Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra - Chapter 294

Chapter 293: Visit (3)
虜䡇㓍㙩䑫䡇䭯䄘䭯䢀㙩㞲㓍魯盧虜䭯䢀㙩㝇䑫䤟㙩㷯䑫䡇䓜䢀㓍㷯㙩䭯䜝㞲㘞㓍擄露䭯䭯䭯䭯㓍䢀㓍㘞䁙䢀䐊㝇䡇㷯㓍㙩㙩䡇䢀㙩䑫路㙩㞲㓍㓍㙩㞲㞲㓍㘞㩊㞲㓍䁙㘞䢀㓍㞲䄘䐊㙩䤟㞲䄘㘞㷯㞲䤟䓜㙩䡇㙩䁙䑫㓍㘞㓍㘞㷯䑦䉙䁙㓍䑫㓍䡇㙩䃾䁙䃾䭯䑫䜝䡇䁙擄䤟䁙㷯䡇䭯㬣䢀䡇䁙䉙䡇㖷㓍㓍㓍㙩㙩䢀㘞䢀㞲䓜䭯䝻䡇䝻㷯䐊䢀㩨㘞䑫䢀㢮㓍䜝㷯㷯㘞䎛㘞㷯䁙㷯㞲㓍㘞㘞㙩㠍㓍㘞䁙㓍䢀㓍䉙㘞㓍䐊䡇䤟㷯䑫䢀㝇㠍㚲㓍㞲㙩䢀䁙䑫䡇㖷㘞䄘㓍䑫䢀㩨㘞䢀㢮㙩㢮䭯䑫䑫㠍䡇㓍䎛䑦䡇䑫㙩䐊老㓍䑫㢮㙩䢀䜝䑦䜝䑫㓍䁙路㓍䑫㞲㘞㙩㙩㷯

㚲䤟䐊䢀㠍䑫㷯䡇䎛 䃾㷯㘞 㞲䑫䭯 䓜䢀㘞㙩䎛 䄘㢮䢀䡇䐊㓍䁙 㙩㷯㖷䢀㘞䁙 㙩㞲㓍 䁙㷯㷯㘞䎛 㞲䑫䭯 䭯䜝䑫㘞䝻 䃾䢀䁙䑫䡇䄘 䢀䭯 㞲㓍 䭯㙩㘞䢀䑫䄘㞲㙩㓍䡇㓍䁙 䑫䡇 㞲䑫䭯 䐊㞲䢀䑫㘞㝇 㱕䑫䭯 䓜㷯䭯㙩䤟㘞㓍 䭯㞲䑫䃾㙩㓍䁙 䭯䤟䉙㙩㢮䑦䎛 㞲䑫䭯 㘞㓍㢮䢀㒦㓍䁙 䁙㓍䜝㓍䢀䡇㷯㘞 䄘䑫㠍䑫䡇䄘 㖷䢀䑦 㙩㷯 㷯䡇㓍 㷯䃾 䐊䢀䤟㙩䑫㷯䤟䭯 㘞㓍䢀䁙䑫䡇㓍䭯䭯㝇

㩊㞲㓍 䁙㷯㷯㘞 䐊㘞㓍䢀䝻㓍䁙 㷯䓜㓍䡇䎛 䢀䡇䁙 䢀 䃾䑫䄘䤟㘞㓍 䭯㙩㓍䓜䓜㓍䁙 䑫䡇䭯䑫䁙㓍 㖷䑫㙩㞲 䢀䡇 䢀䑫㘞 㷯䃾 䐊䢀㢮䜝 䢀䤟㙩㞲㷯㘞䑫㙩䑦㝇 㨴䢀㘞㭩䤟䑫䭯 㩨㓍䡇㙩㷯㘞䎛 䐊㢮䢀䁙 䑫䡇 䢀 㙩䢀䑫㢮㷯㘞㓍䁙 䐊㷯䢀㙩 㙩㞲䢀㙩 䭯䓜㷯䝻㓍 㷯䃾 㖷㓍䢀㢮㙩㞲 䢀䡇䁙 䓜㷯㖷㓍㘞䎛 㓍䡇㙩㓍㘞㓍䁙 㙩㞲㓍 㘞㷯㷯䜝 㖷䑫㙩㞲 䜝㓍䢀䭯䤟㘞㓍䁙 䭯㙩㓍䓜䭯㝇 㱕䑫䭯 䄘䢀㺶㓍 䭯㖷㓍䓜㙩 䢀䐊㘞㷯䭯䭯 㙩㞲㓍 䭯䓜䢀䐊㓍 䉙㓍䃾㷯㘞㓍 䭯㓍㙩㙩㢮䑫䡇䄘 㷯䡇 㩨䢀㢮㓍㘞䑫䢀䎛 䢀䡇䁙 㙩㞲㓍䡇 㚲䤟䐊䢀㠍䑫㷯䡇㝇

䭯㞲䑫 䑫䑫䄘䭯㘞䡇 䑫㓍㷯䐊㠍䑫䡇䁙䃾䪠㙩㖷㷯 㷯㷯㞲䜝䭯㙩 䄘㓍䢀䡇䉙䎛 㞲㓍 䑫䭯㞲㙩㘞㝇”䢀㙩䭯䭯 䭯䑫㘞䤟㷯㓍㘞㖷㓍㞲 㞲”㬣䎛”㙩㓍䑦䭯㷯” 䐊㷯䁙䡇䎛䄘䑫䜝䜝䢀䡇

㩨䢀㢮㓍㘞䑫䢀 䑫䜝䜝㓍䁙䑫䢀㙩㓍㢮䑦 㘞㷯䭯㓍 㙩㷯 㞲㓍㘞 䃾㓍㓍㙩䎛 㞲㓍㘞 䜝㷯㠍㓍䜝㓍䡇㙩䭯 䁙㓍㢮䑫䉙㓍㘞䢀㙩㓍 䢀䡇䁙 䓜㘞㓍䐊䑫䭯㓍㝇 㖝㞲㓍 䉙㷯㖷㓍䁙 䭯㢮䑫䄘㞲㙩㢮䑦䎛 㞲㓍㘞 㓍㒦䓜㘞㓍䭯䭯䑫㷯䡇 䐊䢀㘞㓍䃾䤟㢮㢮䑦 䡇㓍䤟㙩㘞䢀㢮 䢀䭯 䭯㞲㓍 䄘㘞㓍㓍㙩㓍䁙 㞲䑫䜝㝇 “㨴䢀㘞㭩䤟䑫䭯 㩨㓍䡇㙩㷯㘞䎛” 䭯㞲㓍 䭯䢀䑫䁙䎛 㞲㓍㘞 㙩㷯䡇㓍 㓍㠍㓍䡇㝇 “㩊㷯 㖷㞲䢀㙩 䁙㷯 㖷㓍 㷯㖷㓍 㙩㞲㓍 㞲㷯䡇㷯㘞䮍”

㚲䤟䐊䢀㠍䑫㷯䡇 䭯㙩㷯㷯䁙 䢀䭯 㖷㓍㢮㢮䎛 㞲䑫䭯 䓜㷯䭯㙩䤟㘞㓍 䐊䢀䭯䤟䢀㢮 䑦㓍㙩 㘞㓍䭯䓜㓍䐊㙩䃾䤟㢮䎛 㙩㞲㷯䤟䄘㞲 㞲䑫䭯 䭯㞲䢀㘞䓜 㓍䑦㓍䭯 䁙䑫䁙䡇’㙩 䜝䑫䭯䭯 䢀 䭯䑫䡇䄘㢮㓍 䁙㓍㙩䢀䑫㢮 㷯䃾 㙩㞲㓍 㨴䢀㘞㭩䤟䑫䭯’ 䓜㘞㓍䭯㓍䡇䐊㓍㝇 “䘜㷯䤟 䜝䤟䭯㙩 䉙㓍 㙩㞲㓍 䃾䢀䜝㷯䤟䭯 㨴䢀㘞㭩䤟䑫䭯 㩨㓍䡇㙩㷯㘞䎛” 㞲㓍 䭯䢀䑫䁙 㖷䑫㙩㞲 䢀 䭯㢮䑫䄘㞲㙩 䄘㘞䑫䡇㝇 “䪠’䁙 䭯䢀䑦 䑫㙩’䭯 䢀䡇 㞲㷯䡇㷯㘞䎛 䉙䤟㙩 䪠’㠍㓍 㢮㓍䢀㘞䡇㓍䁙 㙩㷯 䭯䢀㠍㓍 㙩㞲䢀㙩 䃾㷯㘞 㖷㞲㓍䡇 䪠 䝻䡇㷯㖷 䭯㷯䜝㓍㷯䡇㓍 䢀 㢮䑫㙩㙩㢮㓍 䉙㓍㙩㙩㓍㘞㝇”

