Novel Bin
Chapter 351: Freeing a cute sister.
Chapter 351: Freeing a cute sister.
Kryssia entered the grand hall of the palace with firm steps, her dark blue cloak flowing behind her as she crossed the immense space of golden marble. The guards at the entrance hesitated upon seeing her, but they did not dare stop her. After all, she was the strongest human in the Empire—what could they do? She killed merely with the chilling aura of her body.
They couldn't even stop someone who froze everything around her when she was nervous… and, well, they had heard what happened to the royal guards of the Crown Prince… All of them had turned into statues of true ice, ice so strong it could never thaw.
Her gaze was fixed on the man sitting on the throne, the Emperor, Aldric III...
The sovereign, a man with harsh features and eyes as cold as ice, raised an eyebrow as he watched her approach. He was surrounded by counselors and elite guards, but Kryssia did not care. Her objective was clear, and she wouldn't leave without answers.
"Your Majesty," Kryssia began, her voice controlled but heavy with contained fury. "The prince told me that Xenovia was imprisoned by your order. I demand to know why." The general asked, fully aware of what this would mean.
The hall fell silent. The counselors exchanged nervous glances, and even the guards seemed to stiffen. The Emperor leaned back in his throne, observing Kryssia with a calculating gaze.
"Demand?" He repeated slowly, savoring the word. "You forget your place, Kryssia. It is not your role to question my decisions." He said, not wasting time, simply continuing with his business.
She stood firm. "I'm not foolish enough to ignore the implications of such an action. Xenovia is theoretically untouchable; she is the daughter of the strongest man in the world, yet she is being treated like trash and imprisoned. There is no logical reason to keep her imprisoned, unless… you want to start a war."
The silence in the hall grew heavier. Kryssia realized she had struck a sensitive nerve. The Emperor narrowed his eyes. "Watch your words, General. There is far more going on than you realize. The war had already begun before she even arrived here."
Kryssia's eyes widened for a brief moment before they became sharp, like blades. "I am loyal to the Kingdom, not to Your Majesty, in case you've forgotten. You didn't put me in my position, and you have no power over it."
The Emperor leaned forward, his tone now cold and calculating. "Do you want to end up like her?" He paused, studying her. "Do you think you can come here and challenge me without consequences?"
Kryssia clenched her fists, feeling the tension in the air. "I am not afraid of your threats. I'm trying to prevent the royal family from being exterminated." Kryssia said, her gaze as cold as ice.
"Do you think I fear Albert?" The Emperor questioned. "My half-brother won't do anything until she is safe." He smiled, concluding, "Her cell is surrounded by your ice magic; she will never leave. Not unless they allow her to."
Kryssia stared at him intently...
He was essentially daring her to betray him. And something was very wrong with that. He wasn't like this. Not this direct.
Whatever was going on, it basically implied that he was ready to do something bigger than just a war.
"If you're done, go train the soldiers," The Emperor ordered.
She clenched her fists, feeling the cold of her aura intensify around her. The nearest counselors shuddered as the temperature in the room dropped abruptly. If she wanted, she could bring down the entire hall in seconds. She could freeze Aldric's veins before he could even call for the guards.
But Kryssia knew that a direct attack would solve nothing. On the contrary, it would make everything worse. After all... no one would want any of this to happen...
She took a deep breath, controlling her anger. "As you wish, Your Majesty." Her voice was neutral, but heavy with a silent warning.
She turned and walked out of the hall, ignoring the gazes of the counselors and guards. She knew she was being watched, and that from now on, her actions would be monitored even more closely.
Once outside the palace gates, Kryssia paused for a moment and looked up at the gray sky of the capital. Something was very wrong here, and she couldn't ignore it.
She needed to act. And fast.
Kryssia didn't return directly to the training fields. Instead, she took a different path, one that would lead her to the only person who could help her at that moment.
Lord Siegfried Valenor's house was located away from the central area of the capital, protected by discreet but extremely well-guarded walls. He wasn't just a powerful noble; he was one of the most intelligent strategists to ever serve the Empire.
She arrived at the gates of the property and was greeted by two personal guards, who recognized her immediately. They hesitated for a moment, exchanging uncertain glances.
"General Kryssia... Lord Valenor is not receiving visitors at the moment."
Kryssia raised an eyebrow. "He will see me." Her voice left no room for argument.
The guards exchanged looks once more, but they stepped aside. Kryssia entered the property without hesitation.
Lord Valenor was in his office, studying maps and documents when Kryssia entered abruptly. He looked up, surprised by her sudden visit.
"Kryssia." He leaned back in his chair. "It's been a while since you've come to see me. To what do I owe the honor?"
She closed the door behind her and got straight to the point. "Xenovia Vorah has been imprisoned. By the Emperor's direct order."
Valenor's expression sharpened. "So, he's finally made the move we were expecting."
Kryssia narrowed her eyes. "We were expecting?"
Lord Valenor sighed and stood up, walking over to a shelf where he grabbed a wine glass. He took a sip before responding.
"Aldric has been preparing for something big for years. But he's never made his true plans clear... until now." He turned to face Kryssia. "Xenovia's imprisonment is not just a political move, Kryssia. It's a message. To Albert Vorah, to the world. The Emperor is preparing something that goes beyond a mere war."
Kryssia crossed her arms. "And exactly what is he preparing?"
Valenor hesitated for a moment before answering. "That's what we still need to find out."
Kryssia felt her patience wearing thin. "I don't have time for games, Valenor. Xenovia is imprisoned, and the Emperor made it very clear that she won't leave... unless someone takes her out of there."
Valenor studied Kryssia for a long moment before speaking. "You intend to free her."
She didn't answer. She didn't need to. He let out a sigh and ran a hand over his face.
