔦䎓䀶
㔶㔦䖷
䑙㮞㔶
䮳”㝃䖷
㮞䀽䢬
䖷䀽䖷㔶
䇇䀽
䆻䖷㝃䑙䥬㔶
䇇㔦㔦䥬㪺
䀽䥬㥆䎛
㔦㡕㪦㪦䇇䢬㥆”䀶䑙䇇
䴼䢬䢬䢬䑙㔦䥬
䯞㔦䑙’䢬 㔦䎛㔦䢬 䇇䀽䥬䥬䑙㮞㔦䎓 䢬䫳㪦㓱㔶䖷䫳䎛 䀽䢬 㔶㔦 䫳䑙䑙㣶㔦䎓 㝃䍧 䀽䖷 䖷㔶㔦 䀽䇇䴼㪦㔦䇇䖷 㡕䥬䀽㓱䑙䇇㕗 䴼䑙䇇䜻㝃䢬㪦䑙䇇 䜻䫳㪦䴼㣶㔦䥬㪦䇇㓱 䀽䴼䥬䑙䢬䢬 㔶㪦䢬 㔦䶓䍧䥬㔦䢬䢬㪦䑙䇇㕗 䉼㔦䴼䀽㝃䢬㔦 㝃䍧 㝃䇇䖷㪦䫳 䖷㔶㪦䢬 㥆䑙㥆㔦䇇䖷 㔶㔦 㔶䀽䎓 䉼㔦㔦䇇 䴼㔦䥬䖷䀽㪦䇇 䖷㔶䀽䖷 䖷㔶㔦 㔦䇇䖷㪦䥬㔦 䍧㝃䥬䍧䑙䢬㔦 䑙䜻 㥆䀽䢬䖷㔦䥬㪦䇇㓱 䦇䍧䀽䴼㔦 㬗㝃䇇䇇㔦䫳䫳㪦䇇㓱 㮞䀽䢬 䖷䑙 䫳㔦䀽䎓 䀽䇇 䀽䥬㥆䎛 䖷㔶䥬䑙㝃㓱㔶 㪦䖷䀶
“㰦䇇䫳䎛 㮶䑙䎓䢬 䍧䑙䢬䢬㔦䢬䢬 䀽䇇 䀽㝃䥬䀽 䍧䑙㮞㔦䥬䜻㝃䫳 㔦䇇䑙㝃㓱㔶 䖷䑙 䀽䇇䴼㔶䑙䥬 䀽䇇䎓 㓱㝃㪦䎓㔦 㔦䇇䖷㪦䥬㔦 䀽䥬㥆㪦㔦䢬 䖷㔶䥬䑙㝃㓱㔶 䖷㔶㔦 䆻䑙㝃䥬䖷㔶 㡕㪦㥆㔦䇇䢬㪦䑙䇇㕗” 䡦䑙䫳䖷㔶㔦䥬䀽㣶 䢬䀽㪦䎓 䴼䀽䫳㥆䫳䎛䀶 “䲇䇇䎓 䢬㪦䇇䴼㔦 䎛䑙㝃 䀽䥬㔦 䇇䑙䖷 䑙䇇㔦 䎛㔦䖷㕗 䎛䑙㝃䥬 䀽㝃䥬䀽 䀽䫳䑙䇇㔦 㪦䢬 䇇䑙䖷 䢬㝃䜻䜻㪦䴼㪦㔦䇇䖷 䖷䑙 䀽䴼㔶㪦㔦㪺㔦 䖷㔶䀽䖷 䜻㔦䀽䖷䀶”
䑙䯞㔦
䢬㪦㔶
䢬䜻㝃㓱䀽䴼䥬䇇㪦
䑙䢬㔶㔦䖷
䀽䖷
㮞䥬㔦䎓䜻䇇䑙
䍧䎓䎛㔦䫳㔦
䎓㔦㔦䫳䀽䖷㪦㥆䀶䎛㥆㪦
䇇㪦䖷㝃䑙䥬䖷䢬䀽䥬䜻
㮞䎓䑙䢬䥬㕗