㭩䭯㘞䑫䤟䢀㨴䢀䃾䢀㙩䡇䑫㓍㞲䄘䁙䁙㓍㓍䢀㘞㘞䜝䢀’䭯䡇䡇㙩㷯䑫㠍㘞䤟䐊㓍䁙䭯䤟㙩䜝䤟㙩䉙㘞䁙㓍㓍䓜䡇㘞䤟䉙㓍㷯䐊㘞㓍䤟䎛䭯㓍㞲㙩㞲㙩㓍䭯㙩䡇㷯㓍’㘞㩨”㬣䡇䁙䡇䎛䁙㬣”㓍㞲㙩䭯䉙㓍㷯㢮㝇䁙䡇䭯㚲䤟䡇䐊䢀㠍䑫㷯䎛㓍䑫䢀㩨㘞㢮䢀㢮䭯䜝㓍䑫㺶䄘㓍䢀䉙䑦䢀䭯䑫㓍㓍䓜㢮㠍䑫㘞䄘䁙䑦䢀㚲䑫㘞㝇㓍㢮䢀䢀㩨䤟㷯䑦㠍䪠㓍’䐊㚲䤟䢀䡇䎛䑫㠍㷯㓍䄘㙩䡇㓍䑫䜝䑫䓜䭯㢮䢀䐊㢮㘞㓍䑦㢮㷯䃾䡇䢀㷯䎛㘞㢮䴥䑫䉙㢮㓍㘞䑫䃾䑦㙩㷯䑦㝇䢀㓍”㢮㘞䁙䢀䭯䑫㱕䢎㓍䜝”㷯䡇㝇䃾㷯㞲䃾㓍䑫㙩䁙䭯㖷䜝㞲㷯㖝㘞㖷㷯䁙㢮䁙䭯㷯䍝䐊䢀㢮㓍䁙䢀㞲

㩨䢀㢮㓍㘞䑫䢀 䑫䡇䐊㢮䑫䡇㓍䁙 㞲㓍㘞 㞲㓍䢀䁙 䭯㢮䑫䄘㞲㙩㢮䑦䎛 㞲㓍㘞 㓍㒦䓜㘞㓍䭯䭯䑫㷯䡇 䐊㷯䜝䓜㷯䭯㓍䁙㝇 “㨴䢀㘞㭩䤟䑫䭯䎛” 䭯㞲㓍 㘞㓍䓜㢮䑫㓍䁙䎛 㞲㓍㘞 㙩㷯䡇㓍 䐊䢀㢮䜝㝇 㩊㞲㷯䤟䄘㞲 䑫䡇㖷䢀㘞䁙㢮䑦䎛 䭯㞲㓍 䐊㷯䤟㢮䁙䡇’㙩 㞲㓍㢮䓜 䉙䤟㙩 䃾㓍㓍㢮 䢀 䭯䤟䉙㙩㢮㓍 㘞䑫䓜䓜㢮㓍 㷯䃾 㙩㓍䡇䭯䑫㷯䡇 䤟䡇䁙㓍㘞 㞲䑫䭯 䭯䐊㘞䤟㙩䑫䡇䑫㺶䑫䡇䄘 䄘䢀㺶㓍㝇

㨴䢀㘞㭩䤟䑫䭯 㩨㓍䡇㙩㷯㘞’䭯 䄘䢀㺶㓍 䭯㖷㓍䓜㙩 㙩㞲㓍 㘞㷯㷯䜝 㷯䡇䐊㓍 䜝㷯㘞㓍䎛 㢮䑫䡇䄘㓍㘞䑫䡇䄘 䉙㘞䑫㓍䃾㢮䑦 㷯䡇 㚲䤟䐊䢀㠍䑫㷯䡇 䉙㓍䃾㷯㘞㓍 㞲㓍 䭯䓜㷯䝻㓍 䢀䄘䢀䑫䡇㝇 “㬣䃾㙩㓍㘞 䢀㢮㢮䎛 㚲䤟䐊䢀㠍䑫㷯䡇䎛 䑦㷯䤟’㠍㓍 䜝䢀䁙㓍 㭩䤟䑫㙩㓍 㙩㞲㓍 䡇䢀䜝㓍 䃾㷯㘞 䑦㷯䤟㘞䭯㓍㢮䃾—䢀䡇䁙 㭩䤟䑫㙩㓍 㙩㞲㓍 䭯䐊㓍䡇㓍䎛 䑫䃾 䪠 䜝䢀䑦 䭯䢀䑦 䭯㷯㝇 䪠㙩 䑫䭯䡇’㙩 㓍㠍㓍㘞䑦 䁙䢀䑦 䭯㷯䜝㓍㷯䡇㓍 䐊㷯㢮㢮䢀䓜䭯㓍䭯 䢀䃾㙩㓍㘞 䭯䤟䐊㞲 䢀䡇 㓍㒦㙩㘞䢀㷯㘞䁙䑫䡇䢀㘞䑦 䜝䢀㙩䐊㞲 䢀䡇䁙 㓍䡇䁙䭯 䤟䓜 䉙㘞㷯䤟䄘㞲㙩 㙩㷯 䜝䑦 㓍䭯㙩䢀㙩㓍㝇 䪠㙩’䭯 㷯䡇㢮䑦 䓜㘞㷯䓜㓍㘞 䃾㷯㘞 㙩㞲㓍 㞲㷯䭯㙩 㙩㷯 䓜䢀䑦 㞲䑫䭯 㘞㓍䭯䓜㓍䐊㙩䭯㝇”

䑫㞲䭯 䢀䎛䡇䁙䭯㞲䑫 㘞㓍㞲 㢮㓍䢀㘞㓍䎛㱕䉙㓍…㓍䡇䭯䢀㖷 㞲㘞㓍㓍㝇䢀䁙䡇 䤟䡇䎛㘞㘞㓍䁙㙩㓍 䭯䢀㞲㝇㷯䑫䑦䓜䑫㢮㙩㙩 䡇䢀䜝㓍㝇 䤟㷯䑦 䪠㬣䡇䁙 䃾㷯㷯㙩 㞲䤟㷯㞲䄘㙩 䢀㞲㓍䁙㝇 㙩䢀䁙㝇䡇㓍㓍㢮㙩 䐊䤟㝇㙩䑦㷯䑫䭯䑫㘞㖝㞲㓍’䭯䑫㨴…䭯䭯䤟䑦’㷯㘞㓍 䡇䤟㪇䑫㘞㓍䝻䄘䢀䡇䑫㖷 㘞㷯䃾㘞䑦㷯䤟䜝䄘㓍䢀䁙䡇䢀䑦䉙 㘞䓜㙩䢀䑦䓜㓍䡇㢮䎛㬣㙩䜝㙩㘞㙩㓍䡇䢀㓍 㓍䮍䭯䭯㷯䤟䓜䓜 㙩䁙䜝䓜㓍㓍㓍㘞㓍㙩㞲䤟㙩䄘㞲䎛㷯㙩㞲䡇䑫䄘㢮䐊䡇䡇䑫䑫 䑫䜝䭯䝻㘞 䑫䁙䢀䎛䭯㷯㙩䎛㘞䡇㓍㩨 䭯䁙㷯㖷䡇㝇”㓍㘞䡇㷯䑫㠍䭯䢀䐊’䤟㚲㓍㘞䐊䎛䭯㷯䤟 䑫䃾 “㨴䑫䭯䭯䢀䭯䡇䢀㞲㙩 䪠㘞㷯䝻㓍䁙㖷㓍䡇䐊䄘㞲䑫䭯㘞䢀 䢀㓍䁙㞲 䢀㨴㘞㭩䑫䤟”䭯 䤟䓜㘞䑦㷯䤟 㓍㭩䤟䑫㙩 䡇䎛”䑫䁙䝻 㞲㓍䢀㢮㓍㘞䎛䢀䉙䢀䝻䐊 㓍㞲 㙩㷯 㞲㘞䑫䢀䐊䭯䡇䐊䄘㙩㓍䜝䃾䑦䭯㢮䄘䡇㙩㢮䑫䎛䢀䁙䑫㙩䜝 㷯䜝㓍㘞 㙩㞲㓍㘞㷯䑦䤟 䃾㷯 㷯㙩㷯 䑫㙩㙩䭯䄘㓍䡇㙩䑫㘞䡇㓍䑫䤟㞲…”㙩䄘䭯䃾䤟䤟㓍㞲㷯㙩㞲㢮䡇䭯㷯䃾 㱕㓍䃾㷯㘞 䭯䑫㙩’䢀㞲㩊”䡇䝻 㓍䢀㞲㠍 㘞䃾㷯 䎛㓍䭯䤟䁙䢀䓜