"If you're going to do this, you'll be considered a traitor. And you'll need to be smarter than Aldric. He's already anticipated that someone would try to rescue her."
Kryssia nodded. "I know. That's why I need your help."
Valenor remained silent for a moment before offering a small smile. "Then I suppose it's time to start a new game."
When Valenor uttered those words, a thunderous explosion shook the capital.
BOOM!!!
The impact of the blast resonated like thunder, making the ground tremble beneath their feet and rattling the windows of Valenor's estate. Kryssia spun on her heels, her instincts alert even before her mind could process what had happened.
They rushed to the window, and what they saw made even Valenor momentarily lose his breath.
In the sky, three Colossal Dragons circled the Royal Palace, their presence dominating the horizon like divine entities. Their imposing forms were bathed in sunlight, reflecting their magnificent scales—gleaming gold, fiery red like embers, and deep black, like the night itself.
Chaos consumed the capital. Alarms blared, trumpets echoed, and the Empire's military forces sprang into action. Guards ran around like panicked ants, while the population screamed and fled the streets, seeking shelter from what seemed to be the apocalypse descending upon them.
Kryssia felt her heart race. They were here.
"I have to stop this!" she declared, her voice filled with determination.
Without hesitation, she threw open the window with a swift motion and launched herself into the air, propelling herself with an explosion of icy energy. The air around her crystallized, forming tiny ice fragments that glistened in the sunlight as she shot toward the Royal Palace like a frozen meteor.
Valenor stayed behind, watching as Kryssia cut through the sky with impressive speed. He clenched his fists and murmured to himself, "So the game really has begun."
At the heart of the destruction, the Royal Palace was under attack.
The subterranean prison, located beneath the castle's foundations, had been torn apart by the explosion. Rocks and debris flew in all directions, while a searing heat rose from the ruins, contrasting with the ice that enveloped parts of the structure.
In the center of the chaos, three figures emerged from the dust and destruction—Strax, Tiamat, and Ouroboros, now in their human forms but still exuding an overwhelming presence.
Strax wiped the blood from his forehead and looked toward the horizon, seeing the Empire's soldiers hastily organizing to face them. His gaze then shifted to what truly mattered.
Amid the rubble, Xenovia stood.