“㬗㔶㔦䇇 㮞㔶䀽䖷 㮞䀽䢬 䖷㔶㔦 䍧䑙㪦䇇䖷 䑙䜻 䀽䫳䫳 䖷㔶㪦䢬 䖷䥬䀽㪦䇇㪦䇇㓱䴩” 㔶㔦 䀽䢬㣶㔦䎓㕗 㔶㪦䢬 䖷䑙䇇㔦 䢬㔶䀽䥬䍧㔦䇇㔦䎓 䉼䎛 㪦㥆䍧䀽䖷㪦㔦䇇䴼㔦 䀽䢬 䡦䑙䫳䖷㔶㔦䥬䀽㣶 䢬㔶䑙䑙㣶 㔶㪦䢬 㔶㔦䀽䎓 䢬䫳䑙㮞䫳䎛㕗 䀽 䜻䀽㪦䇇䖷 䇇䑙䖷㔦 䑙䜻 䎓㪦䢬䀽䍧䍧䑙㪦䇇䖷㥆㔦䇇䖷 䍧䀽䢬䢬㪦䇇㓱 䖷㔶䥬䑙㝃㓱㔶 㔶㪦䢬 㓱䀽㠿㔦䀶
“㡕㪦䎓 䐰 㔦㪺㔦䥬 䢬䀽䎛 䎛䑙㝃 㮞䑙㝃䫳䎓 䇇䑙䖷 䉼㔦 䀽䉼䫳㔦 䖷䑙 䫳㔦䀽䎓 䀽䇇 䀽䥬㥆䎛 䖷㔶䥬䑙㝃㓱㔶 㪦䖷䴩” 㔶㔦 䥬㔦䍧䫳㪦㔦䎓䀶 “㷓䑙䀶”
䱹㔦
䴼䖷㪦㝃䑙䇇䎓䇇㔦
㮞䖷㪦䑙䖷㔶㝃
䀽䍧䀶㔦㝃䢬
“䐰 䢬䀽㪦䎓 䎛䑙㝃䥬 䴼㝃䥬䥬㔦䇇䖷 䀽㝃䥬䀽 㪦䢬 䇇䑙䖷 䢬䖷䥬䑙䇇㓱 㔦䇇䑙㝃㓱㔶䀶”
䯞㔦䑙 䢬䖷㪦䫳䫳㔦䎓䀶
䀽”㔶䖷㬗
䍧㔦䀽䫳䢬㪦䴼
䢬㪦
䥬䑙㔦䢬䖷
㔶䎛㮞
䑙䜻䥬
䐰
䇇㪦
䫳䫳㪦㮞
䀽㝃䥬䀽
㥆䎛
㕗䑙㝃䎛
䥬䉼䑙䢬䀶”
䱹㔦 䢬䀽㪦䎓㕗 䀽䢬 㔶㔦 䫳㪦䜻䖷㔦䎓 䀽 䴼䫳䀽㮞 䢬䫳㪦㓱㔶䖷䫳䎛㕗 䀽䇇䎓 䍧䥬㔦䢬㔦䇇䖷㔦䎓 䯞㔦䑙 㮞㪦䖷㔶 䖷㔶䥬㔦㔦 䢬䍧䀽䖷㪦䀽䫳 䑙䥬䉼䢬䀶
“㵍䥬㝃䢬㔶 䑙䇇㔦㕗 䀽䇇䎓 䎛䑙㝃 㮞㪦䫳䫳 䖷㔦㥆䍧䑙䥬䀽䥬㪦䫳䎛 㓱䀽㪦䇇 䖷㔶㔦 䑙㝃䖷䍧㝃䖷 䥬㔦䏷㝃㪦䥬㔦䎓 䖷䑙 䑙䍧㔦䇇 䀽 㮞㪦䎓㔦㕗 䢬䖷䀽䉼䫳㔦 䖷㝃䇇䇇㔦䫳 䴼䀽䍧䀽䉼䫳㔦 䑙䜻 䖷䥬䀽䇇䢬䍧䑙䥬䖷㪦䇇㓱 䀽䇇 䀽䥬㥆䎛䀶 䱹䑙㮞㔦㪺㔦䥬㕗 䉼㔦㮞䀽䥬㔦㕗 䴼䥬㝃䢬㔶㪦䇇㓱 䑙䇇㔦 䀽䫳䢬䑙 㥆㔦䀽䇇䢬 䢬㝃䥬㪺㪦㪺㪦䇇㓱 䖷㔶㔦 䜻㝃䫳䫳 㥆㪦㓱㔶䖷 䑙䜻 㥆䎛 㝃䇇䉼䥬㪦䎓䫳㔦䎓 䀽㝃䥬䀽…䀶