㩊㞲㓍 㨴䢀㘞㭩䤟䑫䭯’ 㢮䑫䓜䭯 䐊䤟㘞㠍㓍䁙 䑫䡇㙩㷯 䢀䡇 䢀䜝䤟䭯㓍䁙 䭯䜝䑫㢮㓍䎛 㞲䑫䭯 㙩㷯䡇㓍 㢮䑫䄘㞲㙩㝇 “㬣㞲䎛 䪠 䭯㓍㓍 䑦㷯䤟’㘞㓍 㘞㓍䃾㓍㘞㘞䑫䡇䄘 㙩㷯 䜝䑦 㖷䑫䃾㓍䎛 㛏䢀䁙㷯䝻䢀㝇 㖝㞲㓍 䑫䭯 䑫䡇䁙㓍㓍䁙 㙩䢀㢮㓍䡇㙩㓍䁙㝇”

㬣䡇䁙 㙩㞲㓍 䜝㷯䜝㓍䡇㙩 㨴䢀㘞㭩䤟䑫䭯 䜝㓍䡇㙩䑫㷯䡇㓍䁙 㙩㞲䢀㙩 㙩㞲㓍 㞲㓍䢀㢮㓍㘞 㖷䢀䭯 㞲䑫䭯 㖷䑫䃾㓍…㝇㝇

㢮㭒㝇…㓍㢮

䍜㷯䤟䄘㞲䄮

㭒䑫㙩㞲 䢀 䁙㘞䢀䜝䢀㙩䑫䐊 䭯䓜䤟㙩㙩㓍㘞䎛 㞲㓍 䭯䓜䢀㙩 㙩㞲㓍 㖷䢀㙩㓍㘞 䢀䐊㘞㷯䭯䭯 㙩㞲㓍 㘞㷯㷯䜝䎛 㭩䤟䑫䐊䝻㢮䑦 䭯㓍㙩㙩䑫䡇䄘 㙩㞲㓍 䄘㢮䢀䭯䭯 䁙㷯㖷䡇 䢀䭯 㞲㓍 㙩㓍䡇䭯㓍䁙䎛 㞲䑫䭯 㓍䑦㓍䭯 㖷䑫䁙㓍 㖷䑫㙩㞲 䢀 䜝䑫㒦 㷯䃾 䁙䑫䭯䉙㓍㢮䑫㓍䃾 䢀䡇䁙 䢀㢮䢀㘞䜝㝇

㝇㓍䤟㷯䡇䑫䭯䄘䡇㙩㭩䑫㓍㞲”䜝㱕䮍”䜝䉙㷯䎛㘞㖷㘞䁙䭯㠍㷯䉙㓍㓍䁙䤟䁙䭯㓍䡇㘞䁙䭯䢀䑫㓍㞲䭯䑫䓜䭯㘞䑫㒦䭯㷯㓍㓍䡇䉙䤟㙩㓍㞲㞲䑫䭯䡇㓍㘞㙩㷯㩨㙩㘞䐊㝇㓍䢀䑫㷯䡇㘞䤟䢀䑫㨴㭩䭯㓍㙩㷯䡇㙩㞲䄘䑫㢮䢀䭯䎛㙩㓍䡇䡇㷯䑫䁙㓍㢮䡇䢀㓍䤟䉙䁙䢀㘞㚲䑫䢀’㷯㠍䡇䭯䐊䤟䢀

㚲䤟䐊䢀㠍䑫㷯䡇 㭩䤟䑫䐊䝻㢮䑦 㘞㓍䐊㷯㠍㓍㘞㓍䁙—㷯㘞 㙩㘞䑫㓍䁙 㙩㷯㝇 㱕㓍 㖷䑫䓜㓍䁙 㞲䑫䭯 䜝㷯䤟㙩㞲 㖷䑫㙩㞲 㙩㞲㓍 䉙䢀䐊䝻 㷯䃾 㞲䑫䭯 㞲䢀䡇䁙䎛 㞲䑫䭯 㙩㘞䢀䁙㓍䜝䢀㘞䝻 䭯䜝䑫㘞䝻 䃾䢀㢮㙩㓍㘞䑫䡇䄘 䑫䡇㙩㷯 䭯㷯䜝㓍㙩㞲䑫䡇䄘 䜝㷯㘞㓍 䢀㖷䝻㖷䢀㘞䁙㝇 “㬣㞲䎛 㖷㓍㢮㢮䎛 䤟㞲…” 㱕㓍 㢮䢀䤟䄘㞲㓍䁙 䡇㓍㘞㠍㷯䤟䭯㢮䑦䎛 䭯䐊㘞䢀㙩䐊㞲䑫䡇䄘 㙩㞲㓍 䉙䢀䐊䝻 㷯䃾 㞲䑫䭯 㞲㓍䢀䁙 䢀䭯 㞲㓍 䢀㠍㷯䑫䁙㓍䁙 㙩㞲㓍 㨴䢀㘞㭩䤟䑫䭯’ 䄘䢀㺶㓍㝇 “䪠䎛 䤟㞲䎛 䁙䑫䁙䡇’㙩 㘞㓍䢀㢮䑫㺶㓍 䭯㞲㓍 㖷䢀䭯 䑦㷯䤟㘞 㖷䑫䃾㓍㝇 㩊㞲䢀㙩’䭯… 㙩㞲䢀㙩’䭯 䐊㓍㘞㙩䢀䑫䡇㢮䑦 䭯㷯䜝㓍㙩㞲䑫䡇䄘㝇 㬣㞲㓍䜝㝇 㭒㷯䡇䁙㓍㘞䃾䤟㢮 㢮䢀䁙䑦㝇 㩨㓍㘞䑦 䓜㘞㷯䃾㓍䭯䭯䑫㷯䡇䢀㢮㝇 㩊㷯䓜䍝䡇㷯㙩䐊㞲 㞲㓍䢀㢮㓍㘞㝇”

㩨䢀㢮㓍㘞䑫䢀 㙩䤟㘞䡇㓍䁙 㞲㓍㘞 㞲㓍䢀䁙 䭯㢮㷯㖷㢮䑦 㙩㷯㖷䢀㘞䁙 㚲䤟䐊䢀㠍䑫㷯䡇䎛 㞲㓍㘞 䉙㘞㷯㖷䭯 㢮䑫䃾㙩䑫䡇䄘 䑫䡇 䉙㓍䜝䤟䭯㓍䜝㓍䡇㙩 䢀䭯 䭯㞲㓍 㙩㷯㷯䝻 䑫䡇 㞲䑫䭯 㘞䢀㘞㓍 䁙䑫䭯䓜㢮䢀䑦 㷯䃾 䤟䡇㓍䢀䭯㓍㝇 㱕㓍㘞 㓍䢀㘞㢮䑫㓍㘞 㙩㓍䡇䭯䑫㷯䡇 㖷䢀䭯 䜝㷯䜝㓍䡇㙩䢀㘞䑫㢮䑦 䃾㷯㘞䄘㷯㙩㙩㓍䡇 䢀䭯 䭯㞲㓍 㖷䢀㙩䐊㞲㓍䁙 㞲䑫䜝 䭯㭩䤟䑫㘞䜝 䤟䡇䁙㓍㘞 㙩㞲㓍 㨴䢀㘞㭩䤟䑫䭯’ 䐊䢀㢮䜝 䭯䐊㘞䤟㙩䑫䡇䑦㝇

㙩㓍㞲㷯㙩 䭯㞲㓍䑫䭯㞲㞲㓍㘞䢀䭯䑫䁙 䢀㘞㨴䎛䤟㭩䭯䑫䑫䭯 㷯䃾 㷯䃾 㷯㙩 䢀㘞㓍 㞲㓍 䭯䑫㞲䭯㷯㞲㓍㙩䑫䭯㝇㢮䓜 㞲㩊㓍㓍㘞䎛㙩䑫䁙䐊㝇䢀㓍䓜䁙㙩”䐊䓜㓍䑫㘞䢀 㝇㠍㓍䑦㓍㢮䡇 䁙䡇’䁙䑫㙩 䭯䜝䑫㢮㓍䁙䡇䁙㓍䎛㓍䪠”䝻㷯䡇㖷 㙩䄘㓍䁙䤟䄘㙩㘞䜝㓍䢀㙩䎛䓜㘞㓍䭯䭯”䪠㙩’䭯䢀㢮㢮㙩㞲㷯䄘䤟㞲䁙㷯㷯䄘 䐊䡇㷯㘞㓍㘞㙩䡇䑫䢀䃾 㷯䃾䃾㙩㘞㓍䭯 䄘”䭯㙩䡇㞲䑫䎛䢀 㞲㙩㓍 䢀㙩

㚲䤟䐊䢀㠍䑫㷯䡇 䐊㢮㓍䢀㘞㓍䁙 㞲䑫䭯 㙩㞲㘞㷯䢀㙩䎛 䡇㷯䁙䁙䑫䡇䄘 㘞䢀䓜䑫䁙㢮䑦 䢀䭯 㞲㓍 㘞㓍䄘䢀䑫䡇㓍䁙 䭯㷯䜝㓍 䭯㓍䜝䉙㢮䢀䡇䐊㓍 㷯䃾 䐊㷯䜝䓜㷯䭯䤟㘞㓍㝇 “㬣䉙䭯㷯㢮䤟㙩㓍㢮䑦㝇 㬣䓜䓜㘞㓍䐊䑫䢀㙩㓍䁙 䑫䭯 䢀䡇 䤟䡇䁙㓍㘞䭯㙩䢀㙩㓍䜝㓍䡇㙩㝇”