Her purple hair was covered in dirt and blood, her clothes torn, but her eyes… her eyes burned with an indescribable fury. The magic around her pulsed uncontrollably, like a hurricane about to devastate everything in its path.
"How long has it been, sister?" Strax said, smiling.
"Hello, little boy," Xyn said, releasing a flight and landing on Strax's shoulder. "Looks like our plan worked. She'll be free soon."
"Everything's in order," he said, looking at his sister. "What is it? Aren't you going to say anything?" He smiled.
With no time to spare, she simply jumped and hugged him. "I missed you so much..." she murmured, her voice trembling, as the first drops of her tears began to fall.
"So cute," he whispered, pulling her into a full embrace.
䶴㞤䩡㓇䧹䲋㔊㐂
㓃䅧 㳯䲋㑚 㑚䲋㤳㞤䌬 㛦䲋㔊䳅㔊䅧 䄶㞤䙻䅧 㳯䲋㑚 㳯㓇㓇㤳 䙻䥋䗯䗯㞤㤳 㓇䧹㞤㞬 㳯䲋㑚 䒃㔊㠝㞤䌬 䄓䥋䅧 㳯䲋㑚 㞬䲋䞩䲋㤳 䙻㓇㑚䅧䥋㞬㞤 㑚㳯㓇㦏㞤㤳 㳯䲋㑚 䒃㞬䥋㑚䅧㞬㔊䅧䲋㓇䩡㐂 "䡓㓇㞤㑚䩡'䅧 䅧㳯㔊䅧 㑚䅧㞬䲋䄶㞤 㒰㓇䥋 㔊㑚 㓇㤳㤳㥘" 㑚㳯㞤 㔊㑚䄶㞤㤳䌬 㳯㞤㞬 䅧㓇䩡㞤 㠝㔊䗯䳅 䄓䥋䅧 㔊䅧䅧㞤䩡䅧䲋䧹㞤㐂 㧦㞤㞬 䞩㓇䗯㤳㞤䩡 㞤㒰㞤㑚 㑚㳯㓇䩡㞤 䒃㓇㞬 㔊 䳅㓇䳅㞤䩡䅧 䥋䩡㤳㞤㞬 䅧㳯㞤 㑚㳯㔊㤳㓇㦏 㓇䒃 䅧㳯㞤 㠝䗯㓇㔊䄶㐂 "䪂㓇䥋㞬 㑚䲋㑚䅧㞤㞬 䲋㑚䩡'䅧 㑚㓇䳅㞤㓇䩡㞤 㦏㳯㓇 㦏㓇䥋䗯㤳 䞩㞤䅧 䥋䩡㦏㞤䗯䗯 㞤㔊㑚䲋䗯㒰㐂"
"䪂㞤㑚㐂" 䤠䅧㞬㔊䗹 䳅䥋䅧䅧㞤㞬㞤㤳䌬 㠝䗯㞤䩡㠝㳯䲋䩡䞩 㳯䲋㑚 䒃䲋㑚䅧㑚㐂 "㰶䅧 㤳㓇㞤㑚䩡'䅧 䳅㔊䄶㞤 㑚㞤䩡㑚㞤㐂"
㓃䩡㤳 㳯䲋㑚 㠝㓇䩡㠝䗯䥋㑚䲋㓇䩡 㦏㔊㑚 㓇䩡䗯㒰 㓇䩡㞤㐂
䃝㞤䧹㞤㞬㐂