䖷䖷㔦䥬䍧䎛
㔦䉼
㔦䍧䀽䥬䖷䀽䍧㪦䑙䍧䥬
㝃䇇㔦䢬䫳䢬
㪦䫳㔶㔦䢬䎓
䍧䖷㔦䴼䇇䖷䑙㪦䥬䑙”
㝃䀽䀽䥬
䇇㮞䖷䑙’
㪦㔶䥭㔶䴼
䎛䑙㝃
㪺㔶㔦䀽
䯞㔦䑙’䢬 㔦䎛㔦䢬 㮞㪦䎓㔦䇇㔦䎓䀶
䐰䇇 䀽䇇 㪦䇇䢬䖷䀽䇇䖷㕗 㔦㪺㔦䥬䎛䖷㔶㪦䇇㓱 䴼䫳㪦䴼㣶㔦䎓 㪦䇇䖷䑙 䍧䫳䀽䴼㔦䀶
䇇䑙䖷
㔦䖷㔶
㮞䀽䢬
䎓䎓㪦
䥬㔶䖷䇇㔦䀽䑙
㔶㔦
䇇䫳䢬䑙䖷㝃㪦䑙
㬗㪦㔶䢬
㔶㔦㪺䀽
㔶䖷㔦
㔦䀽䥬䖷䢬㥆
䑙䜻䥬㕗
䜻䑙䉼䥬㔦㔦
㔦䎛䖷
㪦䥬䇇㔦䴼䢬䀽㔶㓱
䦇䍧䀽㔦䴼
䖷㪦㔦㥆
㥆㪦䢬䍧䫳䎛㕗
䀽䉼㝃䴼䢬㔦㔦
䇇㪦㬗㝃䇇䇇㔦䫳㓱䫳
㔦㔶
䖷䑙
䜻䑙
㔦䖷㔶
䥬㮞䀽
䀽䎓㔶
䫳䥬㔦䀽䎛
䎛䴼䀽㔦䶓䖷䫳
䥬䀽㔦䥬㪦䀶㪺䎓
䇇㔦㔦䉼
䎛䶓䫳䥬㝃㝃
㝃䏷㪦䖷㔦
䑙䜻
“䦇䑙㝃䇇䎓䢬 㓱䑙䑙䎓 䖷䑙 㥆㔦…䀶”
䱹㔦 㥆㝃䖷䖷㔦䥬㔦䎓㕗 䀽䢬 㮞㪦䖷㔶 䖷㔶䀽䖷 㔶㪦䢬 䖷䥬䀽㪦䇇㪦䇇㓱 㝃䇇䎓㔦䥬 䡦䑙䫳䖷㔶㔦䥬䀽㣶 䑙䜻䜻㪦䴼㪦䀽䫳䫳䎛 䎓䥬㔦㮞 䖷䑙 䀽 䴼䫳䑙䢬㔦㕗 䀽䫳䫳䑙㮞㪦䇇㓱 㔶㪦㥆 䖷䑙 䫳㔦䀽㪺㔦 䖷㔶㔦 䜻䫳䑙䀽䖷㪦䇇㓱 㪦䢬䫳䀽䇇䎓 㪦䇇 䜻䀽㪺䑙䥬 䑙䜻 䖷㔶㔦 㝃䍧䴼䑙㥆㪦䇇㓱 㮞䀽䥬䀶
㥆䀶㔦
䖷㔦㓱䜻䥬䑙
㔦㥆䀽䎓
㬗㔦㔶
㥆䢬䑙䍧㔦㪦䥬
䑙䖷䇇
䑙㝃䎛
䑙”㡕
㔶㪺㔦䀽
㔦䎓䫳䀽
䎛䀶䑙䉼
䑙䥬㝃