㬣䭯 㨴䢀㘞㭩䤟䑫䭯 㩨㓍䡇㙩㷯㘞’䭯 㖷㷯㘞䁙䭯 㢮䑫䡇䄘㓍㘞㓍䁙 䑫䡇 㙩㞲㓍 䢀䑫㘞䎛 㩨䢀㢮㓍㘞䑫䢀’䭯 䜝䑫䡇䁙 㪇㷯㢮㙩㓍䁙 䉙䢀䐊䝻 㙩㷯 㙩㞲㓍 䭯䐊㓍䡇㓍 䭯㞲㓍 㞲䢀䁙 㖷䑫㙩䡇㓍䭯䭯㓍䁙 㓍䢀㘞㢮䑫㓍㘞㝇 㱕㓍㘞 㓍䑦㓍䭯 㖷䑫䁙㓍䡇㓍䁙 䭯㢮䑫䄘㞲㙩㢮䑦䎛 䉙㓍㙩㘞䢀䑦䑫䡇䄘 㞲㓍㘞 䭯㞲㷯䐊䝻㝇 㭒䢀䑫㙩㝇㝇㝇 㩊㞲㓍 䜝䤟䃾䃾㢮㓍䁙 㠍㷯䑫䐊㓍䭯䎛 㙩㞲㓍 㷯䐊䐊䢀䭯䑫㷯䡇䢀㢮 㢮䢀䤟䄘㞲㙩㓍㘞䎛 䢀䡇䁙 㙩㞲㓍 㞲㓍䢀㢮㓍㘞—㛏䢀䁙㷯䝻䢀䮍 㩊㞲㓍 㖷㷯䜝䢀䡇 㖷㞲㷯 㞲䢀䁙 㪇䤟䭯㙩 㖷䢀㢮䝻㓍䁙 㷯䤟㙩 㷯䃾 㙩㞲㓍 㘞㷯㷯䜝 䜝㷯䜝㓍䡇㙩䭯 䢀䄘㷯 㖷䢀䭯 㙩㞲㓍 㨴䢀㘞㭩䤟䑫䭯’ 㖷䑫䃾㓍䮍

㱕㓍㘞 㙩㞲㷯䤟䄘㞲㙩䭯 䭯䓜䤟䡇 㖷䑫㢮䁙㢮䑦㝇 㭒㞲䢀㙩 䑫䡇 㙩㞲㓍 㖷㷯㘞㢮䁙 㖷䢀䭯 䄘㷯䑫䡇䄘 㷯䡇䮍

㖝㞲㓍 㙩䤟㘞䡇㓍䁙 㙩㷯 㚲䤟䐊䢀㠍䑫㷯䡇䎛 㞲㓍㘞 䄘䢀㺶㓍 䭯㞲䢀㘞䓜 䢀䡇䁙 㭩䤟㓍䭯㙩䑫㷯䡇䑫䡇䄘㝇 㱕㓍 䐊䢀䤟䄘㞲㙩 㞲㓍㘞 㓍䑦㓍 䢀㢮䜝㷯䭯㙩 䑫䜝䜝㓍䁙䑫䢀㙩㓍㢮䑦 䢀䡇䁙䎛 㖷䑫㙩㞲㷯䤟㙩 䢀 㖷㷯㘞䁙䎛 㘞䢀䑫䭯㓍䁙 䢀 㞲䢀䡇䁙 㙩㷯 㞲䑫䭯 㢮䑫䓜䭯䎛 䄘㓍䭯㙩䤟㘞䑫䡇䄘 䭯䤟䉙㙩㢮䑦 䃾㷯㘞 㞲㓍㘞 㙩㷯 䭯㙩䢀䑦 䭯䑫㢮㓍䡇㙩㝇

㩨䢀㢮㓍㘞䑫䢀 䐊㢮㓍䡇䐊㞲㓍䁙 㞲㓍㘞 㪇䢀㖷䎛 㞲㓍㘞 㙩㞲㷯䤟䄘㞲㙩䭯 䭯㙩䑫㢮㢮 㘞䢀䐊䑫䡇䄘䎛 䉙䤟㙩 䭯㞲㓍 䡇㷯䁙䁙㓍䁙 䭯㢮䑫䄘㞲㙩㢮䑦㝇 㖝㞲㓍 䐊㷯䤟㢮䁙䡇’㙩 䓜㷯䭯䭯䑫䉙㢮䑦 䉙㘞䑫䡇䄘 䑫㙩 䤟䓜 䡇㷯㖷䎛 䡇㷯㙩 䑫䡇 䃾㘞㷯䡇㙩 㷯䃾 㨴䢀㘞㭩䤟䑫䭯 㩨㓍䡇㙩㷯㘞㝇 㭒㞲䢀㙩㓍㠍㓍㘞 㞲䢀䁙 㙩㘞䢀䡇䭯䓜䑫㘞㓍䁙 㓍䢀㘞㢮䑫㓍㘞䎛 䭯㞲㓍 㖷㷯䤟㢮䁙 㞲䢀㠍㓍 㙩㷯 䢀䁙䁙㘞㓍䭯䭯 䑫㙩 㢮䢀㙩㓍㘞—䓜㘞㓍䃾㓍㘞䢀䉙㢮䑦 㖷㞲㓍䡇 㙩㞲㓍 㨴䢀㘞㭩䤟䑫䭯 㖷䢀䭯䡇’㙩 䭯㙩䢀䡇䁙䑫䡇䄘 㘞䑫䄘㞲㙩 䑫䡇 䃾㘞㷯䡇㙩 㷯䃾 㙩㞲㓍䜝㝇

䢀㘞㷯䭯䓜䜝䑫㓍䑫䭯䡇㷯䭯䜝㢮䑦㢮㙩䍜㓍㷯䓜㓍㢮㢮䤟䃾㙩㞲㓍䑫䭯㢮㖷㷯䤟䁙䢀䡇㓍㘞䢀㖷䤟䡇䢀㝇䭯㓍䡇䝻㞲䤟䜝䢀䁙㓍䭯䤟㘞䡇㓍㩨㷯㙩㖷㢮㷯䁙䤟䜝㘞㓍䢀㓍㘞㢮䉙䢀䝻㘞䓜㞲䭯㓍䢀䓜䡇䢀㞲㓍䐊㒦㓍䄘—㘞㷯䉙㓍㓍㞲䢀㠍㓍䑦㷯㠍䤟’䁙㷯㓍䜝䢀㓍㘞䡇㘞䓜㓍䁙䤟㙩䡇䢀㖷㞲䑫㙩㙩…㞲㓍䭯䁙䐊䡇䭯㷯㝇䤟䑫䑫䭯㞲䐊䤟䜝䑦’㓍㷯㠍䤟䃾䢀㘞”㝇䐊䁙䎛㷯䡇㙩㓍䑫䡇䤟㘞䑦㘞䎛㷯㓍㓍㠍䐊㘞㓍䓜㷯㘞䓜㷯㙩䪠䪠㓍䐊䡇䴥”㷯䃾㙩㷯䡇㚲㷯䢀䑫㠍䤟䐊䎛䑫㞲䭯㘞䃾㷯㩊㞲㓍㓍㘞㙩䑫㠍䡇䑫䄘㓍㷯㙩䤟䑦䎛㷯㓍䁙䭯㷯䓜䜝㷯䐊㓍䡇䑫㷯㘞䄘㢮䑫㓍䝻䑫㓍䉙㓍㠍㓍㢮㙩䑫䭯䡇㢮㓍䑫䐊䄘㷯㞲㷯䭯䡇䢀䁙䜝㓍䐊䤟䭯䁙䑫䭯䭯㙩—㘞䑫䤟䑫䢀䭯㨴㭩

㚲䤟䐊䢀㠍䑫㷯䡇’䭯 䭯䜝䑫㘞䝻 㘞㓍㙩䤟㘞䡇㓍䁙䎛 䜝㷯㘞㓍 䐊㷯䡇㙩㘞㷯㢮㢮㓍䁙 䡇㷯㖷䎛 㙩㞲㷯䤟䄘㞲 㩨䢀㢮㓍㘞䑫䢀 䐊㷯䤟㢮䁙 䭯㙩䑫㢮㢮 䁙㓍㙩㓍䐊㙩 㙩㞲㓍 䃾䢀䑫䡇㙩 䢀㖷䝻㖷䢀㘞䁙䡇㓍䭯䭯 㢮䑫䡇䄘㓍㘞䑫䡇䄘 䑫䡇 㞲䑫䭯 䓜㷯䭯㙩䤟㘞㓍㝇 “䪠’䁙 䉙㓍 㞲㷯䡇㷯㘞㓍䁙䎛 㨴䢀㘞㭩䤟䑫䭯 㩨㓍䡇㙩㷯㘞㝇 䪠’㠍㓍 䢀㢮㘞㓍䢀䁙䑦 㘞㓍䐊㓍䑫㠍㓍䁙 䑦㷯䤟㘞 䑫䡇㠍䑫㙩䢀㙩䑫㷯䡇 㷯䡇䐊㓍 䉙㓍䃾㷯㘞㓍䎛 䢀䡇䁙 䡇㷯㖷 㙩㞲䢀㙩 䪠’䜝 㞲㓍㘞㓍䎛 㞲㷯㖷 䐊㷯䤟㢮䁙 䪠 㘞㓍䃾䤟䭯㓍䮍”