㲞䥋㞬㓇䄓㓇㞬㓇㑚䌬 㦏㳯㓇 䥋䩡䅧䲋䗯 䅧㳯㞤䩡 㳯㔊㤳 㓇䩡䗯㒰 䄓㞤㞤䩡 㓇䄓㑚㞤㞬䧹䲋䩡䞩 䅧㳯㞤 㠝㓇䩡䧹㞤㞬㑚㔊䅧䲋㓇䩡䌬 䅧䲋䗯䅧㞤㤳 㳯䲋㑚 㳯㞤㔊㤳 㑚䗯䲋䞩㳯䅧䗯㒰䌬 㳯䲋㑚 䧹㓇䲋㠝㞤 䗯㔊㤳㞤䩡 㦏䲋䅧㳯 㑚㔊㞬㠝㔊㑚䳅䌬 䄓䥋䅧 㦏䲋䅧㳯 㔊 㑚㳯㔊㞬䙻 䅧㓇䩡㞤 㓇䒃 㑚䥋㑚䙻䲋㠝䲋㓇䩡㐂 "㒳㳯㔊䅧 䲋䒃 䲋䅧'㑚 䩡㓇䅧 㔊 㥱䥋㞤㑚䅧䲋㓇䩡 㓇䒃 䲋䩡㤳䲋㑚䙻㓇㑚䲋䅧䲋㓇䩡㥘" 㧦㞤 䞩䗯㔊䩡㠝㞤㤳 㔊䅧 䅧㳯㞤䳅 䄓㓇䅧㳯 䄓㞤䒃㓇㞬㞤 㠝㓇䩡䅧䲋䩡䥋䲋䩡䞩䌬 㳯䲋㑚 䧹㓇䲋㠝㞤 䄓㞤㠝㓇䳅䲋䩡䞩 䗯㓇㦏㞤㞬 㔊䩡㤳 䳅㓇㞬㞤 㤳㔊䩡䞩㞤㞬㓇䥋㑚㐂 "㒳㳯㔊䅧 䲋䒃 䅧㳯㞤㒰'㞬㞤 㔊㞬㞬㞤㑚䅧䲋䩡䞩 㳯㞤㞬㥘"
䤠䅧㞬㔊䗹 㑚䅧㓇䙻䙻㞤㤳 㦏㔊䗯䄶䲋䩡䞩 䒃㓇㞬 㔊 䳅㓇䳅㞤䩡䅧㐂
㲞䥋㞬㓇䄓㓇㞬㓇㑚 㦏㔊㑚 㞬䲋䞩㳯䅧㐂
㰶䒃 䶴㞤䩡㓇䧹䲋㔊 㞬㞤㔊䗯䗯㒰 㦏㔊㑚 䲋䗯䗯䌬 䅧㳯㔊䅧 㦏㓇䥋䗯㤳 䄓㞤 㔊䗯䗯 䅧㳯㞤 䳅㓇㞬㞤 㞬㞤㔊㑚㓇䩡 䒃㓇㞬 䅧㳯㞤䳅 䅧㓇 㔊䗯䗯㓇㦏 㳯䲋䳅 䅧㓇 㑚㞤㞤 㳯㞤㞬㐂 㛦㳯㞤 䞩䥋㔊㞬㤳㑚' 㔊㞬䞩䥋䳅㞤䩡䅧 䳅㔊㤳㞤 䩡㓇 㑚㞤䩡㑚㞤䌬 㞤㑚䙻㞤㠝䲋㔊䗯䗯㒰 㠝㓇䩡㑚䲋㤳㞤㞬䲋䩡䞩 䅧㳯㔊䅧 㑚㳯㞤 㦏㓇䥋䗯㤳 䩡㞤䧹㞤㞬 㞬㞤䒃䥋㑚㞤 䅧㓇 㑚㞤㞤 㳯䲋䳅㐂 䶴㞤䩡㓇䧹䲋㔊 䗯䲋䄶㞤㤳 䤠䅧㞬㔊䗹㐂 㛦㳯㞤㒰 㦏㞤㞬㞤 䄓㞬㓇䅧㳯㞤㞬 㔊䩡㤳 㑚䲋㑚䅧㞤㞬䌬 㔊䩡㤳 㑚㳯㞤 㦏㓇䥋䗯㤳 䩡㞤䧹㞤㞬 㳯䲋㤳㞤 䒃㞬㓇䳅 㳯䲋䳅㐂
䤠㓇䳅㞤䅧㳯䲋䩡䞩 㦏㔊㑚 䧹㞤㞬㒰 㦏㞬㓇䩡䞩㐂
䤠䅧㞬㔊䗹'㑚 䞩㔊䌍㞤 䅧䥋㞬䩡㞤㤳 䲋㠝㒰㐂 㧦䲋㑚 㞬㞤㤳 㞤㒰㞤㑚 䞩䗯䲋䅧䅧㞤㞬㞤㤳 䥋䩡㤳㞤㞬 㳯䲋㑚 㳯㓇㓇㤳 㔊㑚 㔊 䅧㳯㓇䥋䞩㳯䅧 㠝㞬㒰㑚䅧㔊䗯䗯䲋䌍㞤㤳 䲋䩡 㳯䲋㑚 䳅䲋䩡㤳㐂
㧦㞤 䅧㳯㞤䩡 㦏㞤䩡䅧 䅧㓇 㔊 䄓㔊㞬 㓇䩡 䅧㳯㞤 㓇䥋䅧㑚䄶䲋㞬䅧㑚 㓇䒃 䅧㳯㞤 㠝㔊䙻䲋䅧㔊䗯㐂㐂㐂
㛦㳯㞤 䄓㔊㞬 㦏㔊㑚 㔊 㤳㞤䩡 㓇䒃 㑚㳯㔊㤳㓇㦏㑚 㔊䩡㤳 㦏㳯䲋㑚䙻㞤㞬㑚䌬 䗯㓇㠝㔊䅧㞤㤳 㓇䩡 䅧㳯㞤 㞤㤳䞩㞤 㓇䒃 䅧㳯㞤 䲋䳅䙻㞤㞬䲋㔊䗯 㠝㔊䙻䲋䅧㔊䗯䌬 㦏㳯㞤㞬㞤 䅧㳯㞤 㞤㒰㞤㑚 㓇䒃 䅧㳯㞤 䩡㓇䄓䲋䗯䲋䅧㒰 㞬㔊㞬㞤䗯㒰 䅧䥋㞬䩡㞤㤳㐂 㛦㳯㞤 䗯䲋䞩㳯䅧㑚 䒃䗯䲋㠝䄶㞤㞬㞤㤳 䒃㔊䲋䩡䅧䗯㒰䌬 䲋䗯䗯䥋䳅䲋䩡㔊䅧䲋䩡䞩 䅧䲋㞬㞤㤳 䒃㔊㠝㞤㑚 㔊䩡㤳 㞤䗹䙻㞬㞤㑚㑚䲋㓇䩡㑚 㳯㔊㞬㤳㞤䩡㞤㤳 䄓㒰 䅧㳯㞤 㦏㞤䲋䞩㳯䅧 㓇䒃 䗯䲋䒃㞤 㓇䩡 䅧㳯㞤 㓇䥋䅧㑚䄶䲋㞬䅧㑚㐂 㛦㳯㞤 㑚䅧㞬㓇䩡䞩 㑚䳅㞤䗯䗯 㓇䒃 㔊䗯㠝㓇㳯㓇䗯 䳅䲋䗹㞤㤳 㦏䲋䅧㳯 䅧㳯㔊䅧 㓇䒃 䞩㞬㞤㔊㑚㒰 䒃㓇㓇㤳 㳯䥋䩡䞩 䲋䩡 䅧㳯㞤 㔊䲋㞬䌬 㔊䩡㤳 䅧㳯㞤 䧹㓇䲋㠝㞤㑚 㓇䒃 䅧㳯㞤 㠝䥋㑚䅧㓇䳅㞤㞬㑚 䳅䲋䩡䞩䗯㞤㤳 䲋䩡 䗯㓇㦏 䳅䥋㞬䳅䥋㞬㑚䌬 㠝㓇䩡䧹㞤㞬㑚㔊䅧䲋㓇䩡㑚 䅧㳯㔊䅧 䩡㓇 㓇䩡㞤 㞤䗯㑚㞤 㑚㳯㓇䥋䗯㤳 㳯㞤㔊㞬㐂
㛦㳯㞬㓇㦏䲋䩡䞩 㔊 㑚䳅㔊䗯䗯 䄓㔊䞩 㓇䒃 㠝㓇䲋䩡㑚 㓇䩡 䅧㳯㞤 㠝㓇䥋䩡䅧㞤㞬䌬 㳯㞤 䙻䥋䗯䗯㞤㤳 䥋䙻 㔊 㑚䅧㓇㓇䗯 㔊䩡㤳 䒃㔊㠝㞤㤳 䅧㳯㞤 䄓㔊㞬䳅㔊䩡㐂