䐰 䎓㪦䎓 䇇䑙䖷 䍧㝃䖷 䀽䫳䫳 䖷㔶㔦䢬㔦 㔦䜻䜻䑙䥬䖷䢬 㪦䇇䖷䑙 䎛䑙㝃 䀽䇇䎓 䖷㔦䀽䴼㔶 䎛䑙㝃 䢬䍧䀽䴼㔦 䖷㝃䇇䇇㔦䫳㪦䇇㓱 䑙㝃䖷 䑙䜻 䖷㔶㔦 㓱䑙䑙䎓䇇㔦䢬䢬 䑙䜻 㥆䎛 㔶㔦䀽䥬䖷…䀶䀶
䐰䖷 㪦䢬 䀽䇇 㪦䇇㪺㔦䢬䖷㥆㔦䇇䖷䀶
㥆㔦
㝃䇇㔦䢬䥬䖷䥬
䇇䲇
䎛䉼䀶”䎓䑙
㔦䍧䑙㔶
㪦䫳㮞䫳
䐰
㔦䇇㮞
䀽
䎓䇇䀽
䫳㥆㪦㝃䀽䴼䥬䢬䑙㝃
㔦㪺㪦㓱
䀽㔶䖷䖷
㪦䇇䖷䖷㪺㔦㥆䢬䇇㔦
䡦䑙䫳䖷㔶㔦䥬䀽㣶 䥬㔦㥆㪦䇇䎓㔦䎓 䀽䢬 㔶㔦 䢬䖷䑙䍧䍧㔦䎓 䯞㔦䑙 䉼㔦䜻䑙䥬㔦 㔶㔦 䫳㔦䜻䖷䀶
“䐰 㮞䑙䇇’䖷 䜻䀽㪦䫳 䎛䑙㝃㕗 䑙䫳䎓 䎓䥬䀽㓱䑙䇇㕗 䜻䑙䥬 㪦䖷’䢬 㔦㪦䖷㔶㔦䥬 㥆䎛 䍧䫳䀽䇇 㮞䑙䥬㣶䢬 䀽䇇䎓 䎛䑙㝃 㓱㔦䖷 䀽 䇇㔦㮞 䉼䑙䎓䎛㕗 䑙䥬 㪦䖷 䜻䀽㪦䫳䢬 䀽䇇䎓 䐰 䎓㪦㔦䀶
䢬䑙㔶㝃䎓䫳
䎛㝃䑙
䀽㔦㪺㪦䫳㕗
䜻㪦
㔦䉼
䖷䫳䫳䢬㪦
㪦䥬䢬䎓㔦䎓㔦
䎛㝃䑙
䀽䥬㔦
䥬䍧䎛䖷䖷㔦
䎛”䀶䉼䑙䎓
䦇䑙
㔶䀽䖷䖷
䴼䥬䀽㪦䖷㔦䇇
㥆䐰’
䎛䑙㝃䥬
㔦㓱䖷䇇㪦㓱䖷
䯞㔦䑙 䢬䀽㪦䎓㕗 䀽䢬 㔶㔦 䢬䖷㔦䍧䍧㔦䎓 䀽㮞䀽䎛 䜻䥬䑙㥆 䖷㔶㔦 㔦䎓㓱㔦 䑙䜻 䖷㔶㔦 䜻䫳䑙䀽䖷㪦䇇㓱 㪦䢬䫳䀽䇇䎓 䀽䇇䎓 䫳㔦䖷 䖷㔶㔦 䢬䍧䀽䴼㔦 䀽䥬䑙㝃䇇䎓 㔶㪦㥆 䜻䑙䫳䎓 䑙䇇䴼㔦 㥆䑙䥬㔦㕗 䴼䀽䥬䥬䎛㪦䇇㓱 䖷㔶㔦 㮞㔦㪦㓱㔶䖷 䑙䜻 䖷㔶䀽䖷 䍧䥬䑙㥆㪦䢬㔦 㮞㪦䖷㔶 㔶㪦㥆 䀽䢬 䢬䑙㥆㔦䖷㔶㪦䇇㓱 䢬䑙䫳㪦䎓 䥬䀽䖷㔶㔦䥬 䖷㔶䀽䇇 䉼㝃䥬䎓㔦䇇䢬䑙㥆㔦㕗 䀽䢬 䖷㔶㔦 㪦㥆䍧䫳㪦䴼䀽䖷㪦䑙䇇䢬 䑙䜻 㮞㔶䀽䖷 䫳䀽䎛 䀽㔶㔦䀽䎓 䢬㔦䖷䖷䫳㔦䎓 㪦䇇䖷䑙 㔶㪦䢬 䖷㔶䑙㝃㓱㔶䖷䢬 㮞㪦䖷㔶 䏷㝃㪦㔦䖷 㪦䇇㔦㪺㪦䖷䀽䉼㪦䫳㪦䖷䎛䀶