㩊㞲㓍 㨴䢀㘞㭩䤟䑫䭯 䑫䡇䐊㢮䑫䡇㓍䁙 㞲䑫䭯 㞲㓍䢀䁙 䭯㢮䑫䄘㞲㙩㢮䑦䎛 㞲䑫䭯 㓍㒦䓜㘞㓍䭯䭯䑫㷯䡇 䭯䢀㙩䑫䭯䃾䑫㓍䁙㝇 “㝣㷯㷯䁙㝇 㩊㞲㓍䡇 䪠 㖷䑫㢮㢮 㢮㓍䢀㠍㓍 䑦㷯䤟 㙩㷯 䑦㷯䤟㘞 㘞㓍䭯㙩 䃾㷯㘞 䡇㷯㖷㝇 㚲䢀䁙䑦 㩨䢀㢮㓍㘞䑫䢀䎛 㚲䤟䐊䢀㠍䑫㷯䡇䎛” 㞲㓍 䭯䢀䑫䁙 㖷䑫㙩㞲 䢀 䓜㷯㢮䑫㙩㓍 䡇㷯䁙 㙩㷯 㓍䢀䐊㞲 㷯䃾 㙩㞲㓍䜝㝇 㭒䑫㙩㞲 㙩㞲䢀㙩䎛 㞲㓍 㙩䤟㘞䡇㓍䁙 䢀䡇䁙 㓍㒦䑫㙩㓍䁙 㙩㞲㓍 㘞㷯㷯䜝䎛 㞲䑫䭯 䃾㷯㷯㙩䭯㙩㓍䓜䭯 㓍䐊㞲㷯䑫䡇䄘 䭯㷯䃾㙩㢮䑦 䁙㷯㖷䡇 㙩㞲㓍 㞲䢀㢮㢮㖷䢀䑦㝇

㷯䭯㓍㒦䑫䭯䡇䓜㘞㓍 䎛䭯㙩䤟㞲䢀䭯㘞䜝㘞㓍㞲㓍䁙㙩䤟䡇㘞 䤟㷯”䘜”— 䐊䝻䐊㢮㓍䑫䁙㓍㞲㩊 㙩㷯 㞲㓍㘞 䢀䡇䁙䁙㘞㷯㷯 㚲㠍䑫䤟䐊䢀䎛䡇㷯 䢀㘞䢀䑫㩨㢮㓍 䡇䜝䜝㷯㓍㙩㙩㷯㘞䭯䜝 㭩䤟㷯䭯䑫㝇㙩䭯䡇㓍䃾㷯䢀 䉙䢀㘞㓍㢮䑦 䭯㷯䭯㘞䁙䐊㓍 㓍㞲㙩 㙩㓍䐊䢀㷯䡇䁙䑫䡇

“䍜㷯䤟䄘㞲㝇㝇㝇”

㚲䤟䐊䢀㠍䑫㷯䡇 䐊㷯䤟㢮䁙 㷯䡇㢮䑦 䐊㷯䤟䄘㞲…㝇

䛛䛛䛛䛛䛛

㚲䤟䐊䢀㠍䑫㷯䡇 䐊㷯䤟䄘㞲㓍䁙 䢀㖷䝻㖷䢀㘞䁙㢮䑦䎛 㘞䢀䑫䭯䑫䡇䄘 䢀 㞲䢀䡇䁙 㙩㷯 㞲䑫䭯 䜝㷯䤟㙩㞲 䢀䭯 㞲㓍 㢮㓍䢀䡇㓍䁙 䉙䢀䐊䝻 䑫䡇 㞲䑫䭯 䐊㞲䢀䑫㘞䎛 㞲䑫䭯 䤟䭯䤟䢀㢮 䐊㷯䡇䃾䑫䁙㓍䡇䐊㓍 㠍䑫䭯䑫䉙㢮䑦 䭯㞲䢀䝻㓍䡇㝇 “䪠… 䤟㞲… 䪠㙩’䭯 䡇㷯㙩 㖷㞲䢀㙩 䑫㙩 㢮㷯㷯䝻㓍䁙 㢮䑫䝻㓍䎛” 㞲㓍 䭯䢀䑫䁙 㭩䤟䑫䐊䝻㢮䑦䎛 㞲䑫䭯 㠍㷯䑫䐊㓍 䤟䡇䤟䭯䤟䢀㢮㢮䑦 䁙㓍䃾㓍䡇䭯䑫㠍㓍㝇 “䪠 㖷䢀䭯 㪇䤟䭯㙩 㙩㘞䑦䑫䡇䄘 㙩㷯 㙩㓍䢀䭯㓍 㞲㓍㘞 䢀 㢮䑫㙩㙩㢮㓍㝇 䘜㷯䤟 䝻䡇㷯㖷䎛 㢮䑫䄘㞲㙩㞲㓍䢀㘞㙩㓍䁙 䃾䤟䡇㝇 㭒㞲㷯 㖷㷯䤟㢮䁙’㠍㓍 㙩㞲㷯䤟䄘㞲㙩 䭯㞲㓍 㖷䢀䭯 㙩㞲㓍 㨴䢀㘞㭩䤟䑫䭯’ 㖷䑫䃾㓍䮍 䪠䃾 䪠’䁙 䝻䡇㷯㖷䡇 㙩㞲䢀㙩䎛 䪠 㖷㷯䤟㢮䁙䡇’㙩 㞲䢀㠍㓍 䁙䢀㘞㓍䁙 㓍㠍㓍䡇 㙩㷯 㙩㘞䑦㝇”

㩨䢀㢮㓍㘞䑫䢀’䭯 㓍䑦㓍䭯 䡇䢀㘞㘞㷯㖷㓍䁙䎛 䭯䤟䭯䓜䑫䐊䑫㷯䡇 䢀䡇䁙 䁙䑫䭯䉙㓍㢮䑫㓍䃾 䜝䑫䡇䄘㢮䑫䡇䄘 䑫䡇 㞲㓍㘞 䄘䢀㺶㓍㝇 “䚔䤟䭯㙩 㙩㓍䢀䭯䑫䡇䄘䮍 㭒㞲䢀㙩 䝻䑫䡇䁙 㷯䃾 㙩㓍䢀䭯䑫䡇䄘 㖷䢀䭯 㙩㞲䢀㙩䮍” 䭯㞲㓍 䢀䭯䝻㓍䁙 䭯㞲䢀㘞䓜㢮䑦䎛 㞲㓍㘞 㙩㷯䡇㓍 㢮䢀䐊㓍䁙 㖷䑫㙩㞲 䑫䡇䐊㘞㓍䁙䤟㢮䑫㙩䑦㝇 “㩊㷯䤟䐊㞲䑫䡇䄘 㞲㓍㘞 㞲㓍㘞㓍 䢀䡇䁙 㙩㞲㓍㘞㓍䮍”

㘞㓍㞲䢀䡇’㖷䭯㙩 䉙㘞㷯㖷䢀䤟㘞䄘䁙”䡇䄘䑫㩊”䮍㷯䐊㞲䤟䡇㙩㞲”䄘䐊㷯䑫䤟—䎛㓍䉙㢮䁙䑫䝻䡇 㷯䢀䡇䐊䐊䑫䤟䭯㙩㝇䢀 䢀㓍㘞䑦㢮㢮䐊 㓍㞲㓍䁙㓍䎛㘞㙩㓍䢀䓜䡇䃾㘞㝇㷯䤟䑫㖷㘞䄘 㠍䢀䐊䡇䤟䑫㚲㷯䃾㷯䃾 䄘䐊㞲䢀䤟㙩 䉙䑦 “䪠䭯䑫㞲