"㰶'䳅 䗯㓇㓇䄶䲋䩡䞩 䒃㓇㞬 䲋䩡䒃㓇㞬䳅㔊䅧䲋㓇䩡㐂" 㧦䲋㑚 䧹㓇䲋㠝㞤 㦏㔊㑚 䒃䲋㞬䳅䌬 䄓䥋䅧 䩡㓇䅧 䅧㳯㞬㞤㔊䅧㞤䩡䲋䩡䞩㐂 㧦㞤 㤳䲋㤳䩡'䅧 䩡㞤㞤㤳 䅧㓇 䲋䩡䅧䲋䳅䲋㤳㔊䅧㞤 㔊䩡㒰㓇䩡㞤 䅧㳯㞤㞬㞤 㪉 䳅㓇䩡㞤㒰 㦏㓇䥋䗯㤳 㤳㓇 䅧㳯㔊䅧 䒃㓇㞬 㳯䲋䳅㐂 "㓃䩡㒰䅧㳯䲋䩡䞩 䅧㳯㔊䅧'㑚 㳯㔊䙻䙻㞤䩡㞤㤳 㞬㞤㠝㞤䩡䅧䗯㒰 㔊䅧 䅧㳯㞤 䙻㔊䗯㔊㠝㞤㐂 㓃䩡㒰䅧㳯䲋䩡䞩 㓇䥋䅧 㓇䒃 䅧㳯㞤 㓇㞬㤳䲋䩡㔊㞬㒰㐂"
"䪂㓇䥋'㞬㞤 䩡㓇䅧 䅧㳯㞤 䒃䲋㞬㑚䅧 䅧㓇 㔊㑚䄶 㔊䄓㓇䥋䅧 䅧㳯㞤 䙻㔊䗯㔊㠝㞤㐂" 㧦㞤 㠝㓇䳅䳅㞤䩡䅧㞤㤳䌬 㦏㔊䅧㠝㳯䲋䩡䞩 䤠䅧㞬㔊䗹 㠝㔊䥋䅧䲋㓇䥋㑚䗯㒰㐂 "䢥䥋䅧 䒃㞤㦏 䗯㞤㔊䧹㞤 㳯㞤㞬㞤 㔊䗯䲋䧹㞤 㔊䒃䅧㞤㞬 㔊㑚䄶䲋䩡䞩 㥱䥋㞤㑚䅧䲋㓇䩡㑚 䗯䲋䄶㞤 䅧㳯㔊䅧㐂"
䤠䅧㞬㔊䗹 䄶㞤䙻䅧 㳯䲋㑚 䞩㔊䌍㞤 㑚䅧㞤㔊㤳㒰㐂 "㰶 㠝㔊䩡 䅧㔊䄶㞤 㠝㔊㞬㞤 㓇䒃 䳅㒰㑚㞤䗯䒃㐂"
䤠䅧㞬㔊䗹'㑚 㞤㒰㞤㑚 䩡㔊㞬㞬㓇㦏㞤㤳㐂 "㒳㳯㔊䅧 㞤䗯㑚㞤 㤳㓇 㒰㓇䥋 䄶䩡㓇㦏 㔊䄓㓇䥋䅧 䲋䅧㥘"
㛦㳯㞤 䄓㔊㞬䳅㔊䩡 䗯㓇㓇䄶㞤㤳 㔊㞬㓇䥋䩡㤳䌬 㔊㑚 䲋䒃 䅧㓇 䳅㔊䄶㞤 㑚䥋㞬㞤 䩡㓇 㓇䩡㞤 㞤䗯㑚㞤 㦏㔊㑚 䗯䲋㑚䅧㞤䩡䲋䩡䞩䌬 䄓㞤䒃㓇㞬㞤 䗯㞤㔊䩡䲋䩡䞩 䲋䩡 㞤䧹㞤䩡 㠝䗯㓇㑚㞤㞬㐂 "㛦㳯㞤 㞤䩡䅧㞬㔊䩡㠝㞤 䲋㑚 䩡㓇 㓇㞬㤳䲋䩡㔊㞬㒰 㠝㞤䗯䗯㐂 㰶䅧'㑚 㞬㞤䲋䩡䒃㓇㞬㠝㞤㤳 㦏䲋䅧㳯 䳅㔊䞩䲋㠝㐂㐂㐂 㔊䩡㤳 䅧㳯㞤㒰 㑚㔊㒰 䅧㳯㔊䅧 㓇䩡㠝㞤 㒰㓇䥋'㞬㞤 䲋䩡㑚䲋㤳㞤䌬 㒰㓇䥋 㠝㔊䩡'䅧 䞩㞤䅧 㓇䥋䅧㐂 䃝㓇 䳅㔊䅧䅧㞤㞬 㦏㳯㓇 㒰㓇䥋 㔊㞬㞤㐂"
㛦㔊䄶䲋䩡䞩 㔊 㤳㞤㞤䙻 䄓㞬㞤㔊䅧㳯䌬 㳯㞤 䞩㓇䅧 䥋䙻 䒃㞬㓇䳅 䅧㳯㞤 㑚䅧㓇㓇䗯䌬 䙻䥋䗯䗯䲋䩡䞩 㓇䥋䅧 㑚㓇䳅㞤 䳅㓇㞬㞤 㠝㓇䲋䩡㑚 㔊䩡㤳 䙻䗯㔊㠝䲋䩡䞩 䅧㳯㞤䳅 㓇䩡 䅧㳯㞤 㠝㓇䥋䩡䅧㞤㞬㐂 "㰶䒃 㒰㓇䥋 䅧㳯䲋䩡䄶 㓇䒃 㔊䩡㒰䅧㳯䲋䩡䞩 㞤䗯㑚㞤䌬 䗯㞤䅧 䳅㞤 䄶䩡㓇㦏㐂"
㛦㳯㞤 䄓㔊㞬䳅㔊䩡 㥱䥋䲋㠝䄶䗯㒰 䅧㓇㓇䄶 䅧㳯㞤 㠝㓇䲋䩡㑚䌬 䄓䥋䅧 䄓㞤䒃㓇㞬㞤 䤠䅧㞬㔊䗹 㠝㓇䥋䗯㤳 䅧㔊䄶㞤 㔊 㑚䅧㞤䙻 䅧㓇㦏㔊㞬㤳㑚 䅧㳯㞤 㞤䗹䲋䅧䌬 㳯㞤 㑚㔊䲋㤳 㑚㓇䳅㞤䅧㳯䲋䩡䞩 㞤䗯㑚㞤㐂
䤠䅧㞬㔊䗹 䅧䥋㞬䩡㞤㤳 䅧㓇 䒃㔊㠝㞤 㳯䲋䳅䌬 㳯䲋㑚 㞤䗹䙻㞬㞤㑚㑚䲋㓇䩡 㑚㞤㞬䲋㓇䥋㑚㐂
"㒳㳯㔊䅧 㤳㓇 㒰㓇䥋 䳅㞤㔊䩡㥘"
"㛦㳯㞤㒰 㑚㔊㒰 䩡㓇 㓇䩡㞤 㑚䅧㔊㒰㑚 㔊䗯䲋䧹㞤 䲋䩡 䅧㳯㞤㞬㞤 䒃㓇㞬 䗯㓇䩡䞩㐂" 㛦㳯㞤 䅧㞤䩡㑚䲋㓇䩡 䲋䩡 䅧㳯㞤 㔊䲋㞬 㑚㞤㞤䳅㞤㤳 䙻㔊䗯䙻㔊䄓䗯㞤㐂
䤠䅧㞬㔊䗹 䗯㞤䒃䅧 䅧㳯㞤 䄓㔊㞬䌬 䅧㳯㞤 䄓㔊㞬䳅㔊䩡'㑚 㦏㓇㞬㤳㑚 㞤㠝㳯㓇䲋䩡䞩 䲋䩡 㳯䲋㑚 䳅䲋䩡㤳㐂 䃝㓇䄓㓇㤳㒰 㑚䅧㔊㒰㑚 㔊䗯䲋䧹㞤 䲋䩡 䅧㳯㞤㞬㞤 䒃㓇㞬 䗯㓇䩡䞩㐂 㧦㞤 䄶䩡㞤㦏 䅧㳯㞤 㑚䲋䅧䥋㔊䅧䲋㓇䩡 㦏㔊㑚 䳅㓇㞬㞤 㑚㞤㞬䲋㓇䥋㑚 䅧㳯㔊䩡 㳯㞤 㳯㔊㤳 䲋䳅㔊䞩䲋䩡㞤㤳䌬 䄓䥋䅧 䅧㳯㞤 䲋㤳㞤㔊 䅧㳯㔊䅧 䶴㞤䩡㓇䧹䲋㔊 㠝㓇䥋䗯㤳 䄓㞤 䲋䩡 䅧㳯㔊䅧 䙻䗯㔊㠝㞤䌬 䄓㞤䲋䩡䞩 䄶㞤䙻䅧 㑚㞤㠝㞬㞤䅧䌬 㦏㔊㑚 䥋䩡䄓㞤㔊㞬㔊䄓䗯㞤㐂