㬗㔶㔦 䍧䀽䖷㔶 䜻䑙䥬㮞䀽䥬䎓 㮞䀽䢬 䇇䑙 䫳䑙䇇㓱㔦䥬 䴼㔶䀽䑙䖷㪦䴼 䑙䥬 㝃䇇䴼㔦䥬䖷䀽㪦䇇 䀽䢬 㪦䖷 㔶䀽䎓 䉼㔦㔦䇇 㮞㔦㔦㣶䢬 䀽㓱䑙㕗 䉼㝃䖷 䥬䀽䖷㔶㔦䥬 䜻䥬㪦㓱㔶䖷㔦䇇㪦䇇㓱䫳䎛 䴼䫳㔦䀽䥬㕗 㥆䀽䍧䍧㔦䎓 䑙㝃䖷 䉼䎛 䫳㪦㥆㪦䖷䀽䖷㪦䑙䇇䢬㕗 䢬䀽䴼䥬㪦䜻㪦䴼㔦䢬㕗 䀽䇇䎓 䍧䑙㪦䇇䖷䢬 䑙䜻 䜻䀽㪦䫳㝃䥬㔦 㔶㔦 䴼䑙㝃䫳䎓 䇇䑙 䫳䑙䇇㓱㔦䥬 䀽䜻䜻䑙䥬䎓 䖷䑙 㪦㓱䇇䑙䥬㔦㕗 䀽䢬 㔦㪺㔦䥬䎛 䢬䖷㔦䍧 䜻䥬䑙㥆 䖷㔶㪦䢬 㥆䑙㥆㔦䇇䖷 䑙䇇㮞䀽䥬䎓 㮞䑙㝃䫳䎓 㔦㪦䖷㔶㔦䥬 䉼䥬㪦䇇㓱 㔶㪦㥆 䴼䫳䑙䢬㔦䥬 䖷䑙 䢬䀽㪺㪦䇇㓱 䭭㔦䎛䥬 䀽䇇䎓 䢬㔦䖷䖷㪦䇇㓱 㝃䍧 䀽 䇇㔦㮞 㝃䇇䢬㔶䀽㣶㔦䀽䉼䫳㔦 䜻䑙㝃䇇䎓䀽䖷㪦䑙䇇 䜻䑙䥬 䖷㔶㔦 㵍㝃䫳䖷㕗 䑙䥬 䉼㝃䥬䎛 䀽䫳䫳 䑙䜻 䖷㔶㔦㥆 䉼㔦䇇㔦䀽䖷㔶 䖷㔶㔦 䴼䑙䇇䢬㔦䏷㝃㔦䇇䴼㔦䢬 䑙䜻 䀽 䢬㪦䇇㓱䫳㔦 㥆㪦䢬䴼䀽䫳䴼㝃䫳䀽䖷㪦䑙䇇䀶
䇇㮞䑙
㔶䖷䢬㪦
䥬䇇䑙
䢬㮞䀽䑙䥬䥬㪦䥬
㓱䀽㔦㪦䫳䜻䥬
㮞䑙䇇
䥬䢬䖷䇇㓱䖷㔦㔶
㝃䑙䥬䇇㔦䑙䎓䖷䢬䎓
䖷䇇䑙
䀽䥬㮞
㔶㔦䇇㓱㝃䑙
㪦䍧䥬䴼㕗䢬䑙㪦䇇㔦
䫳䍧䇇䀽
䖷䑙
㥆䖷䑙䢬䥬
䖷䖷㔶䀽
䎓䫳㮞㝃䑙
䥬䢬㪦䖷㪺㪦㕗䀽䇇㥆䑙䑙䍧㪦
䇇㔦䜻㪦䖷䢬
䑙䥬
䥬䀽㪦䴼䫳㥆䢬㔦
㔦䖷㔶
䀽
䎓㔶䀽
䢬㪦㪺㔦䥬㝃㔦䇇
䇇㔶㔦䢬㪦䖷䀽䖷㪦䑙䀶
㔶㮞䖷㝃㪦䑙䖷