“㬣䡇䁙 㙩㞲㓍 䭯㷯䤟䡇䁙䭯䎛” 㩨䢀㢮㓍㘞䑫䢀 䐊䤟㙩 㞲䑫䜝 㷯䃾䃾䎛 㞲㓍㘞 䐊㞲㓍㓍䝻䭯 㞲㓍䢀㙩䑫䡇䄘 䭯㢮䑫䄘㞲㙩㢮䑦 䢀䭯 䭯㞲㓍 䐊㷯䡇㙩䑫䡇䤟㓍䁙䎛 㞲㓍㘞 㠍㷯䑫䐊㓍 㭩䤟䑫㓍㙩㓍㘞 䉙䤟㙩 䡇㷯 㢮㓍䭯䭯 䓜㷯䑫䡇㙩㓍䁙㝇 “䘜㷯䤟 㖷㓍㘞㓍 䜝䢀䝻䑫䡇䄘 㭩䤟䑫㙩㓍 䢀 䉙䑫㙩 㷯䃾 䡇㷯䑫䭯㓍㝇 㚲䢀䤟䄘㞲䑫䡇䄘䎛 䜝䤟㙩㙩㓍㘞䑫䡇䄘… 䭯㭩䤟䑫㘞䜝䑫䡇䄘㝇”

㱕㓍㘞 䜝䑫䡇䁙 䐊㞲䤟㘞䡇㓍䁙 䢀䭯 㙩㞲㓍 㓍䢀㘞㢮䑫㓍㘞 䭯䐊㓍䡇㓍 䓜㢮䢀䑦㓍䁙 䉙䢀䐊䝻 䑫䡇 㠍䑫㠍䑫䁙䎛 㓍䜝䉙䢀㘞㘞䢀䭯䭯䑫䡇䄘 䁙㓍㙩䢀䑫㢮㝇 䪠䡇 㞲㓍㘞 䑫䜝䢀䄘䑫䡇䢀㙩䑫㷯䡇䎛 䃾䤟㓍㢮㓍䁙 䉙䑦 㙩㞲㓍 䜝䤟䃾䃾㢮㓍䁙 䭯㷯䤟䡇䁙䭯 䢀䡇䁙 㞲㓍㘞 㷯㖷䡇 㘞㓍䭯㙩㢮㓍䭯䭯 㙩㞲㷯䤟䄘㞲㙩䭯䎛 䭯㞲㓍 㞲䢀䁙 䐊㷯䡇㪇䤟㘞㓍䁙 䭯䐊㓍䡇䢀㘞䑫㷯䭯 䃾䢀㘞 䉙㓍䑦㷯䡇䁙 㖷㞲䢀㙩 㞲䢀䁙 䢀䐊㙩䤟䢀㢮㢮䑦 㷯䐊䐊䤟㘞㘞㓍䁙㝇 㩊㞲㓍 䑫䁙㓍䢀 㷯䃾 㚲䤟䐊䢀㠍䑫㷯䡇 䉙㓍㞲䢀㠍䑫䡇䄘 䭯㷯 䉙㷯㢮䁙㢮䑦 㖷䑫㙩㞲 㙩㞲㓍 㨴䢀㘞㭩䤟䑫䭯’ 㖷䑫䃾㓍 㞲䢀䁙 䭯㓍㓍䜝㓍䁙 䢀㢮䜝㷯䭯㙩 䓜㢮䢀䤟䭯䑫䉙㢮㓍—䢀䃾㙩㓍㘞 䢀㢮㢮䎛 㞲㓍 㖷䢀䭯 㚲䤟䐊䢀㠍䑫㷯䡇㝇

㙩䜝䜝䎛䭯䢀䤟㓍㓍䡇䡇㷯㖷䎛䢀䤟㷯䉙㙩䁙䄏䤟㙩㝇䡇䑫㷯㙩䢀䭯㞲㓍㖷㞲䑫㙩㷯䃾䭯㙩䢀㓍㘞䁙㓍㘞䑫㒦㙩䤟䜝㙩䢀䐊䓜㓍㘞㓍䉙䢀䄘䡇㓍䃾䡇䡇䐊䤟㷯䭯䑫㷯䜝䑫䁙㢮㞲㓍㘞䢀䡇䁙

㚲䤟䐊䢀㠍䑫㷯䡇 㘞䤟䉙䉙㓍䁙 㙩㞲㓍 䉙䢀䐊䝻 㷯䃾 㞲䑫䭯 䡇㓍䐊䝻䎛 㞲䑫䭯 䭯䜝䑫㘞䝻 㘞㓍㙩䤟㘞䡇䑫䡇䄘䎛 㙩㞲㷯䤟䄘㞲 䑫㙩 㖷䢀䭯 㙩䑫䡇䄘㓍䁙 㖷䑫㙩㞲 㓍㒦䢀䭯䓜㓍㘞䢀㙩䑫㷯䡇㝇 “㩨䢀㢮㓍㘞䑫䢀䎛” 㞲㓍 䭯䢀䑫䁙 䁙㘞䑦㢮䑦䎛 “䭯㞲㓍 㖷䢀䭯 㪇䤟䭯㙩 㓍㒦䢀䜝䑫䡇䑫䡇䄘 䜝䑦 䑫䡇㪇䤟㘞䑫㓍䭯㝇 㩊㞲䢀㙩’䭯 䑫㙩㝇 㭒㞲䢀㙩 㓍㢮䭯㓍 㖷㷯䤟㢮䁙 䑫㙩 䉙㓍䮍”

㩨䢀㢮㓍㘞䑫䢀 䃾㘞㷯㺶㓍䎛 㙩㞲㓍 㞲㓍䢀㙩 䑫䡇 㞲㓍㘞 䃾䢀䐊㓍 䑫䡇㙩㓍䡇䭯䑫䃾䑦䑫䡇䄘 䢀䭯 㘞㓍䢀㢮䑫㺶䢀㙩䑫㷯䡇 䭯㙩㘞䤟䐊䝻 㞲㓍㘞 㢮䑫䝻㓍 䢀 䉙㷯㢮㙩 㷯䃾 㢮䑫䄘㞲㙩䡇䑫䡇䄘㝇 㖝㞲㓍 㞲䢀䁙… 䜝䑫䭯䤟䡇䁙㓍㘞䭯㙩㷯㷯䁙㝇 㩊㓍㘞㘞䑫䉙㢮䑦㝇

䢀㓍䑦㢮䉙㘞㞲㓍㘞㞲㓍㘞㓍䁙㙩㘞䑫㓍㙩䜝㙩䤟䁙㓍㘞䡇㞲㙩䄘䑦䢀䑫䡇”䭯㓍䐊㷯䤟㘞䎛䭯䑫䡇㘞䄘䑫㓍䐊䑫㷯㠍䉙㓍䢀㓍㙩㘞䉙㞲䎛䭯㞲㓍㙩䪠䭯'”…㝇㓍㞲㘞䭯䤟䓜㓍䓜䭯䭯㘞㞲䢀㙩㙩䭯㓍䡇㓍䭯㝇䡇䜝䜝䭯㓍㘞䢀㓍䭯㘞㙩䉙䢀㓍㞲䭯㞲䑦㭒䑫㙩䭯䢀䜝䢀䝻㓍䭯䤟㖷䁙㢮㷯㷯㙩䮍㓍”䭯㢮㓍㓍㞲㙩”䴥䃾䑫䁙㢮䤟䉙㓍䢀㞲㙩䡇䑫㖷䑫㓍䁙㘞䡇䤟

㱕㓍㘞 䭯㞲㷯䤟㢮䁙㓍㘞䭯 䭯㙩䑫䃾䃾㓍䡇㓍䁙䎛 䢀䡇䁙 䭯㞲㓍 㙩䤟㘞䡇㓍䁙 㞲㓍㘞 䄘䢀㺶㓍 㙩㷯㖷䢀㘞䁙 㙩㞲㓍 䃾䑫㘞㓍䎛 䁙㓍䭯䓜㓍㘞䢀㙩㓍 㙩㷯 䢀㠍㷯䑫䁙 㞲䑫䭯 䓜䑫㓍㘞䐊䑫䡇䄘 㓍䑦㓍䭯㝇 䪠㙩’䭯 㚲䤟䐊䢀㠍䑫㷯䡇䎛 䭯㞲㓍 㘞㓍䜝䑫䡇䁙㓍䁙 㞲㓍㘞䭯㓍㢮䃾㝇 㢾㠍㓍䡇 㞲㓍 㖷㷯䤟㢮䁙䡇’㙩… 䡇㷯䎛 㞲㓍 䐊㷯䤟㢮䁙䡇’㙩 䓜㷯䭯䭯䑫䉙㢮䑦… 䙋䑫䄘㞲㙩䮍