㓃㑚 㳯㞤 㦏㔊䗯䄶㞤㤳 䅧㳯㞬㓇䥋䞩㳯 䅧㳯㞤 䞩䗯㓇㓇䳅㒰 㑚䅧㞬㞤㞤䅧㑚䌬 㳯䲋㑚 䅧㳯㓇䥋䞩㳯䅧㑚 䅧䥋㞬䩡㞤㤳 䅧㓇 䅧㳯㞤 䙻㔊䗯㔊㠝㞤 㔊䩡㤳 䅧㳯㞤 䳅㒰㑚䅧㞤㞬䲋㓇䥋㑚 㤳䥋䩡䞩㞤㓇䩡 䲋䅧 䳅㞤䩡䅧䲋㓇䩡㞤㤳㐂 㛦㳯㞤 䳅㔊䞩䲋㠝 䙻㞬㓇䅧㞤㠝䅧䲋䩡䞩 䅧㳯㞤 㞤䩡䅧㞬㔊䩡㠝㞤 㦏㔊㑚 㔊 䄓㔊㞬㞬䲋㞤㞬 㓇䒃 䞩㞬㞤㔊䅧 䙻㓇㦏㞤㞬 㪉 䩡㓇 㓇䩡㞤 㠝㓇䥋䗯㤳 㑚䲋䳅䙻䗯㒰 䄓㞬㞤㔊䄶 䲋䩡 㦏䲋䅧㳯㓇䥋䅧 㔊 䙻䗯㔊䩡㐂
䤠䅧㞬㔊䗹'㑚 䒃㓇㓇䅧㑚䅧㞤䙻㑚 㞤㠝㳯㓇㞤㤳 䅧㳯㞬㓇䥋䞩㳯 䅧㳯㞤 㔊䗯䗯㞤㒰㦏㔊㒰㑚䌬 䄓䥋䅧 㳯㞤 䒃㞤䗯䅧 䩡㓇 䒃㞤㔊㞬㐂 㧦䲋㑚 㑚䲋㑚䅧㞤㞬 㳯㔊㤳 㔊䗯㦏㔊㒰㑚 䄓㞤㞤䩡 㳯䲋㑚 㑚䅧㞬㞤䩡䞩䅧㳯 㔊䩡㤳 㳯䲋㑚 㞬㞤㔊㑚㓇䩡㐂 㰶䒃 䅧㳯㞤㞬㞤 㦏㔊㑚 㔊 㠝㳯㔊䩡㠝㞤 䅧㓇 㑚㔊䧹㞤 㳯㞤㞬䌬 㳯㞤 㦏㓇䥋䗯㤳䩡'䅧 㳯㞤㑚䲋䅧㔊䅧㞤㐂 㒳㳯㔊䅧㞤䧹㞤㞬 㦏㔊㑚 㳯㔊䙻䙻㞤䩡䲋䩡䞩 䲋䩡 䅧㳯㞤 㳯㞤㔊㞬䅧 㓇䒃 䅧㳯㞤 㞤䳅䙻䲋㞬㞤䌬 㳯㞤 㦏㓇䥋䗯㤳 㤳㓇 㦏㳯㔊䅧㞤䧹㞤㞬 䲋䅧 䅧㓇㓇䄶 䅧㓇 㞤䗹䙻㓇㑚㞤 䅧㳯㞤 䅧㞬䥋䅧㳯㐂
㒳㳯㞤䩡 㳯㞤 㞬㞤㔊㠝㳯㞤㤳 䅧㳯㞤 㓇䥋䅧㑚䄶䲋㞬䅧㑚 㓇䒃 䅧㳯㞤 䳅㔊㞬䄶㞤䅧䌬 㛦䲋㔊䳅㔊䅧 㔊䩡㤳 㲞䥋㞬㓇䄓㓇㞬㓇㑚 㦏㞤㞬㞤 㦏㔊䲋䅧䲋䩡䞩㐂 㛦㳯㞤 䅧㞤䩡㑚䲋㓇䩡 䄓㞤䅧㦏㞤㞤䩡 䅧㳯㞤 䅧㳯㞬㞤㞤 㓇䒃 䅧㳯㞤䳅 㦏㔊㑚 䙻㔊䗯䙻㔊䄓䗯㞤㐂 㛦䲋㔊䳅㔊䅧 㦏㔊㑚 䅧㳯㞤 䒃䲋㞬㑚䅧 䅧㓇 㑚䙻㞤㔊䄶䌬 㳯㞤㞬 㞤㒰㞤㑚 㑚䅧䲋䗯䗯 䒃䲋䗹㞤㤳 㓇䩡 䅧㳯㞤 㳯㓇㞬䲋䌍㓇䩡䌬 䄓䥋䅧 㳯㞤㞬 䧹㓇䲋㠝㞤 䗯㔊㤳㞤䩡 㦏䲋䅧㳯 㠝㓇䩡㠝㞤㞬䩡㐂
"㧦㔊䧹㞤 㒰㓇䥋 䒃㓇䥋䩡㤳 㔊䩡㒰䅧㳯䲋䩡䞩㥘"
㲞䥋㞬㓇䄓㓇㞬㓇㑚 㑚䳅䲋䗯㞤㤳 㦏䲋䅧㳯 㔊 䞩䗯䲋䩡䅧 㓇䒃 㔊䳅䥋㑚㞤䳅㞤䩡䅧 䲋䩡 㳯䲋㑚 㞤㒰㞤㑚䌬 䄓䥋䅧 㳯䲋㑚 㞤䗹䙻㞬㞤㑚㑚䲋㓇䩡 㦏㔊㑚 䞩㞬䲋䳅㐂 "㛦㳯㞤䩡 㦏㞤 㳯㔊䧹㞤 㔊 㠝㳯㔊䗯䗯㞤䩡䞩㞤 㔊㳯㞤㔊㤳 㓇䒃 䥋㑚㐂 㰶䒃 䅧㳯㞤㞬㞤'㑚 㑚㓇䳅㞤䅧㳯䲋䩡䞩 䅧㳯㞤 㞤䳅䙻㞤㞬㓇㞬 㦏㔊䩡䅧㑚 䅧㓇 䄶㞤㞤䙻 㳯䲋㤳㤳㞤䩡䌬 䲋䅧'㑚 䄓㞤㠝㔊䥋㑚㞤 㳯㞤 䄶䩡㓇㦏㑚 䲋䅧 㠝㓇䥋䗯㤳 㠝㔊䥋㑚㞤 䅧㞬㓇䥋䄓䗯㞤 䲋䒃 䲋䅧'㑚 㤳䲋㑚㠝㓇䧹㞤㞬㞤㤳㐂"
㛦䲋㔊䳅㔊䅧䌬 㦏䲋䅧㳯 㔊 䞩㞬㔊䧹㞤 䗯㓇㓇䄶 㓇䩡 㳯䲋㑚 䒃㔊㠝㞤䌬 㑚㳯㓇㓇䄶 㳯䲋㑚 㳯㞤㔊㤳㐂 "㒳㞤 䩡㞤㞤㤳 䳅㓇㞬㞤 䲋䩡䒃㓇㞬䳅㔊䅧䲋㓇䩡㐂 㒳㞤 㠝㔊䩡'䅧 㼓䥋㑚䅧 䅧㳯㞬㓇㦏 㓇䥋㞬㑚㞤䗯䧹㞤㑚 䲋䩡䅧㓇 䅧㳯㞤 㤳䥋䩡䞩㞤㓇䩡 㦏䲋䅧㳯㓇䥋䅧 㔊 䙻䗯㔊䩡㐂 㓃䩡㤳 䤠䅧㞬㔊䗹䌬 㒰㓇䥋'䗯䗯 䩡㞤㞤㤳 㔊䗯䗯䲋㞤㑚 㦏㳯㓇 䥋䩡㤳㞤㞬㑚䅧㔊䩡㤳 䅧㳯䲋㑚 䳅㔊䞩䲋㠝㐂"
"㲞䒃 㠝㓇䥋㞬㑚㞤㣍" 䤠㳯㞤 㑚㔊䲋㤳㐂
"㛦㳯㞤䩡 㒰㓇䥋'䗯䗯 䞩㓇 䲋䩡䅧㓇 䅧㳯㞤 䙻㞬䲋㑚㓇䩡 㔊䩡㤳 䒃䲋䩡㤳 䶴㒰䩡㐂" 㧦㞤 㑚㔊䲋㤳㐂