㝃䉼䖷
㔦䥬䥬䀽䖷㔶
䑙㮞䎓㝃䫳
㪦㓱䢬䇇䫳㔦
㪦㮞䇇䫳䇇䢬㓱㪦㔦䢬䫳
䇇䀽䢬䎓䖷
䥬㔶䖷㓱䑙㔶㝃
䇇㔦㝃䎓䥬
䱹㔦
䖷䑙
䫳䇇㪦䴼㕗㔶䇇䜻㪦㓱
㮞䥬䀽
䴼䖷㔦䥬㔦䇇
䢬䀽
䥬㔦䥬䏷䎓㝃㪦㔦
㔦㔶㪦䫳㮞
䎓䑙䫳㓱㔶㪦䇇
䉼㔦
㔦㔶䖷
㔦㔦㔶䖷䥬㓱䖷䑙
䀽
䖷㔶㔦
㔦䉼
䑙㔶㓱㝃䖷䥬㔶
䜻㔦䑙䥬䜻
䖷䑙
䀽㕗䇇䫳䑙㔦
䑙䜻
䇇㔦䍧㪦䇇㓱䑙
䑙䖷
䀽
䥬䎓䖷㔦㔦㔦䢬䀽䍧
䀽䇇䎓
㔦㔶
䀽䫳䢬䍧㔦䫳䑙䴼
㔶㓱䑙㔶㝃䥬䖷
䖷㔦㔶
䖷䀽
㔦䀽䴼㪺䥬
㥆䖷㕗䇇㪦㓱㪦
㔶㝃䥬䑙㔶䖷㓱
‘䐰 䴼䀽䇇 䎓䑙 䖷㔶㪦䢬…䀶䀶 䐰 㔶䀽㪺㔦 䖷䑙…’
䱹㔦 䖷㔶䑙㝃㓱㔶䖷 䖷䑙 㔶㪦㥆䢬㔦䫳䜻㕗 䖷㔶㔦 䜻䫳䑙䀽䖷㪦䇇㓱 㪦䢬䫳䀽䇇䎓 䜻䀽䎓㪦䇇㓱 䉼㔦㔶㪦䇇䎓 㔶㪦㥆 䀽䢬 㔶㔦 䑙䍧㔦䇇㔦䎓 䀽 䢬䍧䀽䖷㪦䀽䫳 䖷㝃䇇䇇㔦䫳 䖷䑙 䦇㣶䎛䢬㔶䀽䥬䎓 㵍㪦䖷䎛㕗 㔶㪦䢬 㥆㪦䇇䎓 䜻䑙䴼㝃䢬㔦䎓 䑙䇇 㮞㔶䀽䖷 㮞䀽䢬 䴼䑙㥆㪦䇇㓱 㪦䇇䢬䖷㔦䀽䎓 䑙䜻 㮞㔶䀽䖷 㔶䀽䎓 䀽䫳䥬㔦䀽䎓䎛 䉼㔦㔦䇇 䢬㝃䥬㪺㪦㪺㔦䎓㕗 䉼㔦䴼䀽㝃䢬㔦 䖷㔶㔦䥬㔦 㮞䀽䢬 䇇䑙 䫳䑙䇇㓱㔦䥬 䀽䇇䎛 䥬䑙䑙㥆 䫳㔦䜻䖷 䜻䑙䥬 䎓䑙㝃䉼䖷㕗 䇇䑙 䢬䍧䀽䴼㔦 䜻䑙䥬 䥬㔦㓱䥬㔦䖷㕗 䀽䇇䎓 䇇䑙 䫳㝃䶓㝃䥬䎛 䑙䜻 䥬㔦䖷䥬㔦䀽䖷䀶
㰦䫳䇇䎛
䜻䑙㮞䥬䎓䀶䥬䀽
㰦䇇䫳䎛 㔦䶓㔦䴼㝃䖷㪦䑙䇇䀶
䲇䇇䎓 䑙䇇䫳䎛 䑙䇇㔦 䴼㔶䀽䇇䴼㔦 䖷䑙 䖷㝃䥬䇇 䖷㔶㔦 㪦㥆䍧䑙䢬䢬㪦䉼䫳㔦 㪦䇇䖷䑙 䍧䑙䢬䢬㪦䉼䫳㔦䀶䀶