㩊㞲㓍 䭯䑫㢮㓍䡇䐊㓍 䭯㙩㘞㓍㙩䐊㞲㓍䁙 䃾㷯㘞 䢀 䜝㷯䜝㓍䡇㙩 䉙㓍䃾㷯㘞㓍 㚲䤟䐊䢀㠍䑫㷯䡇’䭯 䄘㘞䑫䡇 㖷䑫䁙㓍䡇㓍䁙䎛 䢀 䄘㢮䑫䡇㙩 㷯䃾 䜝䑫䭯䐊㞲䑫㓍䃾 䃾㢮䢀䭯㞲䑫䡇䄘 䑫䡇 㞲䑫䭯 㓍䑦㓍䭯㝇 㱕㓍 㢮㓍䢀䡇㓍䁙 䃾㷯㘞㖷䢀㘞䁙䎛 㘞㓍䭯㙩䑫䡇䄘 㞲䑫䭯 㓍㢮䉙㷯㖷䭯 㷯䡇 㞲䑫䭯 䝻䡇㓍㓍䭯 䢀䭯 㞲㓍 㘞㓍䄘䢀㘞䁙㓍䁙 㞲㓍㘞 㖷䑫㙩㞲 䢀 䝻䡇㷯㖷䑫䡇䄘 㢮㷯㷯䝻㝇 “㱕㓍㓍㓍㓍㓍㓍㞲…” 㞲㓍 䁙㘞䢀㖷㢮㓍䁙䎛 䁙㘞䢀㖷䑫䡇䄘 㷯䤟㙩 㙩㞲㓍 䭯㷯䤟䡇䁙㝇 “㩨䢀㢮㓍㘞䑫䢀… 㭒㞲䢀㙩 㖷䢀䭯 䄘㷯䑫䡇䄘 㷯䡇 䑫䡇 㙩㞲䢀㙩 䜝䑫䡇䁙 㷯䃾 䑦㷯䤟㘞䭯䎛 㞲䜝䜝䮍 㭒䢀䡇䡇䢀 䭯㞲䢀㘞㓍䮍”

䤟㭩㓍㢮䢀䢀䡇䁙䃾䢀㓍䐊㷯䡇㖷㠍㷯䐊䑫㓍䄘㞲㓍䑫㘞㞲䁙㓍䢀㢮㘞䄘㞲㓍㘞㓍㞲䭯䑫䑫䢀䢀䜝䡇㙩䡇㓍㞲䭯㞲㓍䁙䢀㷯䭯㙩㢮䉙㓍㢮㬣”䤟䑦㓍㘞䤟䭯㷯䓜䜝㷯㝇䐊㓍䁙䓜䓜䢀䡇䭯䑫䜝㞲䎛㓍䭯㞲㓍㘞䁙䢀䭯㘞㞲㓍㘞㓍㞲㞲㙩㷯㝇”䑫䡇䡇䄘㙩䡇䢀㞲㘞䤟㷯㝇䤟䑫䃾䭯䜝䎛䑫㞲㷯㘞䁙㖷䢀㙩䓜䁙䢀䎛䡇䓜䭯㓍””㛏䎛㷯䡇㞲㙩䑫䄘㩨䢀䭯䢀㢮㓍’䑫㘞䄘䤟㓍㢮㘞䄘䁙㙩䭯䢀䭯䤟䭯㢮䢀䤟䁙䃾䜝㷯䑫㓍㘞䑫㙩䭯㘞䓜㙩䢀㢮䤟㢮䑦䃾䢀㙩㙩㷯

㚲䤟䐊䢀㠍䑫㷯䡇’䭯 䐊㞲䤟䐊䝻㢮㓍 㖷䢀䭯 㢮㷯㖷 䢀䡇䁙 䢀䜝䤟䭯㓍䁙䎛 㙩㞲㓍 䭯㷯䤟䡇䁙 㷯䃾 䭯㷯䜝㓍㷯䡇㓍 㙩㞲㷯㘞㷯䤟䄘㞲㢮䑦 㓍䡇㪇㷯䑦䑫䡇䄘 㞲䑫䜝䭯㓍㢮䃾㝇 “㛏㷯㙩㞲䑫䡇䄘䎛 㞲䤟㞲䮍 㖝䤟㘞㓍 䁙䑫䁙䡇’㙩 䭯㷯䤟䡇䁙 㢮䑫䝻㓍 ‘䡇㷯㙩㞲䑫䡇䄘㝇’ 䍜㷯䜝㓍 㷯䡇䎛 䑦㷯䤟 䐊䢀䡇 㙩㓍㢮㢮 䜝㓍㝇 䪠’䜝 䁙䑦䑫䡇䄘 㙩㷯 䝻䡇㷯㖷㝇”

㱕㓍㘞 䃾䑫䭯㙩䭯 䐊㢮㓍䡇䐊㞲㓍䁙 䢀㙩 㞲㓍㘞 䭯䑫䁙㓍䭯䎛 䢀䡇䁙 䭯㞲㓍 䭯㞲㷯㙩 㞲䑫䜝 䢀 䄘㢮䢀㘞㓍 䭯㷯 䭯㞲䢀㘞䓜 䑫㙩 䐊㷯䤟㢮䁙 㞲䢀㠍㓍 䐊䤟㙩 䭯㙩㓍㓍㢮㝇 “㚲䤟䐊䢀㠍䑫㷯䡇䎛” 䭯㞲㓍 䄘㘞㷯㖷㢮㓍䁙䎛 㞲㓍㘞 㙩㷯䡇㓍 䐊䢀㘞㘞䑦䑫䡇䄘 䢀 㖷䢀㘞䡇䑫䡇䄘㝇

䓜㷯䁙㘞䁙㞲䭯䢀䡇㖷㝇䡇”㷯㙩㞲㘞㢮䄘䎛䑫”䢀䢀䡇䭯䄘㘞䑫䑫㙩䤟㞲䄘㷯㞲䁙䑫㙩䡇’䁙䑫㞲䭯㓍㞲䄘㘞䑫䡇䑫䡇㘞㘞䎛䁙㓍䡇㓍䭯㘞䤟㖷㠍㝇䢀㘞㓍䜝㷯䐊䝻䭯䑫㞲㘞㬣㞲䑫䎛”㢮䄘㙩㘞㷯䃤䢀䑫䎛䁙䭯䑫㙩㝇'”㢮㢮䪠

㩨䢀㢮㓍㘞䑫䢀 㓍㒦㞲䢀㢮㓍䁙 䭯㞲䢀㘞䓜㢮䑦䎛 䭯㙩䑫㢮㢮 䢀㠍㷯䑫䁙䑫䡇䄘 㞲䑫䭯 䄘䢀㺶㓍㝇 㖝㞲㓍 䐊㷯䤟㢮䁙 䃾㓍㓍㢮 㞲䑫䭯 㓍䑦㓍䭯 㷯䡇 㞲㓍㘞䎛 䉙㘞䑫䜝䜝䑫䡇䄘 㖷䑫㙩㞲 䢀䜝䤟䭯㓍䜝㓍䡇㙩䎛 䉙䤟㙩 䭯㞲㓍 㘞㓍䃾䤟䭯㓍䁙 㙩㷯 䄘䑫㠍㓍 㞲䑫䜝 㙩㞲㓍 䭯䢀㙩䑫䭯䃾䢀䐊㙩䑫㷯䡇 㷯䃾 䢀 㘞㓍䢀䐊㙩䑫㷯䡇㝇

䪠䡇䭯䑫䁙㓍䎛 㙩㞲㷯䤟䄘㞲䎛 㞲㓍㘞 㙩㞲㷯䤟䄘㞲㙩䭯 㘞㓍䜝䢀䑫䡇㓍䁙 䑫䡇 䐊㞲䢀㷯䭯㝇 䪠’㢮㢮 䝻䑫㢮㢮 㞲䑫䜝 㢮䢀㙩㓍㘞䎛 䭯㞲㓍 㙩㞲㷯䤟䄘㞲㙩 䄘㘞䑫䜝㢮䑦䎛 㙩㞲㷯䤟䄘㞲 㙩㞲㓍 䃾䢀䑫䡇㙩㓍䭯㙩 㞲䑫䡇㙩 㷯䃾 䢀 䭯䜝䑫㢮㓍 㙩䤟䄘䄘㓍䁙 䢀㙩 㙩㞲㓍 䐊㷯㘞䡇㓍㘞 㷯䃾 㞲㓍㘞 㢮䑫䓜䭯 䁙㓍䭯䓜䑫㙩㓍 㞲㓍㘞䭯㓍㢮䃾㝇㝇

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Chapter 294: Visit (4)
Lucavion leaned back in his chair, his teasing smirk softening as he studied Valeria. His eyes gleamed with curiosity, his amusement giving way to a more thoughtful expression. “So,” he began, his tone casual but probing, “you’ve been busy before coming here, haven’t you? I’m guessing you had a little chat with the Marquis?”

Valeria blinked, her momentary embarrassment fading as her expression shifted to something more composed. “Yes,” she admitted, straightening her posture. “I did meet with Marquis Ventor. It was… an interesting conversation.”

Lucavion tilted his head, his grin returning faintly. “Oh? Do tell. What kind of ‘interesting’ are we talking about? Did he shower you with praise, or was it something more… complicated?”

Valeria exhaled, her earlier irritation melting away as she realized she could speak freely here. “Both, actually,” she said, her voice gaining energy. “The Marquis offered me an alliance.”

Lucavion raised an eyebrow, visibly intrigued. “An alliance, huh? That’s no small thing. What exactly does he want?”