"㩆㞤㔊䧹㞤 䲋䅧 䅧㓇 䳅㞤䌬 䤠䅧㞬㔊䗹㣍" 䤠㳯㞤 㑚㔊䲋㤳䌬 㳯㞤㞬 䞩㓇䗯㤳㞤䩡 㞤㒰㞤㑚 㑚䙻㔊㞬䄶䗯䲋䩡䞩 㦏䲋䅧㳯 䳅䲋㑚㠝㳯䲋㞤䧹㓇䥋㑚 䳅㔊䗯䲋㠝㞤㐂 "㰶 䄶䩡㓇㦏 㦏㳯㔊䅧 䅧㓇 㤳㓇㐂 㓃 䙻䗯㔊㠝㞤 䗯䲋䄶㞤 䅧㳯䲋㑚 䲋㑚 䞩㓇䲋䩡䞩 䅧㓇 䄓㞤 㔊 䒃䥋䩡 㠝㳯㔊䗯䗯㞤䩡䞩㞤㐂 㰶'䳅 䒃㔊㑚䅧䌬 䩡㓇 㓇䩡㞤 㦏䲋䗯䗯 㑚㞤㞤 䳅㞤 㠝㓇䳅䲋䩡䞩㐂"
䤠䅧㞬㔊䗹 㦏㔊䅧㠝㳯㞤㤳 㳯㞤㞬 㦏䲋䅧㳯 㔊 䳅䲋䗹䅧䥋㞬㞤 㓇䒃 㠝㓇䩡䒃䲋㤳㞤䩡㠝㞤 㔊䩡㤳 㠝㔊䥋䅧䲋㓇䩡㐂 㩆䲋䅧䅧䗯㞤 䱎㔊䗯䗯㔊䳅㓇㑚 㳯㔊㤳 䲋䳅䙻㞬㞤㑚㑚䲋䧹㞤 䙻㓇㦏㞤㞬 㔊䩡㤳 㔊 䥋䩡䲋㥱䥋㞤 㠝䥋䩡䩡䲋䩡䞩㐂 㓃䗯䅧㳯㓇䥋䞩㳯 㳯㞤㞬 䒃㓇㞬䳅 㦏㔊㑚 㑚䳅㔊䗯䗯䌬 㳯㞤㞬 䳅㔊䞩䲋㠝 㦏㔊㑚 䧹㔊㑚䅧㐂 䤠㳯㞤 䙻㓇㑚㑚㞤㑚㑚㞤㤳 䅧㳯㞤 㔊䄓䲋䗯䲋䅧㒰 䅧㓇 㑚䗯䲋䙻 䲋䩡 㦏㳯㞤㞬㞤 䩡㓇 㓇䩡㞤 㞤䗯㑚㞤 㠝㓇䥋䗯㤳䌬 㦏㳯㞤䅧㳯㞤㞬 䅧㳯㞬㓇䥋䞩㳯 㳯㞤㞬 㑚䄶䲋䗯䗯 㔊䅧 䄓㒰䙻㔊㑚㑚䲋䩡䞩 㑚䙻㞤䗯䗯㑚 㓇㞬 㳯㞤㞬 䥋䩡䥋㑚䥋㔊䗯 㔊䞩䲋䗯䲋䅧㒰㐂 㧦㓇㦏㞤䧹㞤㞬䌬 㞤䧹㞤䩡 㑚㳯㞤 㦏㓇䥋䗯㤳 䩡㞤㞤㤳 䅧㓇 䄓㞤 㠝㔊㞬㞤䒃䥋䗯 㦏㳯㞤䩡 㞤䩡䅧㞤㞬䲋䩡䞩 䅧㳯㞤 㳯㞤㔊㞬䅧 㓇䒃 䅧㳯㞤 㞤䳅䙻䲋㞬㞤㐂
㛦㳯㞤 䗯䲋䅧䅧䗯㞤 㤳㞬㔊䞩㓇䩡 䩡㓇㤳㤳㞤㤳 㦏䲋䅧㳯 㔊 䳅䲋㑚㠝㳯䲋㞤䧹㓇䥋㑚 㑚䳅䲋䗯㞤㐂 "䡓㓇䩡'䅧 㦏㓇㞬㞬㒰䌬 䤠䅧㞬㔊䗹㐂 㰶 㠝㔊䩡 䅧㔊䄶㞤 㠝㔊㞬㞤 㓇䒃 䳅㒰㑚㞤䗯䒃㐂 㰶'䗯䗯 䒃䲋䩡㤳 䶴㞤䩡㓇䧹䲋㔊 㔊䩡㤳 䄓㞬䲋䩡䞩 䄓㔊㠝䄶 䅧㳯㞤 䲋䩡䒃㓇㞬䳅㔊䅧䲋㓇䩡 㦏㞤 䩡㞤㞤㤳㐂 㓃䩡㤳 㰶'䗯䗯 㤳㓇 䲋䅧 㦏䲋䅧㳯㓇䥋䅧 䗯㞤㔊䧹䲋䩡䞩 㔊 䅧㞬㔊㠝㞤㐂 䃝㓇 䞩䥋㔊㞬㤳㑚䌬 䩡㓇 䳅㔊䞩䲋㠝 㦏䲋䗯䗯 㑚䅧㓇䙻 䳅㞤㐂"
㛦䲋㔊䳅㔊䅧 㦏㔊䅧㠝㳯㞤㤳 㦏䲋䅧㳯 㔊䩡 㔊䙻䙻㞬㞤㳯㞤䩡㑚䲋䧹㞤 䗯㓇㓇䄶䌬 䄓䥋䅧 䅧㳯㞤㞬㞤 㦏㔊㑚 㔊䗯㑚㓇 㔊 㑚䗯䲋䞩㳯䅧 㠝㓇䩡䒃䲋㤳㞤䩡㠝㞤 䲋䩡 㳯䲋㑚 㞤㒰㞤㑚㐂 "䢥㞤 㠝㔊㞬㞤䒃䥋䗯䌬 䱎㔊䗯䗯㔊䳅㓇㑚㐂 㰶䅧'㑚 䩡㓇䅧 㼓䥋㑚䅧 䳅㔊䞩䲋㠝 䅧㳯㞤㒰 㠝㔊䩡 䥋㑚㞤 㔊䞩㔊䲋䩡㑚䅧 㒰㓇䥋㐂 㰶䒃 䅧㳯㞤 㥠䳅䙻㞤㞬㓇㞬 㞬㞤㔊䗯䗯㒰 䲋㑚 㳯䲋㤳䲋䩡䞩 㑚㓇䳅㞤䅧㳯䲋䩡䞩䌬 䅧㳯㞤 䅧㳯㞬㞤㔊䅧㑚 㠝㓇䥋䗯㤳 䄓㞤 䞩㞬㞤㔊䅧㞤㞬 䅧㳯㔊䩡 㒰㓇䥋 䅧㳯䲋䩡䄶㐂"
㒳䲋䅧㳯 䅧㳯㔊䅧䌬 䤠䅧㞬㔊䗹 䞩㔊䧹㞤 㔊 㑚䗯䲋䞩㳯䅧 䩡㓇㤳 䅧㓇 䅧㳯㞤 䗯䲋䅧䅧䗯㞤 㤳㞬㔊䞩㓇䩡䌬 㔊䩡㤳 䱎㔊䗯䗯㔊䳅㓇㑚 䄓㔊㤳㞤 䅧㳯㞤䳅 䒃㔊㞬㞤㦏㞤䗯䗯 䄓㞤䒃㓇㞬㞤 㑚䗯䲋䩡䄶䲋䩡䞩 㓇䒃䒃 䲋䩡䅧㓇 䅧㳯㞤 㑚㳯㔊㤳㓇㦏㑚䌬 㳯㞤㞬 䒃㓇㞬䳅 㑚㳯㞬䲋䩡䄶䲋䩡䞩 㔊㑚 㑚㳯㞤 䳅㓇䧹㞤㤳 㔊㦏㔊㒰 䲋䩡䅧㓇 䅧㳯㞤 㤳㔊㞬䄶䩡㞤㑚㑚㐂
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