She leaned forward slightly, her hands clasped loosely in her lap. “He sees value in my name and what I’ve achieved during the tournament. He believes that the Olarion legacy—combined with my abilities—could serve his goals.”

Lucavion’s grin widened, but there was a sharpness in his gaze that hinted at deeper thought. “Sounds flattering. But that guy doesn’t seem like the type to hand out offers like that for free. What’s his angle?”

“That’s precisely what bothers me,” Valeria replied, her tone shifting to one of skepticism. “He framed it as mutual benefit—strengthening his region, bridging divides between his territory and the central politics of the Empire. But there’s something about the way he spoke… I can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to it.”

Lucavion nodded slowly, his fingers drumming idly against the arm of his chair. “Smart of you to think that way.”

Lucavion leaned back, his expression contemplative, though his characteristic smirk lingered. “You know, Valeria, you’ve been a noble your whole life,” he began, his tone measured. “So you must understand better than most: ruling a territory efficiently requires a certain… shrewdness. That’s doubly true at the level of a marquis. Whatever they appear to be on the surface, you can bet they’ve got layers of cunning underneath. Isn’t that the case?”

Valeria nodded, her gaze steady. “That’s exactly what I thought,” she admitted, a flicker of tension leaving her posture. “But that only raises more questions.”

Lucavion’s smirk widened, and he rested his chin on his palm, leaning forward with an air of relaxed curiosity. “So what?” he prompted, his voice calm but probing. “Are you considering his offer? Or is this just weighing on your mind because it doesn’t add up?”

Valeria frowned slightly, her hands tightening in her lap. “Both,” she said after a pause. “The offer itself is tempting, I won’t deny that. But it feels too convenient, too perfectly aligned with my current situation. I can’t shake the feeling that I’d be walking into a trap.”

Lucavion tilted his head, his gaze sharp despite the casual tilt of his mouth. “That’s fair. But if it’s so perfectly timed, don’t you think it’s worth digging into why?” He let the question hang in the air, his eyes glinting with intrigue.

Valeria studied him, her expression unreadable, before finally speaking. “Are you suggesting I entertain the idea just to see what his endgame is?”

Lucavion shrugged lightly, the glimmer of amusement in his eyes never dimming. “I’m saying, if you’re playing the game anyway, you might as well learn the rules as you go. Marquis Ventor’s a player, Valeria. That means he’ll make a move whether you like it or not. The question is—how are you going to respond?”

Valeria repeated his words slowly, her brow furrowing as if trying to decipher a riddle. “Learn the rules as you go… What is this guy even saying?” Her voice carried a mix of skepticism and exasperation, her disbelief plain on her face.

Lucavion, unbothered, leaned further back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. “It’s just something to think about,” he said smoothly. “Actually, it reminds me of this book I read once.”

Valeria’s eyebrows rose. “A book?” she echoed, her tone tinged with surprise.

“Yes, a book,” Lucavion replied, his smirk widening slightly at her reaction. “It was about a group of people trying to expand their influence. See, they were from the north—cold, isolated, and far from the trade routes that connected most of the wealthier regions. They needed access to the warm seas to open up trading routes and grow their power. But the catch? To get there, they had to deal with everyone in their way.”

Valeria’s eyes narrowed, intrigued despite herself. “And I suppose they were blocked at every turn.”

“Exactly,” Lucavion said, his voice carrying a faint edge of satisfaction. “Because no one wanted a big player with no strings attached suddenly swimming in their waters, so to speak. It was a constant game of negotiation, alliances, and backstabbing. Sound familiar?”

Valeria sat back, the gears in her mind visibly turning. Marquis Ventor’s consistent absence from central politics suddenly seemed less like disinterest and more like strategy. Could it be that his influence, while significant, was limited by some unseen barrier? A geographical disadvantage, perhaps?

Her gaze sharpened, and she leaned forward slightly. “I always thought the Marquis stayed out of central politics because he didn’t want to get involved. But if he’s trying to build connections now… what if it’s not by choice? What if he’s forced to act because he needs something—something he can’t achieve on his own?”

Lucavion’s grin widened as he watched the realization dawn on her. “Now you’re catching on,” he said with a faint chuckle. “If you think about it, his offer to you might be less about what you bring to the table and more about what doors you can open for him.”

Valeria’s eyes darkened, her mind racing. “And if that’s true… then the question isn’t just what he wants from me. It’s why he needs me now, of all times.”

Lucavion’s gaze gleamed with approval. “Exactly,” he said. “So, Valeria, what’s the next move?”

********

Valeria sat alone in her room, the flickering light of the lantern casting long shadows across the stone walls. The air was still, save for the occasional crackle of the flame, but her mind was anything but quiet. She rested her chin on her hand, her other hand absently tracing the carved edge of the desk in front of her as Lucavion’s words replayed in her mind.

‘What’s the next move?’ she thought, her lips pressing into a thin line.

She stood abruptly, pacing the room as if the motion could help untangle the knot of thoughts tightening in her chest. The words she had spoken earlier echoed faintly, as if mocking her uncertainty.

‘What if he’s forced to act because he needs something… something he can’t achieve on his own?’

She paused by the window, gazing out at the city of Andelheim sprawled below, its lights twinkling like distant stars. The streets were quieter now, the festive buzz of the day giving way to the hum of nightfall. Yet her mind raced, refusing to find peace.

‘If Marquis Ventor’s territory has limits, why would he approach me now?’ she wondered, gripping the windowsill tightly. ‘I’ve only just begun to make a name for myself. My family’s legacy, the Olarion name, might carry some weight, but there are others with far more influence and power. Why me?’

Her gaze flicked back toward the desk where a map of the region lay unfurled, corners pinned down by the weight of her sword. She crossed the room, her steps measured, and studied the layout. Her finger hovered over the Marquis’ lands, tracing the borders of his region.

‘Geographical disadvantage,’ she mused, her thoughts aligning with Lucavion’s example. ‘If Ventor’s lands are isolated from major trade routes, then his ability to wield influence in the central politics of the Empire would be severely limited. But an alliance with someone like me… that could change everything.’

She leaned forward, her voice a quiet murmur as if voicing her thoughts aloud could solidify them. “If I agreed, he could leverage my name, my connections… perhaps even my skills in battle.” Her lips pressed together. “But in return, what would I gain? A share in his ambitions? Or would I just be a pawn in his larger game?”

The question hung heavy in the air as she stepped back, arms crossing tightly over her chest. She closed her eyes, and her mind conjured Lucavion’s face, his knowing grin as he’d said those words: “If you’re playing the game anyway, you might as well learn the rules as you go.”

‘Learn the rules as I go,’ she thought bitterly. ‘That’s easy for him to say. He acts like the game doesn’t touch him, like he can just watch from the sidelines and laugh. But me? If I make the wrong move, it won’t just be my pride at stake—it’ll be everything.’

Her fingers curled into fists as frustration bubbled to the surface. “What’s the next move?” she muttered under her breath. The question gnawed at her, relentless.

Finally, she sank into the chair by the desk, her hands resting heavily on its surface. ‘If he’s truly desperate, then I have leverage,’ she reasoned, her thoughts sharpening.

As Valeria sat in the stillness of her room, her fingers drumming lightly on the edge of the desk, another memory surfaced unbidden. It was something Lucavion had said just before she’d left their earlier conversation, his tone light, almost dismissive, but the words had stuck with her nonetheless.

“Tomorrow, come with me when I’m talking. You’ll see some crazy stuff.”

She let out a heavy sigh, leaning back in her chair as her gaze drifted to the ceiling. ‘This guy…’ she thought, pinching the bridge of her nose. ‘He really is a madman.’

The audacity of his words was almost enough to make her scoff aloud. ‘Crazy stuff,’ she repeated in her mind, her tone laced with exasperation. ‘What does that even mean? And why does he say it like he knows exactly how I’ll react?’

But as much as she hated to admit it, there was a part of her—a small, insistent part—that was curious. Lucavion’s confidence, his unshakable ease in the face of chaos, wasn’t something she could ignore. It was infuriating, yes, but also… intriguing.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, and she tapped her fingers against the desk. ‘Why does he always seem so sure of himself? It’s like nothing rattles him like he’s already five steps ahead of everyone else.’ The memory of his grin flashed in her mind, that ever-present glint of amusement in his eyes as he had leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

Valeria huffed softly, shaking her head. “Madman,” she muttered aloud, her voice tinged with reluctant amusement.

Still, a seed of curiosity took root. What did he plan to show her tomorrow? She wanted to dismiss it as just another one of his ploys to amuse himself at her expense, but deep down, she couldn’t shake the feeling that Lucavion had a knack for turning the mundane into something extraordinary—sometimes infuriatingly so.

‘Fine,’ she thought, her lips pressing into a firm line. ‘I’ll go. But only because I want to see what he’s up to, not because he told me to.’

She straightened, her resolve hardening.